Page 11 of What You Wish For

Plus, yes, also: I was afraid of his mother.

It’s true in a school that even the kids who need help don’t always get it—so a kid whodoesn’tneed help? He’s gonna be on his own.

At least, until now. Clay was going to need some love this year, and it would be right here waiting for him in the library, if he needed it.

I don’t know how long we’d been gone—an hour, maybe—when Alice came running into the library, breathless, her face worried. She had on a black skirt and a black blouse—one of the only times I’d seen her not in jeans—and she almost didn’t look like herself.

“Oh, my God,” she said, when she found us, bending over to breathe for a second before grabbing Clay by the shoulders and steering him out. “They’re looking for him everywhere! Tina Buckley is freaking out.”

Oh. Oops. Guess we’d lost track of time.

“Found him!” Alice shouted as we strode back into the courtyard, shaking Clay’s shoulders for proof. “Got him! He’s right here!”

Tina plowed through the crowd to seize him in her arms.

“I’m sorry,” I said, catching Babette’s eye as I arrived behind them. “We went to the library.”

Babette waved me off, but that’s when Tina stood up and glared at me. “Really?” she said, all bitter.

I lifted my shoulders. “We were just looking through Clay’s favorite book.”

“You couldn’t—I don’t know—mention that to anyone?”

“Everybody seemed pretty busy.”

“Clay’s father was watching him.”

Um. Sorry, lady. His father wasnotwatching him. His father was taking business calls on his cell phone. At a funeral.“I’m sorry,” I said again.

“You bet you are.”

“I just wanted… to help.”

“Well, you can’t help. But here’s one thing you can do. You can leave my family alone.”

Leave them alone?

What did that even mean? I lived with Babette. Clay was about to be in my third-grade library class. “How would that even work, Tina? I live on your mother’s property.”

“Maybe you should find somewhere else to live.”

But whatever this weirdness was with Tina, it had gone on too long. “No,” I said.

She frowned. “No?”

“No. That’s ridiculous. I’m not doing that. I love my carriage house—”

“Garage apartment,” she corrected.

“And I’m not leaving. Why would you even want me to? Would you really rather your mom be all alone in that big house than have me nearby?”

We both looked over at Babette, who was back in her greeting line, now with her arm around Clay, who was watching us with his big eyes.

“She wouldn’t be all alone,” Tina said.

“Who would be with her?” I demanded. “You?”

Across the courtyard, Kent Buckley was back on another call.

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