As You Wish (7 page)

“JINN!”

It isn't Viola calling my name—it's Lawrence. The sky is on the verge of lightening; the trees are silhouettes instead of just blackness. I rise from underneath the oak tree, brushing the dirt off my legs. So he's found out about the wish now, too. I could hide out here, not face him—I'm not bound to his call like I am to Viola's. But no…he deserves answers. I sigh, then vanish from the park to reappear beside him.

“Wow. Calling you actually worked,” Lawrence says. He's sitting in the driver's seat of his car outside the party house. It's eerie, seeing the house that was thrashing with life only a few
hours earlier—it's now quiet and calm, save for a few people staggering toward their cars. Morning dew covers the red cups strewn throughout the yard and has soaked through the clothing of a guy passed out underneath the front hedges.

“I'm waiting on Viola to come out. Get in the car,” Lawrence says firmly, his initial surprise worn off. I nod, trying to gauge how angry he is about the wish, but he's difficult to read at the moment. I circle around the car and slide into the passenger seat, holding my hands to the vents to warm them.

“We need to talk,” Lawrence says, giving me a hard look.

I sigh. “Look, she wished. I
had
to. I didn't want to, to be honest.”

“I'm not mad. But I want to know exactly how it works. I mean, say Viola wants to leave him…will he still love her?”

I shake my head. “Sort of. Not really. Wishes aren't permanent. She wished for what Aaron and Ollie had, so…I made him want her instead of Ollie. It was the best way to give her what she wanted without changing too much about who
she
is. Anyway, I tweaked the wish here and there. I did what I could. I tried to turn it into a wish to belong, not a wish for love. But
it can end, just like anything else.”

“Okay…okay. Good.” Lawrence looks slightly relieved.

“And I left you out of it. Nothing about you changed,” I add. Letting the magic touch Lawrence just didn't seem right.

Lawrence looks back over at me, sighing and shaking his head. “Um…thanks? You know, you and your wishes really don't make any of this easier.”

I muster a weak smile. “‘What a tangled web we weave,' right?”

“Something like that,” Lawrence replies, rubbing his temples. We both turn to look when movement from the front of the house catches our eyes. It's Viola, walking slowly through the front door, hand in hand with Aaron. They're followed by a small group of Aaron's friends, who don't look nearly as glamorous in the dawn light as they did the last time I saw them. Viola, however, glows brightly. Aaron pulls her close, and she lifts her shoulders shyly, then gives a bubbly laugh and gives in to his touch.

Aaron and Viola approach my door and stop. I meet Viola's eyes briefly before they disappear behind Aaron's head as he
moves in to kiss her. Lawrence and I busy ourselves by hitting the car radio buttons. Repeatedly. Finally, Aaron releases her and opens the passenger door; I dive to the backseat.

“Hey, Lawrence, where'd you disappear to?” Aaron asks, grinning and rubbing his hands against the morning chill.

“Just came out here for a while,” Lawrence answers dully as Viola buckles her seatbelt. She glances back at me and gives me a small smile.

“See you tomorrow morning, baby,” Aaron says, and closes the car door.

No one speaks. Viola keeps biting her lips and giving both Lawrence and me nervous glances. There's a wish in her eyes—to tell us about the rest of her evening.

Thanks, but no thanks. “Where are we going?” I ask Lawrence to avoid continuing the awkward silence.

“Breakfast. Or an extremely late dinner,” he says, motioning toward the clock—it's five fifteen in the morning.

“I've never been awake this early before,” Viola comments. “Or I guess I've never really been out this late before. Time just flew, I was sitting with Aaron, and then we danced—”

“
You
danced?” Lawrence says, sounding surprised.

“I know! Aaron made me do it, but then it was kind of fun, and then we sat outside until it got really cold…. You were out here in the car? And where were you, Jinn?”

Lawrence nods while I answer aloud, “Holly Park. I go there at night. If you close your eyes…and your ears…and try not to inhale, it's a little like Caliban. Sort of.”

Viola turns around in her seat to look at me. “Caliban—which, may I add, you're closer to, now that I've wished.” As soon as she says it her grin fades a little, to less of a beam and more of a reluctant smile.

“That's right, just two more wishes,” I reply and force myself to think of what I'd be getting for breakfast were I in Caliban. Food is taken seriously there. It's all elegantly prepared and served, perfectly garnished—

“I hope they still serve that Bacon Breakfast plate,” Lawrence says, swinging the car off the road and into the parking lot of a small, dirty-looking breakfast joint.

