Wish (10 page)

O
livia turned up the volume on her iPod and was settling into a comfortable jog, her feet thudding against the smooth pavement around Lake Merced, when she realized she was being quietly gained on. It was the first day of a cross-country unit in gym class, and it took her a few moments to identify the grungy old New Balances sneaking up alongside her as belonging to a certain green-eyed Adonis.

Olivia had been avoiding Soren to the best of her ability since Graham’s party, which hadn’t been hard, as their only class together was gym. The class had met once earlier in the week, where Olivia had been horrified to learn that the physical education curriculum at Golden Gate included a unit on yoga, taught by a pigtailed instructor named Morningstar. Olivia had quickly determined that there were certain ways her body was not meant to bend, and so the introduction of twice-weekly jogging field trips around the lake couldn’t have come at a better time.

Olivia wasn’t even halfway through her first lap around the
lake when she realized that Soren was hovering beside her, his feet landing on the pavement in short, choppy strokes.

“Sorry,” Olivia stammered, looking up and noting an expectant sparkle in his emerald eyes. “Did you say something?”

“Oh, I was just giving you the answers to life’s biggest riddles,” he said. “Too bad you were listening to your iPod.”

Olivia smiled and slowed her pace to match his lazy, shuffling stride.

“Anything good?” he asked, gesturing to the silver mini she was gripping in her palm.

She racked her brain for the hippest and most obscure indie band she could remember from Violet’s quickly shifting groupie allegiances, silently cursing her sister’s resolute commitment to steering clear of gym class (and, for that matter, any type of rigorous physical activity). And what was that band Bowie had mentioned at the party? The Lion Kings?

Ultimately, Olivia settled on the truth. “Beethoven,” she offered uneasily. “‘The Moonlight Sonata’.”

If Soren was surprised, he did a good job of hiding it. He pushed his lower lip forward, nodding, and Olivia wasn’t sure if it was a gesture of approval or disgust, but it was too late to turn back now.

“Classical music keeps me calm while I run,” she explained. Olivia had been something of an accidental track star at Willis, and even held a record for the mile. Running was always something that came naturally to her, but she didn’t care much for competing. On the bus before meets, the team captains—a pair of senior girls with matching shorts and taut, hairless limbs—would lead raucous cheers to pump up the team. Olivia
would watch their mouths move in silence, their fists punching the air like they were ridiculous, angry puppets, while a soothing string quartet played on her headphones. That was one chapter of her old life she was happy to leave behind. But she did miss running, the freedom she felt as she flew around the track.

Soren, on the other hand, seemed to be more of a Sunday stroller.

“Beethoven, huh? I’ll have to try that sometime.” He smiled, looking off toward the water, where a family of tourists in orange life vests was posing for a picture and nearly capsizing their rented rowboat in the process. “I usually just count the number of botched photo ops on the lake.”

He ducked his head in a bit closer, his elbow accidentally brushing hers and spiking the little hairs on her forearm to attention. “In case you haven’t noticed,” he stage-whispered, “I’m not much of a runner.”

Olivia grinned, shrugging. “I thought you were just enjoying the scenery,” she joked, lifting her eyes to meet his. His face was open, his lips slightly parted and approaching a smile, his teeth overcrowded and imperfect in a way that softened the rest of his chiseled features. He seemed more comfortable here than he had been at the party, and there was something about the way he held her gaze that made her feel instantly at ease.

“Not bad, huh?” Soren gestured with the clean line of his jaw at the sprawling green on either side, against a backdrop of painted rooftops and giant sky.

“Definitely beats yoga,” Olivia agreed.

Soren considered her skeptically from beneath his thick
lashes. From this angle, Olivia decided that he was almost too pretty.

“Oh, come on,” he said, kicking a fallen branch out of his way with the side of his muddy sneaker. “You were a natural.”

Olivia’s heart tightened, little red splotches spreading at the base of her throat. He had noticed her in yoga? Her feet automatically hit the pavement in heavier, shorter strides, pulling a foot or two in front of him as they followed the path under a canopy of tangled cherry blossoms, the hanging pink petals blurring in her vision overhead.

“So how are you liking the city so far?” he called out from behind her. His voice shook a little bit, like he was trying to keep from talking too loud but was afraid she wouldn’t hear him.

Olivia slowed until he’d caught up again, looking down at her maroon-and-silver Nikes as they matched his sluggish pace, step for step. She’d never thought about it before, but running with somebody else felt a little bit like dancing.

