Three Wishes (8 page)

“No way. Besides, we're just friends, Leia. Don't be ridiculous!”

“Whatever — might as well wake up and smell the coffee!”

“Okay, thanks for the advice.” I'm getting angry now. First of all, she's wrong. Second of all, is she implying my new body is the only possible reason a guy would be interested in me? “You know what? I'll think about it. I've got to go to bed. See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight. Genie, please don't be mad,” she says, her voice full of regret.

“Goodnight.”
Click.
I am mad, but I don't want to get myself too wound up about it or I might have trouble falling asleep. She's acting like she's jealous or something. But it doesn't make sense. Unlike me, Leia's always been cute. She gets asked out all of the time, though she says no to almost every guy who tries.

I nearly choke on my saliva as I inhale. How could I be so blind?
Leia is jealous because she likes Joel
. How perfect is this? I can use my wishes to get together two of my favorite people.

If you wish to be loved, love. — Seneca

When I pick up Leia in the morning, we both pretend like the previous night's conversation didn't happen and manage to keep things light. I figure if Leia doesn't want me to know about her crush, I'm not going to make her talk about it. Instead, we discuss our weekend plans, and Leia reminds me about the study date I have planned with Pete tomorrow.

I snort. “Like I could forget.” I've been trying not to dwell on it, because I know I'll get freaked out. Of course, my outfit's already picked out, and I drafted a list of talking points to make sure the conversation flows. I'm worried I'll panic when we're actually face-to-face.

In the hallway between classes, I see Tori and ask her if she heard about Cornell.

She makes a face and responds, “It's the weirdest thing. Yeah, I got an acceptance letter. But it's from Cornell College. I guess it's somewhere in Iowa or Indiana or something?”

I stare, stunned.

“I know, right? I mean, I applied to Cornell University in New York. I have to straighten this all out.”

I give a feeble laugh and say I'm sure she'll hear soon from Cornell University. “You're going to get in. I'm one hundred percent positive.”

She smiles. “Thanks. See ya.”

I curse myself as I walk to my next class, making a more explicit wish this time.

Later, in English, Pete shouts across the room, “See you tomorrow, right? I'll pick you up?” He walks over and tugs at the hem of my shirt, making it cling to my curves. I feel my cheeks heat up and look around to see if anyone has noticed. Joel catches my eye and raises his eyebrow. I raise mine right back to him. He shakes his head.

Pete notices Joel's reaction and makes a face in his direction as the late bell rings. Pete heads back to his seat, and I can't help enjoying the view as he walks away. I settle into my desk. A part of me is bothered that after crushing on him for so long, it's only after I've gotten these big boobs that he pays me any attention. But then, another part of me recognizes how I'm kind of being a hypocrite.

My thoughts are so out of control right now. No wonder my mom said this is a lot of responsibility. I don't know what it was like for her about twenty years ago, but I have on my mind, in no particular order:

1. friends

2. a love life (potentially!)

3. school

4. swimming

5. college admissions (ten apps sent out last week!)

6. new body

7. oh yeah, becoming a GENIE!

It is all giving me a mental overload. I need to talk to someone, and I think it's going to have to be Leia. Suddenly, I notice the room is silent, and my classmates are all peering at me, waiting. I realize I've been jotting down the full list of what's going on in my life. I also realize my teacher asked me a question.

Scrambling to cover my paper, I whisper super fast,
“I wish I knew the answer.”

“Next Friday, Ms. Hemenway,” I say, proving I was listening. “You were saying we'd have a midterm review session next Friday.”
That was a close one.

From across the room, Joel gives me another confused look, and for a moment I think I've given the wrong answer. But my teacher seems satisfied, so I shrug and go back to my musings, again resolving I would confess all to Leia.

After school, in my car, I ask if she wants to hang out tonight.

