Jung, Greta: Candlewick on Brilliance Audio presents A Wish In The Dark by Christina Soontornvat. Performed by Greta Jung.

A monster of a mango tree grew in the courtyard of Namwon Prison. Its fluffy green branches stretched across the cracked cement and hung over the soupy brown water of the Chattana River. The women inmates spent most of their days sheltered under the shade of this tree while the boats glided up and down and up again on the other side of the prison gate. The dozen children who lived in Namwon also spent most of their days lying in the shade, but not in mango season. In mango season, the tree dangled golden drops of heaven overhead swaying just out of reach. It drove the kids nuts.

They shouted at the mangoes. They chucked pieces of broken cement at them, trying to knock them down. And when the mangoes refused to fall, the children cried, stomped their bare feet and collapsed in frustration on the ground. Pong never joined them. Instead, he sat against the tree's trunk, hands crossed behind his head. He looked like he was sleeping, but actually he was paying attention. Pong had been paying attention to the tree for weeks. He knew which mangoes had started ripening first. He noticed when the fruit lightened from lizard skin green to pumpkin rind to yellow. He watched the ants crawl across the mangoes and he knew where they paused to sniff the sugar inside.

Pong looked at his friend, Somkit, and gave him a short nod. Somkit wasn't shouting at the mangoes either. He was sitting under the branch that Pong had told him to sit under, waiting. Somkit had been waiting an hour, and he'd wait for hours more if he had to, because the most important thing to wait for it in Namwon were the mangoes. He and Pong were both nine years old, both orphans. Somkit was a head shorter than Pong and skinny, even for a prisoner. He had a wide round face and the other kids teased him that he looked like those grilled rice balls on sticks that old ladies sold from their boats.

Like many of the women at Namwon, their mothers had been sent there because they'd been caught stealing. Both their mothers had died in childbirth. Though from the stories the other women still told, Somkits birth had been more memorable and involved feet showing up where a head was supposed to be. Pong wagged his finger at his friend to get him to scoot to the left, a little more, a little more, there. Finally, after all that waiting Pong heard the soft pop of a mango stem. He gasped and smiled as the first mango of the season dropped straight into Somkit's waiting arms.

But before Pong could join his friend and share their triumph, two older girls noticed what Somkit held in his hands. "Hey, did you see that?" Said one of the girls, propping herself up on her knobby elbows? "Sure did." Said the other, cracking scab covered knuckles. "Hey, skin and bones," she called to Somkit, "What do you got for me today?" "Uh-oh." Said Somkit, cradling the mango in one hand and bracing himself to stand up with the other. He was useless in a fight. Which meant that everyone liked fighting him the most. And he couldn't run more than a few steps without coughing, which meant the fights usually ended badly.

Pong turned toward the guards who were leaning against the wall behind him, looking almost as bored with life and Nomwan as the prisoners were. "Excuse me, ma'am." Said Pong, bowing to the first guard. She sucked on her teeth and slowly lifted one eyebrow, "Ma'am, it's those girls." Said Pong. "I think they're going to take." "And what do you want me to do about it?" She snapped. You kids need to learn to take care of yourselves. The other guard snorted, "Might be good for you to get kicked around a little, toughen you up."