Stolen Wishes
Page 1
Chapter One
Cally
“Come on, sweetheart.” Kenny Riles edges forward, his snickering minions close behind. “I’ll give you fifty dollars for a hand job. That’s twice what I paid your mom.”
I wrap my arms around myself, blaming the chill in the early spring night for the shivers running through me. I came to the dark stadium to be alone. Now, I’m wishing I had a friend with me. Hanna to wrap her arm around my shoulders, or Lizzy to crack a joke about the size of Kenny’s dick before telling him to f**k off. The guys smell like beer, cigarettes, and a dangerous lack of inhibition.
Kenny’s eyes sweep over me greedily. “You ain’t out here for nothing. You’re looking to suck a little dick, ain’t you? Let’s see if you’re as good as your mom.”
The sound of footsteps—a fast and noisy hustle up the bleachers—has me pulling my gaze away from Kenny’s hazy eyes.
I can make him out in the moonlight—a figure in a hooded sweatshirt and athletic shorts running up the bleachers and down the steps, up the bleachers, down the steps, zigzagging his way closer and closer to us.
I’ve never been so grateful to see a jock in my life.
“I’ll pass.” I try not to let him hear how his words affect me. But fear lodges in my throat, making the words smaller than I intended.
Kenny grabs my hand.
“Back off!”
The clanking of feet on bleachers stops, and silence seems to echo through the stadium. “Get your f**king hands off the girl, Riles,” the jock calls, coming toward us.
“What? She your girlfriend?” Kenny asks. “When did you start slummin’ it, Bailey?”
Bailey? William Bailey. Shit.
Rich kid, golden boy, quarterback. And so very much the object of my fantasies. Really, universe? You couldn’t have put anyone else here to witness my embarrassment?
“Does she have to be my girlfriend for you to understand what back off means?” William asks. He’s closer now, his face dark and glowering.
“I’m just giving the girl some business, but I guess if you’re her customer tonight, we’ll get out of your way.”
Hate boils up in my stomach, and I have to close my eyes. I can’t look at William when this guy is implying such horrible things about me. I’m too scared to see his face, too afraid he might believe them.
“Come on, guys. Let’s get out of here.” Kenny and his guys exchange a few grunts and stomp away down the bleachers.
I inhale deeply for the first time in several long minutes and force myself to look at William.
“Are you okay?” He comes closer and pulls the hood from his head. His smile is cautious, worried. I can almost make out the warm blue of his eyes in the moonlight.
My stomach flips. Everyone in this town knows who William Bailey is. He’s smart and popular and beautiful. Everything I’m not. “I was just leaving,” I lie.
“You’re Cally Fisher, right?”
That surprises me. We have one class together—third hour French—but he’s always busy chatting with his friends. I never thought he noticed me. “Yeah…”
“I’ve watched you.”
I raise a brow. “You’ve watched me?”
“Wow. Not like that.” He chuckles and runs a hand through his hair. He has these unruly blond curls girls go mad over, present company included. “Now I sound like a bigger creep than Kenny, don’t I? I’ve seen you. You walk by the river a lot. I worry about you. You’re always alone and it’s always after dark.”
“I like the stars,” I answer, then immediately wish I’d kept the childish words to myself.
He shoves the sleeves of his hoodie up to his elbows as he scans the empty stadium. “Me too, but you shouldn’t be out here alone.”
“And where’s your babysitter?”
That grin is back, and I feel like the luckiest girl in the world to have it aimed at me. Stupid but true. “Touché.”
“Well, thanks for your help with the as**ole squad. I appreciate it.” I make myself head down the steps. After the day I’ve had, another ounce of kindness from him and I’m bound to make a fool of myself.
As soon as my feet hit the pavement at the foot of the bleachers, he’s beside me.
I shift awkwardly. “You can get back to your workout or whatever.”
“I could. Or I could use my chauvinistic concern for your welfare as an excuse to walk a pretty girl back to her house.”
My cheeks burn. We walk in silence for a while, cutting across the dewy grass to get to Main Street, where the street lamps illuminate his face and make me feel self-conscious in my ratty old long-sleeve tee.
“So, do you want to talk about it, or would you prefer we continue with the romantic silence?”
I think he might be flirting with me. Which is just… No. There’s no way. This is William Bailey we’re talking about. He can have any girl at our high school, and probably a healthy handful of the girls at the university down the street.
“Talk about what, exactly?” I ask stupidly.
“About Kenny? Or the reason you spend more time after dark wandering around New Hope than at your house?”
“Kenny’s just a jerk.”
“Agreed. And the other?”
