My Wishful Thinking Page 3

  “You know, Lo.” I can tell Emily is irritated with me because she swipes at the mole on her upper lip and adjusts her glasses. “If you would just open up, you’d see all the amazing things the world has to offer. I wish you were more trusting.”

  Me too. I wish that too, Em. I think of the SAT vocab word‌—‌lagniappe. Never thought I’d use it. Today is unexpected, that’s for sure. But is Eugene a genie? Em thinks so.

  Would that be a gift?

  I don’t know. That’s the part I’m not absolutely sold on.

  CHAPTER 8

  IN THE CAR, ON THE WAY to Wendy’s, none of us talk. I don’t know what the dealio is with Em and Eugene, but speaking for me, I’m still fixated on the whole rain-stopping thing. I’m sure it’s all a coincidence. Isn’t it?

  Traffic along I-4 is stop and go, what with every family in the intergalactic universe coming to at least one of Orlando’s magical worlds over summer vacation. As I exit onto Fairbanks, Em spins around in her seat, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Eugene? Did you do that, that thing with the rain?”

  In the rearview mirror, he grins like a kid with a sparkler. “Yes! That granting was mine. Perhaps I have not lost my, as you say it, mojo.” He holds his hands palms up and alternates them up and down, like he’s juggling an invisible ball. “It is a certainty now. One of you is my master.”

  I return the grin. Because the thing is, he believes it. And so does Em.

  Personally, I’m not 100% convinced, but I gotta admit, driving in suburban Orlando on a hot summer evening with my best friend riding shotgun and a possible genie in my backseat is pretty effing awesome.

  “Can you tell which one?” I ask him.

  “I hope Emily is my new master. She is a gentle soul. I have never had a gentle master, although I have heard they exist.” Eugene keeps doing that juggling thing. “Logan confuses me. She is not bad, like Richard was, but there is something in her that I do not care for. Perhaps she scares me, since she threatened violence with the statue head.”

  “We’re right here, y’know?” I say in exasperation.

  “On second thought, maybe there’s more to Logan than meets the eye. She gave me these new knickers, and I like them.”

  “Don’t call them knickers, Eugene! Ever. They’re shorts. Jams if you must,” I advise, and Em laughs at me.

  “Most of my masters have been male, except for one old crone who was accused of being a witch. Undoubtedly, she wished for too much too soon. I tried to warn her. So I do not know what to expect with a female master.”

  “Hey! Here’s a clue. We like it when you talk to us instead of talking to yourself aloud or to some invisible other.”

  Eugene blushes a deep crimson. “I am very sorry. My conversational skills are rusty. Richard rarely let me out of the bag in the forty years I served him, and we never discussed anything. He wished. I granted.”

  Aw, now I feel like crap. Because if he really was in the bag for forty years that explains a lot. His speech, words like ‘knickers’, his trusting demeanor. If he’s telling the truth‌—‌and that’s still a pretty big if for me‌—‌I can’t imagine spending that much time with Richard. Shoot, that guy made me feel paranoid and sketched out after a few minutes. There’s no telling how wacky I’d be after forty years with him. When I really think about it, about forty effing years, Eugene seems only slightly peculiar. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “Forget I said anything. I’m sure you just need some time to get used to us.”

  Eugene smiles sweetly. “Yes. There is more to Logan than I initially thought.”

  Okay, so it might take a while for him to adjust to us, but I realize I believe him about Richard. So does that mean I believe the rest of it?

  I don’t like to think about that, because it seems, um…slightly psychotic. I’d prefer to have a nice, normal Tuesday evening with dinner from Wendy’s. As we pull into the drive-through, I order for Em and myself. “Do you want anything, Eugene?”

  He shakes his head. When the car inches forward, Eugene blurts, “Fascinating!”

  “What is?” Em asks.

  “Automobiles line up before a genie named Wendy, who lives in a box with writing and pictures. All of the cars are asking for wishes. She asked you both what you would like. But if you have access to this genie, why would you need to summon me? Is it because you must share her with others?”

  “It’s not a genie. It’s a drive-through,” I explain very matter-of-factly.