“It’s great,” she said. “I mean, I haven’t really done much of the tourist stuff yet.”

Olivia half expected him to laugh, or tell her she wasn’t missing much. There was something about being the new girl in a city so fabled that was a little embarrassing. It seemed much cooler to be the jaded traveler than the wide-eyed transplant.

But instead, Soren turned to her, his eyes quick and serious. “You have to do it all,” he said with genuine concern. “I mean, there’s some stuff you can skip. Fisherman’s Wharf is always crazy crowded and kind of lame, but it’s still worth
seeing. And then there’s Golden Gate Park, Coit Tower, the Presidio, the farmer’s market at the Ferry Building…”

Olivia felt her shoulders relaxing as he talked. Usually, talking to guys made her feel like she was on trial. But Soren was different. He kind of reminded her of a little kid.

“I have a question,” she started, feeling suddenly braver. “I mean, I can pretty much guess, but I’ve technically never been, so I was just wondering…what exactly is a farmer’s market?”

The only market Olivia had ever been to was of the
super
variety, and she’d pretty much assumed that farmers only existed in paintings and history books. Ever since Bowie’s mom had returned with overflowing bags of vegetables that looked freshly picked, Olivia had been curious about where they came from.

“You’ve never been to a farmer’s market?” Soren asked. His voice was light and free of judgment, like he was simply excited for her to finally find out. “There are a bunch of them around the city,” he explained as they rounded a corner of the shimmering lake. “But Saturday at the Ferry Building is the best. Farmers from all over the area bring whatever’s in season, and there are tons of amazing samples. Skip breakfast and you can make a whole meal out of just tasting things…”

Olivia smiled and listened, watching Soren as he animatedly gestured with his hands. They were coming up around the final bend, and Olivia felt a shade of disappointment creep up around her heart. Soon they’d be back at school. Maybe he’d wave or smile in the hall, but she knew they wouldn’t get another chance like this to really talk.

But she kept smiling and nodding as Soren went on about
the various vendors and their farming techniques. She realized that along with the subtle disappointment, another, more foreign sensation rumbled inside of her, a physical feeling she had almost forgotten how to recognize.

She was hungry.

O
livia hustled through the crowded lobby after school with Violet hopping up and down beside her. The girls’ volleyball team, led by Lark, the team’s captain, was parading en masse out of the locker room and down the hall. Violet was snaking in between them, craning her neck for a better look.

“I knew we should’ve left class early,” Violet worried. “What if we already missed her?”

Violet had been prepping Olivia all afternoon for her shopping trip with Calla, and Olivia had done her best to pay attention. But she’d left gym class that morning in a hazy fog, mentally replaying and analyzing excerpts from her lakeside conversation with Soren. Needless to say, the idea of spending time with his girlfriend was a little bit of a downer.

“There she is,” Violet screeched, pointing through the glass to one of the dark wooden benches outside. Calla looked lovely as ever in a faded scarlet tunic with golden sarilike
embellishments at the collar, stretchy indigo jeans, and a bright yellow circle scarf slung around her neck.

She was chattering into her iPhone, and Olivia stood quietly off to the side so as not to interrupt. “No problem,” she said sweetly into the phone, indicating with a smile and one finger that she’d be just a minute.

Olivia glanced across the street to where Eve and Graham were attempting to double-mount a rusty orange beach cruiser.

“Sorry,” Calla said to Olivia, tucking her phone into the inside pocket of her extra-large tote. “I’d asked my dad’s driver to take us around today, but it’s so nice out I thought maybe we could walk instead. Do you mind?”

“Sure,” Olivia agreed. “I mean, no. I don’t mind.”

Calla smiled and folded her patched army coat into her bag. Olivia suddenly felt like a snowman in her heavy winter peacoat, and was wondering how casually she might be able to slip out of it, as Calla waved to Eve across a line of carpool traffic.

“Hey, guys,” Calla called. Graham was now standing on the pedals as Eve attempted to balance between the cruiserstyle handlebars. “What, no helmets?” She laughed.

“We’re only going to Amoeba,” Eve called back. “I thought you had a lit mag meeting today.”

“Change of plans,” Calla said, linking arms with Olivia. “We’re going shopping.”

