My Wishful Thinking (13 page)

But the other real question is: How does Em know that gorgy guy? And, why, oh why, hasn’t she introduced him to me?

Even as that struts through my mind, another thought is close on its heels.

How can you think that? What about Eugene?

CHAPTER 29

THE SKY, STREAKED WITH FUSCHIA, VIOLET AND INDIGO, is celebrating the sunset like the 60s go-go display at Rags to Ritzy. It’s a little show-offy, which is fine with me after such a perfect day. All day we’ve talked and laughed and told Eugene stories and then left him under the umbrella to float around The Lazy River. And then we’d do it all again.

On one of Lazy River runs, Em and I shared an inner tube, like we used to when we were little. She hung onto one side, while I gripped the other. As we glided under the cool waterfall I screamed and laughed.

“You seem so happy,” Em said to me.

“He makes me happy.”

“Eugene?”

“I know it’s crazy. He’s not really my type and he can be so strange sometimes, but he really, really makes me happy. Is that weird?”

“I don’t think so,” my best friend said.

“Who was that babe you were talking to earlier? Does Nigel finally have some competition.” I teased and waggled my eyebrows.

Em looked uncomfortable. “Oh, you saw me talking to him? He’s not competition for Nigel. He’s just‌—‌” She paused. “This guy I know.”

Wouldn’t you know it? Em gets a pair of boobs and all of a sudden my shy friend is attracting the guys who are as hot as a firecracker.

Now, as the color of the sky deepens to a royal purple, we camp on our lounge chairs, waiting for the it to turn inky so the fireworks can begin.

There’s a surreal, dreamy feeling as I look from friend to friend. Nigel is sharing the chair and a meal with Em while he’s on break. He flops his arm over her shoulder and touches his forehead to hers.

“You have simply blossomed into the most beautiful young woman,” Nigel says while glanicing at her “blossomed” boobs for only a second or two. Em’s practically glowing with happiness. That hot guy I saw her talking to earlier means nothing to her compared to Nigel.

Eugene laughs at something Em said before taking a bite of his burger and a gulp of soda. I smile and realize that I haven’t thought of Mom all day. Not her drinking or the dysfunction that is our family.

I wish this day could last forever.

When the show finally starts, Em and I get giddy and wish for Eugene to make them into different shapes. He explodes a pirate ship, a group of dolphins, a unicorn, and angels in hues of lilac, aqua, lime green, hot pink, and orange. We
ooh
and
ahh
along with the crowd, who are totally awed by how sophisticated this show is.

Nigel appears with a plate of S’mores.
Where did he find those?
I take a bite, and the ooey-gooey marshmallow stretches from my mouth to the sandwich. Eugene makes
mmm
sounds as he gobbles his. He smiles, and the sky lights his face, reflecting a sparkle in his eyes. As I lean toward him, he moves toward me. I press my sticky lips to his. They’re soft and taste like burned sugar.

I am kissing mondo-geeky Eugene. It’s nice. And I don’t care who sees me. He places his hand on the side of my neck and kisses deeper, then gently pulls away.

I leave my eyes closed and slowly open them‌—‌

What the eff?

It’s the gorgeous guy. His perfectly formed Cupid’s bow lips are mere inches from mine with a little toasted marshmallow stuck to them.

“Whe-where’s Eugene?”

He grins, bright green eyes flashing. They look unreal, as if they’re lit from within instead of reflecting the fireworks.

Is this some kind granting? Did I wish for this guy?

CHAPTER 30

THE HUNKITY-HUNK SAYS, “It is I, Logan.”

I know two things when he speaks.

One. It is Eugene. Without a doubt. No one else talks like that.

And two. Em has been keeping something from me. Because this is the guy I saw her with earlier. The guy who gave her a peck on the cheek.

I can’t pull my eyes away from the new version of Eugene‌—‌and really, can you blame me? The only thing that ruins what could have been a beautiful surprise is that it
is
a surprise.

“So will the real Eugene please stand up?” I say in frustration.

“This is how he really looks,” Em says.

What is going on?
I look from Em to Eugene, speechless.

“The way we’ve seen him‌—‌that you’ve seen him‌—‌is a disguise Richard made him wear.”

“I don’t…understand,” is all I can manage.

