Free The Seventh Wish by Kate Messner Page A

extra dress money, all on my own. And I need to go to my feis.
    I say the words before I can think any more. “Let Abby come home from college for the weekend.” And I drop the fish back in the water.

    I text Abby that night, but she doesn’t answer. That’s okay. She’ll call soon to let us know she’s coming home.
    All week, I wait.
    â€œHave you heard from Abby?” I ask Mom after school on Tuesday.
    â€œI left another message yesterday, but she hasn’t called back.”
    â€œAny word from Abby today?” I ask on Wednesday.
    â€œNot yet,” Mom says.
    My phone dings with a text right after I get in bed Wednesday night. I jump up to answer, but it’s not Abby.
    Hi, Charlie! It’s Bobby! Hope it’s okay I got your number from Catherine! I just wanted to say hi!!! <3 <3 <3
    I stare at Bobby’s words and his less-than-three hearts and his exclamation points.
    Wishes are pretty overrated sometimes. I turn off my phone and get back into bed.

    By Thursday, I’m starting to think I used up all the magic on my other wishes and the feis just isn’t going to happen.
    The school day crawls by. The only highlight is when Catherine and three other people show up for science covered in flour. But she has Meredith with her, and Meredith looks fine. “Whose kid busted open?” I ask.
    â€œRoberto Sullivan’s,” she says, brushing flour off her jeans. “It was awful. He left it in the gym locker room, and some of the other guys took it and started shooting baskets with it. Somebody missed a rebound, and it exploded in a giant cloud of flour-baby.”
    When I see Roberto in the hall after science, he’s covered in flour too. I say hi. He ignores me. And reminds me again that magic doesn’t always work.
    By dinnertime, I’ve given up on my Abby-home wish. I’m pushing flakes of salmon around my plate, trying to figure out what I’m going to say to Dasha, when Dad’s cell phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket, frowns at the display, and looks at Mom. “I better take this.” He stands up. “Hello?”
    â€œIs it Abby?” Mom mouths at him, but Dad shakes his head. He listens to whoever’s on the phone for a long time, then asks, “What do you recommend?”
    Mom stares at him, as if by looking hard enough she’ll be able to hear the conversation.
    Denver nudges my ankle under the table, so I slip him a piece of broccoli. This conversation is going on a long time.
    Finally, Dad takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Okay. We’ll be there to pick her up tomorrow.”
    My heart jumps at those words—Abby’s coming home!
    But then Dad sits down and sighs. “That was the student health center on campus. They’re keeping Abby overnight and say she needs to have some tests done.”
    â€œIs she having stomach troubles again?” Mom asks, and Dad nods. “Worse than usual?”
    â€œApparently. She hasn’t been able to eat or drink much.” Dad looks up at the microwave clock. “I’m going to see if Dr. Porter is on call tonight. It would be great if he could meet us at the hospital tomorrow. And then I better call Tom and tell him I’m not going to make it skiing.”
    â€œNo, you should go,” Mom says, but she sounds stressed out. “I can miss the conference. I’m not going to travel with Abby sick.”
    Dad shakes his head. “She’s been through this before, and she’ll be fine. You just started this job. Tom won’tmind. He takes solo ski trips all the time. And I’m already off work. I’ll take care of it.”
    He takes his phone into his office while Mom and I clear the table.
    I can hear him in there, canceling his flight, then explaining to his college friend why he can’t go skiing after all. Bits of conversation drift over the water running in the kitchen. “I need to be