Page 14 of Wish Upon A Star

“Her address.”

I arch an eyebrow at her. “Then why argue with me?”

“It’s my job. What you’re doing is rash, reckless, and impulsive. It’s not the smart thing. But I know you well enough to know when you’ve got your mind made up on something. And my job is also to assist you, even when I don’t agree with what you’re doing, as long it’s not going to get you hurt or risk hurting someone else.” She pins me with a hard stare. “Speaking of which—don’t make promises to this girl that you can’t or won’t keep, Wes.”

“I legitimately don’t have a plan. I just need to go meet her. See her face-to-face.”

Not a lie, but it’s also not the whole truth.

I input the address into my phone’s navigation app—just outside Chicago. Apparently I’m in for a road trip.

I’m coming, Jolene Park. I hear you, and I’m on my way.

Saying Yes

Jolene

It’s eight in the morning. I’m not a morning person. I hate mornings. I hate waking up. I hate alarms. I hate feeling laggy and dumb and disoriented. I also don’t like coffee, which complicates things.

But I’m awake at 8:12 a.m., lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what in the name of sanity I was freakingthinking, post that stupid, crazy video to my TikTok. She made me that account when the app first came out, mainly to help pass the time during long chemo sessions and the even longer recovery periods, when I was capable of doing little more than scrolling—when even the swiping motion with one thumb caused pain throughout my whole body, when even blinking made me nauseous.

I became somewhat hooked.

Or, a lot hooked.

I like taking clips of myself playing my uke and singing cover songs. Not the whole thing, usually, just bits and pieces. I don’t have a lot of followers or views, but it’s fun.

Then, Bethany came over and I told her about my idea. I’d expected her to talk me out of it. Or maybe talk me down to something rational, like sending him a letter. But no. She went and enabled my crazy-ass idea.

I expected nothing from it.

A few views, some comments.

I wake up this morning after a couple days of being too sick to even look at my phone.

Finally feeling better, I check my phone…

Tenmillionviews.

Articles about my video on Buzzfeed, Variety, E!, People, Entertainment, and more.

Tweets.

DMs.

Encouraging and supportive posts from several A-list celebrities, as well as thousands of private citizens.

But…

Nothing from Westley. No indication that he’s even seen the video, despite its viral popularity.

Gah. What was I thinking?

So dumb. So desperate.

I have to do something besides lie here and stew about it, so I force myself out of bed. Change from my pajamas—a T-shirt and underwear—into a pair of tiny, loose, gray cotton shorts and a green tank top…not much better than pajamas, but who cares. Lurch into the kitchen and put on a kettle for tea—I’m an old lady, at heart. I like Irish Breakfast tea in the morning, with buttered toast and a fried egg.

Lame.