Three Wishes (3 page)

My mind races, pondering the other times in my past when I got what I was craving — the special princess doll at age seven, my braces off just in time for the eighth-grade dance — they seemed like surprises even to my grandparents at the time. Were these coincidences, or were they a result of my latent wish-power?

My thoughts are tangled and contradictory. If only my mother were here; she could have helped me through this. I flip over in bed, seeking oblivion in my pillow, but relaxation eludes me.

The world is full of genies waiting to grant your wishes. — Percy Ross

Sometime after midnight, after counting every star in the Milky Way, I say out loud, “I wish I could fall asleep!” I finally doze into unconsciousness, but am plagued with uneasy dreams I can't remember when I wake up.
Ugh,
is my first thought when my eyes crack open at the sound of my alarm. I'll have to do my daily run later today; I'm too tired right now, and I am dreading the thought of facing everyone at school.

This will be a two-coffee morning. My French mom had trained my grandparents well in the art of making coffee, so I am guaranteed to get a hot cup of fresh, strong coffee whenever I need it.

Or, I realize, I could… wish for it. “I wish for a tall, skinny latte, extra foam, one sugar,” I say out loud. There it is, on the nightstand next to the bed.
My, my.
How convenient. And odd. But maybe I could get used to being my own personal coffee shop.

I file the thought away as I head to my bathroom for a shower. Considering how tiny and outdated my bedroom is, the bathroom is a direct contrast, spacious and modern. My grandmother had insisted on remodeling after a major leak was found beneath the old bathtub. I don't mind having so much prep space. In
some
ways, at least, I am a normal teenage girl.

Post-shower, I am confronted with a new problem. My wardrobe fits the old Genie, not new, curvy Genie. I don't want to flaunt it all, but I don't
quite
want to hide everything, either. I try on outfit after outfit, but each one is too tight in all of the most revealing places. That's it — there's no way I can go to school. I call from the stairs, “Mamère? Papa?”

My grandparents were so young when I was born, only in their early forties, they decided against being called Grandma and Grandpa. They're only about six or seven years older than Luke and Leia's parents.

“Yes?” I hear from the kitchen. I march down and tell my grandparents I have to stay home today.

“Why?” Mamère asks. “Not feeling well?” She continues packing up her lunch and glances at the clock, in a hurry to get to work.

“I'm so tired, and I can't go to school like this. Plus, I have nothing to wear.”

“Oh, honey,” Papa closes the refrigerator door and approaches me, arms out for a hug. I slip away, not in the mood. I see his hurt look but choose to ignore it.

“You need to go to school,” Mamère tells me. “You'll have to face everybody sometime. I'm sure you have clothes somewhere that could work.”

“No,” I answer, stubborn and crabby from lack of sleep.

“Marianne, don't you think, just for today—” Papa begins.

“No, I don't. This is her new reality, and she can't compromise her education because of it,” she says firmly.

I storm up the stairs and slam the door. She so doesn't understand — she didn't see how the swim team reacted yesterday — and I am so not going to school.

I soon hear a knock on the door, and am unsurprised when I say, “Come in” and it's Mamère. She comes over to where I'm slumped on my bed and sits next to me, the bedsprings squeaking under our weight.

“Listen, I know you're upset, and I don't blame you. This is all a lot to take in. But, listen — it'll only be worse if you stay out of school for a day or two, let the rumors fly, and
then
go in. Confront it head-on, and talk will die down soon enough.” I nod, considering. There is some sense in what she's saying. “Besides, you're a Lowry. We don't back down.” She puts a hand on my shoulder.

“All right,” I say. As she stands up to leave, she pats me on the back, and I return to scrutinize my closet once more.

There's nothing, though, and I am getting more and more frustrated. Then I mutter to myself, “I wish I had
something
to fit me.” Earth to Genie — I had forgotten about this solution. I am clothed in my favorite outfit — jeans and a T-shirt, with a warm, fuzzy cashmere cardigan. But the outfit is now the perfect size.

