You Wish (19 page)

I seem to be just staring into the distance, and I have to blink several times to bring him back into focus. “Oh. Um, no. Nicole probably plans on wearing a dress.”

His face falls. “Figures. I got the button-down she wanted, but I was hoping to ditch the slacks.”

I swallow uncomfortably and nod. I can’t really picture Ben dressed up. He’s more of a rugged, outdoorsy type. It would be easier to picture that guy from
Survivorman
—the one that drinks his own pee to survive—wearing a tux than Ben in slacks. “That’s nice of you. To get dressed up for her, that is.”

He takes a big bite of his food and chews for a long moment. “You think?”

I nod, but I don’t say any more. I feel left out, just picturing them going to Seattle for something special while I’m sitting in my room, alone.

They’re going to some fancy orchestra concert with a bunch of people.

And I’m not invited.

Because I’m not a couple.

I didn’t even know they were friends with other couples.

I scrunch my eyebrows. “Wait, who are you—”

“Sugar!” Ken calls as he mounts the steps of the food court and joins me and Ben at the table. “Sorry it took so long.”

He leans down and kisses me on the temple, then on the cheek. My skin crawls where his slobber is left behind. But I don’t wipe it away. I just smile.

It must be fake, my smile. It must be
beyond
fake because inside I’m cringing and panicking as Ken pulls up a chair on one side of me and Ann grabs the other.

We have reached terror-level yellow.

Ben looks at me. Obviously, he is awaiting introductions.

“Um, Ben. This is . . . Carson,” I say, waving my hand in Ken’s direction, “and my friend Ann.”

I hope Ken doesn’t correct me, doesn’t tell Ben his name is Ken.

Great. They rhyme. That’s how awesome this is. Gah, how come every time Ken is around all I can think is
awesome
this and
awesome
that?

Ann does her puppy dog smile and shoves her hand out to shake with Ben, somehow smacking his plastic fork and sending a chunk of General Tso’s chicken launching through the air. Ben ducks just in time, and it lands behind him, on the white tiles. I half expect an overplayed
splat
sound effect when it hits, but it’s nearly silent.

He doesn’t look fazed, just reaches out and shakes Ann’s hand. She grips it and shakes too enthusiastically, so Ben’s whole arm is like a ripple of a wave.

Ken shakes his hand too, much more reserved and under control. He doesn’t correct Ben when he says, “Nice to meet you, Carson.”

Maybe his beach ball buds call him by his last name too.

Then Ken turns to me. “They had a killer sale at the vitamin store. Muscle Milk was two for one,” he says, holding up the biggest shopping bag I’ve ever seen.

My eyes dart to Ben. His eyes are bright with repressed laughter, and I watch as he discreetly glances at Ken’s bulging muscles.

“Gotta keep these babies fed,” Ken says, setting down the bags.

And then, dear God, he flexes a few times and actually
kisses
his bicep.

Terror level: orange.

“What is that?” Ann asks, leaning toward me.

“Um, a Cinnabon?”

“I want some!” And then she yanks the whole plate off my tray and plops it down in front of her. She reaches over and takes the fork right out of my hand and jams it into the remaining Cinnabon, lifting it up as one big bite and sort of folding it into her mouth.

While she chews, her cheeks are swollen and puffy, like a chipmunk with an entire mouthful of nuts.

Ken leans back and looks a little bored, crossing his arms at his chest so that his pecs and biceps swell even bigger. Ken seems to take notice of his bulging muscles and looks down at his chest.

And then it gets even better. He uncrosses his arms and looks at his pecs and then makes
them dance.
One, then the other, pops up and down and up and down, while Ken looks inordinately pleased.

I, on the other hand, am horrified.

Terror level: red. We have reached meltdown, abort mission.

Ben stares straight at me, his lips quivering the tiniest bit as he takes another bite of his Chinese food. His eyes dart back over to Ann, whose mouth is crammed full of Cinnabon, and then back to Ken, who is still admiring his own chest.

I want to kick him under the table. We stare straight into each other’s eyes for a long moment.

And then it happens.

