Three Wishes (13 page)

I am gone.

Destiny has two ways of crushing us — by refusing our wishes and by fulfilling them. — Henri Frédéric Amiel

I awake to the steady beep of the heart monitor and smile before opening my eyes. A beating heart means my grandfather is still alive.

Eager to see him, I raise my head and realize the monitor is attached to
me
. Anxious, I start to tussle with the infernal needles and tubes confining me to the bed.

“Genie, it's okay, stop.” I hear a voice from behind me, and a warm hand stays my arm.

Pete comes around to where I can see him and I burst into tears. He waits a few moments while I attempt to get myself under control. “I'm so sorry—” he begins, and I start sobbing again. I know then, deep in my heart, I have failed. I wail aloud — I cannot believe these sounds are coming from me. My grandfather is gone.

I cling to Pete's arm like it's a life raft, and he strokes my hair, seeking someone else to help. He tries talking to me, but I'm beyond comforting and want to be lost in my sorrow.

Just then, Leia runs into the room and throws Pete a frustrated look. “What have you done?” she asks. He shakes his head with a gesture of confusion.

I let go of Pete and hold out my arms to her like I'm a baby. She gathers me up, making shushing noises, which eventually work their magic. Still shuddering with sobs, I turn to face them both but cannot make eye contact.

“Don't cry. Your grandmother will be back in a few minutes,” Leia says, rubbing my back. “You've given us quite a scare,” she adds, again glaring at Pete.

“But you're okay now,” he blurts out, eager to redeem himself.

How can I care about being okay when I have failed in my most important duty? I feel as empty as a deflated balloon. I lean back on my pillows and raise my hand to cover my eyes for more privacy.
Stupid, stupid genie power.
It's no good for anything. Further frustrated by the tubes tugging at me, I wrestle around enough to where I can get comfortable. “I want to see my grandmother,” I mumble from under my arm. It's all I can get out right now.

“She'll be here soon. We didn't know you were about to wake up. It's been so long, you know,” Leia tells me.

I raise my head. “How long?” I whisper.

“You've been out for four days. The doctors couldn't figure it out, but your tests all came back okay, so they've held you here for observation. They found you collapsed in the chapel on New Year's Day.”

Pete takes my hand and entwines his fingers with mine. Romance couldn't be further from my mind, but I'll take this as a gesture of sympathy so I don't get annoyed with him. I'm also flabbergasted at this news. No wonder I have no energy. Zip.
Nada.
A growl of my stomach makes me wonder if it's also been four days since I last ate. I could go for a huge mushroom pizza right now.

Oh, I'm so shallow. Such a mundane issue when I've lost my grandfather. The tears start again, rolling down my cheeks. I swivel in bed and release Pete's grip so I can stare up at the ceiling and keep from saying anything.

“G, why are you still crying? It's okay. Everything, I mean.”

With a sniff, my eyes dart to look at her. I don't dare to hope.

Noticing my expression, Pete again presses forward. “You're going to be okay. And so is your grandfather.”

I sit bolt upright.
Forget about the
tubes
. “Why didn't you say so in the first place?” I shout hoarsely. “You let me lie here for the last ten minutes crying my eyes out and didn't bother to tell me? What is wrong with you people?” I fall back again on the bed, exhausted by my outburst, but exhilarated by the news. They both argue I didn't give them a chance.

I pay no attention, and my grandmother's entrance silences them. “Oh, Eugénie,” she says, with such love in her voice that I believe everything truly is all right. She holds both of my hands in hers and stands there before me. Does she know my role in this? I think she's pleased with me. But then she then leans forward until her lips are nearly touching my ear.

“Don't you dare
ever
do anything like that again, young lady, or you'll be wishing for a new backside,” she commands
sotto voce
, with a broad smile for everyone else to see. There's little danger I'll repeat this scenario. I understand now why my mom's diary warned me not to try to do too much with my wish power — I am still bone-tired from the experience.

Gulping, I nod. “Tell me what happened, Mamère.”

