Wish

by Alexandra Bullen

  “It was my sister’s,” he admitted as he squeezed in behind the wheel, looking ridiculously lanky in the cramped, curved space. “She went to NYU last year and didn’t need a car. Just another hand-me-down.”

  Olivia smiled as he pulled out into traffic, expertly navigating a sharp turn and steering them straight up a gravity-defying hill.

  “Not that I’m complaining,” he clarified. “It does get really good mileage.”

  Olivia clasped and unclasped her fingers in her lap, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that she was enclosed in such a small space with a boy, let alone a boy who had the potential to melt her into the folds of the fabric upholstery with one sideways look.

  “Did I just say that out loud?” he asked, shaking his head. “’Really good mileage’?”

  Olivia laughed and felt her shoulders relax, like a marionette suddenly snipped free of its strings.

  “I’m sorry,” Soren said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel like I can’t stop talking, and every time I open my mouth the most ridiculous things are coming out of it. Does that ever happen to you?”

  Olivia laughed, a real, Violet-type laugh that she didn’t have time to censor. “Um, yeah,” she managed. “All the time.”

  Soren turned quickly to look at her, a tamer version of his usual goofy grin twitching at the corners of his lips.

  “Cool.” He sighed, then inhaled and exhaled slowly, as if he had forced a pause on himself and was dealing with the consequences. His non-driving knee was jumping furiously against the inside of the door, and he would occasionally tap it with one hand, as if weren’t a part of his body he was able to otherwise control.

  Olivia glanced at Soren curiously from the corner of her eye. He cleared his throat as he pulled the car over to the side of a narrow street, high in the hills above downtown.

  “What’s this?” she asked, peeking through the rounded window. They were parked in front of what looked like somebody’s front stoop.

  “You’ll see,” Soren said, unlocking the doors and stepping out onto the street.

  The closer Olivia got to the bottom of the steps, the more of them she could see, hundreds of tiny little stairs built into the hillside, disappearing high above the rooftops where the trees met the sky. This was definitely more than just somebody’s front stoop.

  “I thought we might want to walk off some of that rice paper,” Soren suggested, taking the first steps two at a time.

  Olivia followed suit, and soon found herself surrounded by hanging wildflowers creeping out of cozy backyards. Chatty birds called out, as if beckoning the slowly departing late-afternoon sun to stay just a while longer. It was as if they’d left the busy city and suddenly entered a tropical paradise.

  “There’s a documentary about these birds,” Soren said, pointing to what looked like a chubby parrot, perched on a branch overhead. “There’s a dude in one of these houses who feeds them. He gives them names and everything, like Romeo and Juliet or Brad and Angelina. I guess they mate for life, like penguins.”

  Olivia smiled and tried to respond, but with every step up, steady breathing was becoming more and more of a challenge. Despite his sluggish laps at the lake, Soren proved to be completely comfortable as they trudged up the endless hill of stairs.

  “Here we are,” he announced as they approached a clearing. Olivia craned her neck up toward the sky and saw that they were at the base of an enormous stone tower.

  “Coit Tower,” Soren explained. “It’s famous. There’s a museum inside, from the Depression, and you can go up to the top. But that’s not why we’re here.”

  Soren circled her wrist with one strong hand and pulled her up the last remaining steps. Trying to concentrate on her footing and not on the fact that they were holding hands (or wrists, but still), Olivia followed him to a low brick wall bordering the tower’s semicircular grounds.

  “This,” he said, gesturing his arms wide in a panoramic swipe around him, “is why we’re here.”

  Olivia turned and felt her rib cage swell.

  It was the most spectacular view of the city and bay she had seen yet. A deep purple haze lit up the fog and fell dramatically over the Bay Bridge and the little islands just off the coast. The lights of downtown were just starting to twinkle, and the headlights of cars winding up and down Lombard Street looked like ornaments on the zigzagging low branches of a Christmas tree.

  “Oh, my God,” she gasped, as Soren swung one leg and then the other over the wall, gesturing for her to take a seat. “It’s beautiful.”