It sounds like something Eugene would say. I really want him to explain this to me, but Em is the one who continues, “One night, when it was my turn with the bag, I saw Eugene in his true form‌—‌this form‌—‌and we had a long talk about it.”

Why didn’t you tell me? We’re best friends
.

“Richard thought he was too‌—‌”

Hot?

“‌—‌noticeable like this, so he made him take on a less memorable appearance. Richard called it his everyday look. ”

“We’re you going to tell me?”
Ever?
I look at Eugene when I ask this, but he refuses to look me in the eye. Instead he stares at Em.
They’ve betrayed me. Em’s betrayed me. Big time.
“Well, I guess your silence tells me everything I need to know. And I thought we were friends,” I say to the new, improved Eugene.

More than friends. I was falling for you.

He gets completely squirmy, which would’ve suited the nerdy genie I know but looks completely ridiculous on the hubba-hubba vision in front of me.

Then he’s saved by one of the waitresses from the concession stand. She hovers over us in her mer-costume, picking up a couple empty plates and plastic cups near us. “Is everything okay?” she asks through fat, pearlized blue lips.

The poor girl has bad timing. “Everything is just effing jim dandy, Ariel. Why don’t you just flipper back to HQ and leave us the eff alone.”

She huffs and walks away, looking back once over her shoulder. I make a swim-away motion with my hands. She didn’t deserve that. My anger flared in the wrong direction. I look down and put my hand on my forehead.

Em giggles nervously, probably mortified by my behavior, and calls after her, “She didn’t mean it.”

“You’re right. It’s not her fault. It’s yours.” I glare at Eugene instead. “Answer me,” I demand. “When were you going to clue me in?”

“Emily thought‌—‌” he starts.

“I thought you’d treat him differently if you knew what he looked like.”

“What does that mean?” I practically spit out.

“You know, Lo. The same way you act around any good-looking guy. You let it cloud your judgment.”

There’s a part of me that knows this might have happened, probably would’ve happened, but it stings that Em thought that. “Are you saying I would’ve hooked up with him?”

Her face flushes a brighter red than I’ve ever seen on her, and Eugene looks away. “You said it. I didn’t.”

Whoa!
“You’re acting like Sasha!” I yell.

“Wait, Lo. Listen a minute. You and Eugene seemed to be developing a nice relationship. It was the first time I’d ever seen you trust a guy since your dad left. The first time I’d seen you be yourself. You were finally getting rid of skeezy Dawson.”

When she says the word ‘skeezy,’ I clench my fists. I know I asked her to stop saying that word. It makes me feel skeezy. Skeezier.

But Em keeps on talking like she’s oblivious to my pain. “I didn’t want that to change. I was wishing that you’d keep acting the same with him, because, because…it was the best I’ve seen you around any guy.”

“No more wishes,” I yell. “I’m done with wishing.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Emily splutters. “It didn’t involve Eugene.”

My face flushes. I feel the shakes coming on. “How could you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Lie to me. Keep it a secret. All of‌—‌” I wave my hand at Eugene, “‌—‌this.” My voice is screechy and some of the other park visitors have backed away, giving us some space in case someone, namely me, goes postal.

She swallows hard. “Richard is the one who wished for him to look like‌—‌” She trails off. There’s sympathy in Em’s voice, and I feel it too. Richard was such a total asshole.

But then the anger flares. “So you think I’m like Richard?”

“No, that’s not what I said. You’re twisting this. It’s like you’re looking for a fight.”

“You’d better believe I want to fight. This is the worst thing you’ve ever done.” I pause. “This is the worst thing anyone has ever done to me.”

Instantly I regret the words. They’re not even true. Most people just think horrible things when they’re angry, but I always say them out loud.

Em gasps, and tears well in her eyes. She tweezes the strap of her miniscule purse between her fingers and tosses it over her shoulder. “Listen, Nigel offered to drive me home when the park closes and it seems like we should talk about this later when you’ve cooled down. You two probably need some alone time anyway.” Then she scoops her beach towel, leaving the rest of our crap scattered all around, and prances off like we didn’t just have the biggest fight ever.

I want to chase her down and yank her back by her hair. I want to scream and bite and wrestle her in the sand.

But I don’t.

