As You Wish

by Jackson Pearce

  The ifrit, who had just turned on his heel to vanish, spins back around in a whirl of royal-blue silk, an eyebrow raised.

  Damn.

  “‘Viola’?”

  There’s no way out of this, is there?

  He’s a friend. He won’t care about the protocol. He won’t report me to the Ancients. It’ll be fine.

  “My master. She insisted I call her by her first name,” I explain. Can he tell that I like knowing her as Viola instead of master?

  “But still…wow. Be careful violating the first protocol like that. The rules are in place for our own protection, you remember.”

  “Of course. You know teenage girls, though. They’re not the easiest masters. Besides, you’re one to talk about protocol.” I grin to distract him.

  The ifrit laughs. “Just because they don’t monitor protocol for ifrit doesn’t mean I don’t try to follow the rules. It’d be impossible to complete some presses without breaking them.”

  “Excuses, excuses,” I say.

  “Yeah, yeah. Well, so long, my friend,” he says. I nod in return, and the ifrit vanishes.

  I exhale in relief—what if he’d asked why I don’t want to press her? I would have had to…lie? Admit the truth? Punch him in the nose?

  Wait. Why don’t I want him to press her? She’s just my master. Just the person whose wishes I happen to be granting. We’ve known each other only a few days. Yet something about the idea of her being pressed makes my muscles tense and my stomach flip.

  Think of Caliban. This never happens in Caliban. No one ever makes you feel this way there. The Ancients make sure of it. You’re one step closer to going home and leaving all this weirdness behind.

  I sigh and drop to the ground, leaning against the oak tree. One step closer.

  nine

  Viola

  SOMETHING IS DIFFERENT.

  The hallway isn’t spinning. Jinn is gone—I grope for his arm in the dim light. I’m sitting on the floor. But it’s something else, too. Like I’ve just woken up from a nap, only while I slept all my worries and concerns and fears fell away. Now I feel refreshed, and there’s a shiny, almost crystalline feeling in my chest that makes me certain I can do anything—

  “Viola?”

  I turn around—the name doesn’t sound normal, not at all the way it sounds when Jinn or Lawrence say it. Then I see why.

  Aaron Moor is standing beside me, looking down at me with a confused smile.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

  He reaches down and pulls me up so fast that I get dizzy, then wraps an arm tightly around my waist. I lock my knees and try not to breathe. Surely this is a mistake. It’s dark. He thinks I’m somebody else.

  “Viola. I’m Vi—” I swallow my breath midsentence. I know what’s different.

  I wished. I wished to belong, like Aaron and Ollie.

  “No…I didn’t mean to…,” I begin, but the feeling of dread I’m anticipating never comes. Instead, I feel…happy. Relieved, even. Aaron swipes my hair from my eyes and grins at me.

  “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go back downstairs—I wanted to introduce you to some people.”

  “What?”

  “Some friends of mine—I don’t know if you know them.” Aaron studies me for a moment—I’m sure my mouth is hanging open. “You look amazing, by the way. I can’t believe I didn’t notice sooner. I guess I was too preoccupied with Ollie…. Not anymore though—we broke up. How could I stay with her when there’s someone as beautiful as you here?” he finishes with a gentle grin.

  I look beautiful. I look beautiful? I feel…I feel beautiful. And carefree, and reckless, and confident, and all the other things I felt before Lawrence, only more so. Aaron lets go of my waist, takes my hand in his, and walks forward—I stumble to follow him down the steps and into the living room, where the main party is still raging. Some part of me wants to drop my head in shyness, but some greater power forces me to keep my chin high, my shoulders back, my hand firmly in Aaron’s. If arriving to the party before was like showing up to a Hollywood premiere, walking downstairs is now like being a red-carpet starlet, all kind smiles and people calling my name.

  Aaron shouts for the music to change, and in the shuffle to switch CDs, people rise to grab drinks and new seats. Aaron and I—Aaron and I?—sit down together on a loveseat toward the front door. Girls I don’t know walk over to us, asking me about my hair and clothes and if I hate Shakespeare as much as they do. All without wondering what my name is. As if they’ve always known me. As if I’ve always hung out with them. As if I’ve always belonged with them. Is this real?