How do I explain my nighttime walks to a guy who has everything? The stars winking at me from the sea of black sky, the sound of the river, the whisper of the wind in the trees. In the crisp air, when everything is cloaked in darkness, I feel closer to the stars. No one needs me. No one sees me. No one taunts me. Looking at the stars and wishing for something better isn’t just something I enjoy. It’s necessary for my survival.
I wouldn’t expect him to understand that.
“I like wandering at night.” I shrug. I don’t want to tell him about what drives me to seek haven in the darkness. Mom, lost in her pills. Dad, nearly as oblivious, lost in his books.
“You don’t have to wander alone, you know. I mean, you shouldn’t. Guys like Kenny look for any excuse.”
My steps slow as we near the turn to my house. “Thanks for your concern. I’ll see you around.” I turn the corner, and he stays by my side as if I hadn’t just dismissed him.
I stop and prop my hands on my hips. I don’t want him coming any farther. He lives in one of the restored brick mansions near the center of town, and I’m too embarrassed for him to see the ramshackle doublewide trailer that’s barely big enough for my family. “Goodnight, William.”
“Oh, so you already know my name? I thought you just didn’t care.”
“Everyone knows your name. And everyone cares.”
His eyes drop to my mouth. “Everyone?”
My heart slams against my chest and I think for one stupid minute that maybe he’s going to kiss me, but then he takes my hand and tugs me toward my house. “Let me walk you home, Cally.”
We amble slowly, as if neither of us really wants to reach our destination, my body romanticizing every second of this and buzzing with anticipation, while my pragmatic brain frantically denies any possibility that this guy—this way freaking out of my league guy—could possibly be attracted to me. He takes me all the way to my front stoop, and I when I turn to tell him goodbye, his gaze is on my mouth again.
***
William
My heart pounds in my chest. I’m nervous. Like a kid on his first date.
Cally has the biggest eyes and the softest lips. This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed. She’s in my French class. She’s quiet and always looks a little alarmed when Madame Layton expects her to speak.
“Thanks for humoring me,” I whisper.
“What?”
“For letting me walk you home. I enjoyed it.” I smile and squeeze her hand. Am I the only one who feels this electric pulse of energy when our hands touch?
I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t think she cared who I was. She keeps to herself in class, her nose in a book unless she’s whispering to the Thompson twins, who sit next to her at the front of the room. I’ve spent weeks watching the way she bites her lip as she takes notes. I know she lets that curtain of thick, dark hair fall in her eyes when she’s trying to hide and which friends make her face light up when she smiles.
And I know the rumors about her mom, which were no doubt the reason Kenny and his crew were harassing her tonight.
My hackles are rising from me just thinking about the as**ole leaning toward her on the bleachers, grabbing her hand. “Listen, about Kenny—”
“Don’t worry about him. It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine, and I won’t let him say those things about you.”
She frowns. “Why do you care?”
Because I have a wicked crush on you. Because I’ve seen you staring up at the night sky like you’re looking for something you’ve lost, and I understand that more than you know. “Because Kenny’s an asshole.”
She laughs and her whole face lights up. “You can say that again.”
I want to make her smile like that all the time. “My friend Max is having a party tomorrow night. His parents are out of town. Any chance I’ll see you there?” I hold my breath while I wait for her answer. I shouldn’t have asked, but I can’t help wanting to see her outside of school. I can’t help wanting a chance to make her smile again.
“Cally? Who are you talking to out there?”
I didn’t even hear the front door open, but Cally’s mom is standing on the porch in a thin white nightgown that’s damn near transparent in the porch light.
Cally tenses and pulls her hand from mine. “Mom, go inside. You’re not decent.”
Her mom looks down as if she needs the reminder of what she’s wearing. “He’s cute. Is he your boyfriend?” Her words are just slurred enough that I’m not sure if she’s drunk or half asleep.
“No, he’s not.” Cally’s so emphatic I wince. She turns to me. “I have to go.” Then she hustles to the porch, wraps her arm around her mom and ushers her into the house.
Standing in the quiet night, I can hear their muffled voices inside the house, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I’m starting toward home when I hear the porch screen squeak open. I turn back, thinking Cally is trying to catch me, that maybe she wants to say more, but then she sinks to the stoop and looks up at the stars.
She’s not out here for me. She’s out here to escape whatever is inside that house.
She has no idea how alike we are.
Chapter Two
Cally
Kenny’s words have clung to me like tree sap since he cornered me at the stadium. Thick and sticky and impossible to ever completely remove. No matter how much I try to scrub them away, their residue remains.
“That’s twice what I paid your mom.”
