My Wishful Thinking (11 page)

I storm away and he still does. Not. Get. Up.

Eugene trails me to the edge of the yard by a fence with a privacy hedge. I walk along the fence, the can concealed, and slowly empty the brew. I hope it doesn’t kill the plants. Most people would toss the empty, but I’ve learned if you have one in hand, no one will ask if you want another. Everyone just assumes you still have beer. Finally, I circle back around toward the party.

Eugene grabs my wrist. “Why are you throwing your brew away?”

“I don’t like beer and don’t drink it,” I confess, “but sometimes it’s easier to play along than it is to go all in-depth. Know what I mean?” I’m convinced he doesn’t know
what I mean
, and I wish that he’d try out the
play along
technique. I really don’t want to answer another question from him.

He floors me when he says, “It’s because of your mother.”

I hesitate. “Yes. And considering what Sasha did, there shouldn’t be any beer at this party.”

“This girl, Sasha, she is your enemy?”

Enemy? I can think of a few choice words to call Sasha‌—‌with ‘bitch’ holding down the number one spot and ‘two-faced liar’ in the second position‌—‌but I hadn’t considered enemy. “Could be. She’s a little like Richard.”

“She’s a dick?” Eugene asks.

I crack up, and Eugene looks a little hurt. “You can’t call girls a dick,” I explain, “but if you could, then yes, she’s a dick.” Certainly she screwed me.

I take a pretend swig of my beer, and Eugene’s eyebrows shoot up. It hits me that this is exactly when Mom would’ve wanted a drink.

Eugene takes the can from my hand. “Can I ask you to ask me for advice?”

Protocol. “Of course. I’d love any advice from you.”

“You and Emily have talked about this revenge wish, but you shouldn’t do it.”

“Oh genie, my Eugenie, you should know it really takes a lot to piss me off. I mean, it might look like I have a short fuse, but‌—‌” I pause, thinking of a way to explain myself. “Remember when I pretended I was going to throw Betsy’s head at you, I never did it, right? This isn’t about revenge. It’s just about evening things up a little.”

“But that
is
revenge.”

“No, you’re wrong. Revenge is an eye for an eye. This will be more like a broken fingernail for an eye.” I hesitate. “Okay, more than a broken fingernail because I want it to be more than a minor annoyance. A stubbed toe? Like when you really whack it good?”

Eugene raises an eyebrow.

“You’re right. A stubbed toe isn’t a very big deal. What about when you hit your funny bone? That really hurts like a sonovabitch.”

But none of these supposed pains are close to what Sasha did. I’m trying to keep our conversation silly, because I don’t want to think about what the wish might be, even if I do want to make it.

“Can we get out of here?” I ask. “I never wanted to come in the first place.”

“Why did you?”

“For Em. It’s her date-with-a crush wish fulfilled.”

“Does that make me your crush?”

I hiccup a laugh, but it’s not very funny. Since we made that wish, I haven’t been out with Dawson. Not once. And with the way he acted tonight, I promise myself I won’t be going out with him again. I hope I keep that promise.

Come to think of it…I haven’t been out with anyone, except Em and Eugene. So what does that say about me?

“I don’t think I have a crush,” I tell him. “Let’s get out of here.”

We find Em and Nigel wrapped up in each other and their conversation, staring deeply into each others eyes. This has been the best thing about tonight. Looks like Em’s crush date is a roaring success. I almost hate to interrupt.

“Hey, Em, I’m probably going to head out. Not feeling too special.”

Nigel flops an arm over Em’s shoulder and asks me. “A little too much ale?”

Yeah. Too much ale. Except my mom is the one consuming it.

Em coos in sympathy, but I see the twinkle in her eye. “Oh, man! The party’s just getting started. Would you take me home later, Nigel?”

“Sure thing, baby girl.”

Em smiles sweetly and swallows her
hell, yeah!

“Hope you feel better, Lo.”

“Yeah. I’ll text you later. About Sasha.”

CHAPTER 25

WITH THAT, EUGENE AND I HEAD FOR DORY. She’s parked along the street a block or so from Sasha’s. “Do you want to stop somewhere before we go home?” I ask as we walk.

“Can we visit the genie Denny?” he teases, making fun of himself and the mistake about Wendy.

