Last Wishes, Page 2

  The judges had gone easy on her.

  The Drexton committee wouldn’t.

  “I’m so proud of you, M,” said her dad when it was over.

  “So proud,” echoed her mom. “Why don’t you go change, honey, and then add this to the collection?” She gestured to the trophy.

  Mikayla knew that was code for her parents needing to talk in private. Ever since her dad lost his job, they’d conversed in low, worried voices, and Mikayla could sometimes make out words like costs and rent and benefits.

  Mikayla took her trophy and went to her room, changing out of her leotard and into stretchy pants and an old T-shirt. She scrubbed the rest of the gold dust from her face and undid her bun, finger-combing her thick dark hair. She could hear her parents’ muffled voices in the kitchen.

  Out in the garden, Chow was barking at something. Probably a squirrel. Chow was obsessed with squirrels.

  With her trophy in hand, Mikayla slipped out of her room and padded downstairs to the basement.

  For as long as she could remember, the basement had been her space. She’d played dress-up down here, watched movies with friends, made forts, and pinned up art. That was back when dance was just one of a dozen hobbies. Before it became the center of her life.

  Three years ago, for her ninth birthday, the basement had been converted into a private dance studio, complete with a mirrored wall and a barre and shelf after shelf of trophies.

  There were a few silver and bronze, but the vast majority were gold.

  She set the newest trophy in one of the last open spots on the wall.

  There were no boxes here. Not yet.

  Next to the trophy shelves hung a wall calendar. On a date that looked dauntingly close, she’d written the word Drexton in red capital letters, a red circle drawn around it.

  Mikayla rubbed her eyes, exhausted. But she turned toward the mirror and stretched. She raised her arms and started to spin, just as she’d done in the middle of the routine. Only this time she managed one, two, three, four turns before coming back to a stop.

  She did it again.

  One, two, three, four.

  The shelves of golden trophies blurred as she kept her eyes on the mirror and spun, and spun, and spun, and stopped one turn shy, not because she’d messed up, but because something in the mirror had caught her eye. Well, not in the mirror, but in the window behind her. It wasn’t a true window, not the kind you open or climb through, just a strip of glass near the top of the wall that looked out onto the grass in front of the townhouse. But she thought, for a moment, that she’d seen someone’s face. Which was silly, because the face would have to be lying on the ground just to see her. Mikayla shook it off and lifted her arms again.

  “Mikayla!” called her mom from upstairs.

  She let her arms fall back to her sides. “Coming!” she called.

  She cast a last glance back at the window, but of course, there was no one there.

  “That was close,” whispered Aria to her shadow.

  She had, in fact, been crouching on the ground in front of Mikayla’s house, peering in through the tiny window into the basement below.

  Aria had made it to the Stevenses’ house before Mikayla (traveling by shadow was faster than traveling by car). She’d gone through the low gate and into the little back garden, but she’d been met with unexpected resistance in the form of a dog. The little barking creature had been able to sense her, even when she was invisible, so she’d come back out front. She’d let herself become visible again, and was about to wander away when she saw the light turn on in the basement window.

  She’d crouched down, and watched Mikayla spin and spin and spin — she felt dizzy just watching her — and hadn’t thought about the mirror or the fact that she was visible, not until it was too late.

  She pressed herself back against the bricks, invisible again, and waited for the basement light to turn off. Then she looked up at the townhouse and wondered which room was Mikayla’s, even though it didn’t matter; she couldn’t get inside, not without permission.

  Just then, the front door opened, but it wasn’t Mikayla; it was her father. He was carrying out the trash, but she could see past him into the townhouse and was surprised to see boxes stacked inside, as if they were getting ready to move. And then the dog — Chow, they’d called him — bounded out in the man’s wake, and headed straight for Aria. He barked and wagged his tail and prodded her invisible knees with his wet nose.

  “Good dog,” whispered Aria.