That’s just something mean boys say. I know that. But I also know the looks Mom gets when she goes into town. Women who used to be kind to her now duck their heads and hurry in the other direction when they see her coming.
I told myself Kenny was just an as**ole trying to show off for his friends. I told myself he was just trying to get a rise out of me, to see what I would do. But even if that’s true, it doesn’t mean he’s lying about Mom. And even if I want to tell myself he’s a liar, part of me already knew the truth about the state of her “massage” business.
And last night when she came onto the porch, barely decent in front of William Bailey, disgust roiled in my stomach. Now every time I look at her, all I can think is, Did you take money to give Kenny Riles a hand job?
“And Frankie said he would do it if she gave him her lunch,” my little sister Drew is saying.
I blink at her, realizing I’ve missed half her story. I try to be a good listener for Drew. Someone needs to be.
“And so she did,” she continues, “and on recess, he did!”
I fill her bowl with cereal and milk as she settles into her seat at the kitchen table. “Did what?” I ask.
“Ate a worm,” she squeals.
“That’s disgusting!” I wrinkle my nose, and she giggles. She’s in first grade and generally a happy kid, despite everything. “Gabby,” I call. “Want some cereal?”
Gabby hops up from where she was playing in front of Saturday morning cartoons. She toddles toward me. “With milk,” she instructs in her little voice.
I settle her into the chair across from Drew and pour her cereal.
In the living room, Mom is sleeping on the couch, oblivious to our daily early-morning ritual.
“Cally eat?” Gabby asks, her mouth half full of cereal.
I shake my head. I can’t handle the idea of food when Mom’s purse is staring at me from the kitchen counter, her datebook inside.
My stomach flips when I think about what I might find there, but I have to know.
I leave the girls at the table, giggling about something they saw on a cartoon. The zipper seems to screech as I pull it open. I peek around the corner into the living room, but Mom is still sleeping. With a deep breath, I pull the black appointment book from her purse and leaf through it. Last month, last week. I scan over the scribbled names and I’m almost relieved.
Then I see it. Thursday afternoon. Kenny.
I snap the book shut quickly, as if staring at his name next to 4:00 might show me more than I want to know about their appointment.
“Can I have a Pop-Tart?” Drew asks.
I shove the book back into Mom’s purse and zip it up, pushing it to the back of the counter where I found it. “No Pop-Tarts. There’s enough sugar in that cereal.”
Cally
“Come on, sweetheart.” Kenny Riles edges forward, his snickering minions close behind. “I’ll give you fifty dollars for a hand job. That’s twice what I paid your mom.”
I wrap my arms around myself, blaming the chill in the early spring night for the shivers running through me. I came to the dark stadium to be alone. Now, I’m wishing I had a friend with me. Hanna to wrap her arm around my shoulders, or Lizzy to crack a joke about the size of Kenny’s dick before telling him to f**k off. The guys smell like beer, cigarettes, and a dangerous lack of inhibition.
Kenny’s eyes sweep over me greedily. “You ain’t out here for nothing. You’re looking to suck a little dick, ain’t you? Let’s see if you’re as good as your mom.”
The sound of footsteps—a fast and noisy hustle up the bleachers—has me pulling my gaze away from Kenny’s hazy eyes.
I can make him out in the moonlight—a figure in a hooded sweatshirt and athletic shorts running up the bleachers and down the steps, up the bleachers, down the steps, zigzagging his way closer and closer to us.
I’ve never been so grateful to see a jock in my life.
“I’ll pass.” I try not to let him hear how his words affect me. But fear lodges in my throat, making the words smaller than I intended.
Kenny grabs my hand.
“Back off!”
The clanking of feet on bleachers stops, and silence seems to echo through the stadium. “Get your f**king hands off the girl, Riles,” the jock calls, coming toward us.
“What? She your girlfriend?” Kenny asks. “When did you start slummin’ it, Bailey?”
Bailey? William Bailey. Shit.
Rich kid, golden boy, quarterback. And so very much the object of my fantasies. Really, universe? You couldn’t have put anyone else here to witness my embarrassment?
“Does she have to be my girlfriend for you to understand what back off means?” William asks. He’s closer now, his face dark and glowering.
“I’m just giving the girl some business, but I guess if you’re her customer tonight, we’ll get out of your way.”
Hate boils up in my stomach, and I have to close my eyes. I can’t look at William when this guy is implying such horrible things about me. I’m too scared to see his face, too afraid he might believe them.
“Come on, guys. Let’s get out of here.” Kenny and his guys exchange a few grunts and stomp away down the bleachers.
I inhale deeply for the first time in several long minutes and force myself to look at William.
