As You Wish (6 page)

THE FOUR BEERS
I drank are causing the hallway to sway and pitch. It's spinning even though I'm leaning against the wall, so I grab Jinn's shoulder to make it stop. He tenses, then leans closer to give me a better grip. I inhale the scent of honey and spices that always surrounds Jinn.

“I wasn't always so pathetic,” I mumble. “I used to belong. I thought Lawrence and I would be one of those epic romances, the childhood friends who grow up loving each other and all that. Then one day, out of nowhere, he doesn't love me anymore….” I close my eyes, and a few tears fall. “It was horrible. Suddenly there was no way I could ever, ever be what he
wanted. No matter what—it didn't matter how I did my hair, or dressed, or smiled. I could never be what Lawrence wants. I can never have the epic romance. I can never have…” I let my words trail off.

I don't want to, but I can't help remembering the night Lawrence told me. My bedroom was shrouded in blue light, and the Flamingo Dream walls became a pale lavender that made everything look beautiful. Lawrence kissed me—my last real kiss—and I melted toward him and drew closer. Skin on skin, tingling closeness and lack of shame, and beauty and touching and love. And then? His words:
Wait. I have something to tell you.
And it was all over. And a part of me was ripped away.

Everyone else saw it coming,
a voice in my head reminds me.
No one else was surprised.

I exhale—I can smell the alcohol on my own breath—and shut my eyes. They knew. But I didn't. The same thoughts have been circling my mind daily since the moment Lawrence told me. Underneath those, however, lies another thought that scolds me.

Viola,
you
knew from the start.

You chose to see talking late at night, holding hands, fencing lessons, skin on skin, and lack of shame.

You closed your eyes to his sideways glances at boys, to the way that even when he kissed you, he didn't put his hands on you.

Because if I knew, then it's my fault.

It's your fault you're in pieces like this.

My stomach writhes, and I want to hold Jinn's hand and run from here, but my knees feel flimsy and weak—though if they're weak from the alcohol or from the memories, I'm not sure.

“I want to feel the way I used to feel when I was with Lawrence. I want to be whole again.”

“You don't need him for that. You don't…you don't need anyone for that. You're already…” He looks away, then runs a hand through his hair nervously, like he's worried someone is watching. “You're already whole, and strong, and funny, and you don't need them.” Suddenly I'm very aware of my right hand gripping Jinn's forearm and my left hand entwined with his fingers, aware of the fact that his skin is flawless and smooth and unlike anything I've ever touched. I
bite at my lips, and my jaw trembles.

“Leave this house,” Jinn says quietly, with an intense, penetrating stare, like he's reading from the back of my mind. “You don't need anyone here. I'll take you home.”

Home. Away from these people, away from the only real social gathering I've been to in who knows how long. I shake my head. “But I just…I want to belong again. I want to be a part of something, so I can feel whole. Right now it's just…” I look back toward Ollie and Aaron. “I just wish I could belong like they do—” I stop.

My breath stops somewhere between my lungs and lips.
Wish.
I didn't mean to. Why am I so stupid? I release Jinn's arm, my heart pounding.

Jinn is watching me carefully, studying my face. He smiles but somehow looks sad. He rises with all the fluidity of a dancer and slowly pulls me up with him—when the hallway swirls, he locks his arms on my waist till I can meet his eyes again. What have I done? What did I wish for? I can't stop trembling. I try to tell Jinn to stop, but the words get lost in my throat.

Jinn exhales slowly and takes his hands off me, like he's
steadying a vase. He places one arm across his stomach, the other behind his back. He bows just a little, taking his dark eyes off me at the very last moment. Quietly, so quietly that I almost don't hear him, he speaks as he rises back to standing.

“As you wish.”

THE WISH PULLS
at me like I'm standing in a rushing stream. I can shape the way it's granted, plunge my fingers into the water to make it flow the way I want. I grant it carefully, more meticulous than I've been in a long time. It would be easier to just let the wish flow through me and grant itself, but it might not be exactly what Viola had in mind; I want it to be right, not just the result of rushed, uncontrolled magic. I have to involve Aaron, unfortunately, and Ollie…all of them. I part the magic, let it flow together again. Even though I know it's just a mortal mind trick, I can't help hoping that I can grant the wish so she really will
feel whole again. Maybe I can make her whole.

And then it's done. All laid out perfectly, like a rosebud flowering into flawless, symmetrical blossoms. I hear Aaron in the bedroom, telling Ollie he needs to leave, the rustling of clothes. Viola looks at me, and her watery eyes dry and fill with the same spark they have when she laughs—I'm instantly glad I included that spark in the granting of the wish. I want to watch her change, watch her sadness fall away, but I know that Aaron will come sweeping out of the bedroom at any moment and…no.

I vanish from the hallway—the magic will take care of everything now—and reappear in Holly Park. I collapse beneath the oak tree, staring into its branches at the night sky beyond. Maybe I should have stayed to make sure it all went as planned. Or to tell Lawrence about it. Or
something
.

No. Nothing.

I force my fingers into the dirt, as if I'm growing roots to hold me in place. She's my master, she made a wish. Nothing more to it.