  “Chow!” snapped Mr. Stevens, dropping the trash in the can. He came over and picked up Chow, hauling the barking dog back inside and closing the door.

  Aria let out a breath of relief and became visible again, an instant before a boy on a bike pulled up to the townhouse next door. He hopped down, took off his backpack, and tugged off his helmet. He had shaggy brown hair and blue eyes, and was roughly the same age as Mikayla.

  He saw Aria standing there in front of Mikayla’s house, and paused.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hi,” said Aria.

  “You a friend of Mikayla’s?”

  Aria nodded. It was a small lie. And it wasn’t so much a lie as an out-of-order truth, since she intended to become friends with Mikayla.

  “I didn’t think she had time for friends anymore.” There was something in the way he said it. An edge, like hurt. “What with all the dancing.” Aria didn’t know what to say to that. “Sorry,” the boy added, shaking his head. “That was harsh. I just miss her.”

  Aria smiled kindly. “What’s your name?”

  “Alex,” he replied, locking his bike to the railing of the steps. “Well, tell her I said hi.” And with that, he went inside.

  Aria turned her attention back to Mikayla’s house. She couldn’t just stand around all night, waiting for morning or Mikayla. (Well, she could, but that didn’t seem like a good use of time.)

  So Aria started walking.

  It was a cold night, but Aria wanted to see as much as she could. The single featherless loop on her bracelet whispered against her skin, a reminder that this was her last task, that everything that starts must end. It wasn’t that she was afraid, exactly; she just didn’t want to waste any time sitting still.

  As she walked, she wondered about Mikayla Stevens — who she was, and why Aria had been sent to help her. She thought of the pieces of Mikayla she’d seen so far: the competition, the gold trophy — the wall of gold trophies — and her practiced smile. The moving boxes, and her father’s troubled eyes, and Alex’s comment on how she was never around. Aria wondered which thing was causing Mikayla’s blue smoke, or if somehow they all were.

  Whatever it was, Aria would find a way to help. She always did.

  Meanwhile, the streets had quieted around her, but they still felt alive. There was a pulse to this place, an energy the other places she’d visited hadn’t had. Aria liked it.

  She walked on, her legs burning pleasantly, following the clusters of light that marked large buildings. She crossed a big circle, edged around a park that was sprawling and dark, and passed a massive stone building.

  Then Aria looked up, and found herself standing in front of a large, curving gate. The gate was lovely, and covered in carved silver leaves, and bore the words BROOKLYN BOTANIC GARDEN.

  Aria didn’t know what botanic meant, but she knew what a garden was, and this one seemed impressive.

  When she looked through the gate, she could see paths and trees, flowers and grass that seemed to go on forever.

  The gate was locked, but not in the way that meant she had to be invited in. This place didn’t belong to just one person or family. When Aria brought her hand to the gate, something clicked inside, and it fell open beneath her touch, just far enough for her to slip through.

  Aria reached the edge of the entrance path, and her eyes widened.

  Fairy lights hovered on the path, illuminating the gardens wherever she went. Many of the flowers had retreated against the chi
ll, but as Aria walked past them, they blossomed again, pink and red and white and yellow.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” she said to her shadow, and though her shadow never spoke, its head seemed to bob in the flickering light.

  Everywhere she wandered, there was something new to see.

  A field with trees lined up in perfect rows.

  A lake with moonlight and lily pads floating on top.

  A building made entirely of glass.

  When she stepped inside the building, it was like walking into another world, the groomed gardens and cool fall air traded for a leafy green indoor jungle.

  She couldn’t think of a better place to spend the night.

  The city, thought Aria, as she slipped back through the gate again around dawn, is a magical place.

  Almost as magical as her.

  WINNERS NEVER QUIT. QUITTERS NEVER WIN.

  It was the first thing Mikayla saw when she opened her eyes each morning. The poster was taped to the back of her bedroom door, a pair of ballet shoes suspended beneath the words. It was one of Miss Annette’s favorite phrases. She was full of sayings.