The restaurant is packed with all sorts—silent brooders, chatty teenagers, and the occasional leering old man. It smells
like stale smoke and bacon inside, and the waitresses shout orders to a large cook who shuffles back and forth in front of the stovetop, frying eggs and pouring waffle batter. We slide into a booth, Lawrence on one side and Viola and I on the other. I fixate on watching the cook in disgust in order to avoid hearing Viola's stories about the great Aaron Moor.

Think of Caliban. The view from my apartment. Delivering flowers. The curved architecture, the street fairs, the wildflowers…

“It helps if you don't watch him cook,” Lawrence says from across the booth.

“What?” I ask, snapping back to reality.

“The cook. It helps if you don't actually watch him make the food. You're starting to look sort of sick.”

“He's right, Jinn. Do you want some of this toast?” Viola asks. She slides her plate toward me until our elbows bump briefly.

I shake my head. “I'm fine. Sorry. I don't need food on Earth, remember?” The jukebox kicks on an annoying song about waffles, for which most of the customers cheer.

“I hate this song,” Lawrence groans, hitting his head on the table.

“Anyway,” Viola says, ignoring Lawrence and meeting my eyes, “I never thanked you, Jinn. For helping me, I mean.”

“Don't worry about it. You wished, I didn't really have a choice anyhow—”

“I meant before that,” Viola cuts me off with a meaningful look. The hall, I realize. With Aaron and Ollie, when I pulled her away and she grabbed for my arm…when I was her friend, not her wish granter.

“I see how it is. Suddenly Viola and her genie-boy have secrets,” Lawrence says, waving a syrup-covered fork at me. Viola laughs again—deep, real laughter that's brighter than the repetitive waffle song. I finally smile—the first time since her wish, I think. It's hard to feel regretful when she's laughing.

AARON MEETS ME
in the cafeteria on Monday morning, throwing an arm around my shoulder and handing me a paper cup of cappuccino. He ushers me over to a table where some of the Royal Family is sitting; a girl compliments my jacket, and another invites me to a movie this weekend. I'm sure I'm grinning and giggling like an idiot, but I can't really help myself.

“She's in the Art Expo thing,” Aaron says, giving me an admiring look.

“Really? Is that hard? Painting and drawing?” a girl asks me as she shuffles through her purse for lipstick. Damn. I should
have worn lipstick—Ollie always wears lipstick. I scan the cafeteria for her golden skin, both hoping and fearful that I'll see her. I wonder if she's furious with me for stealing her throne. A swell of guilt courses through me at the thought that I haven't seen her since the party, since the wish—

“Viola?” the lipstick girl interrupts my thoughts. I snap back into the conversation.

“It's…ah,” I stammer. Somehow telling these people that painting is about being passionate just doesn't sound right. “It's hard to know if you've done something well or not. After a while you start to see only its problems.”

A few people nod; Aaron kisses my hand. “Speaking of painting,” he adds, “can a few of you guys help me this afternoon with the
Grease
sets? I was supposed to do them Sunday, but I was
way
too hung over to handle it.” A few friends nod and volunteer.

“I can't,” I say, feeling a little guilty. “I need to work on my Expo paintings, actually. I slept all day Sunday and didn't get a chance to come in.”

Aaron shakes his head. “Don't worry about it, baby.” He
kisses me—this time on the mouth—before I have a chance to think. My cheeks burn bright red—there are
so
many people around, and I'm not certain if I'm more proud to be kissing Aaron or embarrassed that everyone is watching. What if they're wondering what Aaron Moor is doing with a girl like me? What if they know it's because of a wish? Aaron presses hard into my mouth until I close my lips and pull my head away. Aaron grins and runs his thumb over my hands. “Sorry. Got carried away.” The rest of the table laughs before launching into a conversation about hangover cures.

Still flustered and scarlet from the kiss, I keep quiet, pretending to be interested in a girl walking up to each table in the cafeteria. She's carrying a blue cardboard box that reads “FUNdraiser” on the side. She belongs to the band kids, I think. The girl meets my eyes and heads my way.

I don't know her name. She doesn't fit in with the Royal Family; her eyebrows are ungroomed and her clothes aren't ridiculously tight. Yet even so, she doesn't look intimidated or even nervous about approaching the table. Instead, she looks defeated,
like she's already anticipating being ignored or passed over.

“Hi. The marching band is selling candy to go to Philadelphia. One dollar per bar, anyone interested?”

No one hears her—no one but me, anyhow. The Royal Family continues chattering without looking up. As if she's invisible. She sighs and scouts out another table.

“Wait,” I say, just as she's about to step away from the table. The girl raises her eyebrows at me; does she remember that I was just like her only a few days ago? Or did Jinn change that as well?

