Wishing Day Read Online Free PDF

hate that word.”
    â€œAttractive, then. And he’ll put his hand over his heart and say, ‘Why Natasha, I am honored. You’requite the vixen yourself!’”
    Benton and Stanley glanced over at them. So did Mr. Wernsing, the librarian.
    â€œGirls, bring it down a notch,” he said, peering over the top of his glasses.
    â€œYeah, Natasha,” Molly scolded. “Bring it down a notch. Sheesh!” To Mr. Wernsing, she said, “Sorry about that. That naughty Natasha is so naughty , isn’t she?”
    â€œOr perhaps it’s the company she keeps?” he said.
    â€œNope,” Molly said. “It’s one hundred percent Natasha. She forgot to take her meds this morning.”
    Then her expression changed. She clutched Natasha’s forearm and dropped her voice to an urgent whisper. “Omigosh, Natasha! Benton’s looking at you! He’s really and truly looking at you!” Her eyes widened. “Whoa. Was he one of your wishes? Did you wish for Benton to like you? ”
    Time to be quiet now , Natasha silently and desperately told Molly . Be quiet, please. Be quiet!
    Benton and Stanley stood and gathered their stuff.
    â€œBye, boys!” Molly said. “Happy Valentine’s Day!” She rattled Natasha’s chair. “Don’t you want to say ‘Happy Valentine’s Day,’ Natasha?”
    What Natasha wanted was to be transported intoanother dimension. That didn’t happen, so she fixed her eyes on the bulletin board by Mr. Wernsing’s desk and tried to look absorbed by the flyers thumbtacked onto it.
    â€œMolly, you’re weird,” Benton said. “Your friend’s weird, Natasha. Did you know that?”
    Molly elbowed her, and Natasha startled, pretending to come out of a trance. “Huh? What?”
    â€œOh, for the love of cheese,” Molly said.
    Benton grinned. “Adios, ladies. Catch ya on the flip side.”
    â€œSee you,” Stanley said, lifting his hand.
    â€œSee you,” Natasha said faintly.
    As soon as they were gone, Molly squealed. “Benton smiled at you! First he looked at you, then he smiled at you. Did you see?”
    â€œNo,” Natasha said. “I was very busy looking at the Spring Festival poster.”
    â€œOh, for heaven’s sake. You were not.”
    â€œI was,” Natasha said doggedly. “I was looking at it this whole entire time.”
    Molly put her hand over Natasha’s eyes. “All right, what color is the poster? How many daisies? And is there going to be a maze this year or not?”
    â€œYellow, lots, and . . .”
    â€œMaze or no maze? One-word answer, babe. Easy-peasy.”
    Ugh . Natasha tried to peek at the poster, but Molly didn’t let her.
    â€œI’m waiting,” she singsonged.
    Natasha concentrated. The poster had been thumbtacked to the wall since the first day of the new semester, so the yellow background and the explosion of daisies were easy to recall.
    But the maze depended on grumpy Mr. Bakkus. How was she supposed to predict what he would do?
    All winter long, Mr. Bakkus shaped bricks out of snow and stacked them in an insulated storage shed behind his house. Some years Mr. Bakkus hauled the bricks to City Park and constructed an elaborate maze as his contribution to the town’s annual festival. Other years, he didn’t. Nobody knew why, although some suggested it was a Groundhog Day sort of thing. If Mr. Bakkus erected his maze, spring would come early to Willow Hill. If he didn’t, it could be May before the weather was reliably warm.
    The actual festival was in March, and March, in Willow Hill, was invariably chilly.
    â€œWhich means they should call it the Winter Festival, not the Spring Festival,” Darya grouched everyyear. Darya liked things to be black and white. “If it’s a spring festival, it should be springy outside.”
    â€œBut isn’t it nice to dream about