  I should feel guilty. This isn’t natural. It isn’t real. It’s a wish.

  But I don’t feel guilty, not at all. I’m too happy. If I’d known how wonderful a single wish would make me feel, how much pain it could erase…

  A new song thuds through the speaker system, and Aaron puts an arm around my shoulder, twirling his fingers through my hair in a way that makes shivers race down my spine. I want to lean in closer to him, but part of me is still reeling in fear that one false move will end everything. I catch Aaron’s gaze—even the simple act of his eyes meeting mine makes me feel like I belong, like I suddenly warrant eye contact and conversation and meaningful glances instead of passing hallway nods. Like I’m special.

  “What’s going on?”

  Lawrence. My eyes snap away from Aaron to see Lawrence standing beside the loveseat, arms folded. He doesn’t look angry, just confused, eyes darting back and forth between Aaron and me.

  “Not a lot, not a lot. Having a good time, though?” Aaron answers Lawrence. Lawrence nods curtly, and his eyes return heavily to mine. Two football players crash through the front door holding a keg. While Aaron is distracted cheering them on, I answer.

  “I wished.” I meant to speak the words aloud, but I only mouth them, afraid that saying it will somehow jinx things.

  “You wished? For Aaron to date you? That’s what you wished for?” Lawrence says, loud enough that I cringe and worry someone has heard. I grab Lawrence’s hand and pull him closer.

  “No! It was an accident; I didn’t even mean to wish, it just slipped out. I wished to belong, like Aaron and Ollie, and then…I’m here! I don’t know how, but it’s…I feel…” How can I explain? I feel right. I feel this is where I belong, like I’m not alone.

  “But it isn’t real! It’s just…it’s just a wish, Viola! How could you wish for…for him?” Lawrence sounds hurt, betrayed even, and takes both my hands in his. “I know I hurt you, but this isn’t the way to fix it.”

  “Then what is?” I answer. “Nothing in seven months has fixed me, but now…it’s like all that unhappiness is just a memory. It isn’t…it isn’t in me anymore. I’m too happy for it to be in me.”

  “I want you to be happy because of who you are, Vi. Not because you wished for it.”

  “But until that happens,” I say, casting a quick look at Aaron, “this is enough. Look at me, Lawrence. You can read me better than anyone. Please. I haven’t felt like this in so long, like I belong—like I have more than just you and Jinn. Don’t ruin this for me, Lawrence. You owe me.” I’ve never called him out on the whole thing like that before, and to be honest, I’m not sure it’s deserved.

  Lawrence winces like I’ve struck him, then shakes his head. “I owe you? You know I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “But it happened,” I murmur. Lawrence sighs and squeezes my hand.

  “I don’t like it. But if this is what makes you happy—for now—then…fine. Fine.” He looks defeated, but any guilt I have is short-lived; it’s like no unhappiness can exist in me right now. He releases my hands and glances around the room. “Where is Jinn, anyway?”

  “He left,” I answer. I dare to lean a little closer to Aaron, though I still don’t think I can exactly fall into his arms. “Right after the wish. He helped me to the floor and then…left.”

  “Who?” Aaron asks, floating back
into our conversation.

  “No one,” Lawrence answers before I can stammer a reply. He looks back at me, a forced calm on his face. “We’re still getting breakfast before I drop you off at home, right?”

  We had no such plans, and to be honest, I’m afraid to leave—what if leaving the party makes the wish end? I can’t go back to being an Invisible Girl. Not again. Still, Lawrence is…well, Lawrence. I nod and lean in closer to Aaron as Lawrence vanishes into the crowd.

  ten

  Jinn

  “JINN!”

  It isn’t Viola calling my name—it’s Lawrence. The sky is on the verge of lightening; the trees are silhouettes instead of just blackness. I rise from underneath the oak tree, brushing the dirt off my legs. So he’s found out about the wish now, too. I could hide out here, not face him—I’m not bound to his call like I am to Viola’s. But no…he deserves answers. I sigh, then vanish from the park to reappear beside him.

