by Rose David
Like that was even possible.
#
When lunchtime finally came, I texted Nat with an excuse about catching up on some studying, then made my way to the library.
I logged into a travel website, wondering how long a flight to Antarctica would be. Ten hours? Twelve? That long inside a plane (basically just a pressurized box filled with recycled air and lingering fart-smells) might just drive me crazy.
But it turned out a lengthy flight wasn’t in my future, after all. Trips to Antarctica are seriously expensive. The flight alone was way more than the babysitting money I had saved up, and I doubted Mom and Dad would spot me a few thousand bucks.
Oh, and it’s really cold there. Really, really cold. Which I knew already, but come on--negative sixty degrees Celsius? Are you kidding me?
Plan B was to just wish myself to Hawaii or some other warm, faraway destination, but I knew it probably wouldn’t do any good. Sean could just give the ring a quick rub (why did that still sound so dirty?) and I’d be zapped back.
So I was stuck. I couldn’t run away, wish it away, or even throw a temper tantrum.
Too bad about the last one, though. I could have used a good foot-stomping, fist-pounding crying jag. Instead, I gathered my things and walked back to my locker, trying not to think about my appointment tonight with Sean.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Where you going, kid?” Dad asked.
Oh, I’ve just got to grant a wish for my new master, one that might potentially expose me as a genie to the entire world, I thought-answered. You know, the usual Thursday night stuff.
“Study session,” I said, hoisting my backpack onto my shoulders.
“You need a ride?”
“It’s cool. I feel like getting some exercise.”
Dad nodded and poked his head back into the refrigerator, always on the prowl for greasy leftovers. “Do you want to bring Natalie and Rajesh home for dinner? We can make extra spaghetti.”
“No, that’s okay.”
“Well, all right. Just make sure you’ve got your cell phone with you.”
I groaned quietly. He and Mom always said that, even though I had only forgotten my cell phone once. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but then something else cut through my annoyance. Just in case Nat or Raj called our home line (rare, but it did happen sometimes) my whole cover story would be blown.
What would happen if Mom and Dad caught me in a lie? Would the truth about Sean and my ring just spill out of me?
Part of me wanted to tell them, the same part that still craved Dad’s homemade chicken soup when I was sick, but I knew it wouldn’t help. Even if I did tell my parents, I would still have to grant Sean’s wishes. The only difference would come after Sean had wasted his big three on porn and party girls, when Mom and Dad would lock me in the house, far away from the hostile, ring-stealing world.
Thanks, but no thanks.
I bit my lip. “Actually, I’m studying with someone new.”
At that, Dad withdrew from the fridge to raise an eyebrow at me. “Really, now?”
I squirmed. Like it was so weird for me to make new friends? Jeez.
“Do we know this person?” said Dad.
“Yeah, maybe.”
I would have been happy to leave it at that, but of course, Dad was only becoming more interested as my discomfort grew. “So, who’s the new study partner?” he asked.
“Nobody. Just some guy.” As soon as the words toppled out of my mouth, I winced at my own stupidity. Why hadn’t I told him I was studying with another girl? That way, it wouldn’t have sounded so date-like.
“Sure,” Dad said. “Did you bother to learn his name before setting up your appointment?”
It was clear he wouldn’t stop pumping me for information until he got a name out of me, and I sighed. “It’s Sean Fabry, okay? He goes to my school.”
“I’ve heard the name,” Dad said, frowning in thought. “Is it just you two tonight?”
“Probably not,” I said, imagining a few dozen Swedish supermodels going wild in Sean’s bedroom. Seeing my dad’s puzzled expression, I added, “I think his mother’ll be there.”
This must have been the right thing to say, because Dad let me go without any more questions.
#
A few minutes later, I climbed onto Sean’s porch. Here goes nothing, I thought, raising my hand to knock. Just as I brought my fist down, Sean opened the door.
His greeting was interrupted when my knuckles connected with the soft flesh of his nose. Both of us cried out, though I suspect we had different reasons.
