My Wishful Thinking (3 page)

“Em!” I’m really worried about her.

“Look,” she says to me, “an hour ago I’d have thought this question was insane. But when a guy appears in a puff of smoke and tells you he lives in a fully furnished piece of luggage and that he can grant wishes, well, things change. All right? Please answer my question, Eugene.”

See? Em is polite. Even with the certifiably insane.

Eugene shifts from foot to foot. “Yes, that is what some people call us.”

“How long were you with Richard?” she asks.

“In the way you measure time, forty years.”

Impossible! Richard didn’t even look forty. Now I know this guy is makin’ shit up. “Um…are you sure? Or was he very young‌—‌a child‌—‌when he summoned you?”

Eugene’s grimaces as if he’s in pain and there’s a strain in his voice. “No, he was fully grown. One of his wishes was to stay young.”

Em flashes me a look as I gasp. “I told you there was something totally freaky about that guy. But no, you thought I imagined it.”

I twist the ring on my right hand and say to Eugene. “He left you here, you know? Couldn’t wait to get rid of you. So does that mean one of us is your new master?” I can’t believe I’m asking questions now. Like anyone would believe in genies.

Eugene nods.

“Right. Of course it does.” I laugh, high and wild. “Well, how do we figure out which one?”

“You must wish.”

Here? Now? I look at my watch. It’s time to close the store. “One sec.” I flip the sign to read closed and turn the deadbolt. I can’t believe I’m going to go along with this, but I can’t stop myself either.

An elderly woman carrying a bright red umbrella walks by outside the window and gives me a little finger wave. Anyone looking in the window could see where we’re standing, right in front of the counter.

“Maybe we should move to the back. So no one can see, in case…in case something weird happens.”

Like it’s gonna get any weirder.

Em and Eugene follow me to the corner with the three-way mirror that’s set up as a conversation area with chairs, a loveseat and a shabby Persian rug we’ve never been able to sell. Mannequin Monnique stands next to mirror, dressed for a black tie event. We’re surrounded by glittery gowns. Again I get that sense of all of us going back and back as the mirror reflects on itself.

“You go first,” I say to Em.

She closes her eyes and says, “Hmmm. Something to do with Nigel, I think. Okay. I got it. I wish I had tickets to Warped Tour.”

Nigel has gone to this concert the last three years. Em has always wanted to go with him. I go to say
Good one, Em,
as a pulse, not quite invisible but transparent, flows from Eugene’s forehead. It flies across the room and through it I can see the mirror and Mannequin Monnique distorted like when you look at something through tremendous heat.
Clothes on the rack ruffle as it passes, and the gown on the end falls to the floor.

Pretty effing freaky. But nothing else happens.

“Guess it’s not me.” Em’s voice dribbles disappointment. “Your turn.”

What should I wish for? A million bucks? Warped Tour tickets for Emily? Maybe I’ll make it something easy, that way when he can’t even grant that Em will realize he’s an imposter. Yeah, that’s the way to go to end this game. I don’t bother to close my eyes.

“I wish I didn’t have to work tomorrow.” The pulse shimmers again and ricochets off Monnique. And then the phone rings.

CHAPTER 6

I JUMP.
WOW! PRETTY FREAKY.
My heart pounds as I walk behind the counter. The caller ID shows it’s Marcia.
What if he is real?
Now my heart races and I try to steady my hand and take a deep breath before answering. “Hello?”

“Hi, Logan sweetie.” Aunt Marcia’s voices crackles through the line. I’m so glad I caught you. You must be ready to lock up.”

“Yep. Five more minutes and I’m out of here.” And maybe I’ll sleep in tomorrow. Pure bliss.

Marcia interrupts my daydream. “Listen, tomorrow I need you to open for me again.”

“Huh?”

“That’s all right, isn’t it? You were going to work anyway. I have to run by the bank in the morning. Besides, you’ll already have the keys from closing.” Marcia’s tone is worried.

I don’t understand what is going on. I’d almost convinced myself that the pulse thing meant my wish would be fulfilled. I shake my head to clear it. “Yeah. Sure. Fine.”

“Okay. Great. And thank you, sweetie. I should be there before eleven. See you then.”

I end the call, and both Em and Eugene are staring at me.

“So it’s you. Congrats.” Em is smiling, but I’m not sure she’s completely happy.

“It’s not,” I say. “Marcia wanted to ask me if I could open tomorrow.”

Em’s face falls. She turns to Eugene and shakes her finger at him. “That was pretty lame. No wonder Richard left you here.”