“I'll take two,” I say, digging through my purse for two dollars bills. I hand them over and take two packs of Skittles from the blue cardboard box.

“Ooo, candy!” a Royal Family girl says from the end of the table.

“What are you selling it for?” one of the guys says, throwing a dollar into the box and grabbing a Twix. The band girl rolls her eyes a little, and I can't help snickering. She repeats the spiel and, when she's finished, gives me a sort of grateful nod. I return the nod and look away only to see Jinn watching me,
leaning against the trophy case with a sort of satisfied smile. I raise an eyebrow at him, and he shrugs, then vanishes.

 

When I arrive at the art room after the last bell, I head straight for the pink paint. And violet. And orange. Somehow I feel like I can paint with all of them, can splash color on the canvas and be carefree about it all. I shove my old paintings aside and pull up a new sheet of canvas, not even caring when my fingers accidently smear paint on the clean edges. I step back and look at the blank space.

But what to paint? There's so much that's shiny and sparkly and would lend itself to an amazing piece of art. I press my lips together.

“Paint a picture of me being bored at a park for the last eight hours,” Jinn says. I turn and grin at him.

“I couldn't do you justice, sir,” I reply. “Besides, you were here this morning, so it wasn't really eight hours.”

“Fair,” Jinn says, stealing the remaining pack of Skittles from my purse. “I just wanted to make sure things are going okay.”

“They are. Things are going great, actually.” Jinn lifts himself
onto a table while I turn back to the canvas. “Though I have to admit, I thought painting would be easier. I mean, I know I want to use these colors, but…wow. Painter's block.”

“Wait…,” Jinn says. He steps up behind me and takes the paintbrush from my hand. “I've got it. It'll be brilliant.” He dips the end of the paintbrush in crimson paint and slowly paints a smiley face in the center of the canvas.

I laugh, but Jinn steps back and folds his arms, admiring his work, before motioning for me to have a shot at the picture. I rinse the brush and dip it in fuchsia, then add spiky hair to the face. I pause as the paint dries—it looks sort of like the Punk Guy from my Shakespeare class. I didn't think about sketching him today, like I usually do. Didn't even occur to me.

“Viola?” Jinn says when I haven't spoken for a few moments.

“Sorry,” I say, turning to him. “Your turn?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. You can't add to perfection.”

“Naturally,” I answer. I'm about to continue when I hear footsteps approaching the art room. Aaron appears in the doorway.

“Hey, baby,” he says, eyes sparkling. He looks at the smiley face painting as he walks toward me. “That's…um…”

I blush. “We—I—was just playing around.”

“Hey! That was serious art,” Jinn says behind me.

“Well, it's magnificent,” Aaron teases me. He kisses my cheek and entwines his fingers with mine, while I try to avoid touching his clothes with my wet paintbrush. Aaron is warm and inviting, but I'm very, very aware of Jinn's dark eyes on me.

“Great,” Jinn says with a look of resignation. “Another four hours sitting in a park.”

Sorry,
I mouth. He sighs, but gives me a wry smile before he vanishes.

Aaron wraps an arm around my waist. “Come on,” he says, and steps toward the door, pulling my hand with him.

“Wait,” I say, motioning toward the painting. “I really need to work on the Expo stuff….” Aaron runs a hand across my back. It sends a pleasant shiver through me.

“I need to put my stuff away at least,” I half-heartedly protest.

Aaron raises an eyebrow. “Put it away later. I have something to show you.”

I bite my lip, and he leans in to kiss my forehead. He slides one hand down my arm and gently plucks the wet paintbrush from my fingers, dropping it onto the counter. I should put it in water—it'll ruin the brush, leaving it out to dry too long. Aaron pulls me toward the door.

The halls are empty of everything but the sounds of teachers complaining in the break room and the whir of the janitors' vacuums. Aaron stops just as we reach the theater doors.

“Wait just a second,” he says, and reaches into his back pocket. He pulls out a shred of cloth that I'm pretty sure was ripped from the school's Juliet costume.

“You've got to be kidding,” I say through a smile as he moves to tie it around my eyes.

“You know, you don't make it easy for a guy to be romantic,” Aaron answers. I laugh and give in. Awkward or not, who am I to turn down a romantic gesture?

Aaron puts his hands on my shoulders and leads me into the cool theater. It smells like spray paint and mildew, and I can
hear my steps echoing as we walk. Aaron navigates me up the wing stairs and onto the stage.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, a little breathless.

Aaron sweeps the blindfold off my eyes. It's almost completely dark in the theater. In the blackness of the ceiling, tiny glowing lights appear, fake stars that haven't been used in a show for ages. Aaron nods toward the lighting booth, where a few of his friends are hanging out. They give him a thumbs-up, then hit the stage lights, illuminating Aaron and me in a pale blue-violet glow.

