The Art of Wishing

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Copyright © 2013 by Lindsay Ribar

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Ribar, Lindsay.

The art of wishing / by Lindsay Ribar. p. cm.

Summary: When eighteen-year-old Margo learns she lost the lead in her high school musical to a sophomore because of a modern-day genie, she falls in love with Oliver, the genie, while deciding what her own wishes should be and trying to rescue him from an old foe.

ISBN 978-1-101-59224-3

[1. Wishes—Fiction. 2. Magic—Fiction. 3. Genies—Fiction. 4.Theater—Fiction. 5. High schools—Fiction. 6. Schools—Fiction.] I. Title. PZ7.R3485Art 2013 [Fic]—dc23 2012013035

FOR MOM, DAD, AND MEGAN.

You guys are awesome.

Prologue

T
he plan was this: I’d get up on that stage, blow them away with the best damn audition they’d ever seen, and walk out knowing the part I wanted was mine.

And when I was called into the auditorium, that was exactly how it happened.

I walked over to the piano and handed my sheet music to George. “You know this one?” I asked him.

He peered quickly at the title. Nodded and said, “Yup.” Of course he did. Silly question.

George flexed his fingers, and I strode up the little side staircase and onto the stage. Bright lights flooded my face, but I was used to that. I shielded my eyes so I could focus on the lone figure sitting in the first row: Miss Delisio, math teacher by day and play director by night. I smiled warmly at her. This was the woman who was going to cast me in my dream role.

“Margo McKenna,” she said in greeting. “I do love a straight-A trig student with stage presence. How’s calculus treating you?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Straight A minuses this year. Calc is hard. Who knew?”

Miss Delisio laughed appreciatively. “Why do you think I don’t teach it?” she said. “All right, what are you singing for us today?”

“I’m doing ‘Last Midnight’ from
Into the Woods
by Stephen Sondheim,” I recited.

“Great song,” she said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

This was it. I took a moment to steady myself, then nodded to George. On my cue, he started playing. I molded my body into the shape of the song, and the lyrics flowed out of me like I owned them. For those few minutes, I became someone totally different from my real self. Someone worldly and manipulative. Someone with very real power.

I’d chosen “Last Midnight” because of that power. And as the song grew in intensity, and my performance grew to match, and the air in the theater seemed to dance to the rhythm of George’s piano and my voice . . . I knew I’d chosen right.

When I finished, a couple of breaths passed before anyone said anything.

“That was lovely, Margo,” said Miss Delisio. I couldn’t see her face, but I could hear the smile in her voice. “Really, really lovely.”

“Yup,” said George.

“Thanks,” I said breathlessly.

I heard the rustle of a notebook page being flipped. “Stick around for a little while, okay?” said Miss Delisio. “We’ll pair you up and have you read from the script.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll be in the hallway.”

Naomi Sloane, my best friend and Miss Delisio’s stage manager, was manning the door that stood between me and the hallway full of nervous students outside. She gave me a thumbs-up as I approached her.

“McKenna, you just nailed that,” she said. “Don’t tell the masses, but you’re the best audition I’ve seen so far.”

I flashed her a coy smile. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

She laughed and held the door open for me, and I floated out into the hallway as she called the next student’s name. Sure, I still had to do the reading part of the audition, but that would be a piece of cake. The hard part—the important part—was over. And Naomi was right.

I’d nailed it.

Chapter
ONE

S
weeney Todd
is a musical about cannibalism. More specifically, it’s a musical about a barber named Benjamin Barker, alias Sweeney Todd, who kills his customers and gives the bodies to his landlady, Mrs. Lovett, so she can turn them into meat pies and serve them to people. There’s a lot more to it than that—love and obsession and revenge, everything you’d expect to find in a good musical—but for most people, cannibalism is the show’s biggest selling point.

For me, though, it was all about the music. Nothing in the entire universe made me happier than sinking my teeth into a really juicy song and performing it for anyone willing to listen—and of all the musicals I’ve ever loved,
Sweeney Todd
was the ultimate source for juicy songs. Especially if you were playing Mrs. Lovett, which was exactly what I planned to do.

A week after the auditions, Miss Delisio announced that she’d made her casting decisions and the list would be up at the end of the day. So when the last bell rang, I raced out of my last class and up to the theater. There was already a throng of drama club students milling around the door. A piece of light green paper was there, held up with Scotch tape.

I started pushing my way through the crowd, but a hand on my shoulder stopped me before I could get very far. “Congrats, girl!” said Naomi, pulling me into a quick hug. “You got a lead. Told you so, didn’t I?”

Naomi had never been interested in acting, but she’d stage-managed our shows ever since freshman year. She was a natural at it, too: level-headed, loud, and popular enough that people actually listened when she told them to do things.

“Really?” I said, returning her grin. “Wait, don’t tell me. I want to see for myself.”

Call it superstition, but even in a case like this, where I knew beyond a doubt what part I’d gotten, I had to see it in writing before I let it become real.
Margaret McKenna—Mrs. Lovett
. Ever since Miss Delisio had announced that
Sweeney Todd
would be our spring musical, I’d pictured those words in my head, willing them to come true.

