Page 15 of When You Wish Upon a Wideout

His mom baked nothing today, so he brought Swedish Fish, and I smiled because they’ve always been my favorite since I was little, but Beau really hates them. But my smile was less about the firm, gummy sweetness and more about Beau remembering that. I didn’t say anything, though.

I ripped open the bag and poured sixteen fish into my hand.

“Why do you do that?”

I shrugged. “Sixteen is my lucky number.” It’s also the number of pieces of candy I can eat without getting a stomachache.

It’s so different on the roof with Beau. Is it because we’re closer to the stars? Even though we’re only a story off the ground, I feel like we’re in our own little world, and it only took Beau visiting a few times before I realized we had created a safe space.

A few days ago, with a cracking voice and aching heart, I told Beau everything, Mom. I told him I come up here because I feel you can hear me. I told him about our shared love for the stars, for making wishes.

And even though I would’ve bet all the Swedish Fish in the world that he’d laugh uncomfortably and think I was crazy, Beau only nodded and said, “That’s cool.”

Tonight we were flat on our backs when we saw it—a shooting star clear as day.

“Quick, make a wish,” Beau told me.

I felt kind of on the spot, and I think he could tell.

“What? You don’t have a running list or something?”

I laughed. “It’s not like a Christmas list. We only do it on birthdays. Hers and ours.”

I didn’t tell Beau I went rogue and made a wish for a friend when we moved back.

Beau shrugged beside me. “It should be like a Christmas list. You should always be ready. You never know what can happen. Maybe you wasted that one.”

It wasn’t a wasted shooting star, Mom, because I felt in the moment that it was you. But maybe he was right. I didn’t know that our last birthday eve together would bethelast.

Beau turned on his side. “Start a list,” he told me. “And don’t wait. Just find a really great star and have at it.”

“What, now?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have any paper,” I told him.

“If they come from the heart, you’ll remember them.”

His words struck me, and I felt even more on the spot. “What if they’re silly?”

“Silly?”

“Like,” I began, “I don’t know, nothing all that meaningful.”

“What’s number one on your wish list?”

I pursed my lips in thought. “I guess it’s not really in any order. But the ocean. I want to see the ocean. And I want to go on a sailboatinthe ocean.”

“Okay, why?” Beau’s tone was just inquisitive enough.

“We planned to do that, me and my mom.” The admission stung, but I felt safe enough to continue.

And I told him all the things I would’ve wished for if you were still around. It’s not just sailboats or how I want to go to France and dance in Provence’s lavender fields like you did in college—something you promised we would do the summer after I graduate from high school—or how I only want to go back to Disney World so I can eat my weight in Dole Whips. Or visit Graceland (that was more your thing than mine).

There are two things I didn’t realize until I finished listing everything in my head and heart. One, they’re memories I already wished I had, and two, I was crying.

Beau reached out as if he were about to wipe my face, but his hand stalled midair before he fisted his fingers and dropped his arm. Instinctively, I turned my head to banish my tears away on my sweatshirt, but Beau stopped me.

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