Three Wishes (28 page)

We hear a wooden creak behind us, and all of our heads whip around to where my parents are standing on the stairs. My grandparents gasp in unison, and then they're stunned into silence. “But — how? What — how can this be? Are you—? Not possible.” Their voices begin tumbling over one another like clothes in a dryer until they again lapse into wordless shock, staring at the vision in front of them.

“Uh, hi, Mom and Dad.” My dad moves forward to embrace his parents. “We can explain everything later — but it's thanks to Genie we were able to return to you — to all of you.”

“But you're — you're what, a ghost?” My grandfather backs away from my father, white as a sheet. He's holding his two forefingers together in the shape of a cross. My grandmother, ever practical, reaches out a hand to my grandfather and pulls him back toward her.

“Don't be ridiculous, Pat. Does he look like a ghost? You don't even believe in ghosts!”

“There's no other explanation, Marianne!”

“After all we've learned about genies, and our Genie, in particular, you can't possibly imagine there's any other reason we would see Matt and Geneviève again? You know they can do things we couldn't ever dream of.”

“Right, Marianne,” my mother says. “What you didn't realize was the car accident we had was no accident — as you know, our bodies were never found.”

“It was always a mystery,” my grandfather agrees, some of the color returning to his face. “But it seemed to be the only explanation at the time. Your car went into the water. It made sense your bodies… washed away.”

I stare at my grandparents, shocked by this information. Growing up, I knew my parents were killed in a car accident, but I was never told their bodies went missing. Shivering, I realize I'm glad I was ignorant of that detail; it would have haunted me to think they might have been out there, somewhere. Now it seems they were, though not anywhere I could have found them until now.

There's a sudden rush of warm air pushing us toward each other. As if in a dream, on an unspoken cue, we all gather close for a family hug, but this time, it includes my parents as well as my grandparents.

My life feels complete.

My mother's body is quivering as we all hold each other close. She whispers into the circle, “I will never forgive Guy Maroc for taking away this time with my precious family, and I will never rest until I can somehow avenge our pain and sorrow.” I can't tell if she's shaking from anger, or tears, or both, but it makes me want to hug her more.

“Geneviève, please think of our happy ending; don't worry about Guy,” my father says.

“Oh, I won't — for now. But I will not forget.”

Right then the doorbell rings, and our family trance is broken.

“It's Joel. I'm not ready!”

“Genie,” my mother frowns with disapproval. “Wish yourself ready,
ma chérie
. Stop stressing yourself and wasting time. Listen to your mother.”

My human habits die hard, I guess, and a part of me is reluctant to let them go. But given the current time constraints, I go along with her suggestion and am ready in an instant. Besides, it's kind of nice, as she says,
to listen to my mother.
I've never experienced
that
before.

With a flourish, I open the front door and welcome Joel into the room. He's planning to meet his parents at the graduation ceremony, so he has arrived alone at my house. It's a good thing he's resilient, because he takes in the scene and recovers right away. The familial resemblance must have helped. He swallows hard and walks forward, hand outstretched.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lowry, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Joel.”

“Please, call us Matt and Geneviève.” My father laughs. “We're informal people.”

“And forget about a handshake,” my mother says as she embraces Joel and gives him the French two-cheek kiss. “We know what you've done for our little girl, and it makes us happy she has found you,” she says with a hint of a French accent.

“Well,” Joel responds, suddenly bashful, “I feel more like she found me. I've never known anyone as smart, strong, and caring as she — and beautiful, too. Thank you for her.”

Wow. What kind of an eighteen-year-old guy says these kinds of things to his girlfriend's parents? My guy, that's who
.

“Oh, please stop talking about me like I'm not here! This is so embarrassing,” I interject, blushing like it's my career, and take Joel's hand to drag him toward the door.

“Honey, your graduation cap and gown — don't forget them.” My grandfather grabs them from the closet where they were hanging and tosses them to me.

I snatch them out of the air, making a face. Why did our school have to have orange and navy blue as our school colors? The boys are wearing navy blue caps and gowns, which are a bit more tolerable than the orange monstrosities we girls have to endure. Even the most beautiful girls in our class will look like oversized pumpkins.

“It's only for an hour,” my mother says, interpreting my grimace.

Her intuition makes me laugh, and Joel and I wave as we walk out the door. “See you at the ceremony,” I call over my shoulder.

“Wow, so
that's
incredible,” Joel says as we get into the car.

“What is?” I ask, adjusting my seatbelt.

“Um, well, I don't know if you noticed, but your parents have, like, come back from the dead.”

“Yeah, hmm. It is odd, huh?”

“Are you going to tell me how it happened?”

I explain the story, and he shakes his head.

“Well, it's pretty amazing, but I've had to get used to some things I never thought were possible,” he says with a mock sigh. “Like having you as my girlfriend.”

“Aww.” I pinch his cheek before kissing it.

His next question, though, brings me up short: “So, what are you going to tell everyone else in town? They'll all be wondering how this could happen.”

We brainstorm a few ideas, but nothing seems feasible, until I hit upon a solution. We'll tell people they were in the Witness Protection Program, and we're not allowed to explain further.
Why not?
If anyone doubts the story, we can tell them the truth, which will seem even more preposterous. I'm sure tongues will be wagging either way, but at least this will give them something to chew on. I call my grandparents to tell them the plan, and they agree it's the best explanation, under the circumstances.

