by Shel Delisle
CHAPTER 25
WITH THAT, EUGENE AND I HEAD FOR DORY. She’s parked along the street a block or so from Sasha’s. “Do you want to stop somewhere before we go home?” I ask as we walk.
“Can we visit the genie Denny?” he teases, making fun of himself and the mistake about Wendy.
I laugh at him. Eugene sure has changed quickly. A week ago he would’ve gotten worn out by all these people and asked to leave the party so he could go back into his bag.
“Genie Denny, here we come,” I say while cranking the key.
The restaurant is pretty empty, except for one family who must’ve spent the day at one of the parks—they’re sunburned and exhausted—and another uniformed guy on his way home from work.
Eugene and I grab a booth away from both of them. His scruffy hair is visible over the top of his menu. He peeks at me, all boyish charm. “Are you going to tell me what happened with Sasha?”
I’d managed to avoid her at the party but could still see her in my mind’s eye, being attended to by her friends as though she were some kind of royalty. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if she ended up as Homecoming Queen or Prom Queen. Or both. That’s the kind of power she wields at our school.
“She was a friend of mine at the beginning of high school,” I start. “She’s one of those people who can make you feel special by just talking to you.”
Eugene looks confused. “She speaks nicely?”
“No. Not exactly.” I laugh painfully. “It’s that she’s so selective about who she talks to, who she lets into her circle of friends, that once you feel you’re in, that makes you special.”
“That doesn’t make sense to me.” Eugene’s perspective on everything is refreshing and the things he says in innocence are so true.
“You’re right again. It totally doesn’t make sense.”
All the memories of freshmen year come flooding back. Spanish I was my class right before lunch, and after the bell rang I ambled toward the cafeteria, apprehensive about who I’d eat with because Em’s schedule put her into a different period. Sasha, who had always been one of the most popular girls in middle school, came up beside me. She had long, shiny hair and a perfect complexion. In middle school she’d had braces, but had gotten them off over the summer, whereas I still had mine. She smiled, showing the perfectly straight, bright white teeth. “Hey, aren’t you in Gonzalez’s class with me?”
“Yeah.”
I couldn’t believe she was talking to me. We’d been in the same school since middle school and she’d never said boo before. It was always like she’d looked through me, like I wasn’t there.
“You should sit with us at lunch.”
Us. Sasha’s group of friends. The popular girls. It was unbelievable and flattering and scary all at the same time. As we went through the line together she gave me advice. “The salad bar is supposed to be decent and I heard the grilled chicken sandwiches are okay, but stay away from the personal pizzas.”
I nodded in agreement and took a chicken sandwich.
When we got to the table, I squeezed in next to a girl named Kaylee.
“Everyone, this is Logan. Logan, this is everyone.”
Sasha probably thought I knew who everyone was, but I didn’t, even though I guessed I’d figure it all out eventually. During lunch I concentrated on the sandwich, while they all gossiped about what had happened over the summer until a girl who looked familiar walked by the table and everyone stopped talking to watch her pass.
About a week later I found out from Kaylee that the girl had been part of the group before the summer, but over the break Sasha had cut her out.
“What do you mean, she cut her out?” I asked. Kaylee and I had two other classes together and I had gotten comfortable talking with her.
“We couldn’t be her friend anymore,” Kaylee explained. “Something must have gone on between her and Sasha, but no one knows what for sure.”
I imagined that the girl must have committed some really huge sin, a betrayal of massive proportions to have been snubbed like this. But I was wrong, because ten short months later, during summer break between freshman and sophomore year, I was the one cut out.
It started, I think, when Sasha said, “We’re having a sleepover on Tuesday.”
Tuesday nights were when I stayed with Em’s family. It’d been like that for a long time. “I can’t go.” I explained the arrangement.
“Why do you always stay at her house?”