  “Wow. Calling you actually worked,” Lawrence says. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat of his car outside the party house. It’s eerie, seeing the house that was thrashing with life only a few hours earlier—it’s now quiet and calm, save for a few people staggering toward their cars. Morning dew covers the red cups strewn throughout the yard and has soaked through the clothing of a guy passed out underneath the front hedges.

  “I’m waiting on Viola to come out. Get in the car,” Lawrence says firmly, his initial surprise worn off. I nod, trying to gauge how angry he is about the wish, but he’s difficult to read at the moment. I circle around the car and slide into the passenger seat, holding my hands to the vents to warm them.

  “We need to talk,” Lawrence says, giving me a hard look.

  I sigh. “Look, she wished. I had to. I didn’t want to, to be honest.”

  “I’m not mad. But I want to know exactly how it works. I mean, say Viola wants to leave him…will he still love her?”

  I shake my head. “Sort of. Not really. Wishes aren’t permanent. She wished for what Aaron and Ollie had, so…I made him want her instead of Ollie. It was the best way to give her what she wanted without changing too much about who she is. Anyway, I tweaked the wish here and there. I did what I could. I tried to turn it into a wish to belong, not a wish for love. But it can end, just like anything else.”

  “Okay…okay. Good.” Lawrence looks slightly relieved.

  “And I left you out of it. Nothing about you changed,” I add. Letting the magic touch Lawrence just didn’t seem right.

  Lawrence looks back over at me, sighing and shaking his head. “Um…thanks? You know, you and your wishes really don’t make any of this easier.”

  I muster a weak smile. “‘What a tangled web we weave,’ right?”

  “Something like that,” Lawrence replies, rubbing his temples. We both turn to look when movement from the front of the house catches our eyes. It’s Viola, walking slowly through the front door, hand in hand with Aaron. They’re followed by a small group of Aaron’s friends, who don’t look nearly as glamorous in the dawn light as they did the last time I saw them. Viola, however, glows brightly. Aaron pulls her close, and she lifts her shoulders shyly, then gives a bubbly laugh and gives in to his touch.

  Aaron and Viola approach my door and stop. I meet Viola’s eyes briefly before they disappear behind Aaron’s head as he moves in to kiss her. Lawrence and I busy ourselves by hitting the car radio buttons. Repeatedly. Finally, Aaron releases her and opens the passenger door; I dive to the backseat.

  “Hey, Lawrence, where’d you disappear to?” Aaron asks, grinning and rubbing his hands against the morning chill.

  “Just came out here for a while,” Lawrence answers dully as Viola buckles her seatbelt. She glances back at me and gives me a small smile.

  “See you tomorrow morning, baby,” Aaron says, and closes the car door.

  No one speaks. Viola keeps biting her lips and giving both Lawrence and me nervous glances. There’s a wish in her eyes—to tell us about the rest of her evening.

  Thanks, but no thanks. “Where are we going?” I ask Lawrence to avoid continuing the awkward silence.

  “Breakfast. Or an extremely late dinner,” he says, motioning toward the clock—it’s five fifteen in the morning.

  “I’ve never been awake this early before,” Viola comments. “Or I guess I’ve never really been out this late before. Time just flew, I was sitting with Aaron, and then we danced—”

  “You danced?” Lawrence says, sounding surprised.

  “I know! Aaron made me do it, but then it was kind of fun, and then we sat outside until it got really cold…. You were out here in the car? And where were you, Jinn?”

  Lawrence nods while I answer aloud, “Holly Park. I go there at night. If you close your eyes…and your ears…and try not to inhale, it’s a little like Caliban. Sort of.”

  Viola turns around in her seat to look at me. “Caliban—which, may I add, you’re closer to, now that I’ve wished.” As soon as she says it her grin fades a little, to less of a beam and more of a reluctant smile.

  “That’s right, just two more wishes,” I reply and force myself to think of what I’d be getting for breakfast were I in Caliban. Food is taken seriously there. It’s all elegantly prepared and served, perfectly garnished—

  “I hope they still serve that Bacon Breakfast plate,” Lawrence says, swinging the car off the road and into the parking lot of a small, dirty-looking breakfast joint.

