Wishful Thinking Read Online Free PDF

back of the line, behind two older men in paint-stained T-shirts and black rubber boots. One of them was reading a newspaper. Hazel peeked over his shoulder to see the masthead at the top.
    It was the Boston Globe.
    The line inched farther down the stairs and Hazel stepped aside, slumping on the top step with her back to the wall. She stared blankly ahead at the squares of chipped white paint on the wall. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
    I must be dreaming, Hazel thought, and closed her eyes. This has to be some kind of nightmare, the kind where you realize you’re dreaming but still can’t wake up.
    Wake up, Hazel silently implored. Wake up, wake up, wake up.
    She squeezed one eye open, her stomach flip-flopping at the sight of the unmoved wall. She scooped her bag into her lap, wincing as it landed with a graceless thud. Had it always been this heavy?
    Hazel reached inside the tote, automatically feeling around for her camera. Her hand quickly cupped the square lens and she breathed a sigh of relief. Next to the camera was the plastic garment bag from Posey’s shop. She remembered crumpling it up and stuffing it inside in the Ferry Building bathroom the night before. Only now, the bag didn’t feel crumpled.
    Or empty.
    Hazel pulled the bag free from her tote and laid it out across her lap. She tugged down the zipper and a handwritten note fluttered out. It was stapled twice to the back of a business card, identical to the one Hazel had found on thethrift store dress. MARIPOSA OF THE MISSION . She freed the note from the card and unfolded it.
    Dear Hazel,
    As you’ve probably figured out, the dress I gave you was not the dress you brought to me. It was a dress made especially with you in mind, and it had the power to grant you one wish.
    Which, if you’re reading this, you’ve already made.
    In this bag you will find two other dresses, each with the same wish-granting power.
    Here are the rules:
    No talking about wishes. (This is for your own good. Nothing says “crazy” like a girl who thinks she wears magical clothing.)
    One dress, one wish. (And once you’ve already wished on a dress, it’s just a dress.)
    No repeat wishes.
(Bo-ring.)
    No wishing on behalf of the universe. (I’d like to feed the hungry, too, but it’s not that kind of magic.)
    No wishing for more wishes.
(Duh.)
    Finally, these wishes have been given to you because you deserve them. So wish carefully and wish from your heart. Those are the only wishes that count.
    Best wishes!
    (Sorry … had to.)
    Posey
    Hazel looked down at the note in her hands, which had started to tremble. A wish?
What wish?
    The note fell to the step below hers, and as she bent to pick it up, she noticed a small, golden graphic on the other side.
    It was the same butterfly she’d seen the night before, flying out of her dress and into the night sky. The butterfly she’d thought she’d imagined.
    Hazel closed her eyes again and leaned her head back against the stairwell, forcing herself to return to that moment in the dark. She’d been thinking about Rosanna. She’d said some words out loud. But what had she …
    Suddenly, Hazel bolted to her feet, nearly knocking into the man with the newspaper.
    I wish I had gotten to know her first.
    Rosanna. She’d wished she’d gotten to know Rosanna. Could that have something to do with why she had woken up on a boat she’d never seen before, three thousand miles from home?
    It didn’t make any sense. Rosanna was dead. How would sending Hazel to Martha’s Vineyard bring her mother back?
    Loud, mechanical noises came from below, and Hazel lurched forward as the boat scuttled against the dock. At the bottom of the staircase, the heavy metal door creaked open and a square of bright morning sun filtered through. A bearded man in a vest stood off to the side, ushering the eager crowd out onto the rickety wooden plank. The line shifted and Hazel took the stairs carefully. Just as she reached the lower deck, the man in