The Seventh Wish by Kate Messner Page B

guys Saturday.” Catherine heads for the door.
    â€œYou are forgetting your flour!” Dasha calls.
    â€œShoot!” Catherine runs over, swoops up Meredith from her chair, and leaves. Dasha and I gather up our stuff and head for the door too.
    As I walk past Leah, she picks up her dance bag, anda laminated card falls out and drifts to the floor. It has an ocean scene and a poem or something on it. I bend over to pick it up for her, but she swoops down in front of me and almost knocks me over when she grabs it.
    â€œSorry,” I say.
    â€œIt’s okay,” she says quietly. She doesn’t smile; she turns and lines up with the other Prizewinner kids. The music starts, and their feet move so fast I can’t even count the clicks. If those hard shoes were ruby slippers, they’d be racking up wishes like crazy.

    It’s dark by the time I get home, but dinner’s not ready yet. I saw on the way home that Drew and Mrs. McNeill are still out fishing, so I pull my snow pants on over my leggings and tug on my boots.
    â€œWhere do you think you’re going?” Dad asks when he looks up from the stove. “You’re not going to miss my garlic-ginger stir-fry, are you?”
    â€œI won’t be long. But Drew has his basketball tryouts tomorrow, so I want to wish him luck and maybe fish a little while before dinner, okay? The moon’s out, so there’s plenty of light. And I’ll be back in half an hour.”
    He looks at the clock on the microwave. “No later, okay? Mom will be back from her book group then.”
    â€œThanks!” I hurry out the door and down to the lake. Mrs. McNeill and Drew are fishing closer to shore tonight, not far from the spot where my fish lives.
    â€œHow’s the fishing?” I ask when I reach them.
    â€œMeh,” Mrs. McNeill says. “We’ve caught a few.”
    â€œLittle things,” Drew says. “Probably don’t even add up to a pound yet.” He pats the side of the bucket he’s sitting on, and my heart jumps into my throat.
    What if they caught the wish fish and didn’t hear it talk? What if it doesn’t always ask to be let go? What if it only talks to me? Or to people who are alone? What if my fish is in the bucket right now, about to be hauled off to fish-fry land?
    â€œCan I see?” I point to the bucket under Drew’s behind.
    He looks up at me. “They’re just perch.” He doesn’t get up.
    â€œI know, but . . .” I can’t explain that I want to check for emerald eyes and make sure none of them are offering wishes in exchange for freedom. “Can I see, please? One of the fish I caught the other day had a . . . a weird marking. It was small, so I let it go. I’m wondering if you caught the same one.”
    â€œWho cares?”
    â€œFor goodness’ sake, Drew, get your frozen rump off that bucket and let her see,” his nana says.
    Drew gets up and pries the lid off the bucket. “Happy now?”
    I peer into the moonlit bucket of water at three small fish. They’re all quiet, with regular beady black fish eyes. “Yeah. Thanks. I don’t think it’s the same fish.”
    But a minute after I drop my line in the water, that fish is back on my hook. I’m sitting closer to Drew and Mrs. McNeill this time, so as soon as it asks to be let go and makes the wish offer, I turn away from them. “Let Drew be amazing at tryouts and make the basketball team,” I whisper.
    â€œWhat?” Drew says.
    â€œNothing.” I drop the fish back into the lake and look at my watch. “I should actually go in for dinner. Good luck at tryouts tomorrow!”
    â€œWe should call it a night too,” Mrs. McNeill tells Drew. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”
    Drew lets out a heaving sigh that’s practically long enough to melt the whole lake. “It doesn’t matter what I do. I’m