  It’s like Eugene didn’t hear me. He’s got this glazed-over, astonished look on his face. “I have never run across this in all my years of servitude. But you do not seem the least bit astonished by this Wendy. And yet, I feel quite certain you were flabbergasted by my appearance. Has forty years of Richard’s concealment made my expertise obsolete?”

  There he goes, talking to the air again.

  The topper comes when we pull up to the drive thru. Eugene leans forward over my shoulder and says out the window, “I would like to meet the food genie Wendy.”

  Oh, for God's sake! The girl in the window squints her eyes at me, like she thinks we’re trying to punk her or something.

  “Just ignore him,” I say and hold out the money. “He thinks he's a genie.”

  “Right.” She laughs and walks away.

  I turn to Em. “I wish we would have ordered Frosties. One sounds good right now.”

  “Yeah. It does,” she agrees. And then Em gets a strange look in her eyes. “Do you want to try that? As a wish?”

  I snort. “Only if they’re free and no-cal.”

  “Okay, we’ll include that too,” she says. “Let’s try it.”

  So many thoughts charge through my mind all at once. Like:

  That’s silly. Why would we wish at all?

  That’s scary. What if it comes true?

  And finally, It’s only a Frostie. What’s the big deal?

  “What should we say?” I ask.

  Em comes up with the wording: I wish Frosties were free and no cal. On the count of three we hold hands and say it together, like a jinx. A runty-looking shimmer bounces off the windshield, a microsecond before the girl returns to the window.

  “Here ya go.” She hands me our change, then the bag of food. Suddenly, her face blanks out. For a minute, she looks like Betsy, all mannequin-esque. An empty smile spreads across her face. “Did you want to try the new zero-calorie Frosty? They're amazing!"

  I look at Em in the passenger seat.

  She grins and mouths zero at me.

  “Sure. How much?” I ask.

  The girl is in beam-smile mode. “They’re free.” Then she shakes her bobble head and turns serious. “But only for a limited introductory period.” Before we can answer, like she knew we’d say yes, she hands us two jumbo Frosties. I didn’t even know they came in this size.

  “Eugene! You rock!” Em says.

  His smile is as jumbo-sized as the shake. “That was definitely me. It was not genie Wendy.”

  My heart pounds like crazy. He’s real! This is really real. We have a genie. And wishes. How great is that?

  It’s pretty effing fabtabular, that’s what it is.

  CHAPTER 9

  A LITTLE WHILE LATER, when we pull into Em’s driveway with our magic Frosties half gone, I ask, “Am I sleeping over tonight?”

  “It’s Tuesday, right?”

  “Okay. Hold on a sec.” I take my cell and speed dial Mom. It goes straight to voicemail without ringing once, just like I knew it would. She shuts her phone off or forgets to charge it all the time. Either one is annoying. I mean, what if I had car problems? What if I needed her? I leave a message for when she gets her act together. “Hey, Mom! I’m staying at Em’s tonight. See you tomorrow.”

  Or whenever.

  My mom works in the hospitality industry, which is a fancy-schmancy way of saying she works for a hotel. She organizes stuff for big events, like weddings and bar mitzvahs and conventions, which is pretty much year-round in Orlando. She claim
s it’s a good job and she’s lucky to have it, but she has to work most nights and evenings, so I’m on my own a lot. It’s not a big deal. I’m used to it.

  And because she works virtually every weekend, Wednesday is her day off. So Tuesday night is her Friday night and she likes to go out with the people she works with. Even if they are, like, twenty years younger than her. I wished she’d stay home once in a while, but then I started staying with Em on Tuesday nights a few years back. I guess it used to bother me to wake up in the middle of the night and be alone in the house. Sometimes it feels like it must be a hassle for them‌—‌I mean Em’s parents‌—‌to always have me at their house. But the one time I didn’t come, her mom kinda freaked out. Still, I like to double check and make sure Em wants me to stay. I worry they’ll start thinking I’m a leech, even though Em’s mom has always made me feel welcome.

  Like tonight. We walk in, and her mom calls from the TV room, “Emily, is that you? Is Logan with you? I can heat up dinner for you girls.”

  “Thanks, Mom, but we stopped for Wendy’s.”