“Get it? Like it's nighttime?” Aaron says, motioning at the stars above.

I nod and give as girlish a laugh as I can muster. Aaron turns around to where a blanket is spread out in the center of the stage, with a Gatorade bottle and a bag of miniature Snickers beside it.

“I got bored painting
Grease
sets, so I made us a picnic under the stars instead,” Aaron says, looking pleased with himself. I grin so hard, it nearly hurts. He did this for me. Even
Lawrence never did anything like this for me.

Aaron and I sit down on the blanket, and he swigs from the Gatorade bottle—I can smell the beer inside that's replaced the actual Gatorade. He leans on the scaffolding that's right behind us, sweeping his hair back. I wonder where the rest of Aaron's friends are—I thought they always hung out together. It's a little strange, being with Aaron alone in an empty theater. I look up at the fake stars.

“You know, this sounds stupid, but I mean it when I say I had a great time with you Saturday,” Aaron says, holding my gaze. I blush—I can feel my cheeks heating up—and nod in return. Aaron leans in and turns my face toward his. I struggle to swallow the mini Snickers I bit into just a moment before. Our lips touch.

Aaron's kiss is powerful, strong, like he might push me backward if I don't return it with just as much force. It makes my heart pump and my hands shake. I can smell his cologne; the scent is overpowering. Jinn would have something to say about a cologne bath, but I wouldn't blame him. I'll take the honey-spice scent of Jinn's skin over a bottle of Ralph Lauren
any day. I wonder what he's doing, hanging out in a sketchy park…. I shouldn't have ditched him this afternoon.

I pull away from Aaron and smile. He grins and takes another swig of his drink.

“I can't stay out too late,” I say after a moment's silence. I look up at the fake stars.

“Really? I wanted you to come over and watch a movie or something.”

I press my lips together. “No, I want to, it's just…” I sip my drink to stall and give me a moment to think. I can't exactly say that I feel guilty about Jinn being alone. “Don't you have to finish the
Grease
sets today?”

Aaron laughs. “True, true. I just like spending time with you, I guess. But lame musicals wait for no one!”

When Aaron drops me off at home, it's already dusk outside. My mom looks up from starching a row of her white blouses as I walk in the door.

“And where were you?” she asks, eyeing Aaron's car as he drives away.

“I was…on a date, I guess,” I say as I open the refrigerator
and hunt for a can of Diet Coke.

“A date?” my mom says, her voice an odd mix of doubt and relief. She sprays down the closest shirt with the can of starch. “You didn't tell me you had a date. With whom? Or was it Lawrence?”

“No!” I snap, defensively enough that my mom rolls her eyes. “It was with Aaron Moor. He's from school. Did you want me to start telling you that sort of thing?”

“Oh, no, it's okay. I was just wondering,” my mom says. She pauses for a moment, a thoughtful look on her face, then sets the can of spray starch down. “He's nice, then?”

I nod. Relationship talk is not something my parents and I are good at.

“Good, good.” She crunches the sleeve of a blouse as I open my drink and begin to head to my room. “Viola,” she calls out after me. She leans against the kitchen table. “I don't need to worry about you or anything, right? We can have the talks if you want.”

“The talks?”

She furrows her eyebrows and shrugs. “You know…sex
talk. Drinking talk. Love talk. We've never had them. Just don't think I'm too busy with work for the talks if you need them. I think I can order a DVD about teenage sexuality. I guess I should have done it while you were with Lawrence but…better late than never, right?”

If there's one phrase I never want to hear my mom say again, it's
teenage sexuality
. I want to burst out laughing, but my mom seems so perplexed and sincere that I can't bring myself to embarrass her. Instead I shake my head furiously as I open my bedroom door. “I'm good, Mom. But I'll let you know if I need any talks.”

“Talks?” Jinn says as I shut the door behind me. He's leaning against the wall by the window, arms folded, with an amused smirk on his face.

“Sex talks,” I say with a grin. “Apparently there's even a DVD.”

“You, Aaron, and your mom should probably watch that together. You know, educational experience,” he replies with a serious expression. I throw a pillow at him, which he dodges at the last moment.

“So how was the hot date?” he says as I lay back on my bed and inhale the scent of old quilts.

I smile. “It was…strange. And it was great.”

“Right,” he replies so quickly that it's clear he doesn't want to hear the gritty details of my afternoon. Jinn runs a hand through his hair several times, paying close attention to the moment the hair slips from his fingers.

“Four days,” Jinn says under his breath. I sit up and look at him. “I've been here four days.”