It’s a tiny muffled laugh at first. He tries to hide it with his fist, turn it into a cough. But it doesn’t work. The laughter builds and rumbles in his chest, and then it breaks loose, and he bursts out laughing.

I glance from Ann’s bewildered expression to Ken’s bored one, and then I can’t stop myself either. . . . The laughter bubbles out of me until I’m consumed by it, until I’m doubled over, laughing hysterically.

Ben looks up at me, his eyes taking me in as he keeps laughing, like he can’t understand why
I’m
laughing too.

But he doesn’t know the half of what has happened so far this week. It’s like everything has overwhelmed me in one big wave, and something has broken loose and all I can do is laugh at myself.

It takes us several minutes to regain control of ourselves. By the time we do, there are tears at the edges of my eyes, and my sides are burning. Ben takes a long, slow drink of his soda to calm himself.

Ken and Ann are just watching us, a little bewildered and confused.

“So, Carson,” Ben asks. “Do you know where I can find a good gym?”

I try to kick Ben, but my foot only connects with the leg of the table. He hears the loud bang my shoe makes as it connects with metal, and his grin widens.

Ben’s not a gym sort of guy. His muscles are from working for his dad’s landscaping business and from riding bikes, nothing more. They’re thick and well defined, but he doesn’t have the artificial bulk like Ken has.

“If you need some pointers, dude, I’d be happy to help.”

“Oh yeah, that would be totally awesome, dude,” Ben says, with a thick surfer accent. Then he actually flexes under his shirt, pointing to his arms.

I want to be angry with him or at least annoyed, but all I can think about is all the silly things I’ve said to Ken while pretending I was Barbie, and I can’t help but think we have the same sense of humor.

It doesn’t mean I want to sit around and see if this goes somewhere, though.

“Um, I think we should get going,” I say. “Right . . . sweetie?”

I can barely grind out the last word. I’m not sure I should be claiming Ken as a boyfriend anymore. Maybe I should stage a breakup with him. Maybe he’d stay away then.

Why didn’t I think of that sooner? If I break up with him, problem is solved.

He looks up. “Sure, honeydew.”

Ben’s lips quiver again with barely contained laughter.

“Come on, Ann,” I say, pulling out her chair. She has Cinnabon and frosting all over her chin and has only managed to actually swallow half of what she crammed in her mouth.

“Nice seeing you, Ben.”

“Yep. See ya in math,” he says. He doesn’t take his eyes off me. They’re still bright, sparkling with amusement.

“Okay, then,” I say, backing away from the table. I jam my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “Nice seeing you,” I repeat, and then cringe.

I can’t get out of here fast enough.

Ken is
so
getting locked in the shed with that stupid pony.

We’re only halfway out of the food court when I finally realize that Nicole told me we couldn’t study directly after school because she’d be with Ben.

But Ben was at the mall.

So Nicole was . . . where?

We walk back toward the entrance we came in at, down by Sears. The mall has been undergoing renovations for a while, with all new tiles and skylights and pretty rock facades around the support beams. Now it looks like they’ve added a big fountain.

Huh. Maybe I should try making a wish in the fountain. I mean, it can’t hurt at this point.

I stop and dig into my pockets, staring at the copper pennies and silver nickels that glimmer beneath the surface of the water. I produce a handful of change and decide to use it all in one swoop.

I lean against the edge of the rocks and close my eyes.

I wish every wish—

My stomach drops into my knees as I feel Ann’s body against mine, like she’s tripped right into me, and my eyes pop open just in time to see the water rushing up toward my face.

I go under, the icy water completely covering me, and I flounder around until I feel a strong arm grab my shoulder and yank me upright. I cough, gasping for air, my hair flopping over my face as the water runs in rivulets down my skin.

Ken is leaned over the edge, a hand gripping my arm, his eyes wide with alarm. “Are you okay, honey?”

I sputter and spit out the water left in my mouth. Just as I’m nodding, my legs start to tingle, a tiny bit at first, until it multiplies and spreads. It’s like both legs fell asleep at once. I wiggle my toes, trying to rid myself of the feeling, but it doesn’t feel right. It’s like my toes are stuck together with superglue.

