The Secret Book of Wishes

Page 1

To whom this may concern,

Do not be alarmed by happening upon this for that was the plan. Do not try to return this to anyone for it has no owner. Most importantly do not tell a soul that this has fallen into your possession.

Some pages will be blank. More likely than not only a single page will have anything written at all. 

Whether or not you read this page is your prerogative. Others need the book and if you don’t so be sure to follow the instructions that will shortly appear on the last page. 

Other than it’s contents, the book appeared fairly normal, at a quick glance anyway. The Dust Jacket was Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Askaban. Meaning to re-read it for comfort, I slipped it off my shelf only to find it was close to being utterly empty. At first, I ran my fingers over each page as if I’d be able to feel the remnants of ink. Of course I couldn’t feel anything, nothing hinting towards the plot and mauraders map being scraped off the paper. Intrigued by the few pages that did contain manuscript, my disappointment dissipated. On the spine of the true bindings was an embellishment of the title without an author's name. Supposedly the work in my hands went by the title of The Secret Book of Wishes: For Those Whom are Worthy.

Despite having “secret” in it’s title, the page of instructions never said that I couldn’t tell anyone that the book exists in general. To be sure, I once again skimmed the pages. However this time through I found a third page that had more than a number.

Page 169

Tell no one that this book exists or that you are in possession of this. Failure to abbreviate the following statement may have varied results. 

After working through a few situations mentally I pulled my phone out and scrolled through my contact list, not that it took much scrolling. Once found, I selected the call feature on the contact for one of my closest friends.

“Hi,” I started as I stared at page 169 wondering if what I was about to do broke the rules. Technically I wasn’t telling her anything important.

“What’s up? I’m working on that essay for history. Can this be quick?” In the background I could hear vehement typing and clicking noises. “Or I could call you back later. But being the grandma you are, you might be asleep.”

“Okay first off, you’re older than me.” I drew in a breath and prayed that the following words abide by the rules. “If you could make any wish and you knew it would come true, what would you wish for?”

For a moment the line was silent and I almost worried the call had dropped.

“I’d wish to still be friends with Eva.” As she continued to talk I stayed silent flipping through old memories like a photo album. “Even though we still see her around at school, I miss her. I miss when we would stay up all night watching I Love Lucy.”

“Me too. Well I’ll let you go and essay the history thing.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

On my nightstand behind the glasses yet to be put up, with varied amounts of water left, sat a picture of our trio in a blue frame. The glass was cracked. I know I should’ve just gotten rid of it all together but I just couldn’t, even after throwing it out my window (granted my house is only one story). 

Still it was nice to hear that Ella missed her too. She always teased me for holding out hope, saying I was stuck in the past and stuff like that. Ella didn’t even notice when Eva deleted the pictures of our camping trips from her instagram. But I did and it stung. She always said I was the one unable to move on and yet she had the same wish.

With my friends' words in mind I split the pages with my thumb landing on the right page with one try.

Page 97

Paper stars. Paper stars. 

With your wish inside the bright will heed.

By the light of the moon a hundred you shall complete.

After looking up a few tutorials, I found a video that concluded with a yield similar to that of an illustration on the opposing page. Although it was a drawing of origami, it reminded me of botanical illustrations that might hang in a fifth or sixth grade classroom. With some old scrap booking paper I had set to work. Pale strings of light weaved through the widow and brushed against a strip of forest print. On the blank side I had written my wish.

When an hour had passed, there was significant progress but also a multitude of paper cuts. It seemed that the further and more skilled I got the more frequently and severely the paper slit my finger tips. Nevertheless I couldn’t stop and I didn’t, not until the last one was made.

In the morning, I followed my usual morning routine, unsure if there was a part of me believing it worked. If there wasn’t any part of me however small that thought it could work my fingers wouldn’t be so calloused. The true test would be when I arrived at school. Under the oak tree was where the three of us used to meet before class. We would throw flowers down a hole and make wishes. Apparently that method wasn’t up to the book's snuff. 

Outside of the entrance I was surprised to see that no one stood under the tree, not even my best friend who has always stood by me. Instead she stood laughing with Eva as if the last couple years never took place. Elated that this had actually worked, that I would finally be able to move on with my life, I waved when their eyeline landed my way. Eva darting inside was only to be expected but when my true friend followed I knew something was off.

Through my head, I ran endless scenarios of why she might have done that. We never pulled those kinds of jokes. They both knew I never found them funny and in fact ended up hurt the one time they did try it. If I can just figure out what’s up with them, we can all continue as if nothing had happened and nothing else mattered because it didn’t.

In first period they didn’t wave me over to sit down. When I went up and sat next to them neither asked how my weekend was.

“Uh, hi.” I shift my weight around my seat waiting for a response. After not receiving one I continued hoping that I was just speaking too soft for them to hear (which did happen and that wasn’t even taking my nervousness into account) “How were your weekends?”

“I don’t know why you’re talking to us,” Eva stated giving me a dead stare.

“Or why you sat with us.”

I shouldn’t have risked it. I asked for her advice with the book and just like the book said there were varied results.

“Sorry, I’ll move.” I slung my backpack over my left shoulder and scurried to the corner.

When I look back, they both seem happy. I haven't seen either of them that happy in a long while. 

So maybe the book did work…

Flipping through, it was shocking to find there wasn’t a single blank page. There was even a chapter labeled “The Leaky Cauldron.”