“My mom works at a hotel and she goes out that night, so Mrs. Rhodes always has me over. We’ve been friends since second grade.” I felt like I needed to justify my friendship with Em because she wasn’t a part of Sasha’s group.
“Well, can’t you skip?”
“I…maybe…I’ll see.” But the truth was I didn’t want to skip, and so I came up with some lame excuse that I can’t even remember exactly. I probably said something about my mom wanting me to stay at Em’s. I don’t know.
The next thing that happened was when I hooked up with Tucker Doyle at a pool party at Sasha’s. I hadn’t known she had a secret crush on him, because it was secret. How could I know?
After that she’d given me the cold shoulder a few times, but we didn’t really hang out over the summer much anyway so I didn’t realize there was anything wrong until we got back to school sophomore year. Sasha told everyone that my mom was an alcoholic, which wasn’t true at that time and still might not be true, even if now she does drink more than she should. She also told everyone that I was gay. Sasha worked a little black magic and changed my life.
“And that’s when Logan Paige Carter, moi, developed the reputation for coming from the low-life family of a single mom who drank and partied and was not a girl you’d want to be friends with because I might hit on you.” I stop because it still hurts to talk about this, even with Eugene. Maybe especially with Eugene, he’s the only one that doesn’t know this whole drama.
Eugene takes a deep breath and I think he’s about to say something kind and supportive; I can’t let him do that.
“That’s why I started hooking up with guys. I couldn’t do anything to change the situation with my mom, but I could make sure everyone knew I didn’t want to be with girls. I’m what Emily calls skeezy,” I tell Eugene.
“But you’re not,” he insists.
“I don’t want to be.”
Em says that next year when we’re out of school it’s not gonna matter anymore, and she always points out other people who’re still friendly with me. But it’s like they’re all tiptoeing over eggshells around me. Worried that they may say the wrong thing. Worried that I might break, like I’m some effing fragile princess. Almost like they pity me because of what Sasha did. Or because of what my life is.
If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s pity.
“That’s why you want to make this revenge wish?” Eugene asks.
I fiddle with the salt and pepper shakers compulsively. “Yep. It’s a good reason, right?”
“What she did was wrong, but will your wish take it away?”
Eugene’s trying to make sense of this and be logical. And I’m sorry, but what she did defies logic, so his help on this annoys me.
“No, it won’t take it away. I just want her to feel a little of the pain I felt. Is that so wrong?”
“Are you asking me?”
“Of course.”
“Yes. It’s wrong,” is all my genie says.
I feel angry, keyed-up, and defiant because I’d thought Eugene would take my side after I’d spilled my guts to him about one of the most painful events of my life. I text Em: Time to wish.
The reply comes back: Sasha?
I text the wording and my phone rings. “Are you sure?” Em asks.
“Absolutely,” I say, looking Eugene straight in the eye, daring him to contradict me, which he can’t because of protocol.
CHAPTER 26
“WHAT IF SHE SAID ‘SORRY,’” Eugene asks in a last-di
tch effort to get me to renege on this wish.
“She won’t.”
“Well, you should at least try.”
I phone Em and explain what Eugene wants, then put the phone on speaker and lay it in the middle of the table between us.
Em says in a high-pitched, doubtful voice, “I’ll ask. I’m walking over to her.” Then I hear her say, “Hey Sasha, I have Logan on the phone and she was wondering if you’d apologize for when you spread rumors about her.”
I can hear Sasha’s laugh as though I was standing right next to her at the party. “Sorry? For what? Letting everyone know about how she’s a lowlife?”
Her minions laugh.
When Em says, “I don’t think she’s gonna do it,” Eugene raises an eyebrow.
I say, “I think her party’s about to get extra wild. Ready?”
Em and I say the wish together.
Jinx. Big time jinx.
Em squeals, “Omigod, a donkey just ran into the backyard and he’s hee-hawing in Sasha’s face. She’s screaming ‘get him away’ and he’s trying to eat her shirt.”