Think of Caliban. Every wish gets you closer to Caliban. That's
what's important. Not whether she thinks of you as a wish granter or not.

Think of all the things wrong with humans. The aging. That party. The way they're always answering phones. Microwave food. Dogs in shirts.

The way Viola laughs differently around you, the way she's not afraid to tell you off—

No, stop. Dogs in shirts. You're just a jinn—if you weren't granting Viola's wishes, it'd be some other random jinn. You're not special. She's not different around you.

“One wish in three days? It's your worst record yet!” a voice calls out through the early morning fog. I leap from the dirt, my heart racing in surprise.

Another jinn, a tall, golden-skinned boy with copper hair and bronze eyes, is standing beside the oak tree. I breathe a sigh of relief—he's a friend. Sort of. As good a friend as jinn typically have, anyway, though I'll admit that knowing Viola and Lawrence has redefined the term for me—they care for each other far more than this other jinn cares for me, I'm sure.

“Still better than your record was,” I respond. I push him jokingly, and we both laugh. It's good to see one of my own kind again.

“Yeah, yeah. How are things?”

“Are you asking me as an ifrit or a friend?” I ask. He's wearing his work uniform, a dark blue tunic with a swirly
I
embroidered on the front. He's aged—a lot. The ifrit come and go between Caliban and Earth more often than average jinn do—whenever a press is needed—and the aging has started to show on his face. The boy—the
man
, actually, since he must be physically over twenty—laughs.

“You should have become an ifrit, my friend, and you wouldn't be stuck here granting wishes to begin with!” he says, dodging my question.

I nod and force a smile. Maybe he's right. The Ancient Jinn wanted me to be an ifrit once, not too long ago. I read mortals especially well, better than most jinn. So pressing came easily for me; I could tell exactly what would make the master snap, exactly what buttons to press to force him to wish.

“It wasn't for me,” I answer, hoping to change the subject.
My brief stint in ifrit training isn't something I enjoy reflecting upon.

The ifrit laughs and shakes his head. “All because you couldn't complete a simple car wreck press.”

“What can I say? I'm a wimp,” I reply with a steely look. I hate it when people bring that up.

The ifrit realizes he's pushed too far and holds his hands up. “Sorry, my friend. Didn't mean to offend you.”

“Right,” I say, shaking my head. “Don't worry about it.”

“Well, let me know if you need me to press her for the last two,” the ifrit says.

“No! No…I don't need a press,” I answer fast as my throat suddenly dries. The idea of Viola in a car wreck makes every muscle in my body tighten.

The ifrit shrugs. “Right. Anyway. I've got to go. There's a housewife in England trying to hold off on wishing. Thinks the jinn will crack and give her more wishes if she does.”

I roll my eyes and relax a little. “Where do they get these ideas? I'll see you later. Don't worry about it—Viola will wish.”

The ifrit, who had just turned on his heel to vanish, spins back around in a whirl of royal-blue silk, an eyebrow raised.

Damn.

“‘Viola'?”

There's no way out of this, is there?

He's a friend. He won't care about the protocol. He won't report me to the Ancients. It'll be fine.

“My master. She insisted I call her by her first name,” I explain. Can he tell that I
like
knowing her as
Viola
instead of
master
?

“But still…wow. Be careful violating the first protocol like that. The rules are in place for our own protection, you remember.”

“Of course. You know teenage girls, though. They're not the easiest masters. Besides, you're one to talk about protocol.” I grin to distract him.

The ifrit laughs. “Just because they don't monitor protocol for ifrit doesn't mean I don't try to follow the rules. It'd be impossible to complete some presses without breaking them.”

“Excuses, excuses,” I say.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, so long, my friend,” he says. I nod in return, and the ifrit vanishes.

I exhale in relief—what if he'd asked why I don't want to press her? I would have had to…lie? Admit the truth? Punch him in the nose?

Wait. Why
don't
I want him to press her? She's just my master. Just the person whose wishes I happen to be granting. We've known each other only a few days. Yet something about the idea of her being pressed makes my muscles tense and my stomach flip.

Think of Caliban. This never happens in Caliban. No one ever makes you feel this way there. The Ancients make sure of it. You're one step closer to going home and leaving all this weirdness behind.

I sigh and drop to the ground, leaning against the oak tree. One step closer.

SOMETHING IS DIFFERENT.

The hallway isn't spinning. Jinn is gone—I grope for his arm in the dim light. I'm sitting on the floor. But it's something else, too. Like I've just woken up from a nap, only while I slept all my worries and concerns and fears fell away. Now I feel refreshed, and there's a shiny, almost crystalline feeling in my chest that makes me certain I can do
anything
—

“Viola?”

I turn around—the name doesn't sound normal, not at all the way it sounds when Jinn or Lawrence say it. Then I see why.

Aaron Moor is standing beside me, looking down at me with a confused smile.

“What are you doing?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

He reaches down and pulls me up so fast that I get dizzy, then wraps an arm tightly around my waist. I lock my knees and try not to breathe. Surely this is a mistake. It's dark. He thinks I'm somebody else.

“Viola. I'm Vi—” I swallow my breath midsentence. I know what's different.

