Seeing a shooting star is a sign to make a wish for good luck

[Scene: A quiet backyard in suburban Oregon. It’s just past 9 PM. The sky is clear, stars visible. Jamie and Alex are reclining on camping chairs, sipping hot cocoa and watching the night sky.]

Jamie: (suddenly gasps)
Oh! Did you see that? A shooting star! Quick, make a wish!

Alex: (chuckling)
Jamie, seriously? That’s your third shooting star wish this week. You running a celestial Kickstarter or something?

Jamie:
Don’t mock the universe’s generosity, Alex! You have to wish when you see one. It’s, like, tradition. It brings good luck!

Alex:
Jamie… It’s a chunk of space rock disintegrating in our atmosphere. It doesn’t know you exist. It’s not a cosmic genie.

Jamie: (mock offense)
Wow. Way to kill the magic. So you’re telling me when I wished on that meteor last month and got that surprise promotion, it was just… coincidence?

Alex:
Yes! Because I also got a promotion—and guess what—I didn’t whisper sweet nothings to flaming debris. Maybe we’re just competent employees?

Jamie: (smirking)
Maybe you are. I, on the other hand, had coffee spilled on my blazer during that meeting. Yet, magically, they still liked me. You explain that, scientist boy.

Alex:
Okay, that sounds like pity, not pixie dust. Or maybe they appreciated your dedication—coffee stains and all. Confirmation bias, Jamie. You’re remembering only the good stuff when it lines up with your belief.

Jamie:
So what, you never wish on anything? Not even birthday candles?

Alex:
Oh, I do. But not because I think it actually changes reality. It’s just… ritual. Fun. Like clapping at the end of a movie. It doesn’t do anything, but it feels right.

Jamie:
Well maybe that feeling—that hope—is what does something. Positive vibes, man. Haven’t you ever heard of manifestation?

Alex:
Sure, but there’s a difference between setting goals with intention and whispering your dreams to frozen rocks in the sky.

Jamie: (laughs)
You make it sound so cold. Come on, aren’t there any things you do that aren’t rooted in logic?

Alex:
Okay, I’ll admit—when my GPS reroutes me, I sometimes say “thank you” out loud like it’s a person.

Jamie: (grinning)
Boom! That’s basically superstition with a Wi-Fi signal.

Alex:
Touché. But seriously, wouldn’t it be better to believe in yourself than in cosmic accidents?

Jamie:
Why not both? Maybe the universe just needs a nudge. I believe effort and hope count. Shooting stars are like little reminders to dream.

Alex: (pauses, looks up)
Okay… that’s kind of beautiful. Misguided—but beautiful.

Jamie: (gently elbowing Alex)
And you’re kind of cynical. But that’s why we’re friends. You bring the facts, I bring the fireworks.

Alex:
Deal. Just promise me this—if you ever get superpowers from a shooting star, I want to be your science advisor.

Jamie:
Only if you let me wish for your lab to float like the X-Men’s mansion.

[They both laugh, looking up at the night sky. A long silence, then—another meteor streaks across.]

Jamie:
Okay, now you have to admit that was cool.

Alex:
…Fine. That was objectively awesome.

Jamie: (whispering)
Make a wish.

Alex: (smiles and raises his mug)
Wishing… that your belief in magic never fades—even if I never believe it myself.

Jamie:
That’s the best kind of wish. No science needed.