I skirted around Naomi and wove through a bunch of guys high-fiving each other, until finally I reached the cast list. It only took a few seconds for me to zero in on my name, about halfway down the green paper. I followed the line that would lead me to the name of my character.

Margaret McKenna—Tobias Ragg
.

No way.

The chatter around me dissolved into white noise, and I blinked a couple times, just to make sure I wasn’t imagining things. I traced the line with my finger. No, I’d really been cast as Tobias Ragg. Toby, who only had a couple of songs. Toby, who was young and simple-minded, the exact opposite of the devious and amazing Mrs. Lovett, who I was certain I’d get to be.

Toby, who was a boy.

I mean, sure, I was short and kind of flat-chested, but come on. . . .

“I’m Toby,” I said to myself, trying the idea on for size. It didn’t fit.

“Yeah,” came Naomi’s voice from just over my shoulder. Apparently she’d followed me through the crowd. I turned to her, and her congratulatory smile faltered when she saw my face. “Listen, I know you wanted Mrs. Lovett, but Toby’s still a really good part. You’ll be so awesome.”

But her consolation-prize words washed over me, totally devoid of meaning. “Who
is
playing Lovett?” I asked. I hadn’t even thought to check. “Wait. Don’t tell me.”

So she didn’t. She just bit her lip and waited for me to find the name. Find it I did. Recognize it, I did not.

“Who the hell is Victoria Willoughbee?”

Naomi went quiet for a moment, her face frozen in an expression that I couldn’t read. “You know Vicky,” she said at last. “Sophomore? Plays clarinet in the band?” Nothing rang a bell, so I just shook my head. Naomi shrugged. “Well, she’s nice.”

“But why—”

“Woo-hoo!” came a shout, so close it made me flinch. Just behind me was Simon Lee, looking over my head at the cast list. “I’m Sweeney Effing Todd, suckers! I am the Asian Johnny Depp! I’ve always said that! Haven’t I? Haven’t I always said that?”

He punched the air, and a few people yelled out their congratulations and gave him those back-thumping man-hugs. Nobody seemed to begrudge him the lead role, or even the bizarre victory dance he was now doing. Mostly because we all knew he was the most talented boy in the entire school. Not to mention the cutest.

Simon found me in the crowd and gave me one of those lopsided grins that made my chest feel like a tiny hot-air balloon. That was when it hit me.

I wouldn’t get to be Simon’s costar.

Suddenly, I was absolutely certain I was about to lose it. I had to get out of there. I couldn’t let all these people see me cry over a part in a high school musical. Especially
not Simon.

“Congratulations,” I managed to choke out, and ran like hell toward the girls’ bathroom.

I didn’t even see the boy coming around the corner until I bumped right into him. My shoulder smacked into his arm with a force that nearly spun me off my feet.

“Sorry!” he said automatically, stepping gingerly out of my way as I looked up in alarm to see who it was. I didn’t know him.

But his eyes widened as he looked down at me. “Margo,” he said. “Oh. I’m really,
really
sorry.”

I gave him a quick once-over—dark hair, light eyes, thin and wiry, cute enough in a nondescript sort of way—but no, I definitely didn’t know him. “Sorry about what? Who are you?”

“Nobody,” he said quickly, holding his hands up like a white flag. “I’m nobody. Never mind.”

I darted past him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him turn to watch me go.

The bathroom smelled faintly of weed and cigarettes, and the powers that be had long since stopped scrubbing away the rude graffiti that covered the walls, but at least it was empty. Feeling about nine years old, I locked myself in a stall, drew my knees up to my chin, and shut my eyes.

Miss Delisio always gave the lead roles to seniors. That was how it worked. You paid your underclassman dues in the chorus, or maybe in small roles if you were lucky, and then you got a good part right before you graduated. So why were the rules different for that Vicky Willoughbee girl?

I only allowed myself out of the stall when I’d calmed down enough to form a new plan of action. If I couldn’t be Mrs. Lovett, then I would be the sort of person who was totally okay with
not
being Mrs. Lovett. I smiled at myself in the bathroom mirror until it looked real, and then I took a deep breath and headed back toward the theater for the first rehearsal.

Miss Delisio was already sitting primly on the stage when I came in. In addition to being my tenth-grade trig teacher, she’d directed every musical I’d been in since freshman year. I liked her well enough—but sitting next to her, wearing tight jeans, clunky boots, and a black biker jacket, was the real talent: George the Music Ninja.

Even when George was just noodling around on the piano during breaks, it was like listening to some crazy musical genius at work. And that wasn’t even counting his other job. When he wasn’t musical-directing us, he was the front man of an indie band called Apocalypse Later. He didn’t write their music, which probably explained why I wasn’t totally sold on their sound, but his vocals and guitar solos were absolutely killer.

“Grab your script and have a seat,” Miss Delisio announced in her usual buoyant voice. “We’ll start as soon as everyone’s here.”