They turned onto Haight Street and had hardly walked a block when Olivia noticed that just about every person they passed—from the clusters of runaway teens to old men pushing grocery carts, to camera-toting tourists at spinning postcard
racks—stopped to watch Calla as she passed. A few of the more brazen onlookers whistled or called out, and if Calla noticed, she didn’t let on.

“I didn’t even ask you where we’re going,” Calla said as they waited at a crosswalk, her smile easy and infectious. “I hope it’s somewhere nearby.”

Olivia felt her pulse quickening, Posey’s warning about telling anybody about the shop echoing in her ears. As if summoned, Violet hustled up beside her, grabbing Olivia by her other arm.

“Don’t worry, O,” Violet said. “You’re not giving anything away. And besides, you saw how slow things were at Posey’s. You’d be doing her a favor.”

Olivia clenched her teeth, doubting Violet’s logic but forcing herself to at least pretend to believe it.

“It’s near Dolores Park,” Olivia told her.

“Okay.” Calla shrugged happily. “A bit of a hike, but I’m up for it if you are.”

Olivia nodded and smiled. Her legs were sore from the two miles she’d run that morning with Soren in gym, but somehow she didn’t think this was appropriate information to share.

“Oh, I bet I know,” Calla guessed. “Is it that little boutique with the handmade baby onesies? I swear, everything in there smells like candy. I’m, like, instantly starving, the second I walk in.”

“Um, no,” Olivia stuttered, realizing it would probably be better to prepare Calla ahead of time for Posey’s shop. “It’s actually not much of a store. More like a…custom-design studio.”

Olivia held her breath, expecting Calla to stop short or turn
around, or at least pry for more details. But she kept walking, untangling her flowing dark hair from under the thick strap of her tote, and smiling over her shoulder at Olivia. “I love it already.”

“Butterfly,” Calla announced as they turned a corner at the park.

Violet whipped her head around, locking eyes with Olivia.

“What…where?” Olivia asked carefully, watching as Calla took a few steps backward and out into the street. Calla pointed up at the shabby awning, which appeared even older and grimier, caught in the unforgiving glare of the late-afternoon sun. For the first time, Olivia noticed a row of chipped, crooked letters, painted on the underside of the faded fabric. Either Posey’s grandmother had been going for a mysterious, windblown advertising effect, or the awning had been hung upside down.

“
Mariposa
,” Calla read. “It means
butterfly
in Spanish.”

Olivia shared a quick, charged glance with Violet before clearing her throat.

“Let me guess,” Calla said, squinting with a sly smile. “You take French.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, skipping across the curb and peering curiously through the darkened window.

Olivia forced a choppy laugh and followed Calla inside, her stomach turning anxious flips.

“Hello?” Olivia called out to the seemingly empty shop, as soon as the chimes had stopped tinkling overhead.

“Wow.” Calla sighed, glancing around at the mannequins,
which were even creepier than Olivia had remembered. “It’s like a museum.”

Olivia peered around a corner, to where a narrow spiral staircase led to a door in the ceiling.

“Posey?” Olivia called upstairs, listening for footsteps.

Calla crossed the room to where an embroidered wedding gown was draped in plastic over one arm of the ratty old couch. “So how does this work?” she asked Olivia. “You just tell her what you want and she makes it for you?”

Violet squatted on the arm of a rocking chair. “Yeah,” she muttered. “Or she makes you something else, which may or may not have the ability to bring people back from the dead.”

Olivia shot Violet a hidden glare before turning to Calla. “Maybe we should come back,” Olivia said delicately. “I think she usually does these things by appointment.”

“You’re kidding,” Calla said, her hazel eyes darkening with disappointment. “That’s too bad. I had such a good feeling about this. And my feelings are so rarely wrong, you see…”

Calla smiled and Violet cocked her head up toward the staircase, urging Olivia to investigate.

“Let me see if she’s upstairs,” Olivia said uncertainly, before gripping the loose railings and gingerly climbing up.

She rapped gently on the ceiling and pushed the hatch open. A warm gust of air whooshed past her ears as she hoisted herself up, lifting the top half of her body into what appeared to be a cluttered kitchen.

“Hello?” she called out. “Posey? It’s Olivia. I have a friend with me and—”

Hurried footsteps approached the stairs and Olivia glimpsed a pair of old leather clogs shuffling around a corner. Feeling suddenly like an intruder, Olivia let the door fall shut and scurried back down the stairs.

“She’s coming,” she announced to Calla, who was casually flipping through a book of sewing patterns. “I think.”

