Read Online The Wish Stealers by Tracy Trivas - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tracy Trivas
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entire way there.
“Griff, who cares? Who’d want to go to their stupid party anyway?” said Libby.
“It’s not that. It’s the way Samantha tries to make people feel bad and rubs it in their faces about her party.”
“Did you see Samantha’s skin, Griff? It’s really looking lizardlike. I think her friends are afraid to tell her, but it’s getting worse.”
“Really?” Griffin smiled. Then she gulped. The witches’ chant rang in her head, In the cauldron boil and bake … Lizard’s leg and owlet’s wing … She wondered, Did I cast a wish of powerful trouble?
That wish had been an accident. But what had she wished now—that Samantha’s party would be a total bomb? What did that even mean? Griffin felt sick to her stomach.
Libby pressed the doorbell. Classical music trilled. Libby smiled. “I even love your grandma’s doorbell!”
“Yeah,” said Griffin, still in a terrible mood, though she knew it was hard to stay angry when at her grandma’s house. Crystal candy jars jammed with jelly beans rested on tables for visitors. Fresh flowers, including blooming orchids, stretched in every room in every color all year round. Grandma called her flowers “A sunrise in a vase!” It was impossible to sit in a chair without sinking into feather cushions. On the couch Grandma’s needlepoint pillows were handcrafted with quotes from her favorite artists, like Matisse: “There are always flowers for those who want to see them.”
Grandma Penshine, neat and trim in her gray slacks, black ballet flat shoes, and a hand-knit shawl, greeted them at the door. “If it isn’t two of my favorite people in the whole world!” Her soft white hair framed her still-pretty face, and her warm brown eyes twinkled like a mischievous teenager’s. Besides laugh lines, she had very few wrinkles. At eighty-five years old, Grandma Penshine looked like most sixty-five-year-olds.
“Hi, Grandma,” said Griffin.
“Hi, GP,” said Libby, calling Grandma Penshine by her nickname.
Grandma Penshine moved to hug them. “You two seem upset. What’s the matter? Did something happen?”
“Nothing, Grandma,” said Griffin, still furious, clutching the triste bleu paint.
“We only got one tube of paint,” said Libby sadly.
“That’s okay. I just thought you two might want a dab of a new special color.”
“I wished Samantha’s birthday would be a total disaster!” said Griffin.
“Griffin, what’s the matter?” asked her grandma.
“The most awful girl in the entire school bought all the paint in the store just as Libby and I were picking ours out.”
“How insensitive of her,” said Grandma Penshine.
“I wished horrible things on her,” said Griffin.
“That’s not right either, Griff,” she said. “Don’t stoop to her level. You’re better than that.”
“I don’t care,” said Griffin, with an odd feeling in her stomach. “I hate her,” she said, and her eyes glowed yellow.
“Griffin! Your eyes!” said Libby.
“They look a bit yellow,” said her grandma.
Griffin ran into the bathroom and stared in the mirror. A yellowish glint reflected in her eyes. Slowly she walked back to Libby and her grandma. “I think I’m tired.”
“Libby, why don’t you start practicing before our lesson?Your easels are set up on the back porch. It’s such a lovely day! Griffin, can you please help me reach some paintbrushes in my guest room closet?”
“Okay,” said Griffin, following her grandma down the hall.
“Griffin, whenever I’ve seen yellow eyes before it’s because a person wasn’t eating enough fruit or getting enough sweetness in life. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” said Griffin. She and her grandma stared at each other. Then Griffin asked, “Have you ever wished horrible things on people?”
“Well,” she started, and then paused. “I can’t say that I haven’t wanted to when I got boiling mad, but no, I never did. Wishing horrible things, doing horrible things, saying
“Griff, who cares? Who’d want to go to their stupid party anyway?” said Libby.
“It’s not that. It’s the way Samantha tries to make people feel bad and rubs it in their faces about her party.”
“Did you see Samantha’s skin, Griff? It’s really looking lizardlike. I think her friends are afraid to tell her, but it’s getting worse.”
“Really?” Griffin smiled. Then she gulped. The witches’ chant rang in her head, In the cauldron boil and bake … Lizard’s leg and owlet’s wing … She wondered, Did I cast a wish of powerful trouble?
That wish had been an accident. But what had she wished now—that Samantha’s party would be a total bomb? What did that even mean? Griffin felt sick to her stomach.
Libby pressed the doorbell. Classical music trilled. Libby smiled. “I even love your grandma’s doorbell!”
“Yeah,” said Griffin, still in a terrible mood, though she knew it was hard to stay angry when at her grandma’s house. Crystal candy jars jammed with jelly beans rested on tables for visitors. Fresh flowers, including blooming orchids, stretched in every room in every color all year round. Grandma called her flowers “A sunrise in a vase!” It was impossible to sit in a chair without sinking into feather cushions. On the couch Grandma’s needlepoint pillows were handcrafted with quotes from her favorite artists, like Matisse: “There are always flowers for those who want to see them.”
Grandma Penshine, neat and trim in her gray slacks, black ballet flat shoes, and a hand-knit shawl, greeted them at the door. “If it isn’t two of my favorite people in the whole world!” Her soft white hair framed her still-pretty face, and her warm brown eyes twinkled like a mischievous teenager’s. Besides laugh lines, she had very few wrinkles. At eighty-five years old, Grandma Penshine looked like most sixty-five-year-olds.
“Hi, Grandma,” said Griffin.
“Hi, GP,” said Libby, calling Grandma Penshine by her nickname.
Grandma Penshine moved to hug them. “You two seem upset. What’s the matter? Did something happen?”
“Nothing, Grandma,” said Griffin, still furious, clutching the triste bleu paint.
“We only got one tube of paint,” said Libby sadly.
“That’s okay. I just thought you two might want a dab of a new special color.”
“I wished Samantha’s birthday would be a total disaster!” said Griffin.
“Griffin, what’s the matter?” asked her grandma.
“The most awful girl in the entire school bought all the paint in the store just as Libby and I were picking ours out.”
“How insensitive of her,” said Grandma Penshine.
“I wished horrible things on her,” said Griffin.
“That’s not right either, Griff,” she said. “Don’t stoop to her level. You’re better than that.”
“I don’t care,” said Griffin, with an odd feeling in her stomach. “I hate her,” she said, and her eyes glowed yellow.
“Griffin! Your eyes!” said Libby.
“They look a bit yellow,” said her grandma.
Griffin ran into the bathroom and stared in the mirror. A yellowish glint reflected in her eyes. Slowly she walked back to Libby and her grandma. “I think I’m tired.”
“Libby, why don’t you start practicing before our lesson?Your easels are set up on the back porch. It’s such a lovely day! Griffin, can you please help me reach some paintbrushes in my guest room closet?”
“Okay,” said Griffin, following her grandma down the hall.
“Griffin, whenever I’ve seen yellow eyes before it’s because a person wasn’t eating enough fruit or getting enough sweetness in life. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” said Griffin. She and her grandma stared at each other. Then Griffin asked, “Have you ever wished horrible things on people?”
“Well,” she started, and then paused. “I can’t say that I haven’t wanted to when I got boiling mad, but no, I never did. Wishing horrible things, doing horrible things, saying
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