At graduation, all of us are milling around or hanging out in groups before we begin lining up. I see Pete with his friends, and as Joel and I walk by, hand in hand, Pete catches my eye.

“Hey, Pete,” I say while Joel squeezes my hand.

Pete nods his head at me, then asks his friends, loud enough so I can hear, “Who is that girl? She's hot.”

His guy friends
guffaw
, clearly thinking he's playing it super-cool after our abrupt breakup, and Kaydee, who is part of the group, shoots me a dirty look as she links her arm with Pete's.
No worries there
, I think to myself.
You can have him, and be my guest.
She flips her hair over her shoulder and moves closer to Pete.

Joel and I seek out Luke and Leia and hang out for the few minutes before the lineup. I tell them the news about my mom and dad. Luke and Leia are also shocked, but they handle it quite well. I swore Leia to secrecy about my genie power, so she and Luke are the first to hear the fabricated story about my parents' return. Leia catches my eye and winks, but Luke seems to accept the story without too much question.

After thirteen years of public school, it's time for us to march through the procession and then onto the stage as each of our names is called. I get to cheer as Joel Brand and Leia and Luke Hirsch go before me, and hear lots of hoots and hollers when my name is called. I stand up and clap for Marc Hidalgo when he goes through the line — I'm so proud of his courage to be himself — though I'm one of the few who is vocal about it.

In about a half hour, it's all done; our valedictorian has given her speech, our principal has offered his congratulations to our class, and we're forever free of high school. As the salutatorian, I'm not given any special status, but I'm content to be out of the spotlight. We all throw our caps in the air, and as they rain back down on us, we exchange hugs and promises to keep in touch. It all feels so final that I pause for one last look around before leaving my seat to meet Joel and our families on the hill behind us where their chairs were set up.

Joel and I greet his parents first. Beaming with pride, they give us both big hugs and congratulate us, while Joel's mom dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. Joel's little sister, Danielle, snorts and rolls her eyes at her mom before she runs off to find some friends on the other side of the field.

“You both are so — grown up,” his mom says, still sniffling. “And I've never seen Joel as happy as he has been for the past week. You two are so cute together. I've been telling him for
forever
he should ask you out, you know.”

“
Mom
,” Joel groans. “Cut it out! Please!”

“Yes, Stella. Let's let Genie get over to her family, too,” his dad says, steering his wife toward the field.

We head over to my fellow Lowrys, set apart a bit from the rest of the crowd. If Joel's parents are wondering about mine, they're keeping it for a private discussion later, for which I'm grateful.

Joel slides an arm around my shoulder, and we share a smile. I am whole.

In the distance I see a tall figure, all in black, moving away from the scene. Not positive she sees me, I still stop and give her a nod. If nothing else, she provided me with guidance when I most needed it. She stops too, and waves, blowing an uncharacteristic kiss to me.

I feel a stab in my heart for all of the doubt and anger I had harbored toward her, but release it as I wave back to her. Joel glances at me with questions in his eyes, but I shake my head at him to let him know it's nothing to worry about.

And right now, it isn't. I leave the past behind as I step into my family's warm embraces. There, everything feels right in the world, and, surrounded by my boyfriend, parents, and grandparents, I can't think of anything else left to wish for, except a glorious summer of love.

Chapter One

Joy

Ever since I've been old enough to kick off on a condor with my own two chicken feet, I've been drilled to mind my own business.

Mind your own business
, the first of the American Ten Commandments.

It's not one I subscribe to, even though in our community, not minding my own business means more than social suicide; it's a crime when we ascend above ground.

For thousands of years we deeems have kept away from the creatures running over our heads with their five-toed feet. So if anyone in my community gets wind of the risky job I'm on these days, I'm practically a goner. But that doesn't stop me from shadowing a certain teenage fivetoe.

There's also a totally different occupational hazard involved in this position I've created for myself, one I'm suffering from right now: this job occasionally makes school seem relatively stimulating. Yawn. I've played too many Angry Condor games to count since Starra got involved in some fantasy book a couple of hours ago and lost contact with the real world. Even if I knew how to become visible to the fivetoe eye and suddenly revealed myself, I bet she wouldn't notice me, the cute teen perched on her windowsill.

Time simply refuses to advance, and I have to resort to counting the spider eggs cocooned in their nest on a nearby tree branch. A sudden sigh interrupts my lame occupation. There's a starry look in the big eyes, and I notice the novel is slipping out of Starra's dreamy grip. This is my window of opportunity! I finger the starchy edge of the book jacket and coax the book forward.

Thud
. The book falls to the floor, and the movement seems to bring Starra back to her senses. At last she grabs a hoodie and sets out, probably for one of her night excursions on the Vista Del Mar Path. Are we running or biking tonight?

Running it is. I jog behind her, finding the excursion by the shoreline an improvement to watching her read. At least we are
moving
.

She runs for half an hour, at a speed faster than the sea turtle pace usual for fivetoes. Then she slows to a stop at a jagged rock, half-submerged in the ocean. I groan quietly and contemplate leaving. From experience, I know she'll climb to the top of
her
rock and dream away. I start backing off, but when I'm some fifty feet away, I look back. Starra makes a pretty picture there, her silhouette perched high on the rock. Her long legs are tucked under her, and her head hangs back as she keeps her gaze on the stars above. If only she would let loose the heavy dark mane of hair she always twists up at the back of her neck, she would truly look like a mermaid risen from the sea.