  Soren nodded as she settled in beside him, feeling the warmth of his body against hers. Out of the corner of one eye she could see his profile, the clean line of his jaw and soft slope of his nose, the delicate blinking of his long, dark lashes.

  The sounds of the city below them blended together like a sort of urban weather, and they sat so quietly and for so long that Olivia found herself wondering if either of them was ever going to speak again.

  “Did you have fun at the gala last night?” Soren finally asked, stuffing his fists into the pockets of his brown leather bomber jacket. Like the belt, the coat looked like it had a story to tell, with worn, buttery patches at the elbows and a missing button on one sleeve.

  “Yeah,” Olivia said, swallowing a mouthful of air to steady her nerves. The whole afternoon had felt like it was happening in some alternate universe, where it was just the two of them in their own private world. Remembering the party brought Olivia back to reality, where she was just the new girl in town, and Soren was…Soren.

  She looked up at him and realized that he was staring at the inside soles of his shoes, his eyes lost and far away.

  “What about you?” she asked softly. “Did you have a good time?”

  Soren shrugged, scrunching his nose. “Not really,” he admitted. “I mean, I guess the party itself was okay, but…” He flattened his palms onto his knees, rubbing them up and down against the fabric of his light-washed jeans. It reminded Olivia of one of those toy cars you have to wheel back and forth a bunch of times before it takes off across the floor. He was gaining speed.

  “But what?” she prompted.

  “Calla and I broke up,” he said. His voice came out in a burst of sound, breathy and full. His hands stopped moving and his shoulders fell, and for a minute Olivia was nervous that he was going to do something terrible…like cry.

  Olivia’s insides were flopping around like a barrel of half-dead fish. She couldn’t even begin to untangle the mixed emotions she was feeling. She should be happy, right? But how could she be happy when he looked so sad?

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, and was surprised by how genuine it sounded. She really was sorry. Sorry he was upset, which he certainly seemed to be. Sorry Calla was upset, if she was.

  “Did you…” The question forced its way out before she could take it back completely. “I mean, was it, like…a mutual thing?” Olivia flinched, as if a question so moronic might actually come back and punch her in the face.

  But Soren just shrugged. “Not really,” he said. “I mean, as much as it could be. Nothing’s ever mutual, I don’t think. But I knew it had to end. I think she did, too.”

  “Yeah.” Olivia nodded, as if she had any idea. As if she’d ever been in anything that could pass for a relationship, let alone been responsible for ending one.

  Soren took a deep breath and folded his hands together, pushing them away from his body and cracking his knuckles all at once. The sound was jarring, but somehow had the effect of starting over, clearing the slate.

  “Anyway,” he huffed, finally turning to face her. His eyes were less cloudy and his face smooth and calm. “I don’t exactly know why, but I felt like telling you. I guess I thought you should know.” He took a deep breath and smiled before turning back to the water. Olivia did the same, the quiet of the early evening settling in between them as they waited for the sinking sun.

  Later, when she was falling asleep, Olivia would remember that
smile, and the way it made her feel tingly and warm. It wasn’t a smile that said a whole lot. It wasn’t suggestive, or romantic, even. It was just that it was trusting, and easy, and real.

  21

  “About face!” Violet commanded, hopping up from where she’d been lounging against the bottom of the Larsens’ front stoop.

  After Soren had driven her halfway home, Olivia had decided to take advantage of the warming weather and walk the (mostly uphill) twenty blocks back to her house. Her legs were trembling and all she wanted was to take a shower and hop into bed, but Violet, as usual, had other plans.

  “My feet…” Olivia groaned as Violet pulled her toward the car, pressing the keys into the palm of her hand.

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Violet insisted as Olivia unlocked the front door. “You have some serious beans to spill.”

  Olivia slouched forward, flattening her cheek against the steering wheel, and turned toward her sister. “Can’t I spill them on the couch?”

  Violet rolled her eyes and pulled her hair back into a loose bun. “Sure,” she said flatly. “If you feel like screaming.”