I breathe a sigh of relief and spend a few vain moments admiring myself in the mirror before heading downstairs for a quick breakfast. I'm not up for much more discussion with my grandparents this morning, and am glad to see they're trying to avoid it, too. I allow them to give me my usual hugs and tell me to have a great day.

“You're still my little sweetheart,” my grandfather whispers with his arms around me.

The last thing I hear before I leave the house for school is my grandmother calling after me, as a warning, “Oh, and — be careful what you wish for.”

Hmm
. Food for thought.

I pick up Leia and Luke in my trusty old gray sedan and we head to school. Their parents forbade them from driving for the rest of our senior year since they got caught sneaking in after curfew one too many times.

Leia makes Luke sit in the front with me, and we give each other embarrassed smiles. She has tried this often. This time, however, I notice Luke's glance dips and lingers before he looks away. Oh, great. Leia must have told him about my transformation. My cheeks flame and I crank up the music. Loud.

“The Smiths — cool!” shouts Luke. “Retro!”

I nod without taking my eyes from the road. My musical tastes are a tad eclectic. I like old-school alternative from the eighties, modern pop, classical, hip-hop, you name it.

But today I am not focused on my tunes. I am thinking about how things will be different when I get to school. In a small town like ours, news gets around fast. Luke soon gives up on a one-sided conversation with me and instead talks to his sister about their parents' latest acquisition of sci-fi paraphernalia. I decide not to think about my new genie powers, sealing the issue up in a mental box, and worry only about my new body.

We pull into the student parking lot, already crowded with cars. I snag a spot near the football field. There's still ten minutes before the second bell rings. Luke hops out to meet with the other popular kids hanging out by the school's back entrance, while I take my time getting my stuff together. I know what I'll find as soon as I walk into our ancient school building — the band and chorus geeks together in Hall B, drama clubbers near the auditorium, pocket-protector nerd types in the computer lab. Leia and I have kind of always been our own little group, and our spot is an inconspicuous stairwell not far from our lockers.

Today I'm bracing myself for a reaction from all of these groups. So far, Leia seems able to treat me normally, but I don't know what to expect from everyone else. I try calming my nerves by looking out at the ocean. The high school was built a million years ago on now-prime real estate, and it's such a cold, clear day I can see all the way up the coast.

“Ready?” Leia asks, noticing my hesitation. “You can do this, you know.” As we get out of the car, I adjust my coat and backpack to de-emphasize my chest, and am pleased to hear the first bell ring as we get to the front door.
Maybe there will be fewer people around to notice me.

No such luck. I notice the scrutiny as soon as I go in the building and put my coat into my locker. Lots of guys are giving me the once-over and saying “hi.” I hear a wolf whistle from somewhere behind me, and some dude
accidentally
brushes up against me. My stomach starts clenching up. To try to relieve the tension, I count to ten, pry my fingers from their death-grip on my backpack straps, and tell myself to relax and enjoy it.

So, with some effort, I do. And it's kind of like I am a princess after meeting her fairy godmother, and I rather enjoy the attention. Even after two freshman girls come up at me to tell me I chose a great surgeon.

“You'd never know they weren't real,” one of them gushes.

I blush crimson, at a loss for words. They don't seem to notice.

“And such a quick recovery,” the other joins in. “When my older sister got them, she was out of commission for a couple of weeks.”

I start correcting them, but they giggle and rush off.

I stand a little straighter.
These
are
real,
I think smugly. I notice Pete, my longtime crush, checking me out from his locker down the hall. We're some distance apart, so I'm not positive, but I think I see him wink at me. Or at least in my direction. I don't dare wink back and look like a tool if I'm wrong. I duck in to my next class, trying to keep my heart from racing.

By the time I meet Leia again in French, I'm feeling better about the situation. We chat about nothing important, though she gives me a few meaningful glances when she notices the boys in class paying me close attention.

