Free Wish by Barbara O'Connor

him anywhere nearby. Luckily, there were only two more weeks of school left and then I would have my days free to spend more time by the trap, but I was beginning to worry that Wishbone was never going to be mine. Maybe I was wasting my time even thinking about it.
    â€œI heard Wishbone barking last night,” Howard said one day while we sat on the old couch on his front porch eating Popsicles.
    â€œHow do you know it was him?” I asked, watching Cotton jumping onto a milk crate in the yard with orange Popsicle juice running down his chin and onto his bare stomach.
    â€œI just know,” Howard said.
    â€œWe’re never gonna catch him,” I said. “Gus was right. He likes being a stray.”
    â€œDon’t be a quitter,” Howard said.
    â€œI’m not a quitter.”
    â€œYes, you are.”
    I stamped my foot. “I am not!”
    Howard licked melted Popsicle off the side of his hand and said, “Pineapple.”
    I flopped back against the sofa and hurled my Popsicle stick out into the yard. That pineapple plan of his was starting to get on my nerves.
    â€œOh, good gravy, Charlie,” he said. “Don’t be a baby.”
    â€œI’m not a baby!” I hollered.
    Howard shrugged. “You sure are acting like one,” he said.
    Just then Mrs. Odom came out on the porch, wiping her hands on a dish towel. But my temper had a hold on me and I could not shake it. I also could not stop myself from yelling, “Well, at least I’m not a squirrel-eating hillbilly like you.”
    Then I stomped down the steps, marched across the yard, climbed on Lenny’s bike, and raced up the road toward Gus and Bertha’s. When I got there, I dropped the bike in the yard and headed for the house. But as I reached the front door, I heard something over by the trap. I turned to look and couldn’t believe my eyes. Wishbone was in there gobbling up meat loaf and french fries.
    I didn’t waste one more second. I raced across the yard and slammed the door of the trap shut with a bang. Wishbone let out a yelp and jumped clear up off the ground. Then he slinked back into the corner and hung his head, dragging his ears on the ground. He looked so scared it like to broke my heart.
    â€œHey, Wishbone,” I whispered.
    He pushed against that chicken wire so hard I was afraid he might bust right through it.
    â€œI got more meat loaf,” I said.
    He cocked his head.
    â€œWait right here,” I said. “I’ll be back.”
    I closed the latch on the door of the trap and hurried inside the house, calling for Bertha. We nearly collided when I darted into the kitchen.
    She clutched her heart and said, “Charlie! Lordy! You scared the dickens out of me.”
    â€œI got him!” I hollered. “I got Wishbone!”
    I yanked the refrigerator door open and took out a foil-wrapped slice of meat loaf and ran back out to the yard. Bertha ran after me, calling, “I knew it! I knew my meat loaf would do the trick.”
    When we got to the trap, Wishbone was digging at the ground beside the wire like he was trying to dig a hole clear through to China. Dirt and pebbles flew out behind him. When he saw us, he stopped and backed up into the far corner of the trap again.
    I unwrapped the foil. “I brought you more meat loaf,” I said.
    He let out a little whine, soft and pitiful. I could hear Bertha telling me to be careful and don’t stick my fingers through the chicken wire and stuff like that. But I kept my eyes on Wishbone and told him not to be scared. Then I stuck a piece of meat loaf through the wire near him and waited.
    His nose twitched as the meat loaf smell drifted his way. He stood up and sniffed some more.
    â€œCome on, Wishbone,” I said. “It’s for you.”
    He took one step forward, keeping his eyes on the meat loaf. He took another step and then another till he was right at my hand. Then he snatched that meat