My Wishful Thinking (8 page)

“Where do you think we should store them?” I ask Em, waving my arm at the keep pile. “Eugene, can you help us out here? Any special genie advice?”

“Be careful what you wish for,” he says in a zen-like tone.

“That’s so lame,” I tease. “Any
other
words of wisdom? Has this ever happened before?”

“I have never spent so much time un-wishing such a silly wish.”

I shake my head is exasperation. “Oh, so at least you
have
had to un-wish something before.”

“Of course. Even smart masters make mistakes.”

So he thinks we’re smart. Or maybe he’s saying smart, unlike us? Who cares, anyway. We just need to get rid of the shoes. To get to the important stuff.

Noise from a video game creeps under the door.
Please let it keep Jeremy entertained for a while.

“Oh, all right.” Emily huffs. “We’ll get rid of those.”

Then, for the gazillionth time today, we say together, “I wish this pair of shoes would disappear.” Eugene’s shimmery granting aura bounces off Em’s bedroom walls, hits the shoes and
poof!
they’re gone. I’m exhausted from all the wishing but pick up a pair of Uggs.

“Oh! Those are so cute.” Em says in her broken-record tone.

Can we be done with the shoes already? I roll my eyes at Eugene, but he’s completely mum.

I focus back on the boots. “Are you gonna wear‌—‌”

A knock on the door interrupts me.

“Emily. I’m hungry,” Jeremy whines. It’s the third time he’s knocked on the door to beg for breakfast while we deal with the shoe crisis.

“Five minutes, Jer.” She takes the Uggs from me.

“But I’m hungry
now
.”

I shake my head. “You can’t risk him tattle-telling. And do not doubt for one second‌—‌he will tell. You’ll be a child abuser who starved him ’til ten in the morning.”

Emily tugs the boot on over her left foot. “Very funny. Okay, Jeremy. I’m coming.”

“I’m hungry,” he whines again.

I turn to Emily and it’s not like we plan it or anything, but it’s one of those weird in sync, blood-sister moments when we both say, “I wish we didn’t have to watch Jeremy today.”

Jinx.

It’s out. Before we can take it back. What did we just say? I look to Eugene for confirmation. His jaw drops. The shimmer is already gathering around him.
Ohgodohgodohgodohgod help us
. Emily holds her stomach, eyes rounded.

“That was not specific,” he says in a high-pitched, panicked tone as the energy pulses.

“But we didn’t mean it,” I plead.
He cannot grant this wish. Please.

“You did. Even if you didn’t mean to wish. I’m sorry.” His eyes are so soft and sad.

I run for the door, reaching it as the granting reaches full strength. Frantically, I pile shoes against the door, trying to keep the granting trapped inside this room. But this only makes the bubble stronger and it starts to squeeze through the crevice at the bottom of the door. Shoes explode into the air. There’s an audible
pop,
and a sob is trapped in my throat behind a mountain of regrets.

I try to throw open the door, but it wedges against the damn shoes. “Jeremy?” I say through the crack. The noise from the T.V is louder with the door open, emphasizing the other silence underneath. “Jer?”

Nothing.
He’s playing a joke, right? Please let it be a joke.
Em doesn’t budge as I shove the shoes aside and get the door open enough for me to squeeze through.

I grab Em’s hand, and we’re out the door. He’s not there.
Maybe he went to make his own breakfast.
I sprint to the kitchen, Em is one step behind me, Eugene two. In a sick way it reminds me of when we used to play hide and seek with him.
Olly, olly, oxen free. C’mon out Jeremy‌—‌you’re safe.

We skid to a halt. The kitchen is empty. The old-fashioned clock on the wall ticks as the minute hand jumps forward. It unfreezes us and we run through the house. Den. Bathroom. Mrs. Rhodes’ office. When we reach Jeremy’s room, Em falls to her knees and a sob escapes, sounding almost like a hurt animal.

I get down beside her, hugging and rocking, hugging and rocking. “We’ll find him. Don’t worry. Don’t worry.” But I’m only saying that because that’s what friends do. They prop each other up. And besides, what else could I say?

CHAPTER 18

PANIC BUBBLES INSIDE ME. “Em. Focus. We have to un-wish right now.”

Em cries while Eugene puts his arm around her shoulder. “It might not work. It isn’t that easy,” he whispers.

