My Wishful Thinking (9 page)

“I do not understand
skeezy
,” Eugene says.

Which cracks me up. Because it’s like Eugene said the perfect thing without even meaning to. “Exactly. It makes no sense, my genie friend.”

Em puts her hands on hips in a prim sort of way. “It makes perfect sense. It’s a combination of sketchy and sleazy, and it’s a perfectly good word. Maybe not an SAT word, but a good word. Especially for Dawson.”

“Ess ey tee? I do not understand that either,” Eugene says.

I laugh again and Emily huffs in frustration, like she’s surrounded by idiots. But I gotta say, I love that guy, because it seems like he asks all the right questions.

CHAPTER 21

ONE OF THE FIRST THINGS we spy when we get to Neptune’s is not a thing at all. It’s Nigel. Naturally, this makes Em go all giddy, holding my hand and flushing like she’s completely naked instead of wearing a pretty modest, at least by my standards, bikini. So that’s when I have to make stern no-no eyes at her to remind her to calm down.

It’s sort of a rule and ritual with us, based on my Mom’s view of men and how to act with them. Mom’s theory is that when you let males know you like them, they go on a power trip and take advantage of you.

She says this is what happened with my dad.

I’ve explained before how it all works to Em, so she always tries hard to maintain her calm, collected image with Nigel, despite her massive crush. I hope aloof will work for her, but honestly, in my experience it doesn’t seem to matter if you act indifferent or like a stalker or anywhere else along the affection continuum‌—‌they take advantage of you. They always take advantage of you.

After my no-no eyes, Em takes a deep breath and spreads her beach towel onto lounge chairs not too far from Nigel’s lifeguard stand. As a bonus, we have a patio table with an umbrella, where I dump Jeremy’s crap and my bag. Eugene slides a chair half under the umbrella and leans back, closing his eyes. I take a seat at the table and set my tote bag on the chair next to me, then slip my sunglasses from the top of my head to block the bright sunlight reflecting of the sand of the fake beach. The park is quiet. It’s still early and the middle of the week.

“I’m gonna go ride the Tsunami,” Jeremy says and hikes up his trunks.

“You’d better keep a hold on those when you go down,” I tell him, and Em laughs.

“Very funny. Ha-ha.”

“I’m serious. They’re way too big for you and that water goes super fast. Besides, it’s not like you’d be the first guy to lose his shorts.”

“Listen, Jer. She’s giving you good advice,” Em says. “And you need to check in with us every hour on the hour.”

He nods, grabs the top of his trunks and takes off. I watch his head bob through a group of kids his age, down a path and out of sight. He’s a pretty good kid.

“I’d love to know what it was like to be in the game, but don’t want to bring it up in case he’d want to go back.”

Em moves to sit across from me. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Eugene doesn’t join us; he pulls his chair back, and then lays on it eyes closed, barely moving. Sometimes he’s so weird.

“I don’t think he’s gonna tell my mom what happened.”

We can only hope.
Or, come to think of it, maybe more.
I paw through my bag in search of the list I made with Eugene last night. Em takes out a piece of paper, practically folded as tiny as the contract for Eugene’s bag that’s hidden in my wallet. Do I still have it? I open my wallet and quickly check. Yep. It’s still there.

Em carefully unfolds her list, while I spread my crinkled paper on the table. It only has a few things on it, but Em seems to have come up with a lot of wishes.

“Before we start on these, maybe we should wish that Jeremy won’t tell,” I suggest.

Em nods in agreement, and we clear it with Eugene, who still has his eyes closed. We add a few words and the wish becomes:
We wish that Jeremy will never tell anyone about what happened this morning.

The energy leaves Eugene’s hands and snakes its way through the air, travelling the same path as Jeremy, skirting along some high hedges and around a few kids in bright, rubberized life jackets. Our genie doesn’t move before, during, or after the wish. What’s up with him? I sigh in relief then say to Em, “Okay, you first.”

Em shrugs and examines her list. “I’d really like to get rid of these.” She motions to her glasses.

“So you want to wish for contacts?”

“No. It has to be the same for you. So I was thinking maybe twenty-twenty vision.”

“Ahh, and since I already have good eyesight…”

“Exactly.”

I glance over at Eugene, who is still as stiff as a statue. “Is that a good wish?”

“Better than most,” he says only moving his lips slightly.

