The Seventh Wish by Kate Messner Read Free Book Online

onto the floor, and Denver scarfs it up—the canine vacuum cleaner. “The committee would have to be magic to have gone through all those applications and made a decision already.”
    I panic for a second when she says the word “magic.” Could she know about my fish somehow? But Mom doesn’t look up from the salad. “I’ll find out when I find out,” she says.
    I look at her phone and feel impatient it’s not ringing. My ice fear vanished the second I let the fish go. And eventhough he’s the wrong boy, Bobby O’Sullivan showed up pretty fast too. If nothing’s happening with Mom’s job yet, does that mean the fish-wish didn’t work this time? Or do some wishes take longer than others?
    â€œI’m thinking of a word,” Mom says.
    â€œPeppermint?” I guess.
    â€œNope. Diminutive,” Dad says.
    â€œYou’re both wrong. It was place setting.” She nods toward the cupboard. “Set the table, will you, Charlie?”
    â€œI win,” I say, pulling silverware from the drawer. “You need a place setting to serve Peppermint Patties.”
    â€œNot likely,” Dad says, throwing a piece of spaghetti against the cupboard to see if it’s done. It sticks. “But you could have a diminutive place setting for a mouse or other small rodent.”
    â€œA mouse eating a Peppermint Pattie.”
    â€œI declare a tie.” Mom hands Dad the colander and peels the spaghetti off the cupboard.
    â€œThat’s lame. And technically, place setting is two words anyway.” I check the refrigerator calendar on my way to the table. “Who’s taking me to Montreal for the feis at the end of the month?” I ask.
    â€œI am,” Mom says, handing me the salad dressing. “That’s the weekend Dad’s skiing with his old college roommate.”
    Mom’s phone rings then, and I try not to look too excited when she answers it. It’s not the job, though—just Abby.
    â€œBut I put money in your account last week,” Mom says, motioning for us to start eating. She listens, then sighs. “No, if the professor says you need the book, get it. We’ll take care of it. Okay . . . Love you. Bye.” She comes to the table shaking her head. “One chemistry textbook, two hundred dollars. Let’s hope that new job comes through.”

    It’s a week and a half before Mom’s phone rings with good news. She hangs up and dances around the kitchen with the pizza we brought home. “I got the job!”
    â€œCongratulations! When do you start?” Dad leans in to kiss her on the cheek.
    â€œMonday.” She turns to me. “Isn’t that great, Charlie?”
    â€œYeah! Congrats, Mom.” I high-five her, but now I can’t stop thinking about the fish. I was starting to wonder if it was out of magic when Mom’s phone call didn’t come right away.
    I haven’t caught the fish again since I wished for Mom’s nursing job, but I haven’t really tried either.
    Every time I walk by that shallow spot by the point, I think about it. But for now, I don’t need any more wishes. I’ve been out with Drew and Mrs. McNeill almost every day. We’ve been going out deeper and having plenty of luck with regular fish. Mrs. McNeill said one of my perchmight have a chance at the tournament prize, but when we took it in to be weighed, it was half a pound smaller than the current front-runner. We’ve been taking our fish to Billy’s every day, though, so my dress fund is up to forty-seven dollars on top of the three hundred Mom and Dad said they’d pay.
    â€œHey, Mom, do you think we could go up to Montreal early on the day of the feis? That way I’ll have plenty of time to choose my new solo dress before I dance.”
    â€œI don’t see why not,” she says, opening the pizza box and taking a piece of pepperoni.
    â€œCan we give