“What do you mean? You just said you’d helped others un-wish!”

“Your wish was not specific. We don’t know where he has gone and it’s hard to predict the right thing to say to get him back.”

Em cries out when he says that and turns into a totally
unhelpful
basket case.

Eugene rubs the back of his neck and hesitates. “You could attempt it by wishing, ‘We want Jeremy to return to us now.’” His skepticism doesn’t exactly instill confidence, but we have to try.

Em is sitting on the floor, clasping her knees and rocking back and forth. I grab her and shake her. “Did you hear what Eugene said. We need to make that wish.”

She hiccups one sob and then we make it. The light wave leaves Jeremy’s room, slithering around the corner. We both follow the energy, but by the time we reach the family room it’s gone and there is no sign of Jeremy.

“I’m sorry. It should have worked, but it can be difficult when wishes are not specific, and sometimes there is resistance.”

Resistance?

“He’s probably so scared,” Em wails. “We should go to him.”

“What’s resistance?” I ask.

Eugene’s expression is upset. I really think he wants to see us fix this. “It’s a force holding the wish in place. It can be from the wisher or the wished upon.”

The wisher?
Em and I both want him back. Bad.
The wished upon?
Why would Jeremy resist?

I stare long and hard at my feet and nibble the inside of my cheek. Nothing. No clue. As I look to Em the T.V. catches my eye and I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I move closer to Jeremy’s video game. Some kind of tennis game. In the foreground a player bounces the ball like he’s ready to serve. Bounce, bounce, bounce. Perfect rhythm. No serve comes, because Jeremy is not there to play the game with the controller.

Because the player waiting to serve is wearing Sponge Bob pajamas.

Jeremy?

“Jeremy!” I shriek.

And, I swear the video game player looks over his shoulder and smiles at me.

Em has joined me at the T.V. She sees him and yells, “You need to come home
right now
.”

He shakes his head. Defiant. If Mrs. Rhodes could see this, she’d understand why Emily didn’t want to watch him. But we can’t let her see it because of one thousand and one reasons, namely it would expose our genie and our very,
very
bad wish.

“Let’s just wish again,” I suggest.

We do and it still doesn’t work.

Em grabs the controller and spins Jeremy around making him come closer to us. She uses the zoom feature and his face fills the screen. “You need to come back right now, you brat.”

“No way. This is too cool. I want to play and win Wimbledon.” Jeremy’s voice sounds like one of those pre-taped, electronic auto-call messages. I roll my eyes in exasperation. “If you win, then will you come home?”

He thinks for a minute and dread hits me. What if Jeremy wants to stay in the game forever?

“We’ll take you for pizza,” Em begs.

I swear there’s a flash in his digital eyes.

“If I win
and
you take me to Neptune’s
and
you take me for pizza, I’ll come home.”

He’s such a twerp.

“Here.” I say to Em, holding out the controller for her to take charge.

She takes her glasses off and cleans them, her brows furrowing. “I’m too nervous.”

“Okay. Fine.” I face the T.V. and stare at Jeremy, who is grinning wildly. “C’mon Dude, let’s play.”

CHAPTER 19

IT TURNS OUT I’M HORRIBLE at tennis.

“Why aren’t you better at this?” Eugene asks me.

“Because I’m only a partial dweeb.”

“Swing now,” he says, but I’m a micro-second too late and the ball wizzes by Jeremy. The digital version of Em’s little brother looks over his shoulder and scowls.

Finally after twenty minutes we get the hang of it. I work the controller while Eugene looks for where I need to hit. Em cheers every once in a while, but mostly sits there tense and nervous as we try to bring her brother home.

Match point. Jeremy and I toss up the serve. Ace. Whoo hoo. I could get into this game. Jeremy goes on to shake Federer’s hand and receive his trophy from some royalty, and then kisses it. The trophy, not the royalty. Then, Em clasps my hands and takes a huge breath, holding it for a few seconds before we make the Jeremy-home wish for the third time.

There’s another loud pop and I breathe a sigh of relief as a beaming Jeremy appears.

“That was so cool,” he says.

At first I’m annoyed beyond belief with him, but really this was our fault. “I’m so glad you’re back, Jer.” I draw him in a huge hug.

Em on the other hand has a complete breakdown. “We’re so, so sorry,” she blubbers, which makes me cry, too.