Sean braced himself against the doorframe. He mumbled something incoherent, his voice muffled as he covered his nose with his free hand.
“Oh my gawd! I’m so sorry!” I gasped. “Are you okay?”
As if in reply, thick, red liquid spurted out from between Sean’s fingers.
My scream echoed through the quiet neighborhood. I had broken Sean Fabry’s nose! What if his face looked weird now? What if someone noticed?!
“Get in the house!” I yelled. “Now!”
Sean was too stunned to protest as I shoved him inside and slammed the door behind us. He grappled for a box of tissues sitting on a table by the door. “Layla,” he groaned, pressing a wad of paper against his face.
My brain buzzed with a sick mix of guilt and anxiety, and the sight of Sean’s blood turning the white tissues scarlet only made me feel worse. I had to do something. I had to fix this before Sean ended up with brain damage from all the blood loss--or a pug nose from the bone damage!
It was the last thought that made me blurt out, “I wish that Sean’s nose was better.”
The room filled with a sickening CRACK! as loud as a gunshot, and Sean went rigid, not even strong enough to utter a cry of pain.
“Oh, gawd!” I cried. “It disappeared, didn’t it? I made it disappear!” My eyes felt alarmingly full.
“Layla, it’s okay.” Sean pulled the tissues away from his face to reveal a perfectly unharmed nose. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I could have kissed it, except for all the blood. “Relax,” he said. “It stopped bleeding.”
“Was it... broken?”
He chuckled. “No way. You didn’t hit me that hard. I know what a broken nose feels like and--” He stopped, his brow creasing as he ran a finger along the bridge of his nose.
“What?” I squeaked. “Is it upside down inside?”
Sean grinned and turned to face a large mirror hanging nearby. “You fixed my nose. It’s straight again.”
I squinted past the smears of blood and saw that he was right. The tiny little quirk on his nose that Natalie had always loved was suddenly gone. I wondered if I should let her know personally of its disappearance, so she could mourn properly.
He inhaled deeply through his nose, grinning as the air whooshed through. “I haven’t breathed like this since sixth grade.”
I let out a shaky breath. I felt myself smile, relieved that I hadn’t turned Sean into some kind of mouth breather.
Sean went to wash his face (and probably admire his newly perfected profile), while I waited in the living room. Around me, every wall was covered with photographs. Sean and his parents grinned at me from a dozen angles, their eyes sparkling with happiness. Then a smaller cluster of photos caught my eye, and I hovered closer. These were more artistic than the family photos, careful still-lifes of flowers or colorful seashells. I stared into a vivid shot of a rose, taking in the detail.
“Thanks for the free surgery,” Sean said as he stepped out of the bathroom.
“Yeah. Guess I don’t need to go to medical school, after all.”
He smiled and stood beside me. “You like the pictures? My mom’s kind of a photography nut.”
“Your mom took these?” I looked around again, my eyes widening. “Is she a professional?”
“She’s good enough to be one, but she says it’s just a hobby.”
I scoffed. “No way. I’d kil
l to be this good.”
“Maybe you could wish for more talent,” Sean said, his voice light.
As I imagined my portfolio sitting in Chicago, waiting to be scrutinized by people a million times better than me, my chest fluttered all over again. “Sure, maybe.”
Sean’s smile faltered. “You know, the way you did my plastic surgery. A short-cut.”
“Absolutely. Why work for something when I can just wish for it?” I said. “Like, why should I care if my accomplishments actually mean anything?”
“Hey, I was just kidding.”
“Fine,” I said. “Look, do you have a wish, or not?”
Sean sighed. “Yeah. Come on.”
He led me into the garage, where his black sports car was parked. I hung back as he dug through the glove box for a piece of glossy, folded paper, obviously ripped out of a magazine. He handed it to me, and I frowned down at a picture of a silver car with a model draped over the front.
“Are you wishing for the car, or the girl?” I asked.
“Just the car.” A shadow of a blush crossed Sean’s face. “It’s an Aston Martin.”
“An Aston What-The-Hell?”
“It’s the same brand James Bond uses.”
