A Wishing Star
By Olivia Frost
Chapter 2: Lost
I turn off the lamp next to my bed
and set my storybook on the bedside table for the night. I must have read this
book a hundred times, but I still love it. The glorious moonlight shines into
my room, casting a silvery, eerie glow. A silhouette of the graceful arch of
the curtains and window creeps into my bed and covers me with its beauty. I
sigh with content.
Another day gone and tomorrow will be a wonderful new start, because
tomorrow is the beginning of summer holiday. I canít be more excited. Perhaps
my family will go to Sweden
this summer! We often summer in foreign countries and I wouldnít spend my
holidays any other way. I love going to faraway places and learning more about
them. I have helped excavate the ruins of Greece, climbed the steps of the
Eiffel Tower, swum in the Mediterranean, skied the
Alps, toured the Irish countryside, tossed a coin into the Trevi Fountain, and walked beside the Berlin Wall.
But itís not enough. I want the words the great philosophers of Greece
canít say. I want the building Alexandre-Gustave
Eiffel canít design. I want the wave the Mediterranean canít create. I want
the mountain the snow canít cover. I want the luscious, green field the Earth
doesnít possess. I want the wish no fountain can grant. I want the wall one
hundred million men canít break.
I want something nobody can give.
Well, all but one.
But how do I ask for the wisest saying, the grandest monument, the
largest wave, the whitest mountain, the greenest field, the most powerful
fountain, or the strongest wall if it doesnít exist?
How do I know what future has in store for me if it canít reply? How
do I know what life holds for me? How do I search for that saying or that wall?
How do I know what I want? How do I trust a stranger? Especially if they decide my whole being? How do I
know when Iíve found that person?
I want what a book Ė Britain
Ė Europe Ė Earth canít give or
I want to know acceptance. I want to know trust. I want to know
unconditional friendship. I want more than a mum and dad. I want to know love.
A pure unconditional love that is as strong as the bond between two
sisters; a love that is gained Ė not automatically
Tears well up in my eyes. I have to stop this nonsense! I
canít always dwell on a dream thatíll never come - Iím just being silly. Iím
acting just like those girls in my tales.
I feel too warm so I get out of bed and gently seize the old book on
my bedside table. I tiptoe to the window. And making sure Mum and Dad wonít
hear, I slowly open the window and crawl through with my book in my hand.
The small balcony outside my window is lovely, especially when I fancy
being alone with the warm wind fluttering past my body and weaving through my
hair. I breathe deeply, taking in all the warmth and scents of the summer
night. It smells like mumís tulips and begonias. I sit along
the iron railing and open my storybook.
It isnít fair. Why are the girls in these stories always so
beautiful? Why do they look so loved and happy? It should be against the law
for someone to be that perfect.
I feel the tears come again; they fall on the picture of Snow White
dancing with the dwarves. Oh, what I would give for that! If I could live like
that, for just one day, what would I do?
If I had a sister or just a best friend, we would talk all night. So much that our mums would scold us and send us to bed. We
would go to the park and sit in the sunshine. At breakfast, we would argue over
the last piece of toast. She would attack me and tickle me to death, and as
immature as it sounds, it would be wonderful. She would try to make me wear
make-up and girly clothes and I would, just to please her. We would read
stories of magnificent castles, dangerous sea storms, and beautiful princes and
princesses then imagine if we were there Ė creating the most outrageous
stories. The best part would be her Ė a friend.
I lightly graze my hand across the faces of the contented lovers as if
they will disappear from the page and I might never again gaze upon their
wonderful lines. I fear the stories and illustrations leaving not just the book,
but also my heart. That they will not be there and the stories and dreams I
grew up with will be gone. I donít want to lose the closest thing I have to
Stop it! Just stop it, Hermione Granger! Stop with these silly hopes.