A grin spreads across Jeremy’s face. “You guys did that?” He looks around. “And where did all these shoes come from?”

I eye Em, trying to convey
don’t spill the beans
, but she’s speechless and before either of us can answer slick Jeremy puts two and two together.

“Remember, you said pizza and Neptune’s. If I can get a shake at the park, I won’t tell Mom.”
Otherwise…

There really is no
otherwise
. I say, “Okay,” before Em can get pissed at him about the bribe. “We’ll use our annual passes and stop to get pizza first.”

“Cool,” Jeremy says again. Then he looks at Eugene. “Hey! Who’s that guy?”

“Just go get your suit and a beach towel.” I whisk him out of Em’s room. When I get back, she’s picked up a pair of Crocs that have smoke marks from when the shoes exploded.

“Those would’ve been great for Neptune’s, but let’s just wish the rest away,” I suggest. “If we really want them later on, we can wish for them again.”

Em frowns, but she knows I’m right. In fact, that may be
why
she frowns.

In less than a minute, all the shoes we hadn’t yet curated disappear from Em’s room. We’re left with one large-ish but manageable pile.

“So we’ll split these up?” Em asks, biting her lower lip.

To be honest, after the Jeremy fiasco, I’m not sure I want any, but I pick up the plaid Roxy sneaks I’d originally wished for, putting them in my holds-everything purse. “Yeah, sure. You can keep them for now,” I tell her.

Em grins. “I’m glad the rest are gone. Now we can get to the
real
wishes.”

Yeah. The real wishes. My list, and I guess the one she made, too. Except I don’t get why Em wants to make another wish after what just happened. Doesn’t she get that we could screw things up? Maybe she thinks she’s got it all figured out. Who knows? Maybe she does, but to be honest, I’m a little worried my life could go from not-all-that-great to what-the-hell-just-happened.

CHAPTER 20

I TURN DORY INTO The Lakes Of Cypress Woods strip center and park in front of Zucarelli’s Pizza. As I open my door, an old, black Plymouth Gran Fury wheels into the spot next to me. Holy Mary, Mother of God‌—‌that was close.

Annoyed, I turn to glare at the other driver. It’s some old guy who probably should have his license revoked.

He sneers at me.

The nerve of that crazy old coot. It’s his fault we almost had an accident. I’m about to lose my cool and tell him to eff off, but something stops me. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
Back away slowly
.

That seems a little a paranoid. He’s just some old guy. But no wonder I’m on edge. While I drove, we talked about our lists, which we plan to go over thoroughly when we get to Neptune’s and get rid of Jeremy.

As we walk toward Zucarelli’s, I say, “When we wish, I think‌—‌”

“It seems like we can’t just say it, but we have to both want it,” Em guesses. She has Eugene’s undivided attention, which annoys me.

What a load! Em is already acting like she’s the expert, comprehending all the finer points of genie-dom. Has she forgotten that we wished her brother away less than an hour ago? Has she forgotten that I’m the one who got her brother back?

“Perhaps,” says Eugene.

I’ve been a little put out by the technical conversation the two of them have been having, not letting me get a word in edge-wise.
Don’t worry your pretty little dumb head over this, Logan. We’ll figure it out. Just drive Dory.
They didn’t actually say any of that out loud. But it seems like that’s what they think.

Through the window, I watch Dawson toss a ball of dough into the air, shaping it into a pie. His arms‌—‌which are just one of the many, many ways I adore Dawson‌—‌look great in his white pizza-maker’s uniform.

Everyone at Cypress Woods High knows he’s hot. Even Em. Even though she doesn’t like him.

It’s his eyes. The way they look sleepy and intense, like he just crawled out of bed. He’s probably stoned, or maybe he
is
tired, but anyone who has been on the receiving end of one of Dawson’s sleepy looks gets it.

Another thing I really like about him is he makes me feel like an effing genius, which is almost impossible when Emily Rhodes, future Ivy-Leaguer, is your best friend.

“I’ll order the pizza and flirt with Dawson a little while you guys get a table.”

“I don’t know what you see in him,” Em says. “He’s kinda skeezy.”

“Don’t say
that.
” I’m so annoyed with her right now. You’d think she could cut me some slack. I got her brother home, after all.

“I know you like him, but‌—‌”

“Skeezy,” I tell her, “is such a stupid word.”