Free Wish Girl by Nikki Loftin Page B

in slowly. “One wish per customer. Mom’s bankrolling this one. Which was nice, I guess. I only wish . . . ”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWell, this was supposed to be art camp.” She laughed. “To be honest, we didn’t have a lot of time to research it. The doctors were mad my mom let me come at all. We thought I’d be painting, sculpting . . . ”
    â€œYou won’t be doing that stuff later in the week?” I had been hoping for her sake it was going to build up to something cool.
    â€œSure, sculpting with Play-Doh.” Annie sighed. “I want to go back to the valley.” She arched one eyebrow. “Want to run away with me? I’ve got a sleeping bag and a canteen. All I need are some granola bars and I’m fine for at least a week.”
    â€œA week? We’d need more than granola bars and a sleeping bag.” I thought back to a list I’d made the year before. It had been pretty long. “We’d also have to have a backpack, a knife maybe, some water purification tablets—”
    â€œA fishing hook?”
    â€œYou going to gut your own fish?” I asked. “I’m not gonna gut yours
and
mine.”
    Annie made a face. “Ew. No. So we’re back to granola bars then. Or staying here.” As she glared at the cabins behind us, I saw something in her eyes—hopelessness? I’d felt that way before. Trapped.
    Back then I’d tried to find a way out. But when I’d finally started writing my plan of how to get away, even if I hadn’t meant to go through with it . . . it had all gone wrong. Now I was every bit as trapped as Annie. At least I didn’t have to do string art.
    â€œLooks like we’re stuck here,” I said, pushing her slightly toward the water. “Let me know when you’re willing to gut a fish, and I’ll help you make a break for it.”
    â€œPromise?”
    It was weird. I knew we were only kidding, but she sounded like she meant it. She must really hate camp. “Sure,” I said. “Just say the word.”
    â€œWhat word?
Lachrymose?
”
    â€œNo. Fish guts.”
    She laughed and didn’t even tease me about it being two words. A small perch was nibbling at her flower, but she pulled it up before it could bite. “So no running away . . . yet,” she said. “But, Peter, I’ve been thinking. I want to go back to the valley and make some real art. I could turn that whole place into an exhibit—sketch it and even photograph it. I brought a camera.” Annie paused. “We could do it together.”
    I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t really want to spend my whole summer hanging out with her, but I did sort of owe her an apology . . . and making
real
art, whatever that was, sounded fun.
    â€œCan you sneak out?” I asked softly. I had seen the counselor come out of the barn. She was searching for us.
    Annie got a look of wicked determination. “I will. Tomorrow, or maybe the day after. Wait for me at . . . Evanescent Pond?”
    â€œNah,” I said. “Serendipity Pool sounds better.”
    â€œEverybody’s a critic,” Annie shot back. Then “Coming!” she yelled to the counselor, who was calling in earnest now. She turned to me. “Swimming is in the afternoons, and I’ll ‘fail’ the swim test today. I’ll play the poor-little-sick-girl routine, get them to let me nap instead.”
    â€œNap?”
    She shrugged. “I have my own cabin, at least. Mom insisted. Nobody will know if I’m gone. I’ll tell them my headache meds make me sleep for hours. Look for me around two, okay?”
    I wasn’t going to tell her I was grounded. If she was going to have to trick an entire camp full of people to sneak out, I could figure out how to get around my dad.
    â€œI’ll be there,” I said. “But