“Are you okay?” He comes closer and pulls the hood from his head. His smile is cautious, worried. I can almost make out the warm blue of his eyes in the moonlight.
My stomach flips. Everyone in this town knows who William Bailey is. He’s smart and popular and beautiful. Everything I’m not. “I was just leaving,” I lie.
“You’re Cally Fisher, right?”
That surprises me. We have one class together—third hour French—but he’s always busy chatting with his friends. I never thought he noticed me. “Yeah…”
“I’ve watched you.”
I raise a brow. “You’ve watched me?”
“Wow. Not like that.” He chuckles and runs a hand through his hair. He has these unruly blond curls girls go mad over, present company included. “Now I sound like a bigger creep than Kenny, don’t I? I’ve seen you. You walk by the river a lot. I worry about you. You’re always alone and it’s always after dark.”
“I like the stars,” I answer, then immediately wish I’d kept the childish words to myself.
He shoves the sleeves of his hoodie up to his elbows as he scans the empty stadium. “Me too, but you shouldn’t be out here alone.”
“And where’s your babysitter?”
That grin is back, and I feel like the luckiest girl in the world to have it aimed at me. Stupid but true. “Touché.”
“Well, thanks for your help with the as**ole squad. I appreciate it.” I make myself head down the steps. After the day I’ve had, another ounce of kindness from him and I’m bound to make a fool of myself.
As soon as my feet hit the pavement at the foot of the bleachers, he’s beside me.
I shift awkwardly. “You can get back to your workout or whatever.”
“I could. Or I could use my chauvinistic concern for your welfare as an excuse to walk a pretty girl back to her house.”
My cheeks burn. We walk in silence for a while, cutting across the dewy grass to get to Main Street, where the street lamps illuminate his face and make me feel self-conscious in my ratty old long-sleeve tee.
“So, do you want to talk about it, or would you prefer we continue with the romantic silence?”
I think he might be flirting with me. Which is just… No. There’s no way. This is William Bailey we’re talking about. He can have any girl at our high school, and probably a healthy handful of the girls at the university down the street.
“Talk about what, exactly?” I ask stupidly.
“About Kenny? Or the reason you spend more time after dark wandering around New Hope than at your house?”
“Kenny’s just a jerk.”
“Agreed. And the other?”
How do I explain my nighttime walks to a guy who has everything? The stars winking at me from the sea of black sky, the sound of the river, the whisper of the wind in the trees. In the crisp air, when everything is cloaked in darkness, I feel closer to the stars. No one needs me. No one sees me. No one taunts me. Looking at the stars and wishing for something better isn’t just something I enjoy. It’s necessary for my survival.
I wouldn’t expect him to understand that.
“I like wandering at night.” I shrug. I don’t want to tell him about what drives me to seek haven in the darkness. Mom, lost in her pills. Dad, nearly as oblivious, lost in his books.
“You don’t have to wander alone, you know. I mean, you shouldn’t. Guys like Kenny look for any excuse.”
My steps slow as we near the turn to my house. “Thanks for your concern. I’ll see you around.” I turn the corner, and he stays by my side as if I hadn’t just dismissed him.
I stop and prop my hands on my hips. I don’t want him coming any farther. He lives in one of the restored brick mansions near the center of town, and I’m too embarrassed for him to see the ramshackle doublewide trailer that’s barely big enough for my family. “Goodnight, William.”
“Oh, so you already know my name? I thought you just didn’t care.”
“Everyone knows your name. And everyone cares.”
His eyes drop to my mouth. “Everyone?”
My heart slams against my chest and I think for one stupid minute that maybe he’s going to kiss me, but then he takes my hand and tugs me toward my house. “Let me walk you home, Cally.”
We amble slowly, as if neither of us really wants to reach our destination, my body romanticizing every second of this and buzzing with anticipation, while my pragmatic brain frantically denies any possibility that this guy—this way freaking out of my league guy—could possibly be attracted to me. He takes me all the way to my front stoop, and I when I turn to tell him goodbye, his gaze is on my mouth again.
***
William
My heart pounds in my chest. I’m nervous. Like a kid on his first date.
Cally has the biggest eyes and the softest lips. This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed. She’s in my French class. She’s quiet and always looks a little alarmed when Madame Layton expects her to speak.
“Thanks for humoring me,” I whisper.
“What?”
“For letting me walk you home. I enjoyed it.” I smile and squeeze her hand. Am I the only one who feels this electric pulse of energy when our hands touch?
I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t think she cared who I was. She keeps to herself in class, her nose in a book unless she’s whispering to the Thompson twins, who sit next to her at the front of the room. I’ve spent weeks watching the way she bites her lip as she takes notes. I know she lets that curtain of thick, dark hair fall in her eyes when she’s trying to hide and which friends make her face light up when she smiles.