“Can you send me video?”
“Yeah. Let me get closer. Ooh, he stinks, Lo.”
I snort a laugh, picturing the smelly beast in Sasha’s face. Well, she acted like an ass, so she should hang with one. The video comes through from Em. Sasha’s smart phone, $350, Abercromie party outfit, $200, expression on her face as the donkey tries to eat it, priceless.
Time for wish number two. Em and I make it. I hear more squealing from the phone, and this time it’s not Em or Sasha. Sounds like pigs.
Nigel’s voice is loud. “What kind of party is this, Emily?”
Even that cracks me up—him being so properly British.
Em whispers into the phone, “They’re really destroying the backyard.”
“Don’t you mean barnyard?”
Wishes three and four are made for gooses and horses. The gooses are honking, and Em tells me one of the horses is pawing at the ground. Then it rears up to fight another one. It sounds like pandemonium on the phone.
Eugene asks, “Are you ready to stop it?”
“She was a horse’s ass and her friends acted like silly geese,” I explain.
“Isn’t this enough?”
“No, it’s not. What she did changed my life. It’s BS!” And that’s when we make wish number five.
Em gasps. “He’s crapping everywhere and oh, I think he’s getting angry. Nigel! I think it’s time to go.” The connection is broken.
I look at Eugene and say “E-I-E-I-O.”
CHAPTER 27
ANOTHER TUESDAY NIGHT HANGING IN EM’S ROOM. I’ve done it a million times, but it’s never been remotely like this.
To start with we’re hanging with our genie, which yes, we did last Tuesday, but instead of sitting all prim and proper, insisting we figure out the whole master situation, he’s lounging on Em’s bed. He’s hogging the remote—which was a miracle to him the first time he saw it—speed channel surfing so that everything on the TV is a blur.
I can’t believe my favorite genie is acting like a normal guy.
Finally he stops on That 70s Show. I guess he figures this is a way for him to play catch-up on one of the decades he missed while being held hostage in the bag by Richard.
Em throws open the door, wearing her favorite light blue tank with spaghetti straps. Her boobs, which are now the size of mine, bulge over the top of the tee. “How does this look?” she asks. Her tone makes me think she doesn’t want a completely honest answer.
“A little small,” I tell her.
“Funny, Lo. Very funny. Don’t you think I know it’s a little small?” She wrestles with the top, trying to give herself more, um, coverage.
“Look. It’s not my fault. I tried to warn you that they’re not all they’re cracked up to be.”
Em sticks out her tongue, then looks—what’s the expression? Resigned? Like she knows that I’m right but she’s still not happy about it because she thought boobs would be the be-all end-all. “But this is my favorite shirt and now I can’t wear it anymore.”
“We could wish for your shirt to be bigger,” I suggest.
“No, you can’t.” Eugene says to me. “Unless you want your shirt to be bigger too.”
Oh. Yeah.
She grabs an armload of tops from her closet still on hangers and charges into the bathroom.
And me? I’m studying. Studying! In the most crazy, compulsive way you can imagine. As I sprawl on Em’s floor, not only do I have the box of SAT vocab cards piled in front of me, but I also have the Official SAT Study Guide, which includes eleven practice tests, scoring, tips, and what you should eat for breakfast on the morning of the test. Okay, so maybe I’m being a smartass about the breakfast thing, but for all I know it’s in there and I just haven’t gotten to that part yet.
I told Em I needed the SAT for Dummies book and she just said these had worked for her. For her! Not me!
After the revenge wish, Em kept on me about making this one for the SAT. The one where I score a 1,920 on the test. Brilliant. Yeah, so making that wish didn’t give me super test-taking powers. It just meant I have to cram like a maniac in order to get the same score as Em. As if that’s even possible.
I’m not happy about this.