“Well, you know, your grandfather's heart stopped. He was getting shocked by an AED when I heard you had been found unconscious in the chapel downstairs. It was too much to bear,” she adds, almost to herself, but with a significant glance at me. “The doctors said to let you sleep, and, well, here you are. They said there was no reason you shouldn't make a full recovery, but then,
they
didn't know what was wrong with you.” Sitting down on the chair next to the bed, she adds, “You've had a lot of support here, sweetheart. Your friends from school have been in and out all the time.”

Oh, no
, I groan to myself.
The whole school saw me like this
?

“Don't worry, G, I made sure you were always camera-ready,” Leia assures me as she approaches the bed, sensitive to what I had been thinking. I pat her hand.

“Pete here has been especially devoted,” Mamère adds. “I don't think he's left your side for more than a few minutes all four days.”

Now I blow a kiss to where Pete has been standing in the corner, giving Mamère her space. He nods as he approaches me, elbowing Leia aside in the process. She glares at him again.
Great. Tension.
I sigh and look up at the ceiling, too tired to deal with this.

But Pete has a point to make. “My parents wrote notes for me to miss school to be here with you. I brought my laptop and got all of my assignments,” he adds. “Oh yeah, and we got our
Crime and Punishment
essays back. You got an A. I got a B+.”

For once, my grades are the last thing on my mind. I'm so, so sleepy. Then, a loud growl startles all of us and I open my eyes. “Was that me?” I ask, to which Leia giggles a
yes
. Mamère mentions the doctors have said I can eat whatever I want when I wake up.

“Can I get you some food?” Pete offers. “They have low-fat yogurt in the cafeteria.”

“Or do you want a coffee?” Leia butts in. “I was about to get one for myself when you woke up. I know how you like it.”

Mamère holds back her commentary on the situation and allows me to handle it. I sigh and grit my teeth.

“You—” I point at Pete, “a large mushroom pizza, please. Or, a giant grilled cheese sandwich.” He looks like he's about to comment but says nothing.

“You—” I point at Leia, “biggest coffee they have. Lots of milk. If it's decent, no sugar. If it's typical hospital coffee, two packets, please.”

They both nod like the good food soldiers I've now recruited them to be and begin to march out of the room. I call out to Leia as she's leaving, “Chocolate, too… uh, please.” I hear her laugh as the door closes behind them.

Mamère excuses herself to go check on Papa, and I'm alone in the room with nothing but the beeping of my stupid monitors. My stomach growls again. It seems like Pete and Leia have been gone forever. I contemplate wishing up some food but I'm so exhausted that the thought of wishing for anything makes me nauseated.

I lie back and breathe, but a soft knock on the door grabs my attention. To my utter surprise, in walks Dr. Morocco, the substitute teacher. She looks the same as she has every other time I've seen her, hair in a severe bun and wearing black from head to toe.

As I scramble to rearrange my blankets, she waves her hand to tell me not to bother. “I'll only be a minute,” she says in her throaty voice. “I heard you were recovering, and I thought I'd see for myself.”

“Y-yes,” I stammer, confused at her presence. “I think I'll be fine.”

“Good,” she gives me a ghost of a smile. “I'll help tutor you when you get back to school. You have a lot to learn.”

Why does she seem to be talking about something else? “Uh, thanks for stopping by,” I manage.

“The pleasure is all mine,” she says, walking toward the door. She pauses and adds over her shoulder, “And everyone sends their best wishes.”

I inhale to ask her something more, I don't know what, but in a blink she's out the door and I'm too late.

I didn't see when she put it down on my bedside table, but she left behind a card signed by all of the school staff. So I guess that's why she came. Still, I can't shake the feeling she's more than a little weird, and I'm glad to forget about her when my pizza arrives.

Do not seek to bring things to pass in accordance with your wishes, but wish for them as they are, and you will find them. — Epictetus

I've been back in school for less than a week when Dr. Morocco shows up again. I'm still super-tired, conking out at nine every night, but otherwise doing okay and caught up on my work. Papa got home a few days ago and is recovering well, too.