Calla shrugged, as if to say she was in no rush, and turned a page.

The heavy door creaked open and Olivia looked up to see Posey leveraging her miniature frame down the spiral stairs.

“Oh, hi,” Olivia called up. “Sorry. I just wanted to let you know we were here.”

Posey nodded and, without saying a word, moved silently and awkwardly toward the desk. “Full house today, huh?” Posey said, lowering herself into the cracked leather armchair tucked behind the desk. “I take it you want another dress.”

Violet looked quickly to Olivia as Olivia’s eyes grew round. She hadn’t even thought about the dress she’d need for herself.

“Oh,” she said quickly. “Well, yeah. But also, my friend Calla—”

Olivia opened her arm to include Calla, who had already scurried to her side.

“Hi,” Calla said, extending a warm hand. “I saw what you did for Olivia last weekend. The black gabardine, right? I am completely obsessed and have seriously been daydreaming about something like it ever since.”

Posey glanced at Calla’s outstretched fingers as if they were an alien life-form she wasn’t quite sure how to process, before turning her attention back to a pile of loose receipts.

“I hope we’re not interrupting,” Calla said with genuine alarm.

Posey, in turn, said nothing.

Olivia looked to where Violet was crouching on the rickety desk, her jaw swinging open and her arms flailing in disgust.

“No,” Olivia stepped in, suddenly feeling protective and eager to make Calla feel comfortable. “Posey’s just surprised to see me back so soon, I bet. Right?”

Posey looked up and met Olivia’s desperate stare. “Never saw it coming,” she replied, her voice dripping with dry irony.

Olivia felt Calla’s shoulders relaxing as she wandered from one mannequin to another.

“Well, how about if I tell you what I was hoping for, and you can tell
me
if I’m totally out of my mind,” Calla joked, laying a hand on the shoulder of a long-sleeved crimson sheath.

“Please don’t touch that,” Posey asked, settling into her chair. “And yes. You are.”

“Holy PMS,” Violet gasped.

Olivia watched as a tiny vein in Posey’s neck throbbed.

“Well,” Calla said, slowly lowering her hand to her side. “Maybe this is a bad time. I guess I should come back when I can give you more notice.”

Calla strolled back toward the door before turning and smiling warmly at Posey. “It was nice meeting you,” she said. “You do beautiful work.”

Posey bowed her head. “Thank you,” she muttered, and Olivia finally exhaled.

Calla pressed through the door, turning back to Olivia. “Coming?” she asked.

Olivia nodded. “Just a sec,” she said, nodding back to Posey. Calla smiled politely and stepped through to the street.

Olivia leaned across the desk toward Posey. “I’m really sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Posey shrugged, refusing to make meaningful eye contact as she stuffed a pile of receipts into a manila envelope.

“Do you still want your dress or not?” she asked.

Olivia felt like leaping across the room and hugging her, but managed to restrain herself to a simple “Yes, please.”

Outside, Calla was ruffling through her bag for a purple Nalgene water bottle.

“I’m so sorry,” Olivia gushed. “I had no idea she’d react that way.”

Calla took a sip and waved the apology away. “Don’t even worry about it,” she insisted. “Creative people are always moody. You don’t get to pick and choose clients if you don’t have talent.”

Olivia nodded as Calla threaded her slender, tanned arms through the sleeves of her green army coat. The wind had started to pick up and the sun was hiding behind a low layer of clouds.

“I guess I should do the usual shopping rounds,” Calla sighed. “I can’t believe how long I’ve waited to deal with this. It’s been, like, nonstop planning, helping my mom get everything together.”

Olivia nodded with what she hoped was a sympathetic smile, hugging her arms to her waist, keeping warm against the chill.

“Oh, well.” Calla smiled, checking the clunky, leather-strapped men’s watch she wore around one slender wrist.
“Oh, my God! My mom is going to lose it. I’m supposed to meet her at the caterer’s in ten minutes. Apparently there was some kind of shellfish crisis…”

Violet made a face and Olivia laughed. Luckily, Calla did too.

“See you tomorrow?” Calla asked.

Olivia nodded. “Sure,” she said, hefting her book tote higher up her arm and bringing her loose, wavy ponytail down over one shoulder.

Calla turned on her worn gold gladiator flats and waved as she crossed the street. “Wish me luck!” she called back to Olivia. “Oh, and thanks again for trying.”

“Anytime,” Olivia answered, and realized that she’d meant it.