I laugh at him. Eugene sure has changed quickly. A week ago he would’ve gotten worn out by all these people and asked to leave the party so he could go back into his bag.

“Genie Denny, here we come,” I say while cranking the key.

The restaurant is pretty empty, except for one family who must’ve spent the day at one of the parks‌—‌they’re sunburned and exhausted‌—‌and another uniformed guy on his way home from work.

Eugene and I grab a booth away from both of them. His scruffy hair is visible over the top of his menu. He peeks at me, all boyish charm. “Are you going to tell me what happened with Sasha?”

I’d managed to avoid her at the party but could still see her in my mind’s eye, being attended to by her friends as though she were some kind of royalty. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if she ended up as Homecoming Queen or Prom Queen. Or both. That’s the kind of power she wields at our school.

“She was a friend of mine at the beginning of high school,” I start. “She’s one of those people who can make you feel special by just talking to you.”

Eugene looks confused. “She speaks nicely?”

“No. Not exactly.” I laugh painfully. “It’s that she’s so selective about who she talks to, who she lets into her circle of friends, that once you feel you’re in,
that
makes you special.”

“That doesn’t make sense to me.” Eugene’s perspective on everything is refreshing and the things he says in innocence are so true.

“You’re right again. It totally doesn’t make sense.”

All the memories of freshmen year come flooding back. Spanish I was my class right before lunch, and after the bell rang I ambled toward the cafeteria, apprehensive about who I’d eat with because Em’s schedule put her into a different period. Sasha, who had always been one of the most popular girls in middle school, came up beside me. She had long, shiny hair and a perfect complexion. In middle school she’d had braces, but had gotten them off over the summer, whereas I still had mine. She smiled, showing the perfectly straight, bright white teeth. “Hey, aren’t you in Gonzalez’s class with me?”

“Yeah.”

I couldn’t believe she was talking to me. We’d been in the same school since middle school and she’d never said
boo
before. It was always like she’d looked through me, like I wasn’t there.

“You should sit with us at lunch.”

Us.
Sasha’s group of friends. The popular girls. It was unbelievable and flattering and scary all at the same time. As we went through the line together she gave me advice. “The salad bar is supposed to be decent and I heard the grilled chicken sandwiches are okay, but stay away from the personal pizzas.”

I nodded in agreement and took a chicken sandwich.

When we got to the table, I squeezed in next to a girl named Kaylee.

“Everyone, this is Logan. Logan, this is everyone.”

Sasha probably thought I knew who everyone was, but I didn’t, even though I guessed I’d figure it all out eventually. During lunch I concentrated on the sandwich, while they all gossiped about what had happened over the summer until a girl who looked familiar walked by the table and everyone stopped talking to watch her pass.

About a week later I found out from Kaylee that the girl had been part of the group before the summer, but over the break Sasha had cut her out.

“What do you mean, she cut her out?” I asked. Kaylee and I had two other classes together and I had gotten comfortable talking with her.

“We couldn’t be her friend anymore,” Kaylee explained. “Something must have gone on between her and Sasha, but no one knows what for sure.”

I imagined that the girl must have committed some really huge sin, a betrayal of massive proportions to have been snubbed like this. But I was wrong, because ten short months later, during summer break between freshman and sophomore year, I was the one cut out.

It started, I think, when Sasha said, “We’re having a sleepover on Tuesday.”

Tuesday nights were when I stayed with Em’s family. It’d been like that for a long time. “I can’t go.” I explained the arrangement.

“Why do you always stay at her house?”

“My mom works at a hotel and she goes out that night, so Mrs. Rhodes always has me over. We’ve been friends since second grade.” I felt like I needed to justify my friendship with Em because she wasn’t a part of Sasha’s group.

“Well, can’t you skip?”

“I…maybe…I’ll see.” But the truth was I didn’t want to skip, and so I came up with some lame excuse that I can’t even remember exactly. I probably said something about my mom wanting me to stay at Em’s. I don’t know.

The next thing that happened was when I hooked up with Tucker Doyle at a pool party at Sasha’s. I hadn’t known she had a secret crush on him, because it was secret. How could I know?