Torn between wishing and not wishing awful things on her, I’m glad Eugene doesn’t grant my wishes alone.

Instead, I turn to him. “And how about you?”

“Emily thought this was the best course of action for your happiness.”

Hot, angry tears pool in my eyes. “What about what I thought? What about what I wanted? Or wished for?”
Can’t I have that just once?

“There were no wishes. I could only do what I thought was right.”

I bark a hard laugh and my eyes burn. Eugene thought the right choice was to lie to me. A tear slips out and down my cheek.

The chiseled vision in front of me reaches out his index finger. He’s about to brush my tear away and stops an eyelash from my cheek. Water. It’s a problem for him.

Eugene looks at me with sad, sad eyes that are completely his own. Or actually this is all his own, but I don’t know any of it. Except those eyes. I wonder how that felt for him. The chance to make a choice. But why did it have to involve me? And lies.

A drop of cool water plops on me, shocking me, and I look up. The stars are gone. Even in the night sky, I can see thick clouds hang over us. Eugene’s eyes widen. Another drop falls and hits his forearm, which starts to steam.

Oh, no. God, no!

I grab a beach umbrella and yank it with superhuman strength, pulling it from the sand. There’s a claw on the bottom of it and I snap it off, holding the oversized umbrella out to Eugene.

“Go, just go,” I say. “Make sure you’re safe.”

He takes it, whirls on his heel and runs in the same direction as Em. The best thing in my life is moving as fast as he can away from me, kicking up sand and heading for the Neptune’s exit.

CHAPTER 31

AFTER PACKING UP OUR PILE OF CRAP in the pouring rain, I head for the parking lot, taking small consolation in the fact that I saw Eugene catch up to Em and Nigel. At least he made it out of the rain and to Em’s house. That’s where he would’ve gone anyway, because that’s where his bag is.

As I slog through the wet sand, I try to use one of the towels as an umbrella. It doesn’t work and I bark a hard
ha!
I thought Eugene could change my life, that I would be the new and oh-so improved Lo. Instead I’m just repeating the patterns that already existed.

I open Dory’s front door, throw the dirty towels into the backseat, and toss the tote into the passenger seat, which should have a person‌—‌Em or Eugene. Not the things I usually stuff into my messy trunk.

Now I wish I’d taken Em’s suggestion to keep him at my house for another night. The drive home is wet and lonely. It poured for about three minutes and since then, there’s been this annoying misty sprinkle. It’s almost not enough to use the wipers, but then everything gets all blurry and it reminds me of the song by Puddle of Mud, which is so melancholy and perfect for how I feel right now. I wish Eugene would take it all away.

This night was supposed to be magic. The day had already been so perfect, with astounding love and warmth and our wondrous fireworks display.

How can something shift from soaring to so low so quickly? It’s like my emotions rode the Victoria Falls waterslide, ending all the thrills by dumping me into a deep, cold pool.

The ride home feels like it takes forever and when I get there I realize it wasn’t long enough. Surprisingly, Mom’s car is in the driveway. Everyone knows this is a night for parties. Or, at the very least, drinking. What is she doing home? I can’t deal with her now.

I grab the pile of damp towels from the backseat. They’re gritty so I give them a couple of quick shakes, brace myself and head into the house.

After Dad ran off with Bobbi Baxter, who lived two doors down, and before Mom went back to work, she would curl up on the couch, surrounded by too-full ashtrays and a wine glass that always seemed to need refilling. She preferred red, a nice Cab or Zin. Merlot would do in a pinch. On mute, the TV played whatever reality show was in season while Mom listened to Sheryl Crow over and over and over. She was the quintessential all-I-wanna-do-is-have- some-fun gal, but the song that always made her crumble was “Safe and Sound.”

When I unlock and open the front door, I’m greeted by it playing.

She slouches on the couch, legs extended and crossed, feet resting on the ottoman. She takes a gulp of red and slurs, “Why are you home so early?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” I head straight for the laundry, taking care that the beach towels don’t sprinkle any leftover sand.

Her voice skirts the edge of the wall, turns the corner and, unfortunately, follows me into the laundry room. “I thought you were out with Em and that strange boy.”

Something hot and ugly flares in my stomach. How could
she
call Eugene strange? I grit my teeth before saying, “I was.”