But then we're all surprised to see a sub in French whom we've never had before. A tall woman, olive-skinned, with brown hair scraped back in a severe bun, walks to the front of the classroom just after the bell rings and writes
Dr. Morocco
on the whiteboard. There's something foreign-looking about her, but she speaks English with a perfect accent. “I am Dr. Morocco, and I am happy to be here.” With hands on her hips and a serious expression on her face, she sure doesn't seem happy. “I'll collect your homework for Madame Houle. She also left a quiz for you.”

I open up my backpack to take out my folder, and see it isn't there. Panicked, I let out a soft, “Oh, no.”

Leia notices, and whispers, “Did you forget your homework?”

“Yes!” I whisper back, still distracted. “This stinks. I left it on the kitchen table. I wish I had it with me!” Leia's eyes widen in surprise as she and I both see my hand, empty a moment ago, now filled with what is unmistakably my French folder.
Oops.
I try laughing it off, shrugging my shoulders, but I know I will need to explain later, and take my homework out to pass it forward. At least the pop quiz prevents Leia from asking me anything for the rest of the period.

I feel Dr. Morocco's eyes on me during the quiz, but she breaks away as soon as I glance at her, and exits the class as soon as she collects the quizzes. To keep from having to talk to Leia, I make conversation with our friend Marc Hidalgo, asking how he thinks he did on the quiz. I keep him talking while stuffing my papers into my backpack. He and I share our next class as well, while Leia and I are apart until lunch. I should be able to avoid her until I figure out my story.

“See you later,” I call out to her, while Marc and I walk to AP Bio together. She throws me a suspicious glance before continuing in the opposite direction to the gym.

“So, Genie, you're looking good, kiddo,” Marc says to me with a sly smile as we make our way down the hall.

“Thanks, Marc. So are you,” I flirt back. Maybe I can get even more comfortable with my new look if I'm upfront about it.

A couple of girls walk by us, giggling, and one of them says “Stuffs her bra” loud enough to get my attention, but I refuse to make eye contact.

Marc throws them a raised eyebrow and they clam up. He's good like that. “Well, I know,” he says with a sidelong glance. “I'm
always
looking good. But you're extra-foxy today. What could it be?” he teases.

I stop walking and cock my head to him. “Do I
really
seem different?”

“Do you
really
have to ask? You know you do.” He bumps my shoulder with his. “I've always said all you needed was to come out of your shell. You're like the ugly duckling, baby.” We start walking again.

“Um, thanks?”

“You know what I mean. You were never
ugly
. But now you're a real swan.”

“You're sweet. I think.” Marc knows how to spread gossip in just the right way, so I
explain
to him my new body is courtesy of my mother's French genes. His eyes widen, and he seems a little doubtful, raising an eyebrow again as I speak, but he nods anyway and seems willing to drop the hints to the rest of the school. I'm hopeful this strategic gossip will avoid anyone else's nosy questions and squelch the nasty comments.

Out of nowhere, Marc says, “Hmm. I wish I could get a makeover, too.”

“Huh?”

“I'm jealous,” he pouts, arms folded over his chest. “Isn't it every boy's dream to get a makeover?”

I laugh, but I file away his comment to contemplate later. At this point we've reached the doorway for bio, so we promise to talk more later and then take our assigned seats at opposite sides of the room.

Throughout the day, boys hold doors for me as I walk into my classrooms. At lunch, Rob Jenks, the captain of the football team, waves me over to his table, while Kaydee, who happens to be his ex-girlfriend, scowls at me from the next seat over. I pretend I don't see either of them and instead search for Leia.

Even as I'm enjoying the attention, it grates on me it wasn't until I started looking like
this
that anyone took any interest in me. I so want to talk to Leia about the boy situation. But how can I avoid mentioning my thoughtless wish earlier? I am going to have to play it by ear.

I search the drab, gray-walled cafeteria, the modular seats and tables at the center of the room filled with juniors and seniors, while the ring of long tables and benches around the perimeter are occupied by the younger students. A wall of windows brightens up the cafeteria; I'm in one of the darker corners, and the sun backlights the room and makes it harder to find Leia. I realize she isn't there yet and decide to take a seat at our regular table. Before she arrives, Joel taps me on the shoulder and sits down next to me.