I haul myself up onto the ledge of the fountain and pull my sneaker off so that I can dump the water out, but then my heart nearly stops and I try to shove it back on.

Oh. Mio. Dio.

I scramble out of the fountain as fast as I can, but it’s difficult and my legs aren’t cooperating.

Because I’m not totally sure they’re legs anymore.

My skin is bluish, kind of iridescent. And a little scaly.

It looks like fish scales.

Ewww
, what the heck was in that water?

The tingling turns to a weird needling, like when your foot is
really
asleep. My eyes dart around. Is anyone else seeing this?

My toes feel like they’re trying to stick together. Like they’re webbed.

Like instead of feet, I have fins. Frantically, I squeeze the water out of my socks and my legs and try to shake off the water that’s still dripping down my back and limbs. The tingling gets worse, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

I blink several times and watch as my toes becomes toes again and the sliminess on my skin dissipates.

And that’s when I realize what this is.

I think I’m turning into a mermaid.

This has gone way. Too. Far.

“Uh, I hurt my ankle, can you carry me to the car?” I say. I can’t be here. Not if I go full-on fishy.

“Sure thing, doll!” Ken scoops me up as if I’m lighter than air and we head to the car. I will him to move faster, to get me out of here while I’m still normal.

Normalish.

We make it to the Jeep and now I’m pretty thankful that the top is off so that the wind can blow around and dry out my pants. I sneak a peek, and my skin still looks a little blue, but it’s going back to normal.

Awesome. Apparently I can’t get wet anymore, at least not as long as the wishes are still around.

I want to kill my seven-year-old self.

Because apparently, once upon a time, I wished to be a mermaid.

And now I am one.

24

ON TUESDAY,
I spend twenty minutes gathering grass by hand for the stupid pony. I think if I don’t start feeding it more, it’s going to bust out of the shed. I rip out as much grass as I possibly can, then dump the pile in the shed. We’re all out of rubbery carrots.

Ann helps, but she keeps getting distracted, yakking about an episode of
The Real World
.

By the time I’m sliding into my seat in bio, my jeans have grass stains on the knees and the bell is ringing, so I have no time to talk to Nicole and get the scoop on yesterday and the fact that she was so totally trying to ditch me for reasons yet unestablished. I skipped a shower this morning because I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do about the whole problem with water and, well, me morphing into Ariel. At least I washed my face and slathered on half a stick of deodorant. But my hair looks terrible.

To make matters worse, we have a pop quiz. If a quiz can be fifty questions long, that is. It takes the whole class period and I’m positive I completely, totally flunk it.

Nicole doesn’t seem to have my troubles, though, because she skates out of class the second the bell rings, her quiz already nestled among all the others on Mr. Gordon’s desk. I leave the last ten questions blank and reluctantly hand it over.

By the time I make it to lunch, I’m in a horrid mood. I had to spend all of trigonometry leaning away from Ben again, and he most definitely thinks I hate him. I guess I should be relieved. Maybe he’ll stay away. But instead it makes my heart twist around in my chest.

I empty my pockets of gumballs in a trash can and then head to the cafeteria. As I pass a couple classmates, I can’t help but notice that one elbows the other and nods in my direction.

The other one clearly mouths,
Oh my God,
and then, even worse, she grabs the front of her shirt and holds it way out, mimicking the size of my chest.

I walk faster in the direction of the cafeteria, holding my binder in front of my chest in a feeble attempt to conceal the fact that it’s half the size of the state of Rhode Island.

Right now I want nothing more than to bury my worries with a giant cafeteria burrito and about three cans of Mountain Dew.

My hand is on the cafeteria door, and I’m about to swing it open, when I see Nicole through the glass.

She’s at their table.

The cheerleaders’ table, that is. She’s already eating her salad and nodding at something Breanna Mills is saying.

I just stand there, watching her, as the other students jostle by me to get through the doors. They stream past me, happily oblivious to the unease raging in my empty stomach.