How can I really believe that one day a messenger will come galloping in to
take me to a place where Iíll be loved? Nobody has ever really wanted to know
me, so how can I really believe that anyone would ever want to befriend me! Iím Hermione Granger! Iím
not at all gentle-hearted, I canít sing, Iím not gorgeous, and Iím not
sickeningly optimistic. Iím the strange bookworm nobody likes; the only friends
I have in the world are these books and my parents. I donít have anyone that
cares for me unconditionally. I donít have anyone I can confide in. I donít
want this any more - I donít want to be strange, I donít want to have a small
family. I donít want these childish dreams and aspirations - I want the real
thing! I want happiness and friendship.
I want my life to be a brilliant story. I want friends who will love
me because they choose to love me. I want people to see me for who I am, and
look past my shy exterior. I want it all so badly I could scream so the whole
world knows. I want to be accepted. Why canít I just be like the perfect girls in these AWFUL books?
Why am I the lonely one?
No, no, I canít do that. I canít keep going along wishing for
something that will never come! This is my life, so why canít I just admit it?
My head falls and I weep into my arms. Itís my own fault Iím so
lonely. If I were not bookish or bigheaded - if I was normal at all Iíd have friends! If I were a normal girl, I wouldnít do
strange things. If I was normal, I could settle for less than perfect. But Iím not a normal girl. I never have been and
I never will be.
My classmates think Iím strange. They donít like me. They think Iím a
snob because I never talk to them - Iím not like that! Iím just shy! If they
talk to me, Iíll talk back. But that is just wishful thinking; nobody ever
talks to me unless they need help with their homework.
My classmates use me. The only people whoíve ever been my ďfriendsĒ only wanted
to copy my homework. Nobodyís ever tried to be my friend because of me.
Me. Yes, me! Iím boring. Iím dull. Iím bossy. Iím a
know-it-all snob. Iím abnormal. Iím a freak.
I spend all my time reading. I always know the answers in class. I
always boss people around. I do strange things. Iíve made things float, Iíve
turned a boyís skin purple, Iíve made things explode and disappear! Iím a freak
and nobody wants anything to do with me. Why would they? Iíd probably blow them
The worst part is Iím better than
Or, at least, thatís how they think I act.
I flip to another part in my book. No matter what I do, I canít give
it up. My dreams are all I have.
I look down at the picture. The ugly duckling sits in the brush,
crying to himself. I always loved this story, because
this little duckling was always like me. Different from everyone else and broken
by the cruel world.
My eyes are hot again. But everything turned out all right for him. He
found his family and transformed into a beautiful creature. What
about me? Am I going to transform into something more? Or will I stay as
I am forever? Has Fate (not that I believe in such a thing) decided to shut
away my desire for happiness? Is this what I am? Lonely and
lost without a hope in the world? Or will I be a beautiful swan, worshiped
for my grace?
No. I must stop this! I wonít let ridiculous fairytale fantasies take over my life! I wonít let
it go on any longer! I hate it! I hate waiting for something that will never
come! Without my dreams, Iíll have contentment. Iíll have acceptance Ė the
thing Iíve longed so much for Ė within myself. I can love myself again and
appreciate everything I have.
I have a wonderful family. Weíre well off enough and we hardly ever
fight. I earn good marks, Iím smart, and Iíll do whatever I want when Iím an
adult. I have a nice house with nice things, and Iím certainly loved by my parents and I have them all
to myself! It could be so much worse - why expect more blessings when I already
have so many?
I gaze up at the sky and see a twinkling star, just like in the old
stories. Ridiculous stars with their mystic powers of hope and wish-granting - it is an awful lie and I vow to forget it. All of it. Every story, every
lesson, every wish, every picture, every word, every feeling Iíve ever had - I want
it all to leave. I want it to leave forever.
My eyes shut from fatigue and the last teardrop falls on the graceful
neck of the white swan. My desire for acceptance and friendship is gone forever.
My dreams will never come true.
I banish them from my mind, into a silly childhood
Thank you to all my reviewers for so much praise and amazing feedback,
you really are wonderful. I tried to make this chapter more Ė er,
intelligent sounding than the first because even at ten, Hermioneís an
The song that inspired this fic
is ďBe Like ThatĒ from 3 Doors Down. The tone of the song is more the first
chapter, but Hermione is very different from Ron, so I did different tones for
Thank you to my betas, Eleena
Thea, Liberty, and Gwynne. You all are so