Page 42 of Wish For Me

My stomach flips. “Really?” I look at the photo again. It’s more than likely a coincidence, but I can’t help the tickling sensation on the back of my neck. What if it’s her? Baby Clea? Her name starts with C. Not that that means anything, her name would have been changed at the adoption agency.

Behind my family, Marissa clears her throat. She looks like she’s going to freak out. She really has to get me ready. “This is amazing. Can I ask you more about this later?”

“Of course,” Mom says. “Mostly I wanted to show you now because Grandma Betty was an actor too. So you see, it’s in your blood!”

My heart aches. I nod. “Thank you Mom.” I wrap my arms around her. “For everything,” I whisper.

“I’ll see you after the show,” I promise them, looking up so the tears don’t ruin my makeup. Then I give Dad and ridiculous Dan hugs too.

Once they’re gone, Marissa grabs the apparatus I get fitted into for every show and rushes over. It goes on over the bodysuit I’m currently wearing, then the costume changes happen over top.

Marissa’s tense at first, making up for lost time I think as she rushes me into the suit. Then she checks the time and breathes out. “We’re doing okay.”

Relaxed, we talk about the play tonight, how the other actors are feeling. The director. But as we talk, I think about how far away from my family I am. My world is so far from theirs, I might as well be on the moon.

“I’m going to do better next year,” I say.

“At what?” Marissa asks. She’s frowning in concentration as she connects a row of clips at my hips. “You’re already the best performer we’ve got.”

I’m so surprised by the quiet compliment I falter. Marissa doesn’t butter up my ego; she’s usually all business.

“I’m going to be better at spending more time with the people I love,” I say, peering out the window to look at the moon. At the paper on the windowsill. “Once a year isn’t enough.”

Marissa yanks on a strap. “You’re lucky. Your parents seem really supportive.”

“Yours aren’t?”

She meets my eye. “They think I’m not doing enough. That I should have kept acting.”

My jaw drops, but guilt quickly overrides the shock. “I didn’t know you were an actor.”

“I’m not anymore.” At my expression, she shakes her head. “This part, fun though.” She pulls a strap tight, making me suck in a breath as it cinches across my ribs. “I still love being backstage where the magic happens. Being the duck feet under the water, you know?”

I laugh. “Duck feet?”

“You know, how a duck looks so serene on the surface of the lake, but underneath its feet are paddling in this beautifully coordinated dance.”

I think about the way Leif talks about the space between the stars.

“I understand the appeal,” I say softly. In fact, it’s all I ever wanted. My worries from before seem to vanish as I think of what I need to do.

“I think you’re as safe as you’re going to be,” she says after a moment. She’s sizing up the buckles and straps that cross my body.

“Thanks Marissa.”

“Ready to head out?”

She moves for the door, but I hesitate.

“I just need one minute.”

Marissa gives me an exasperated look, but I tell her she can stay. Then I run to the window. I hold my pen over the letter, re-reading the last words I wrote, my pulse quickening.

This is my biggest confession, Leif. Every Christmas, when we say goodbye, I look up at the space between the stars, and I make one wish. That wish is that you’ll wish for me. That you’ll tell me I’m more important to you than the moon and stars and all your dreams. Isn’t that selfish?

I know, suddenly, that I can never send him this letter. That it’s for me only.

That it’s pretending things are different, when really, it’ll be a goodbye. Because I might be ready to give up on my dream, but I’ll never be the reason someone else does, ever again.

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