“Yeah! Want to sleep over at my house?” she asks. I start to answer
yes
, but she interrupts with, “Oh, wait. I just remembered we're going over to my grandparents' tonight. It's my Opa's seventy-fifth birthday, so I can't miss it. Sorry.”

“No, it's fine,” I say.

“How about tomorrow night?”

“Well, I'll be studying with Pete in the afternoon, but after dinner…?”

“Wait. Don't kill me. Luke and I are going to camp out to get that new video game tomorrow night.”

“Are you crazy? It's December. In New England.”

“I know, I know, but you know how we are about classic sci-fi. Plus, it's kind of a Hanukkah present for my parents, and I promised Luke. Hey! You could come with us!”

“Uh, no. Thanks. I love camping — when the temperatures are above freezing. I think I'll pass. You know, for such a popular guy, your brother is kind of a geek.”

She gently punches me in the shoulder, and I elbow her back. It's an old line of teasing. I don't know what it is about those movies that bond the Hirsch family, but whatever works for them. I make a face and shrug, and direct my attention back to the street. Leia's still laughing as we approach her driveway. Getting out of the car, she leans her upper body back in to say, “I do want to have a sleepover. But how about a hike tomorrow morning instead?”

“Sure,” I answer.

“The forecast is calling for some snow, but you know we probably won't get any,” she adds. “So, let's plan to meet at the reserve at ten.” The White Oak Reserve has a little trail through a gorgeous wild area, which starts near the back of Leia's property. We walked there a lot growing up, and it's the perfect place to talk things out.

I agree to the plan, “Now close the door! It's wicked cold out,” I tell her, and she waves a final goodbye before slamming it shut and walking toward her house.

At last it's Friday, and I don't have any homework due tomorrow. My mother's diary must be in an indulgent mood, because it seems to have opened itself and is waiting for me on my bed when I get home from school.

“What do you have for me tonight?” I say aloud, and am rewarded.

As you know, your father and I were falling in love. He still did not know what I was, and I was afraid to tell him. Besides, I also had him in mind as my first master. Somehow, none of this was working out as I would have imagined.

After all, it's one thing to tell the man you've chosen as your master you can grant him three wishes, knowing he'll forget all about you when they've been granted. It's another thing to tell him you love him, you can grant him three wishes, and you never, ever want him to forget you. The bond we were forming had far transcended the professional master-genie relationship, and it broke the unspoken rules.

I didn't know what to do.

I knew with every bit of myself I wanted Matt more than anything else in the world, and I was fairly certain he felt the same way. Would he still, after I told him the full truth about what I was? And then, what would we do about it? And how would I break the news to Guy and our families that the arranged pairing was not to be?

I decided to take on one issue at a time. The rest, well, I would cross those bridges when I came to them. It was time to tell Matt everything. My eighteenth birthday was approaching, and I would soon need a master, anyway. I might as well get on with it. We had already planned a date at the café where we'd first met.

I got there early and waited for Matt to arrive. He greeted me with the traditional French
bise
, not knowing I was longing for what Americans call a French kiss. Flustered, I glanced around at the other patrons, but no one seemed to pay the two of us any mind. Still, I asked him if we could forgo the coffee and find someplace more private for a chat. He agreed, and we began walking to one of our favorite spots, a park located along the beach.

Old men played boule nearby, and young children chased each other through the playground, their steps loud on the pea gravel covering the ground. We found a solitary metal bench shaded by a plane tree. I sat down, but Matt said, “Wait here,” and ran off some distance. I gazed out at the sea, still trying to decide what to say, but was soon distracted by the smell of a fresh chocolate crêpe Matt had thrust under my nose.

“I spotted the vendor while we walked over, and couldn't resist,” he said, licking his lips. He had purchased one for himself, as well, and sat down to eat.

He inhaled his crêpe in a couple of mouthfuls, while I took one small bite. I began to cry.

“Geneviève, what's wrong? Is it the crêpe?” he asked, worry creasing his brow.