  The restaurant is packed with all sorts—silent brooders, chatty teenagers, and the occasional leering old man. It smells like stale smoke and bacon inside, and the waitresses shout orders to a large cook who shuffles back and forth in front of the stovetop, frying eggs and pouring waffle batter. We slide into a booth, Lawrence on one side and Viola and I on the other. I fixate on watching the cook in disgust in order to avoid hearing Viola’s stories about the great Aaron Moor.

  Think of Caliban. The view from my apartment. Delivering flowers. The curved architecture, the street fairs, the wildflowers…

  “It helps if you don’t watch him cook,” Lawrence says from across the booth.

  “What?” I ask, snapping back to reality.

  “The cook. It helps if you don’t actually watch him make the food. You’re starting to look sort of sick.”

  “He’s right, Jinn. Do you want some of this toast?” Viola asks. She slides her plate toward me until our elbows bump briefly.

  I shake my head. “I’m fine. Sorry. I don’t need food on Earth, remember?” The jukebox kicks on an annoying song about waffles, for which most of the customers cheer.

  “I hate this song,” Lawrence groans, hitting his head on the table.

  “Anyway,” Viola says, ignoring Lawrence and meeting my eyes, “I never thanked you, Jinn. For helping me, I mean.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You wished, I didn’t really have a choice anyhow—”

  “I meant before that,” Viola cuts me off with a meaningful look. The hall, I realize. With Aaron and Ollie, when I pulled her away and she grabbed for my arm…when I was her friend, not her wish granter.

  “I see how it is. Suddenly Viola and her genie-boy have secrets,” Lawrence says, waving a syrup-covered fork at me. Viola laughs again—deep, real laughter that’s brighter than the repetitive waffle song. I finally smile—the first time since her wish, I think. It’s hard to feel regretful when she’s laughing.

  eleven

  Viola

  AARON MEETS ME in the cafeteria on Monday morning, throwing an arm around my shoulder and handing me a paper cup of cappuccino. He ushers me over to a table where some of the Royal Family is sitting; a girl compliments my jacket, and another invites me to a movie this weekend. I’m sure I’m grinning and giggling like an idiot, but I can’t really help myself.

  “She’s in the Art Expo thing,” Aaron says, giving me an admiring look.

  “Really? Is that hard? Painting and drawing?” a girl asks me as she shuffles through her purse for lipstick. Damn
. I should have worn lipstick—Ollie always wears lipstick. I scan the cafeteria for her golden skin, both hoping and fearful that I’ll see her. I wonder if she’s furious with me for stealing her throne. A swell of guilt courses through me at the thought that I haven’t seen her since the party, since the wish—

  “Viola?” the lipstick girl interrupts my thoughts. I snap back into the conversation.

  “It’s…ah,” I stammer. Somehow telling these people that painting is about being passionate just doesn’t sound right. “It’s hard to know if you’ve done something well or not. After a while you start to see only its problems.”

  A few people nod; Aaron kisses my hand. “Speaking of painting,” he adds, “can a few of you guys help me this afternoon with the Grease sets? I was supposed to do them Sunday, but I was way too hung over to handle it.” A few friends nod and volunteer.

  “I can’t,” I say, feeling a little guilty. “I need to work on my Expo paintings, actually. I slept all day Sunday and didn’t get a chance to come in.”

  Aaron shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, baby.” He kisses me—this time on the mouth—before I have a chance to think. My cheeks burn bright red—there are so many people around, and I’m not certain if I’m more proud to be kissing Aaron or embarrassed that everyone is watching. What if they’re wondering what Aaron Moor is doing with a girl like me? What if they know it’s because of a wish? Aaron presses hard into my mouth until I close my lips and pull my head away. Aaron grins and runs his thumb over my hands. “Sorry. Got carried away.” The rest of the table laughs before launching into a conversation about hangover cures.

  Still flustered and scarlet from the kiss, I keep quiet, pretending to be interested in a girl walking up to each table in the cafeteria. She’s carrying a blue cardboard box that reads “FUNdraiser” on the side. She belongs to the band kids, I think. The girl meets my eyes and heads my way.