But we couldn’t un-wish this one and I guess that’s why Eugene warned us. What would the new wish be? That Em would get my score? Impossible. She already did better. That we’d both do our best? No, I’d still be stuck with all this studying and it doesn’t meet Eugene’s “be specific” guideline. That we’d get perfect scores? Absolutely not. That might mean both of us would be stuck with this compulsion. Plus, Em thinks if we got our score magically it’d be cheating.
Clearly, it would have been okay with her if I cheated but she holds herself to a higher standard and I have to say that superiority thing pisses me off a little.
She made a half-assed apology, saying, “Oh, Lo, I didn’t realize and I’m so sorry that you have to study so much, but it’s not like it’s really bad for you.”
That pisses me off, too.
As I flip through the cards quickly, committing words to memory, I turn over “lagniappe.” Yeah, I remember this one, no problem. An unexpected gift.
Eugene.
Except I’m still unsure how he’s a gift.
None, and I mean none, of my wishes have been all that great and some have been downright scary, like when Jeremy disappeared. The Warped tour tickets seemed great until my mom showed up.
The revenge wish on Sasha made me feel worse instead of better, just like Eugene warned. We cruised by her house the next day and their yard was a mess. All kinds of animal poop everywhere. They’d gotten rid of most the animals, but a couple of pigs were still digging up the front yard, tossing clods of dirt with their snouts. The donkey was still there, eating holes in some of the hedges. Sasha’s mom was in the front yard with her little sister cleaning up, no sign of Sasha herself.
Of course not. Someone else always has to clean up her messes and she remains unscathed. I’d unintentionally hurt the wrong people.
And when I tried to imagine Sasha cleaning up, that didn’t make me feel better either.
So, the wishes have been more of a curse than a blessing, and while I’m grateful for improved eyesight and have a few new, cute pairs of shoes, I realize this lagniappe means that Em and I will be tied together for a long, long, long time. Maybe forever. A week ago I would’ve thought this was ideal. Now, as Em turns from side to side in her full-length mirror in another top, I’m not so sure.
I have some unexpected insight into Richard and why he might not have wanted a genie anymore. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.
Can I pawn him off on someone else? Would Em agree to that? How would Eugene feel?
“Eugene, how have you gotten all your new masters?” I ask.
Eugene looks away from the TV. I’m not sure if it’s because he wants
to or if he has to. “I don’t understand your question.”
“What I mean is, we became your masters because Richard brought you into Rags to Ritzy. Does it always happen like that?”
“Ah, I see. Abandonment is fairly common. The other ways are inheritance, being sold, being gifted. And sometimes, though it’s rare, theft.”
“It’s like you’re a piece of property,” Em gasps.
Eugene’s face is unreadable. He can’t be happy with the way things are.
“You must hate that,” I say.
“It’s what I am. There is nothing else.” He turns back to the show.
His attitude makes me think. If Dad had left before I was born or too small to remember, my life would just be what it is. But because I was older and had experienced something else, something better, I know there are other options when it comes to family. And there might be other options for Eugene.
I take the remote gently from him and hit mute. “Doesn’t any part of being a genie bother you?”
“Of course.”
“Like?” I want to understand him completely. I want to sympathize.
Eugene takes the remote back and I think he’s going to turn up the volume to mute me, but instead he shuts the TV off. He lays his hands on his knees, palms up and meditates for a moment before saying, “I’m worried that Richard is planning to make me his genie again. You both make me happier than any other masters.”
Although Eugene is addressing both of us, he looks at me with soft, warm eyes.
My heart cramps. Crap. If he wasn’t a genie, he could be my crush. The one who likes me for me, instead of one who likes what happens when we’re alone with the lights out. “We wouldn’t give you back to Richard. I would never allow that to happen. So stop worrying.” I smile at him, hoping it eases his mind.
“Right,” Em agrees, hitching her top every which way. “We like having you around, and Richard is yesterday’s news.”
“He is being very persistent.”
Huh? “Persistent? How?”
“He follows us all the time.”