  If it doesn’t hurt, you’re not trying hard enough.

  You’re only as good as your next dance.

  Only gold girls go to Drexton.

  Mikayla sat up, tired and sore. Her eyes traveled to the boxes in the corner of her room, then to the homework spread at the foot of her bed. She’d stayed up until midnight working on math problems but hadn’t finished. She knew she had to keep her grades up if she wanted to stay at Coleridge.

  Coleridge was the prestigious private school Mikayla had been going to since kindergarten. The prestigious private school her family couldn’t afford anymore.

  Mikayla had overheard her parents talking about it.

  (Mikayla overheard her parents talking about a lot of things.)

  Apparently Coleridge had agreed to give her a scholarship, so long as she kept her grades up. But it wouldn’t take effect until after Christmas. By then, it might be too late. The Drexton audition loomed in her mind, more important than ever.

  She got out of bed and went through her morning stretches, limbering her arms and legs, ankles and feet, working the stiffness out of her limbs. There was a floor-length mirror in her room, and she stood in front of it, assessing. Scrutinizing.

  “Mikayla!” her mom called up the stairs. “Bye, honey. I’m leaving for work now. Don’t be late to school!”

  “I won’t!” Mikayla called back. “Have a good day!” Her mom always left the house earlier than she did. There was a time when her parents would go to work together. Now, Mikayla knew, her dad was downstairs alone. At least he had an interview today.

  Quickly, she showered, dressed, and packed up her school stuff, along with her Filigree dance bag. She swung the bag over her shoulder and grabbed a granola bar on her way out. Coleridge was located in Manhattan, just off the 3 line. Mikayla took the subway to school — she’d just been allowed to start taking it by herself.

  “Good luck on the interview,” she told her dad as she tugged on her coat.

  “Thanks, hon,” he said, looking as tired as she felt. Please let him get this job, she thought as she walked outside.

  Next door, Alex was just swinging a leg over his bike.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey, she said.

  Then there was an awkward pause, where they both opened and then closed their mouths. And then it was over. He waved and she nodded and he went off on his bike and she went off on foot.

  Mikayla and Alex used to be inseparable, back when they were kids. She’d invite him over to build forts in the basement and he’d invite her over to play video games or go bike-riding in Prospect Park. And then at some point, Mikayla started saying no — for the same reason she said no to everything, because she had dance. And then, eventually, Alex stopped offering. They were still nice to each other, and she missed him, of course — sometimes on her way home from dance, she’d hear him laughing with friends in his backyard, or playing video games when the windows were open, and she wanted to join him — but dance came first. It had to. And besides, she told herself, they probably didn’t have anything in common anymore.

  She hurried down the steps into the subway station. The train was just pulling in, and she ran to catch it. It was already half-full, and she sank into a seat and pulled out the last of her math homework while the stops ticked past.

  About halfway to Coleridge, she finished her homework and glanced up. A girl her age was sitting beside her. She looked familiar.

  “Hi again,” said the girl with a smile.

  Mikayla frowned. At first, she couldn’t figure out where she’d seen her before. And then it clicked. It was the redhead from the competition the night before.

  “Hi,” said Mikayla. “You were at Regionals last night.”

  The girl nodded.

  “So you’re a dancer, too?”

  “I’m an Aria,” she said.

  “Like the music?”

  The girl smiled. “No. Like the person.”

  “Oh,” said Mikayla. “Well, hi again.”

  Aria swung her legs back and forth. She had on cute purple boots, Mikayla noticed. “Small world, huh?” she said.

  Mikayla nodded, even though it wasn’t really a small world. It was a big city, with millions of people. What were the odds that they’d bump into each other? “Where are you headed?” she asked.

  Aria’s gaze drifted down and landed on Mikayla’s bag. There was a Coleridge School button on it. Aria brightened and pointed at it. “There!”

  “No way,” said Mikayla.

