The Wish List by Eoin Colfer

again. Even if only for a minute. And if you do change your mind . . .” She pressed a card into his palm.
    Lowrie hugged her close, her familiar perfume filling his head. “Good-bye, Sissy.”
    Her tears were wet against his cheek. “Good-bye, old friend, and thanks for the ratings.”
    Lowrie strolled out through the gate. Dessie was making a daisy chain on the lawn.
    Lowrie paused, there was one more thing. “Sissy,” he called.
    She turned, squinting, the sun in her eyes. “Yes?”
    â€œThat night . . .” stammered Lowrie, “after the movies, when I didn’t kiss you. Do you ever wonder . . . ?”
    Cicely smiled through her tears. “Every day and night, Lowrie McCall, every day and night.”

THEY TOOK THE LATE BUS NORTH. LUCKILY, THE UPSTAIRS was deserted.
    â€œYou didn’t see a thing?” said Meg incredulously.
    Lowrie scratched his chin. “Nope.”
    â€œBut there was Belch, only he was half dog. And this little floating fellow with zoomy eyes, and then a huge explosion of white light that blew the two of them away but didn’t hurt me a bit.”
    â€œNo. Didn’t notice any of that.”
    Meg scowled. “Too busy with your girlfriend.”
    Lowrie leaned back on the seat smiling. “Say whatever you like, spooky. Nothing can put me in a bad mood today.”
    â€œIt’s disgusting. All you old people running around kissing each other. Have you no dignity?”
    â€œYou wouldn’t be jealous, by any chance?”
    â€œJealous? Of what? Kissing a granny?”
    Lowrie sat up. “No. Jealous of . . . I dunno . . . Life? Being happy?”
    Meg stared out the bus window, watching the city streets flash past. “What sort of question is that to ask a fourteen-year-old? I don’t think about that sort of thing. Just music and candy.”
    â€œHrmmph,” grunted Lowrie doubtfully.
    â€œHrmmph yourself. I think I preferred you when you were a moody old jerk.”
    Lowrie refused to be goaded. “Would you tell me something, Meg?”
    â€œI might.”
    â€œWhat did he do to you?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œYou know who. Franco. What did he do, to make you do what you did?”
    â€œIs that a tongue twister?”
    â€œSeriously.”
    â€œSeriously, it’s none of your business.”
    Lowrie nodded. “Fair enough. I thought we were becoming friends.”
    Meg wagged a finger. “I know what you’re doing. It’s that guilt thing. My mam was always trying that on me. Well, it won’t work. I don’t want to talk about it.”
    Lowrie relented. “Okay, partner. Some other time.”
    I doubt it, said Meg’s face. Rather than argue, she changed the subject.
    â€œWhat’s number two?”
    Lowrie blinked. “Excuse me?”
    â€œNumber two on the wish list.”
    â€œOh. Right. I suppose you might have heard of Croke Park?”
    â€œThat old place? Where they play hurling and Gaelic football?”
    â€œThe very place. The greatest, most famous stadium in the country. A place full of history—”
    â€œOkay, I get the message. What about it?”
    â€œI want to kick a football over the bar in Croke Park.”
    Meg wasn’t the least bit surprised. “Of course. Why not? Are you sure you wouldn’t fancy a spot of pole vaulting too?”
    â€œPositive, thanks, even though I know you’re just being sarcastic.”
    â€œI suppose there’s a story behind this?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œI suppose it’s long and boring too, just like the last one?”
    Lowrie grimaced. “Afraid so.”
    â€œLet’s hear it, then,” sighed Meg, settling into the bus seat—not too far in, though.
    Lowrie smiled. “If you insist.” He pulled the inevitable cigar from somewhere and wedged it between his back teeth. No lighting it, though. Public transport.
    â€œJust after the