The Wish by Gail Carson Levine Page B

time.”
    â€œThey do? Who?”
    â€œThe graduation committee. Ms. Hannah’s on it.”
    â€œIsn’t that unconstitutional?”
    â€œI don’t know, but they do it. So I guess I better say that graduation is a turning point, something about remembering these years for the rest of my life. Junk like that.”
    â€œHey . . .” I was getting an idea. “Do you give your speech before or after we get our diplomas?”
    â€œRight before. I speak and then we get them.”
    â€œListen. Could you put something in your speech like . . .” I thought for a few seconds. “Like ‘Although we’re graduating today, we’ll always be Claverfordians.’ Um . . . ‘Body and soul’ maybe. ‘Forever’ maybe.”
    â€œI guess so.” She closed her eyes. “‘Claverford has marked us. We are hers forever.’”
    â€œThat’s too . . . poetic. Could you say this exactly: ‘Though we get our diplomas today, we will always be Claverfordians’?”
    â€œIt’s important?”
    I nodded. Maybe I could fool the spell into thinking I would be at Claverford forever and everybody else would be too.
    â€œâ€˜Though we receive our diplomas today, we will always be Claverfordians.’ Is that it?”
    â€œPerfect.” But would it work?

Chapter Twenty
    O ne more week.
    Nothing much happened during finals week except finals. Occasionally somebody mentioned Grad Night, but then the conversation always went back to tests and flunking tests and parents going crazy.
    I studied and worried about the end of the spell and looked forward to Grad Night all at the same time. I could concentrate on math and wonder about the solution to my life—my future after graduation. I sent mental petitions to the old lady. See how hard I’m studying? Don’t I deserve to stay popular?
    I was nice to Maud. I went to the store for Mom. See? I do good turns for lots of people. Can’t I keep my wish? Please.
    In language arts on Wednesday, I told Jared about meeting at Ardis’s to go to Grad Night.
    He said, “Okay, but I don’t like Carlos.”
    â€œMe neither.”
    There were no classes on Friday, only a few leftover exams. My last test ended at noon. Afterward, I cleaned out my locker. I imagined leaving Jared’s caricature behind to stun and terrify some new sixth grader, but in the end I took it.
    The halls were empty. I walked all over the school. I was probably the only kid in world history who didn’t want to graduate.
    Â 
    Ardis had told us to come to her house at four thirty to get ready. The boys were coming at six, and Ardis’s mother was going to give us dinner before we left at seven.
    A pile of shoes sat on newspapers outside the door of Ardis’s apartment. I rang the bell, and Ardis and Nina opened the door while I was untying my sneakers.
    â€œHi. Come on in,” Ardis said.
    â€œAny dust or grime on your body?” Nina said. “The disinfecting room is to your left.”
    It was like being in a department-store showroom. I smelled furniture polish, and everything was so clean, it almost sparkled, the way bathrooms do in TV commercials.
    BeeBee was waiting for us in Ardis’s bedroom. Ardis lived in it, I guess, but it was not a kid’s room. She slept in a four-poster bed with a canopy. Her desk and dresser were made of reddish wood with shiny brass handles and tapering legs. On the walls were framed oil paintings of landscapes and ocean scenes.
    â€œSomeday I’m going to sleep on a normal bed,” Ardis said, “and have furniture that was built after Mesopotamia.” She giggled. “Whenever that was.”
    â€œCan I see your dress?” BeeBee asked me. She was sitting at Ardis’s dressing table, wearing a slip, a towel draped around her shoulders.
    I took the dress out of its garment bag.
    â€œCool,” Nina