“Oh, I get it.” Despite myself, I couldn’t help but add, “Cool.”
“So, can you do it? This wish is better, right?”
I nodded. “Lots better. Objects are easy. I can just zap one up from the factory in England, or wherever.”
“Sweet.”
“Yeah...” I guessed the Aston Martin was a pretty cool-looking car, even compared to the one he had now. Still, even though it wasn’t my business, I wondered aloud, “What are you going to do with the other car?” I felt a ping of hope that Sean would donate it to some charity, or at least to a needy genie whose sixteenth birthday was coming up soon.
“Keep it, I guess,” he said, shrugging. “It seems weird, otherwise.”
Disappointment wilted in my chest, but I shoved it away. Why should I care if Sean was a greedy bastard? The only thing that mattered to me was making sure we didn’t get caught. Speaking of which...
“You mean, it’s not going to be weird that you’ve got two cars all of the sudden?” I said.
“I’m going to tell my mom it’s a gift from my dad. They hardly ever talk anymore, so it’s not like anyone’ll notice.” His mouth twisted, and I felt my eyes dart down to the floor.
After seeing all the happy, glossed photos in the living room, I had just assumed Sean’s parents were still married. I hoped my confusion wasn’t too obvious.
“Umm... Is it okay if yours doesn’t come with rocket launchers?” I tried to smile.
Sean uttered something between a scoff and a chuckle. “Sure. You ready?”
“In a minute. I kind of need to ask you something first.” I took a deep breath. After lunch, I had spent the rest of the day thinking of ways to say this that didn’t sound too desperate. If I let Sean know just how much power he had over my future (never mind my present) who knew what could happen?
But as I saw the concern on his face (I hoped it was concern and not just a bad taco at lunch), the unedited words spilled out of me. “Can you promise not to give my ring to somebody else after we’re done with your wishes?”
A deep frown spread over Sean’s mouth, then up to his narrowed eyes. I could have kicked myself. Maybe passing me off to someone else hadn’t even been on his mind until two seconds ago when I had told him about it.
I grappled for some wish to make him forget, but, with a lurch in my stomach, I remembered that none of my wishes would work.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
Just then, Sean’s warm hand landed on my shoulder, cutting off my frenzied thoughts. My eyes were probably bugging out of their sockets, but I couldn’t stop the surprise from showing on my face.
“Layla, I’m not going to tell anyone,” he said. “I wouldn’t do something like that.”
“Oh...” I wanted to talk, but it was like my vocal cords had short-circuited. I nodded dumbly as a stray realization poked at my mind.
Sean does have really pretty eyes...
What the--? Ew, no. I swatted the thought away like a buzzing insect. If I could have, I would have crushed it under my shoe. After three years, I must have sat through too many of Natalie’s love-rants. “Thanks,” I mumbled, looking away. I took a small step back, focusing on the glossy magazine page. My face felt suspiciously warm, and I lifted up the paper to cover everything but my eyes.
“Right, umm...” Sean cleared his throat. “I wish for an Aston Martin DBS Volante.”
I took a long breath, letting the wish tingle through my fingertips, up my arms, and through my chest. Cold cement chilled under my hand as I braced myself against the wall. The mingled smells of gasoline and new leather filled my nose and, already, I could feel the buttery softness of the seats whispering over my skin. The high sparkle of its chrome danced like stars underneath my eyelids.
I wasn’t sure how long it took, but when I opened my eyes, the Aston Martin was parked a few feet away, like a dream zapped to reality.
Which I guess it sort of was.
Sean was too busy staring at me to notice the car. His eyes were wide with fear or amazement--maybe both.
What’s the matter? I told you I was a delicate flower, I wanted to say, but my tongue was too sluggish to pull out the words.
“Prest-o-change-o,” I mumbled, pointing to the car.
“Whoa.” Sean approached the Aston Martin as if it were a skittish animal. As he brushed his fingers over the metal, a sigh whooshed over his lips. “I can’t believe it.”