  “It’s my first day,” said Aria, “so it’s nice to know I’ll know someone.”

  “Yeah,” said Mikayla. What was it about this girl? She was open and chatty in a way that was out of place in the city. Mikayla had been taught not to talk to strangers. Aria looked like she would probably talk to anyone. It wasn’t a bad thing. Just one more thing that made her stand out.

  “What is it?” asked Aria, feeling the weight of Mikayla’s gaze.

  “It’s just weird, crossing paths,” said Mikayla. “You’re not following me, are you?”

  It was a joke, but the girl’s eyes went wide and she looked nervous. “No … I mean, not really,” she said. “Must be a coincidence. The world is full of those, you know. Unless you believe that everything happens for a reason, and then I guess maybe we were supposed to cross paths. What do you think?”

  Mikayla shook her head, dazed. “I don’t believe in fate,” she said stiffly. “It just seems like an excuse for people who don’t want to take responsibility for things.” Her words came out harsher than she’d meant them, but it bothered Mikayla when people chalked things up to the universe. In dance, you were responsible for yourself. When you messed up, it wasn’t because it was supposed to happen, it was because you failed to get it right.

  “Well,” said Aria cheerfully. “One way or another, I’m glad our paths crossed.” She sounded like she meant it. Aria smiled, and it was crazy, but the train’s fluorescent lights seemed to get brighter at that moment. Then Aria leaned forward, as if she had a secret. “You know, you really are an amazing dancer.”

  Mikayla felt embarrassed. “I could be better.”

  “Well, I hope so,” said Aria, sitting back. “Wouldn’t it be boring if you were already the best you could be? There’d be nowhere for you to go!”

  Mikayla frowned. She’d never thought of it that way. But there was such a thing as best, especially when it came to competition. Mikayla turned to explain this to Aria, when she saw the girl gazing in awe at the subway map on the opposite wall. The train jerked forward and Aria swayed in her seat, crashing into Mikayla’s shoulder. She apologized with a laugh.

  “You’re not from New York, are you?” ventured Mikayla.

  Aria shook her head. “I just moved here.”

  “From where?”

  Aria thought for a moment and then said, �
�California.”

  “Wow, that’s a big change.”

  Aria beamed. “You have no idea.”

  Mikayla found herself returning the smile as she looked back at the subway map. She was so used to all the colorful lines and dots that she’d come to take it for granted. The train slowed, and she pushed to her feet, ready to elbow her way through the crowds. She glanced down at Aria.

  “Come on! This is our stop.”

  As they climbed the subway steps and emerged onto the street, Aria’s mouth fell open.

  The subway itself had been a new adventure — the not-terribly-pleasant smells on the platform, the passengers shoving and maneuvering around one another, the way the train snaked through the tunnels like a giant beast. But what waited for her on the other side was even more amazing. Brooklyn had been green and leafy and relatively quiet. This part of the city was stuffed full of dizzying skyscrapers, honking yellow cars, carts selling food, giant stores, and more people than Aria had ever seen. She looked around, mesmerized.

  “What is it?” asked Mikayla.

  Aria couldn’t stop gazing at the city.

  “It’s incredible,” she whispered.

  Mikayla looked around, as if trying to see the streets and the people the way Aria did, but Aria knew she couldn’t. To Aria, things were still strange and exciting. So many experiences were still foreign and new, which made the world a place of wonder and discovery. She wished more people could see life the way she did, could notice the things they’d gotten used to. She thought that if they could, it might make their lives a little more magical.

  “Are you coming?” asked Mikayla.

  Aria dragged her attention back to the girl and her blue smoke, and she nodded, determinedly.

  “Have you always lived in the city?” Aria asked as they hurried down a busy street. She noticed how briskly Mikayla — and everyone else here — walked.

  “Yeah,” said Mikayla. “What about you? Had you always lived in California?”

  Aria shook her head, thinking of the first place she’d visited, where she’d met Gabby. “No. I move around a lot.”