  “Hi Mrs. Rhodes,” I say and although I don’t want to be rude, I’ve got a genie to hide. While Em goes to distract her mom, I put my finger over my lips‌—‌which I hope is the universal sign for no talking in genie land, too‌—‌and motion for Eugene to follow me down the hallway. When we get to Em’s room, I sit on one of the twin beds and point to the other. Surprisingly, he gets all of it without talking. He sits in the middle of the other bed and crosses his angular legs.

  Before I can separate our orders‌—‌burger and fries for Em, baked potato for me‌—‌Em comes into the room, shuts the door and plops down next me. She offers Eugene a few of her fries. He inspects them with an unnatural curiosity, until Em puts one in her mouth and then he eats one, too.

  Her room is practically the same as the first time I slept over. Soft colors and flowers. A huge pile of ratty stuffed animals. The biggest difference is the number of mementos on the cork board over her desk. It keeps growing. Obviously, the scarf from the magician’s show catches my eye.

  Eugene, on the other hand is fascinated by her flat screen T.V. He gets up off the bed and stands in front of it, then at the side with his fingers only an inch apart, then he looks behind it. “Where is the rest?”

  “There is no rest,” I blob a little fake butter onto the potato.

  Em swallows a bite of the burger and wipes her mouth with a napkin. “So, now what do we do?”

  I nibble on the inside of my cheek, which I do when I’m nervous. Or thinking. Or both. “I’d like to ask some questions,” I say. “Is that all right with you, Eugene?” I figure it’s best to back off my hostile stance from earlier. Because after the Frosty wish, if he can really do magic, well, why tempt fate and make him mad?

  “Certainly.”

  Of course it is. One of us is his master. It makes perfect sense. If you believe in genies.

  Which I kinda do now.

  I stab the potato with my plastic spork and take a bite, mulling over all the questions I have. Finally, I decide on, “So, are you a good genie or a bad one?”

  Eugene sits straighter and squares his shoulders. “I perform accurate grantings. I do not twist the meaning of the words or play tricks. There have been several notorious genies, I know, and they give the rest of us a bad name.”

  Sounds rehearsed. But I do get what he’s saying. It’s like gossip. Bad news always travels way faster and more people hear it. If anyone knows how a bad reputation works, it’s me.

  “Some of it is out of my hands.” He looks at his palms and smiles. “But specificity is very important.”

  His answer makes me think he’s a decent guy. He didn’t have to tell us that. Maybe he’s even a decent genie? Probably can’t say that. I don’t actually know any other genies. I bite my cheek while I think of a follow-up question. Oh, I know! “How many wishes?” I blurt.

  “I do not understand the question,” Eugene says.

  “Three? Do we get three wishes? Or did we already use one for the Frosties?”

  Eugene’s brow furrows and he tilts his head. “My master may have three if that is the wish, but we have still not uncovered who is master yet.”

  I huff because his answer is…vague. “Hey, Eugene. I don’t think I’m asking anything unusual here. Isn’t this part of your drill?” So much for keeping my hostility in check. I laugh. “I can’t believe I’m asking these questions? Is it three? Or more?”

  Em balls up the foil wrapper from her burger and tosses it toward the trash can. It bounces off the rim. She gets up off the bed and scoops the wrapper. “I think what Lo is asking you is, what is the maximum number of wishes?” Standing over the can, still wearing her Perks polo and khakis, she lets the trash drop.

  Comprehension dawns in Eugene’s eyes. “You mean, only three wishes?” he asks me.

  “Exactly.” I sigh.

  “There is no limit to wishes. Masters may have three a year or three a month or three an hour. They may have whatever they wish.”

  What? Em’s face looks like I feel. “No effing way!”

  The goofy smile emerges again. “I’m sorry, but I do not understand effing.”

  CHAPTER 10

  AFTER EM AND I GET MOST of the hysterical laughter out of our system‌—‌God, Eugene is so funny sometimes‌—‌he looks a little miffed at us. I suppose we hurt his feelings.

  “I believe it is time for me to retire for the night.” He picks at pretend fuzz on his T-shirt.

  I feel bad, because he is likable and we weren’t making fun of him. Well, maybe I was. And to be completely honest, nobody uses the word “effing” except me, because it was a compromise with Em to curb my potty mouth. By now I’ve said it so many times, it pops out without thinking.