After that she’d given me the cold shoulder a few times, but we didn’t really hang out over the summer much anyway so I didn’t realize there was anything wrong until we got back to school sophomore year. Sasha told everyone that my mom was an alcoholic, which wasn’t true at that time and still might not be true, even if now she does drink more than she should. She also told everyone that I was gay. Sasha worked a little black magic and changed my life.

“And that’s when Logan Paige Carter,
moi
, developed the reputation for coming from the low-life family of a single mom who drank and partied and was not a girl you’d want to be friends with because I might hit on you.” I stop because it still hurts to talk about this, even with Eugene. Maybe especially with Eugene, he’s the only one that doesn’t know this whole drama.

Eugene takes a deep breath and I think he’s about to say something kind and supportive; I can’t let him do that.

“That’s why I started hooking up with guys. I couldn’t do anything to change the situation with my mom, but I could make sure everyone knew I didn’t want to be with girls. I’m what Emily calls skeezy,” I tell Eugene.

“But you’re not,” he insists.

“I don’t want to be.”

Em says that next year when we’re out of school it’s not gonna matter anymore, and she always points out other people who’re still friendly with me. But it’s like they’re all tiptoeing over eggshells around me. Worried that they may say the wrong thing. Worried that I might break, like I’m some effing fragile princess. Almost like they pity me because of what Sasha did. Or because of what my life is.

If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s pity.

“That’s why you want to make this revenge wish?” Eugene asks.

I fiddle with the salt and pepper shakers compulsively. “Yep. It’s a good reason, right?”

“What she did was wrong, but will your wish take it away?”

Eugene’s trying to make sense of this and be logical. And I’m sorry, but what she did defies logic, so his
help
on this annoys me.

“No, it won’t take it away. I just want her to feel a little of the pain I felt. Is that so wrong?”

“Are you asking me?”

“Of course.”

“Yes. It’s wrong,” is all my genie says.

I feel angry, keyed-up, and defiant because I’d thought Eugene would take my side after I’d spilled my guts to him about one of the most painful events of my life. I text Em:
Time to wish
.

The reply comes back:
Sasha?

I text the wording and my phone rings. “Are you sure?” Em asks.

“Absolutely,” I say, looking Eugene straight in the eye, daring him to contradict me, which he can’t because of protocol.

CHAPTER 26

“WHAT IF SHE SAID ‘SORRY,’” Eugene asks in a last-ditch effort to get me to renege on this wish.

“She won’t.”

“Well, you should at least try.”

I phone Em and explain what Eugene wants, then put the phone on speaker and lay it in the middle of the table between us.

Em says in a high-pitched, doubtful voice, “I’ll ask. I’m walking over to her.” Then I hear her say, “Hey Sasha, I have Logan on the phone and she was wondering if you’d apologize for when you spread rumors about her.”

I can hear Sasha’s laugh as though I was standing right next to her at the party. “Sorry? For what? Letting everyone know about how she’s a lowlife?”

Her minions laugh.

When Em says, “I don’t think she’s gonna do it,” Eugene raises an eyebrow.

I say, “I think her party’s about to get extra wild. Ready?”

Em and I say the wish together.

Jinx. Big time jinx.

Em squeals, “Omigod, a donkey just ran into the backyard and he’s hee-hawing in Sasha’s face. She’s screaming ‘get him away’ and he’s trying to eat her shirt.”

“Can you send me video?”

“Yeah. Let me get closer. Ooh, he stinks, Lo.”

I snort a laugh, picturing the smelly beast in Sasha’s face. Well, she acted like an ass, so she should hang with one. The video comes through from Em. Sasha’s smart phone, $350, Abercromie party outfit, $200, expression on her face as the donkey tries to eat it, priceless.

Time for wish number two. Em and I make it. I hear more squealing from the phone, and this time it’s not Em or Sasha. Sounds like pigs.

Nigel’s voice is loud. “What kind of party is this, Emily?”

Even that cracks me up‌—‌him being so properly British.

Em whispers into the phone, “They’re really destroying the backyard.”

“Don’t you mean barnyard?”

Wishes three and four are made for gooses and horses. The gooses are honking, and Em tells me one of the horses is pawing at the ground. Then it rears up to fight another one. It sounds like pandemonium on the phone.

Eugene asks, “Are you ready to stop it?”