And I know the rumors about her mom, which were no doubt the reason Kenny and his crew were harassing her tonight.
My hackles are rising from me just thinking about the as**ole leaning toward her on the bleachers, grabbing her hand. “Listen, about Kenny—”
“Don’t worry about him. It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine, and I won’t let him say those things about you.”
She frowns. “Why do you care?”
Because I have a wicked crush on you. Because I’ve seen you staring up at the night sky like you’re looking for something you’ve lost, and I understand that more than you know. “Because Kenny’s an asshole.”
She laughs and her whole face lights up. “You can say that again.”
I want to make her smile like that all the time. “My friend Max is having a party tomorrow night. His parents are out of town. Any chance I’ll see you there?” I hold my breath while I wait for her answer. I shouldn’t have asked, but I can’t help wanting to see her outside of school. I can’t help wanting a chance to make her smile again.
“Cally? Who are you talking to out there?”
I didn’t even hear the front door open, but Cally’s mom is standing on the porch in a thin white nightgown that’s damn near transparent in the porch light.
Cally tenses and pulls her hand from mine. “Mom, go inside. You’re not decent.”
Her mom looks down as if she needs the reminder of what she’s wearing. “He’s cute. Is he your boyfriend?” Her words are just slurred enough that I’m not sure if she’s drunk or half asleep.
“No, he’s not.” Cally’s so emphatic I wince. She turns to me. “I have to go.” Then she hustles to the porch, wraps her arm around her mom and ushers her into the house.
Standing in the quiet night, I can hear their muffled voices inside the house, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I’m starting toward home when I hear the porch screen squeak open. I turn back, thinking Cally is trying to catch me, that maybe she wants to say more, but then she sinks to the stoop and looks up at the stars.
She’s not out here for me. She’s out here to escape whatever is inside that house.
She has no idea how alike we are.
Chapter Two
Cally
Kenny’s words have clung to me like tree sap since he cornered me at the stadium. Thick and sticky and impossible to ever completely remove. No matter how much I try to scrub them away, their residue remains.
“That’s twice what I paid your mom.”
That’s just something mean boys say. I know that. But I also know the looks Mom gets when she goes into town. Women who used to be kind to her now duck their heads and hurry in the other direction when they see her coming.
I told myself Kenny was just an as**ole trying to show off for his friends. I told myself he was just trying to get a rise out of me, to see what I would do. But even if that’s true, it doesn’t mean he’s lying about Mom. And even if I want to tell myself he’s a liar, part of me already knew the truth about the state of her “massage” business.
And last night when she came onto the porch, barely decent in front of William Bailey, disgust roiled in my stomach. Now every time I look at her, all I can think is, Did you take money to give Kenny Riles a hand job?
“And Frankie said he would do it if she gave him her lunch,” my little sister Drew is saying.
I blink at her, realizing I’ve missed half her story. I try to be a good listener for Drew. Someone needs to be.
“And so she did,” she continues, “and on recess, he did!”
I fill her bowl with cereal and milk as she settles into her seat at the kitchen table. “Did what?” I ask.
“Ate a worm,” she squeals.
“That’s disgusting!” I wrinkle my nose, and she giggles. She’s in first grade and generally a happy kid, despite everything. “Gabby,” I call. “Want some cereal?”
Gabby hops up from where she was playing in front of Saturday morning cartoons. She toddles toward me. “With milk,” she instructs in her little voice.
I settle her into the chair across from Drew and pour her cereal.
In the living room, Mom is sleeping on the couch, oblivious to our daily early-morning ritual.
“Cally eat?” Gabby asks, her mouth half full of cereal.
I shake my head. I can’t handle the idea of food when Mom’s purse is staring at me from the kitchen counter, her datebook inside.
My stomach flips when I think about what I might find there, but I have to know.
I leave the girls at the table, giggling about something they saw on a cartoon. The zipper seems to screech as I pull it open. I peek around the corner into the living room, but Mom is still sleeping. With a deep breath, I pull the black appointment book from her purse and leaf through it. Last month, last week. I scan over the scribbled names and I’m almost relieved.
Then I see it. Thursday afternoon. Kenny.
I snap the book shut quickly, as if staring at his name next to 4:00 might show me more than I want to know about their appointment.
“Can I have a Pop-Tart?” Drew asks.
I shove the book back into Mom’s purse and zip it up, pushing it to the back of the counter where I found it. “No Pop-Tarts. There’s enough sugar in that cereal.”