Ms. Costello is out sick, so Dr. Morocco is our sub in calculus class. Somehow, she's even more intimidating than before. The moment the bell finishes ringing, she walks to the front of the room and stands at attention. “You'll be doing something different today, dear children.”
What are we, kindergarteners?
“You may or may not have tried this before in other math classes.”

She takes the objects from the table behind her. “You will work in groups,” she announces. The four kids around me and I gather together as she places one of the objects on the desk in front of me.

“Don't touch, yet,” she barks, and I back my fingers away from it, embarrassed by the attention. “No one should yet touch these,” she tells the class. “Examine them, and try to describe the shape together. You will be trying to calculate the volume of this shape without handling or measuring it.”

I am still feeling flushed from her chastisement, and soon the heat in my cheeks seems to spread to my forehead.
Is it getting hot in here?
I wonder. I try to focus on the group discussion, but it's like I'm mesmerized by the shape in front of us. It's a three-sided pyramid — a tetrahedron, I overhear a classmate say — and as I continue to stare, it seems as though the tetrahedron is drawing closer to me, or maybe I to it. Then a subtle noise begins, sort of a soothing static, a cross between a steady wind and the crash of ocean waves. I am totally engrossed in this object when a touch on my shoulder nearly makes me leap out of my seat. The spell is broken.

“Are you okay?” one of the girls in my group asks.

“Oh, yeah,” I say, dazed, not wanting to look again at the tetrahedron. I manage to resist it for a while, and when Dr. Morocco makes her rounds, I want to seem like I'm participating, so I pull out a sheet of paper and start jotting random phrases from the group's conversation.

“This is a dumb assignment,” I hear somebody grumble. I don't write that down.

Dr. Morocco studies me, as if questioning my involvement in the assignment. I try not to make eye contact, so it will seem like I'm engrossed in my work.

Despite a concerted effort not to, I find myself leaning further and further forward until my nose is almost touching the tetrahedron. The buzz of conversation around me stops, and it's enough of a change to snap me out of the tetrahedron's pull once more. I lean back, but not quickly enough. The two boys and the other two girls in my group are all gaping at my cleavage, revealed by my skimpy camisole when I leaned forward. Yanking the edges of my cardigan for better cover, I note this as a definite
Lesson Learned
. No more camisoles without proper security precautions. I am blushing so hard I think I've created a new shade of red.

Dr. Morocco gives me a stern look, and near the end of the period, she asks me to see her after school. The girls from my group give me sympathetic glances.
What could this be about? Because I was distracted in class? Or is it because of Camigate? Or
— it dawns on me —
maybe this is the tutoring she talked about at the hospital?

Though I'm pretty much back up to speed on my schoolwork, I hope it's the last one. Otherwise, this is, literally, the first time I have ever gotten in trouble in school. It figures it happens only a few months before graduation.

I'm dreading my encounter with Dr. Morocco and keep thinking about it through the rest of the day, but I don't say anything to Leia because I know she'll tease me. After the last bell rings, Pete and I leave English class, and I tell him where I'm headed. His eyes widen — he knows how unusual it is for me to have any problems with my teachers. I hesitate to tell him about my weird reaction to the tetrahedron, my mortifying northern exposure, or that she might think I need tutoring, so I say it was because I wasn't paying close enough attention in class. At least today's a Wednesday, so I don't have to worry about letting Coach Terri know I'll be late to practice.

Re-entering my math classroom, I see Dr. Morocco silhouetted against the windows making up one wall of the room, her back to me. I pause and she turns around.

“Ah — Genie. So glad you could make it,” she says. She glides to the door and closes it. “Let's talk.”

She indicates one of the student desks near the window and sits in another next to it, angling herself to face me. She is silent for some time, studying me; it feels like hours, and I'm uncomfortable under her intense gaze. I hope this isn't because of the camisole incident. To break the silence, I start to speak, “Dr. Morocco, I'm sorry I was distracted today. I wasn't feeling well.”