I wished. I wished to belong, like Aaron and Ollie.

“No…I didn't mean to…,” I begin, but the feeling of dread I'm anticipating never comes. Instead, I feel…happy. Relieved, even. Aaron swipes my hair from my eyes and grins at me.

“Come on,” he says. “Let's go back downstairs—I wanted to introduce you to some people.”

“What?”

“Some friends of mine—I don't know if you know them.” Aaron studies me for a moment—I'm sure my mouth is hanging open. “You look amazing, by the way. I can't believe I didn't
notice sooner. I guess I was too preoccupied with Ollie…. Not anymore though—we broke up. How could I stay with her when there's someone as beautiful as you here?” he finishes with a gentle grin.

I look beautiful. I look beautiful? I feel…I
feel
beautiful. And carefree, and reckless, and confident, and all the other things I felt before Lawrence, only more so. Aaron lets go of my waist, takes my hand in his, and walks forward—I stumble to follow him down the steps and into the living room, where the main party is still raging. Some part of me wants to drop my head in shyness, but some greater power forces me to keep my chin high, my shoulders back, my hand firmly in Aaron's. If arriving to the party before was like showing up to a Hollywood premiere, walking downstairs is now like being a red-carpet starlet, all kind smiles and people calling my name.

Aaron shouts for the music to change, and in the shuffle to switch CDs, people rise to grab drinks and new seats. Aaron and I—
Aaron and I?
—sit down together on a loveseat toward the front door. Girls I don't know walk over to us, asking me about my hair and clothes and if I hate Shakespeare as much as
they do. All without wondering what my name is. As if they've always known me. As if I've always hung out with them. As if I've always belonged with them. Is this real?

I should feel guilty. This isn't natural. It isn't real. It's a
wish
.

But I don't feel guilty, not at all. I'm too happy. If I'd known how wonderful a single wish would make me feel, how much pain it could erase…

A new song thuds through the speaker system, and Aaron puts an arm around my shoulder, twirling his fingers through my hair in a way that makes shivers race down my spine. I want to lean in closer to him, but part of me is still reeling in fear that one false move will end everything. I catch Aaron's gaze—even the simple act of his eyes meeting mine makes me feel like I belong, like I suddenly warrant eye contact and conversation and meaningful glances instead of passing hallway nods. Like I'm special.

“What's going on?”

Lawrence. My eyes snap away from Aaron to see Lawrence standing beside the loveseat, arms folded. He doesn't look angry, just confused, eyes darting back and forth
between Aaron and me.

“Not a lot, not a lot. Having a good time, though?” Aaron answers Lawrence. Lawrence nods curtly, and his eyes return heavily to mine. Two football players crash through the front door holding a keg. While Aaron is distracted cheering them on, I answer.

“I wished.” I meant to speak the words aloud, but I only mouth them, afraid that saying it will somehow jinx things.

“You wished? For Aaron to date you?
That's
what you wished for?” Lawrence says, loud enough that I cringe and worry someone has heard. I grab Lawrence's hand and pull him closer.

“No! It was an accident; I didn't even
mean
to wish, it just slipped out. I wished to belong, like Aaron and Ollie, and then…I'm here! I don't know how, but it's…I feel…” How can I explain? I feel right. I feel this is where I belong, like I'm not alone.

“But it isn't real! It's just…it's just a wish, Viola! How could you wish for…for him?” Lawrence sounds hurt, betrayed even, and takes both my hands in his. “I know I hurt
you, but this isn't the way to fix it.”

“Then what is?” I answer. “Nothing in seven months has fixed me, but now…it's like all that unhappiness is just a memory. It isn't…it isn't
in
me anymore. I'm too happy for it to be in me.”

“I want you to be happy because of who you are, Vi. Not because you wished for it.”

“But until that happens,” I say, casting a quick look at Aaron, “this is enough. Look at me, Lawrence. You can read me better than anyone. Please. I haven't felt like this in so long, like I belong—like I have more than just you and Jinn. Don't ruin this for me, Lawrence. You owe me.” I've never called him out on the whole thing like that before, and to be honest, I'm not sure it's deserved.

Lawrence winces like I've struck him, then shakes his head. “I owe you? You know I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“But it happened,” I murmur. Lawrence sighs and squeezes my hand.

“I don't like it. But if this is what makes you happy—for now—then…fine. Fine.” He looks defeated, but any guilt
I have is short-lived; it's like no unhappiness can exist in me right now. He releases my hands and glances around the room. “Where is Jinn, anyway?”

“He left,” I answer. I dare to lean a little closer to Aaron, though I still don't think I can exactly fall into his arms. “Right after the wish. He helped me to the floor and then…left.”

“Who?” Aaron asks, floating back into our conversation.

“No one,” Lawrence answers before I can stammer a reply. He looks back at me, a forced calm on his face. “We're still getting breakfast before I drop you off at home, right?”

We had no such plans, and to be honest, I'm afraid to leave—what if leaving the party makes the wish end? I can't go back to being an Invisible Girl. Not again. Still, Lawrence is…well, Lawrence. I nod and lean in closer to Aaron as Lawrence vanishes into the crowd.