1st 5 Pages August Workshop - Catalano Rev 1

Name: Pete Catalano
Genre: Middle Grade Magical Realism
Title: UNLIMITED WISHES


My head snapped back.

Hit squarely from behind, with no warning or consideration to how I struggled to carry the over-sized box I salvaged from the computer lab’s Annual Spring Cleaning, I fell to my knees.

I watched helplessly as the spare parts flew through the air. In the second it took to hit the ground, all the painstaking work I had done sorting the smaller parts into glass jars was lost. They burst into thousands of razor-sharp shards upon impact and scattered across the sidewalk. I froze, waiting for the tinkling sound of broken glass to stop before I dared move again.

“Hey Price, where’s my laptop?” a voice demanded as I kept my head down.

“It’ll be done tomorrow,” I said, touching my bruises lightly. “I promised you it would be ready on Wednesday.”

“Today’s not Wednesday?” the voice asked.

“Nope,” I said, making sure nothing but the jars were broken, “it’s still Tuesday. Just like it was earlier at school when you demanded it then.”

“Well.” He looked confused. As if he were searching for something else to say other than the usual grunt. “I’ll be back.”

“Looking forward to it.” I smiled and half-waved as he stomped away. “Oh yeah,” I thought, gathering up my things. “Another satisfied customer.”

I found my niche and guaranteed my safety through my ability to fix anything with a motherboard. Unless you have a miracle or a magic wand, those two things are an essential combination to survive any given day in middle school.


Getting home with as many good parts as I was able to manage, I plopped down on a chair in the kitchen and spent a moment carefully pulling tiny shards of glass out of my clothes as my little brother, Max, came stumbling into the room. He was five and just about at that age where it seemed as if everything he did was in an effort to destroy me and everything I loved.

Odin, our one-hundred-and-forty pound sheepdog, followed Max closely. I was never quite sure if Odin was protecting Max from the terrors of the world or protecting the world from the terror we called Max.

“What have you been doing today?” I asked him, not really caring what his answer was, but just chattering as I got up and looked for something to eat . . . and something to do.

“Playing . . . ” Max said slowly, his eyes never once looking in my direction as he wrestled with Odin across the floor of the kitchen, “ . . . in your room.”

“Mom,” I slammed the refrigerator shut and ran up the stairs to my room two steps at a time, stopping just short of the doorway. Much to my disappointment, the light was on and the door was cracked open. I moved cautiously, knowing that if I was about to step into a disaster it would produce a violent reaction, and Max wasn’t quite within my reach. I needed to give him some time to catch up.

Hearing his footsteps and the distinct sound of Odin’s jingling collar coming down the hall behind me, I gave my door a slight push, and waited breathlessly as it glided open.

At first glance things seemed fairly undisturbed, but again, this was just a quick, skimming-the-surface look, checking to see if there were any walls cracked, ceiling tiles pulled down, or any structural damage that was easily seen or dangerously unsafe.

Realizing that the damage or rather “play,” as Max called it, would be limited to something less obvious, but possibly far more terrifying, I started to look at my individual, collectible items . . . the ones that, if looked at, touched, or even breathed on, carried the naturally-standard penalty of death.

There are three things I value more than anything in this world . . . my video game collection, my comic book collection, and my cell phone.

My video game collection took up space on several shelves on the wall just below the console. Since they were in order by type and frequency of use, they would be quick and easy to go through to make sure that none of them were damaged or even out of place. Watch Dogs, Grand Theft Auto V, Call of Duty: Ghosts, FIFA 14, NBA 2K14, it looked like all the important ones were there. After a few moments, I knew that particular part of my collection was safe, and I moved onto the next.

My comic book collection was far more extensive and kept in plastic sheets and arranged alphabetically . . . and by value. They would take a little longer to go through.

There are two comics, in particular, Superman #14 and Spiderman #8, that are graded. Thankfully they were protected by two sheets of hard plastic and out of the hands of busy little brothers.

I looked over at Max, who had finally caught up, followed closely by Odin, of course, who in this particular case was certainly protecting Max from me.

“So do you want to tell me what you were playing with,” my fingers moved rapidly through my comic collection, “or do you just figure you and Odin can outrun me when I find out what you did?” I waited for an answer. “You planning on just jumping on his back and having him run for daylight?”

Max shrugged and sat on the floor next to Odin, either not sure what I was doing or taunting me in the subtlest way I have ever been taunted.

“Mom!” I yelled out one more time, hoping to put both this hunt and my anxiety to an abrupt end.

“What is all the ruckus in here?” Mom asked as she came into my room to find me going through my comic books and Max and Odin staring up at me. “Ooooh, now isn’t that sweet,” she said. “See Luke, I told you. He just adores you.”

“He doesn’t adore me,” I protested and accidently allowed a short, brief whine to escape out of sheer frustration. I stopped what I was doing, as I was taken by surprise by that long, high-pitched cry. It was a sound coming from me that was very familiar from my own Max-like days, but something that I hoped would never escape from my throat again.

Once the embarrassment was gone, I started to explain. “Max said he was playing in my room today, and I thought if I could find whatever he did, whatever he touched, whatever he even looked at for too long, I would be able to fix it or even reverse it. But he’s not talking. He’s just sitting there mocking me, Mom, and he’s even pulled Odin into his little mind game as well.” She looked at both of them and then looked back at me. “I think we may need to get a little physical with him.”

“Max?” my mother asked . . . one time.

Max stood up, Odin nearly in his back pocket, and walked to my closet, opened the door, and reached into the farthest corner away from the doors. He returned just as quickly, and as he opened his hands, he showed me several small pieces of metal, a few screws . . . and a cell phone battery.

“Oh, Max,” my mother said disapprovingly.

“I might as well be dead,” I cried, looking at the several random pieces that lay in my hands. Usually if there is an issue with my phone, I would just pull it apart, fix it, and then put it all back together again. But with this . . .

“My social life, however limited it may have been, is now over,” I said, the whine returning quickly. “I must have had a thousand names in that contact list . . . ”

“Luke . . . ” my mother said.

“I must have had a hundred names in that contact list.”

“Luke . . . ”

“I had a good ten names in that contact list, and now I have to tell every one of them why I need that information . . . again,” I took a deep breath before I continued. “I have to get a new phone.”