  Olivia raised an eyebrow and Violet took a deep, preparatory breath.

  “Dad accidentally put a hole in the wall of Mom’s office. Mom has a big deposition in the morning,” she began, squinting to remember the details. “Dad is ‘lazy’ and ‘disrespectful’; Mom is a ‘workaholic’ who ‘loves to complain…’”

  Olivia grunted and turned the key in the ignition. “Grandpa’s boat?” she asked.

  Violet nodded silently and Olivia pulled out into the street.

  It took a lot of restraint, but Olivia refused to share any juicy gossip about her afternoon with Soren until the sisters were squarely settled on the deck of the sparkling yacht, spread out on a blanket and staring up at the fading night sky.

  Violet leaned on her side and propped herself up with one arm. “Tell me everything.”

  Olivia inhaled a lungful of sea air and covered her face with her hands, the giddy smile she’d managed to repress forcing its way out through the web of her fingers.

  “Oh, no,” Violet gasped. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

  Olivia lowered her hands and looked into her sister’s eyes, darting around like little blue lasers, searching Olivia’s face for more.

  “What happened?” Violet squealed. “It’s bad enough I’m stuck in family court while you’re out on the world’s most romantic date—”

  “It wasn’t a date,” Olivia said firmly.

  Violet huffed and flipped her hand over in the air. “Whatever,” she said. “It was datelike.”

  Olivia blushed and sat up, pulling the edge of the fuzzy fleece blanket up and over her legs.

  “It was weird,” Olivia said, after a while of being quiet. “There were a couple of times when it was kind of awkward. Where it really felt like we were two strangers hanging out. But most of the time, he was just so easy to talk to.” Violet nodded and turned her chin back toward the purple night sky. “It was like I knew everything he was about to say, before he said it, you know?”

  Violet made a little humming sound and smiled. “Like what?” she asked, crossing her bare ankles and wiggling her toes. Olivia glanced down at the bubble-gum polish on her sister’s feet, and for a moment was transported back to last summer on Martha’s Vineyard. They were sitting on the back deck, painting each other’s nails. Violet had borrowed her mother’s collection of OPI colors and was choosing between Sweet 16 and Daddy’s Girl. Olivia, who rarely paid any attention to her nails, other than to bite them, decided that they should both pick Sweet 16, in honor of their upcoming birthdays.

  The birthday that only one of them would celebrate.

  “Hello?” Violet pressed, sitting back up. “Where did you go?”

  Olivia shook her head and smiled sadly. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m here.”

  Violet gave her a funny look before leaning back on her elbows, her light eyes reflecting the twinkling yellow lights of downtown across the bay. “So what did he say?”

  Olivia nibbled at the inside corner of her mouth. “Well…” She hesitated. “He told me he broke up with Calla.”

  “He what?” Violet shot up, her hair whipping around her face like water. “When? And how did you not lead with this information?”

  Olivia looked down at her fingers in her lap. Her own nails were stubby and streaked with little chalky lines. Her mind clouded as she remembered the way Soren’s shoulders had slumped when he’d told her the news. She’d known Violet would be excited, but she couldn’t help feeling that it was all so complicated. It probably wasn’t the best idea to get involved with someone so soon after a breakup.

  “I don’t know.” Olivia sighed, squinting at the water, lapping in dark little waves against the angled beams of the wooden dock. “I don’t know how I feel about it yet.”

  Violet leaned forward, taking one of Olivia’s knees in each of her open palms. “What’s to know?” she asked with a laugh. “The guy you like but couldn’t have because he had a girlfriend…doesn’t!”

  Olivia wrangled her legs free of Violet’s grip and pulled herself up to her feet. She pressed her hips against the cool brass railing and swayed forward, the gusty breeze picking up a light spray off the water and stinging the freckled tops of her cheekbones. Violet was quickly there, too, straddling the banister, her bare feet swinging and knocking back against the hull.