One by one, we made our way up to the stage, where there was a pile of scripts, each labeled with the name of an actor and the role they were playing. I watched Miss Delisio closely as I approached, wondering if she would say anything to me. She knew I wanted to be Mrs. Lovett. In fact, last time I spoke to her, she’d stopped just short of outright promising me the role. Would she bother to explain why she’d given it to someone else?

Apparently not. By the time I reached the stage and fished my script from the pile, she and George were engrossed in conversation. I took a deep breath. It didn’t matter, I reminded myself. What’s done is done. I was okay with it. No, I was more than okay; I was going to kick ass in this role.

Most of the actors with leads had settled in the front row: Callie Zumsky as Johanna, MaLinda Jones as Pirelli, Dan Quimby-Sato as Anthony, Ryan Weiss as Judge Turpin, Jill Spalding as the Beggar Woman. All seniors, of course. But I joined Naomi in the second row instead.

“You okay, McKenna?” whispered Naomi as I sat down beside her.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I whispered back. “Just because Sophomore McWhatserface got Lovett and I didn’t?”

Naomi snickered. “You mean Willoughbee,” she said, trying and failing to sound disapproving.

I grinned. “That’s what I said. Anyway, whatever. I’m over it.”

“You don’t look over it.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “Perhaps your eyes deceive you.”

She looked like she wanted to press the issue, but I was saved by the arrival of Simon, who slid into the empty seat on my other side. “Heya, Toby,” he said, grinning.

There was something witty I could say in response to that. I was sure of it. Unfortunately, the best my brain could cough up was: “Actually, it’s Margo.”

He feigned shock and slapped his forehead with his palm. “Duh. I’m always doing that. Calling people Toby. When will I ever learn?”

Something witty. Something witty. I needed to think of something witty.

But his arm kept brushing against mine as he arranged his stuff on the floor, and that was enough to distract me. I was just about to give up on being witty and blurt out something inane like “Never, I guess,” when Miss Delisio began to shush us.

“We’ve got almost everyone,” she said, frowning down at the scripts beside her. “We’re just missing Vicky—oh, there she is!”

Her gaze shifted to the back of the auditorium, and everyone twisted around to see who she was looking at. There, at the top of the left aisle, was a girl I was pretty sure I’d never seen before. Clutching a small pile of books to her chest, she hesitated there like she’d been caught in the act of . . . what? Walking into a room?

This was the girl who’d been cast in the role of a lifetime?

“Here you go,” said Miss Delisio, holding out a script. Hugging her books closer, Vicky darted down the aisle to collect it. Miss Delisio, beaming, said something I couldn’t hear, and Vicky gave her a tight smile in return. Miss Delisio gestured to the front row.

But the front row had already filled up. Vicky hesitated again, and for one relieved moment I was sure she would head toward the back, with the other underclassmen.

Then Simon waved at her. “Saved you a seat over here!” he called, much to my dismay. Vicky slid into the seat on Simon’s other side as he gave her his trademark arched-eyebrow smile. The one that made my heart beat just a little faster when he used it on me. The one that, last spring, had led to an incredibly awesome kiss at the cast party of
Bat Boy: The Musical
. The kiss had never been repeated. In fact, after that night he’d never even brought it up again. But still: awesome.

Vicky, however, seemed oblivious to his flirty look.

“Margo, right?” she whispered to me, across Simon.

“That’s me.”

“I saw you as Ruthie in
Bat Boy
last year. You were really good.”

“Thanks,” I said, and smiled at her, exactly like I’d practiced in the bathroom mirror. I was okay with this. I was not allowed to hate Vicky Willoughbee.

Once we were settled, Miss Delisio introduced George, like there was anyone here who didn’t know him. He flashed us a grin and settled himself at the piano. We wouldn’t be singing today, since we hadn’t officially learned the songs yet, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t underscore us. He began to play the opening bars of the show, and a little shiver flitted up my spine.

With Naomi reading stage directions, we jumped right in. As usual, speaking the lyrics was odd since, without rhythms and melody, lyrics just sound like really weird poetry. But this was the way the first rehearsal always went: just a read-through, so we could all learn the story together. Most of us were used to it. Some people, like Simon, even managed to make it sound kind of good.

Vicky, however, was no Simon. She read all of her lyrics in an awful monotone, like she couldn’t quite figure out what the words meant. And it wasn’t just the lyrics, either. The way she read the dialogue was just as bad. It was all I could do not to cover my ears and run screaming out of the theater.

When we finally reached the end of Act One, Miss Delisio called a ten-minute break. I thought about going outside, but when Vicky got up, I decided to stay right where I was. Running into her in the hallway and accidentally punching her in the face were definitely not part of my I’m-okay-with-this plan.

As I skimmed the second half of the script, I saw a student approach Miss Delisio. A student who wasn’t in the cast, which was a little unusual. It took me a minute, but I recognized him as the boy from earlier. The one I’d almost mowed down on my way to the bathroom.

He spoke with Miss Delisio and George for a few moments before digging through the pockets of the hoodie he wore, then through the backpack he’d slung over one shoulder. He pulled out what looked like a camera case. I heard the word
yearbook
come out of someone’s mouth, and I groaned softly as I realized what was going on. They were starting rehearsal photo shoots this early in the game? Not fair.