He seems grumpy that we’re wishing, which confuses me. Ever since he showed up he’s been asking me what I want, like he’s anxious to give it to me. Now it seems like he could care less. I don’t get it. Isn’t that his job? He’s the genie. We’re the masters. Right?
Is he getting sick?

“Eugene, you okay, Dude?”

“You did not tell me Neptune’s was a place with so much water.”

Oh crap!
“I’m sorry. I didn’t even think of it. And Jeremy asked. And we were trying to get him back.”

“What’s he talking about?” Em asks.

I explain the water threat for genies to Emily.

“Is it like the
I’m melting
thing with the Wicked Witch.”

“I have no idea and don’t want to find out.” I go over and lay a hand on Eugene’s shoulder. “Come over here to the table and we’ll sit on either side of you to keep wet people away.”

He gives me a half-hearted smile and moves, folding his palms on the table, sitting stiffly.

“Don’t worry. We got your back.”

“If you say so Master Logan.”

“Just plain ole Logan is fine.” I shrug at Em. “All right. Vision wish. Let’s do eet.”

Wish.

Energy.

And holy moly!
My
vision is‌—‌better. This was supposed to be Em’s wish. “Wow. I never realized I needed glasses. I mean, they stopped testing us in elementary, and Mom never took me to the optometrist.”

Em removes her glasses, blinking two or three times, and then grins. I can’t help myself from staring at every tree and shrub, because I can see individual leaves instead of a mass of green. The world seems brighter and more alive. Amazing.

“Your turn,” Em says.

“No. Let’s do another one of yours. That turned out pretty good.”

I lean over, watching Em skim her finger down her list. She stops and taps on item number ten, then stares at me and laughs. “Boobs. I want boobs.”

“They’re not really all that special.” I say. “Some clothes look better without them.”

“That’s such bull, Lo!”

“So what’s your plan for doing that?” I ask Emily but glance at Eugene.

Eugene finally relaxes, leaning back, a smirk appearing on his lips. “What size are you?” he asks.

“Excuse me, but that’s personal, Mr. Genie.”

“He’s asking because we need to be super specific for the wish to work. I can’t just say, ‘I want boobs like Lo’s’. Right, Eugene?”

Smirking, still. “Correct.”

My eyes grow large.
Oh, whatever
. “Thirty-two D.”

Eugene’s opens his eyes to look at me‌—‌of course he does, he’s a guy‌—‌and his smirk grows into a grin. I can’t help but laugh, because it seems so out of character for his normal polite, nerdy self.

“Are you sure?” I ask Em.

“Beyond sure. Let’s go.”

We perfect the thirty-two D wording and wish.

Em is hit squarely in the chest with the energy and suddenly she’s jiggly with two little triangles that barely cover her bursting out all over boobs. “Omigod!” she squeals in delight. She looks down at herself and then touches them. “They’re for real.”

Eugene and I crack up as she tries to pulls her top out to peek inside. The top’s too tight and she ends up saying “Omigod, omigod” over and over.

“I think you should go say, ‘hi’ to Nigel,” I suggest.

”You think so?” Em giggles hysterically. “Maybe later.” And then she faces his lifeguard stand and does a shoulder-roll-show-off-my-new-boobs thing.

The next wish is mine. Deep down, I don’t want to wish for anything. It seems like too much power, but because it’s my turn and because it would be strange not to wish at all, I pick something that will make Em happy‌—‌tickets for Warped Tour. Easy. Done. Moments later, we have four.

Emily studies her list and says softly, “I have something I want to wish for you, Lo.”

“What?”

“That you’ll do as well as me on the SAT.” She pauses. “I thought about wishing for a perfect score, but that seemed selfish. This way we can go to the same college. What do you think?”

There are a flood of emotions and thoughts that go along with this wish. First, it means that Em doesn’t think I could score as high as her. I guess I already knew that, but it still stings. Second, there’s a part of me that feels like it’s cheating. I am a lot of things and certainly all of them aren’t good, but I’ve never been a cheater. I don’t even know how I feel about college. Why does everyone think this is the only path? There are other jobs that are valuable. Besides, since the divorce, Mom probably hasn’t been able to save enough to pay for it. But oh well, we could just wish for money then. Right?

Nothing is out of reach.