“No, no — well, yes, sort of,” I got out. “The crêpe is delicious, and it is so thoughtful of you to have bought it. You're so perfect.” I cried more.

“What, then, what is it?” He grew more anxious and bewildered. “Is it something I did?”

I took a shuddering breath and faced him, the crêpe still in my hands. “Matt, you're … amazing. You are everything I could ever wish for in a bo — in a friend.” I caught myself. We had never spoken of our relationship in so many words.

His shoulders slumped, and he broke eye contact. “I thought we were more,” I heard him mutter.

“Matt, please. You misunderstand me,” I pulled at his hand to get him to look at me. “I don't know how to say this — I've never said it before—”

“I get it, okay?” he choked out. “You're breaking up with me. Why else the private chat, the tears, the
friend
talk?”

“Listen! Stop! Matt, I love you.” I stared down at my crêpe so I didn't have to see his expression. I had never before in my life felt so vulnerable. And, in the back of my mind, I was thinking about the other confessions I still needed to make. I counted every heartbeat, fifteen in all, before I felt his arms wrapping around me, so tight I could hardly breathe.

“Je t'adore aussi, mon amour,”
he whispered in my ear, reached out a finger, and traced my lips before kissing me. We spent a good ten minutes like this before becoming aware the old men playing boule had left off their game to stare at us.

We laughed, foreheads together, still in each other's arms. After a while we separated, and the men went back to their boule. Matt took both of my hands in his and said, “Why were you so nervous? Don't you know I've loved you since the
first moment I spotted you eavesdropping on me in the café two months ago?”

He put his arm around my shoulder and drew me to him. Together we watched the waves lapping the shore, and I knew he felt at peace. While I was relieved and blissful he felt the same as I, I dreaded the rest of the conversation we still needed to have.

But it would have to wait.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. My parents were adorable, I realize. My mom was right; it is good for me to learn about the deep love they had for one another. True, there are moments where it becomes a little bit
too much information
, but most of the time I'm enjoying their story. Closing the diary with reverence, I'm less impatient than usual for the next entry and put it away before going down to dinner with a smile on my face.

It is hard to contend against one's heart's desire; for whatever it wishes to have it buys at the cost of soul. — Heraclitus

Despite my doubts in the accuracy of the weather forecast, it proves correct with small snowflakes after dinner, falling more quickly as the evening progresses. I go to bed early, still hopeful I'll wake up to a cleansing rainstorm instead. St. Philomena's proximity to the ocean means we are often spared the deep snows of the interior. Still, sometimes we get socked-in by a Nor'easter — a big storm with winds coming in from the northeast — and we do get slammed.

In the morning, I groan when I see the gunmetal-gray sky and the six or so inches of snow already piled up outside, with more falling as I watch, and a strong wind to boot. Still, this is New England, and even blizzards get cleared out pretty fast. There is still hope for my study date, though I'm pretty sure my hike with Leia is off.

I reach for the TV remote to check the weather forecast, and it doesn't turn on. The power is out — a rarity in our area. Grabbing my phone to check the weather, I see the battery indicator is blinking, along with a text from Leia that she has to cancel our hike. They were stranded at her grandparents' house last night. This does not bode well for this afternoon. My phone gives one sad, final blink and goes blank. Resigned to a cold, dull morning, I throw on my bathrobe and slippers and head downstairs.

My grandparents, always seeing the silver lining, have the fire in our woodstove cranked up and are cooking on it. “Honey! I made oatmeal!” Papa says, lifting the pot lid to show the clouds of steam emerging.

“I put in dried apples, raisins, cinnamon, and brown sugar,” Mamère adds.

“Delish. Thanks,” I say, grabbing a bowl and spoon from the kitchen and helping myself to a generous serving. Even better is the old-fashioned percolator they've perched at the rear of the stovetop. It's just starting to brew, which means the coffee is going to be rich and fresh. This day is looking better already.