  “You’re worried about Calla, aren’t you?” Violet guessed. Her voice wasn’t as edgy as Olivia expected. It was soft and almost understanding.

  Olivia nodded. “It just sucks,” she said, hearing herself whining but too upset to care. “Why does the first guy I feel this way about have to be the boyfriend of basically the only girl I’ve talked to at school?”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” Violet corrected.

  “Yeah, of, like, fifteen minutes,” Olivia deadpanned. She stretched her arms out and leaned back, gripping the railing with such force that her knuckles blanched and looked ready to pop out of her skin. “I just don’t want to let myself get too excited.”

  Olivia tilted her neck back and looked up at the sky. There were a few dull stars peeking through layers of gossamer clouds, but not enough to allow her to make out the pointed shapes of constellations.

  “What did you promise me?” Violet asked, laying a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Remember? At the gala? You said you were going to let yourself want things.” Violet looked out at the water, giving her sister’s shoulder a little squeeze.

  “But what if it doesn’t work out?” Olivia asked, following Violet’s gaze out across the horseshoe bay. A waiter at a waterfront restaurant was pulling down umbrellas and bringing plastic chairs inside, closing up for the night. Violet took a deep breath and smiled, and Olivia thought she noticed a mischievous little dance in the corners of her sister’s eyes.

  “Trust me,” Violet said, rocking gently against Olivia’s side. “It will.”

  Olivia felt her pulse starting to steady and the sharp pounding at her temples recede into a background ache. “You really think so?” she asked quietly.

  “I really do.”

  Olivia felt the tight knots in her neck and shoulders starting to loosen, a smile brightening her lips. The queasy feeling she’d had squirming in her belly all evening was starting to settle. Her whole body was relaxing, as if her sister had drawn the tension right out of her, one limb at a time.

  22

  All it took was a full day of pretending that nothing was going on between her and Soren for Olivia to realize that “getting excited” wasn’t going to be much of a challenge. Every time she so much as caught a glimpse of him at school, through the window of the language lab door, or doing tricks on his skateboard in the courtyard at lunch, her stomach twisted into a giant pretzel.

  Determined to orchestrate at least one accidental-on-purpose hallway encounter, Violet had tracked Soren’s schedule and planted Olivia in the upstairs student lounge
just before the last bell of the day. This way, Violet reasoned, Olivia could position herself for a casual crossing-of-paths while innocently working on homework, the prop of her math notebook open in her lap.

  “I’m so glad I found you.” A soft voice suddenly spoke from behind Olivia’s shoulder. Olivia looked up from a scramble of calculus equations just as Calla collapsed into the nubby couch on the other side of the glass table.

  “Hey, Calla,” Olivia said, willing her pulse to stop drumming in her ears. Violet spun around from where she’d been perched on the top of the stairs, her eyes wide with concern. This wasn’t exactly the accidental encounter they’d had in mind. “What’s up?”

  At first glance, Calla seemed okay. Her dark wavy hair was clean and shiny, and she looked perfectly put together in skinny jeans, a soft white V-neck, and a tangle of long brass chains. The only thing suspicious about her appearance were the oversize black sunglasses she was wearing inside.

  “Are you busy this afternoon?” Calla asked, rummaging around in her bag for her water bottle and unscrewing the round top. Olivia’s eyes jumped back to Violet, who appeared too stunned to be of much service, and then back to Calla, who was swallowing a big sip of water and sighing like she’d been parched in a desert for months. “I could really use your help with this fundraiser we’re putting together for the thrift store. We have our first committee meeting after school today, and it would be great to have you on board.”

  Olivia caught a flurry of movement and looked up to see Violet shaking her head deliberately and crossing her hands over each other back and forth.

  “Oh,” Olivia stuttered. “That sounds great, but, unfortunately, I—”

  “The thing is,” Calla whispered as she leaned across the table, a tumble of hair falling over her shoulder, “Lark and Eve are supposed to be helping out, and I know they’re trying. It’s just…well, usually I’d do everything myself, but I had kind of a…crazy weekend…”