I tried to smirk, but it came out more like a smile. (No harm in taking a little pride in your work, right?) “Get in,” I told him. “It’s really real.”
He opened the door and sunk into the driver’s side. After a moment, the engine roared to life. “Keys in the ignition.” He tilted his head. “Did you do that?”
I honestly wasn’t sure, but I shrugged humbly. “I like to think I’ve got pretty good attention to detail.”
Sean revved the engine, grinning widely as a smooth purring sound filled the garage. He looked like I would have in the high-end lens section of a camera shop, unattended and armed with a credit card. As I remembered my camera, I gasped and rescued the little point-and-shoot from my pocket. Maybe the magic from my wish-granting had frazzled it somehow. I wasn’t sure if magic and microchips played well together.
Sean got out to snatch the garage door opener from his old sports car (which suddenly looked like a clunker compared to the silver beauty next to it). As he passed me, I snapped a photo and caught him in mid-stride. The flash fired like usual, and I was glad to see that the photo that lit up the back screen looked okay.
Sean settled back into the driver’s seat, and I expected him to coast away with his new toy without another glance at me. But he only smiled wider. “Get in,” he said, a tease creeping into his voice. “It’s really real.”
A thousand excuses bubbled to my mouth, but I hesitated, not quite saying no, but not getting into the car, either.
“Come on! You did all the work. I owe you a ride around the block, at least,” he said.
Well, when he put it like that...
I hopped into the passenger’s seat, my bare arms sliding against the supple leather interior.
As we slid down the driveway, Sean sighed. “This thing is awesome.”
I wasn’t a car-lover, but I had to nod in agreement. We coasted past Sean’s house, rolling smoothly down the street as if on a cushion.
One wish down, I thought. Two more to go.
CHAPTER NINE
“Damn, that thing is sick,” said Rajesh, admiration dripping off his voice like butter.
Nat wrinkled her nose as we passed Sean’s new car in the parking lot. “It’s so flashy, though.”
“Yeah,” Raj said reverently, his big brown eyes turning misty.
Sean had been driving the Aston
Martin to school for a few days now. Most of the student body had been pretty impressed, though a few hold-outs (mostly granola-chewing hippies or art-school wannabes like Natalie and me) had been less than appreciative.
Under normal circumstances, I’d be making jokes about sports cars as male enhancement tools, but I knew that Raj (and every other guy in school) was right to be jealous. After riding in the Aston Martin for an hour last Thursday, I could almost see why someone would dump hundreds of thousands of dollars into a car.
Of course, I’d meant to ask Sean to circle back to the house and drop me off, but I guess I was just a sucker for that new car smell. Soon enough, it had been time for dinner, so we grabbed a bite at McDonald’s and cruised around for a little while longer. I smiled as I remembered how the drive-thru guy’s eyeballs had almost popped out.
Nat and I were ready to keep walking toward the McDonald’s down the block, but Rajesh was like a bear caught in a trap. “You’d have to sell a kidney to get one of these in the States,” he said, leaning closer to the glistening silver finish.
Sell a kidney, have a genie. Same difference.
“Is it a... Porsche or something?” Nat asked.
“It’s an Aston Martin DBS Volante,” Rajesh and I said at the same time.
He and Nat looked it me in surprise, and I felt my cheeks go warm. “What, I can’t know a few things about cars?”
“I didn’t know you were into this stuff, Layla,” said Rajesh. “You always look bored when I talk about it.”
“Totally not bored,” I said. “I just... Umm... I think that’s how my face looks.” It wasn’t supposed to be a joke, but Raj and Natalie both laughed, so I did the same.
We walked away from Sean’s Aston Martin, and as we cut through the school parking lot, I tried not to curse too loudly at the idiots pulling blindly out of their parking spaces as we passed. This part of lunch always gave me a minor heart attack, but, somehow, Nat and Raj never batted an eye at the careless drivers zooming past us.
In between dodging cars, Raj and Nat discussed the performances at improv last Friday. I didn’t get most of it--they said some stuff about struts and frets and something called “bottlenecking,” which sounded sort of kinky.