Whoa! I can’t believe she said that. I mean, she’s right, but it’s totally not like her to call someone out.

Eugene practically collapses into the overstuffed chair. He looks at his feet and mumbles, “I don’t understand. I could feel the wishes, both of them. And I felt the urge to grant them. But the granting was weak. I knew that as soon as it left me. This has never happened before.” His left hand rubs his forehead. “I must think about this.”

“Maybe you’re losing your mojo,” I say.

Eugene doesn’t look up from the floor. “I don’t understand this word ‘mojo.’ But I must figure out who is the master.”

I gotta give him credit, he’s determined to keep the prank going. I look at my watch again. “Hey! I need to arm the alarm in the next two minutes or the security company will put in a call to Marcia. Eugene, we’re gonna have to figure out the whole ‘who is master’ thing somewhere else.” One look at him, at his strange attire, tells me he might call a little unwanted attention to us. I eye him; he looks to be about a size thirty-two or thirty-three. From the rack next to Mannequin Trudy, I grab a pair of surf jams and a tee. I rip the tags off and lay them by the cash register. “Here. Go change.” I toss the clothes at him, motioning to the dressing room.

He’s quick about it and hey, what do ya know, when he comes out a minute later he could look good, if he had a clue.

Practically a cutie. But the shoes gotta go.

I point to his platforms and grab a pair of size 11 sandals. “Take those off.” He looks sad to leave the shoes behind, so I say, “You can bring them.” I pick up the bag, my purse and car keys. “C’mon, Eugene. I got your crib.”

But he leaves the shoes and mumbles to his feet as he shuffles behind us. I reach the front door, looking out at the pouring rain‌—‌incredibly, it’s still pounding us. Eugene bumps into me, a look of panic flashing across his face.

I know how he feels, but at least he’s dressed for getting wet. I sigh and turn to Em.

In that freaky blood-sister mode that we have, we both say in unison. “I wish this rain would stop,” followed by, “Jinx!”

We crack up, until without warning, the shimmering pulse happens again. Except this time it’s like a huge balloon is inflated inside the store, squeezing every single thing, including us.

CHAPTER 7

THE PRESSURE FROM the shimmer builds and builds and builds. And then, just as suddenly, it’s gone.

The rain shuts off, like when you turn the faucet handle in your shower. There are two, maybe three, drips from the roof.
That was pretty effing bizarre. If I didn’t know better…

Em gasps and clutches my wrist, while Eugene stares outside, a crooked grin plastered across his face.

“We really need to go,” I insist, shaking free of her grip so I can tap in the activation code. One long
beep
sounds, and we’re outta here. Even though the rain has stopped, it left behind thick, steamy air that feels like I’m breathing inside a dryer of wet towels. Puddles dot the parking lot, the bag jostles as I jump over one.

Em says to me, “Be careful! You’ll knock over all his furniture.”

Oh, crap! “Eugene, I’m sorry.”

“It is fine. My home is enchanted.”

Right.
“So it won’t move or break? At all?”

“It is fine. Do not worry.”

And the thing is: he doesn’t look worried in the least. Instead, he’s staring at the cars and the shopping center, looking like he’s awed by a totally tame and lame suburban scene. I try to ignore his weirdness, popping my trunk while hoping, wishing, and praying for a spot to wedge the tote into. The problem? I tend to travel with an incredible amount of shit.

“You never use that stuff. I’ll help you clean it.” Em pushes some beach towels aside. “Why do you need
three
first aid kits?”

I give her a smirk with a quick hip shake. “A lot of guys adore the junk in my trunk.” Then I rearrange everything until I can wedge the bag into the small, new space.

“Go on.” I motion at him with my keys. “Disappear or shrink or whatever it is you do.”

“No!” Em hollers. “We can’t ride around with him in your trunk.”

“It’s his home. It’s no biggie, right, Eugene?”

Our faux-real genie is staring up into the sky. Practically looking straight into the sun. My question doesn’t faze him.

“It’s not right. Eugene, get in the backseat.” Em insists and gives me her
I-mean-business-look
, which usually makes me laugh because it’s so non-threatening. But I don’t this time, because it is. Threatening, I mean.

“Okay, chill. I was kidding. You don’t actually think he can disappear into the bag, do you?

“I, uh‌—‌”

“You do! You believe him.” I shake my head.
Doesn’t she get that he was dropped off by a magican? One who is probably testing out his next illusion?
“Em, Em, Em. If crazy shit starts happening when I’m driving, just remember you wanted this.”

“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?”