  “Sorry, Eugene. I wasn’t laughing at you. It was, I mean, what you said was‌—‌” There’s really no good excuse, because I guess I was laughing at him. “Just, sorry, okay?”

  Eugene gets a little lopsided smile. “Okay. Yes. Sorry is nice. You speak so strangely compared to Richard. I will adjust to whichever one of you is my master.”

  “I wonder if we both are,” Em says in a dreamy voice. “Let’s try one more time, then we’ll know.”

  “Two masters is not possible,” Eugene assures us. “A night of rest will help me figure it out.” He gets off the bed and walks over to his bag. “I am very weary,” he continues. “I am usually not out of my home for so long.”

  I give Em an I-told-you-so-look. He wouldn’t have minded going into the bag in the trunk. He called the bag his home; it’s comforting to him, so even if living in a bag seems strange to me, it’s where he wants to be. There are dark, almost purple circles under his eyes.

  “He looks exhausted,” I say. “We can wish all we want tomorrow. Let’s let him rest.” Then, I thumb in his direction and whisper to Em, “So, what do you want to do with him?”

  “I’m going to let him stay here. It’ll be fine. He’ll stay in the bag.”

  I laugh, because…well, because. “You do realize how crazy that sounds?”

  “I can’t exactly put him on the street.”

  “How ’bout my trunk?” I’m kidding. Sorta. Because it’s a little scary to let a guy you just met stay in your room, even if he is inside a bag.

  “I will not harm you,” Eugene says to both of us, and that settles it. There’s a lot I haven’t figured out about him yet, but I don’t think he lies.

  “Okay. He stays. Everyone should have at least one sleepover with a genie.”

  Em laughs and with that, Eugene becomes a cloud of smoke, then quickly a wisp, sucked into the bag. If I needed any more proof, there it is.

  “That was awesome!” Emily and I bend over and peer in. Eugene is sprawled out in miniature on his round bed. He looks adorable. Yeesh! I can’t possibly be attracted to him.

  “I’m not going to close the bag,” Em tells him. “I don’t think it’s right to trap you like that, but don�
��t come out and watch us sleep or anything, because that’d be creepy.”

  “Why?” All innocence in his voice.

  Em huffs in frustration. “Listen. Don’t come out at all until I say it’s okay. You understand?”

  “Yes.” Eugene’s voice squeaks.

  “I’m not trying to be bossy, or a master, or whatever. It’s just not right.”

  I don’t hear Eugene’s yes this time, but I’m pretty sure I saw him nod.

  CHAPTER 11

  THIS MORNING, WE, meaning me and Em, decided Eugene would hang all day at Perks, the coffee shop where Em works. Eugene had no opinion about where he wanted to spend the day, saying he’d go wherever we wished. So, no Rags to Ritzy, because Aunt Marcia would definitely detect Eugene’s strangeness. Especially if he started up with his whole wish-master-genie routine.

  I feel a little blue after dropping both of them at Perks. Where did that come from? And what is it? Loneliness?

  Everything feels so automated and automatic. Like I’m one of the mannequins‌—‌if they could move, that is. Unlock the door. Key in the password to deactivate the alarm. Re-lock the door. Get the store ready to open.

  Maybe if I keep busy, the feeling will go away.

  Besides, loneliness makes no sense. Em and I have had practically this same routine for the first three weeks of summer. Is it Eugene? That’s ridiculous. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since he went poof! and entered my life. We haven’t been apart since then, but still.

  Betsy stares at me like she expects better from me. She expects the truth.

  “I don’t miss him. He’s a complete dork, even if he does have a nice smile,” I say aloud to her.

  Betsy seems to purse her lips at me.

  “Besides, I’m already dating someone else.” Dawson.

  Silence. I laugh at myself.

  Dawson Aquino is as different from Eugene as they come. Eugene seems innocent; Dawson not in the least. Usually I know everything about a guy I’m interested in while managing to keep my life a mystery. Strangely, Eugene is the mystery and I wish I’d asked him a few more questions about himself rather than getting all caught up in the details about our wishes.