And now I get what Eugene was saying last night, about how some of his masters had felt guilty. When you can have anything, or everything, why not just let the genie go
poof!
and it’s yours, whether you’ve earned it or not.

“I don’t know about that one. You already scored what? Over nineteen hundred?”

“Nineteen twenty,” she says. “Oh, please, Lo. I don’t want to go away without you.”

Eugene sits stiffly, following our conversation with intensity. He hasn’t made a peep, but something about this wish seems to have snagged his attention.

“What do you think?” I ask him.

He looks sad. “Do you want my advice?”

“Yes! Of course!”

“I needed to make sure. It’s part of genie protocol. No unsolicited advice.”

I’d better remember that.

“I do not want the wishes to change you.” He pauses. “On this one, you need to think twice and be very, very specific,” he adds.

Just then Jeremy runs up, goggles pushed up and suctioned against his forehead. His feet and calves are covered in sand. Dripping water, he grabs for a towel, and Eugene recoils. “I’m starving! Can we get something to eat?”

“We already had pizza,” Em says, reaching into her purse to give him some money anyway.

Thank God for Jeremy’s distraction. I hadn’t wished for it but would’ve if it’d occurred to me.

CHAPTER 22

ONCE JEREMY IS FINISHED EATING AGAIN, he heads out for Victoria Falls, a super-slide at the other end of the park.

Em doesn’t bring up the SAT wish again but simply asks, “What’s on your list, Logan?”

Sadly, my paper has more scribbles than wishes. Things like,
make my mom normal
or
bring back my dad
were written hastily then crossed out. I clutch the list. “It’s pretty lame. I didn’t come up with much.”

Em reaches over and slides the list from between my fingers, laying it on the table, smoothing it.

“What’s this revenge wish?” she asks me. “Sasha?”

I nod.

She looks up at me; her eyes are soft with sadness or pity, and because I’d prefer to avoid both, I don’t flinch. Don’t breathe a word.

“I don’t really blame you for wanting it, but maybe we could find something that will make you happier.” Em looks back to the list. “What about this one that’s starred? A date with my crush. Who are you crushing on, Lo?”

I hesitate because the answer seems kooky. Finally I say, “Dawson,” because it’s the easiest thing to say.

“Riiight,” she replies skeptically.

But the thing is, she wants a date with Nigel, who just then gives her a little wave as he gets down from the lifeguard stand.

“I swear, Lo, he’s the perfect package.”

I’m peeking over her shoulder as he heads into the cabana to change. I snort. “How do you know his package is perfect? You’ve never seen it.”

Em giggles. “I didn’t say, I did
not
say‌—‌” she practically has the hiccups and giggles keep bursting out. Finally, composure. “
His
package.”

Eugene stetches out on the lounge chair, putting his hands behind his head, elbows out. He smirks at us. “I do not understand
package.
”

But he does. He gets exactly what we were saying, and in a way that’s funnier than when he didn’t. I crack up, making a shame-shame motion at him, and then at Em, and then at myself for bringing up packages to begin with. I scoot over to Eugene, shifting his feet to the side so that I can ease onto the end of his chair. We could probably use his genie expertise right about now. I lean into him and follow his protocol while adding a flirt, “Should we make this wish, my Eu-genie?”

“May I make sure I understand what you are considering?” He’s grinning.

“Sure.” I tease, my face inches from his. But even though we’re playing around, I don’t want him to talk us out of this wish. Even if I know hearing what my personal genie thinks would be a good‌—‌or, to use an SAT word, a prudent‌—‌thing to do.

Eugene smiles in his wide, goofy way. “You would like a date with the skeezy pizza boy, Dawson‌—‌”

“He’s not skeezy!” I fake protest.

“‌—‌and Em would like a date with package boy, Nigel.” His smile transforms into the mischievous one he showed me last night. “They are your
crushes
.”

“Well, Em’s is a major crush, if we need to be specific. She’s been fixated on Nigel for four years. Mine’s shorter. I’ve only liked Dawson since the end of the school year.” Even as fib about crushing on Dawson, I’m not sure what the truth is. I only know I’m not really crushing on Dawson. Maybe a week ago, but not now. Because these two minutes of flirting with Eugene have been more fun than months of flirting with Dawson. Then, I feel guilty, about wanting to hook up with any guy and every guy, even one who is a goofy, cute non-human. Can’t I just be friends with a guy? For once.