“Relax, it’s only my first. And they were so far back in the fridge, I’m pretty sure she’ll never miss them. Guest beers, most likely. I figured you could replace them.”
“I wasn’t talking about the beer. I was talking about following me. Though you shouldn’t have done either one.”
“Like your text wasn’t a thinly veiled invite.”
A what? “No it wasn’t!” Was it? “Even if it was, which it wasn’t, why are you inside the house? What if someone came home?”
Henry scoffs. “Please, like I didn’t do recon?” He points to a stack of self-help dating books on the side table. “Between those and the one car in the garage, pretty sure she’s single.” He nods to a pile of tiny clothes half folded in a laundry basket and tosses in the plastic doll sitting next to him. “And considering the amount of clothes she’s got for this creepy thing, she’ll stay that way. Besides, you were gone a really long time. What was I supposed to do?”
Henry swings his legs to the floor, making room for me to sit. He holds out his arms, which are red and splotchy. “And I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to those shrubs.”
“Arborvitaes.”
Eyebrows raised, fear in his voice, Henry says, “Is that dangerous?”
I roll my eyes. “The trees, you doofus.”
Making sure I can conjure replicas first, I let Henry open one more beer and agree we can stay long enough for him to finish it. He’s apparently “stressed,” which makes me laugh. I just granted my first official wish and he’s the one stressed? He passes me the bottle, but one sip is enough for me to discover that beer is not to my liking.
He turns on the stereo, and I can’t help cringing as he pops his hips up and down. I may be a shy dancer, but I’m better than Henry. Not that he cares. He’s almost two beers in and grooving like he’s got something to prove. What and to who, I’m not sure.
“Not too loud,” I say, regretting my decision to let him open that second bottle. At least I stopped him from eating the box of Goldfish crackers he found in the kitchen. “And less dancing, or whatever that is you’re doing, and more chugging. Finish up so we can get out of here.”
He taps his foot nowhere close to in time with the music and takes a swig as I tell him first about the mistaken 7 and then how I granted Ms. Wood’s wish.
“You apped all the way to Hawaii?” Henry says after I finish. “Nice work, Azra.”
Huh, I guess it was. That’s the farthest I’ve apped, though it was probably so easy because I’ve been there already.
“That’s not even the best part.” My adrenaline soars as I describe the mind control.
Once his shock wears off, Henry plunks his empty beer bottle on the coffee table. “Now that’s the kind of magic I was talking about.”
As he begins to plot all the ways we can take advantage of this in the upcoming school year, I rein him in. “Don’t get your hopes up. I couldn’t get it to work on the woman at the hotel.” I then relay what took me so long.
It wasn’t until I’d apped Ms. Wood to her tropical paradise that I realized there were more details to iron out than just convincing her she’d won a contest, spent fifteen hours on a plane, and could now enjoy her vacation.
Having not thought things through, I had to use my mom’s credit card to secure her a room, book her a return flight, and leave her with enough spending money. I had to bribe the woman at the front desk to add a note in the reservation system: All employees dealing with Ms. Wood must go along with any comments she may make about having won this all-expenses-paid trip. I pretended I was her niece and my mom was treating her but wanted to remain anonymous. It was not an easy sell. I stayed long enough to tie up all the loose ends and then watch the exhausted Ms. Wood curl up on a lounge chair at the side of the pool and fall asleep.
Sitting in Ms. Wood’s living room now, my rush from testing out the mind control fading, I know I shouldn’t have let my excitement usher me into granting her wish so quickly.
Henry turns up the music. “I love this song.”
He’s bobbing his head, and I’m running through things, making sure I’ve covered all my bases. Can’t hurt to do some after-the-fact research. My snooping starts in the hall closet. I’m pushing coats aside when I hear a faint noise I can’t identify. I shut the music off from across the room, causing Henry to whine. Like a baby. Please.
As I fumble for the light switch, my hand lands on the vacuum handle. More crying. Wailing, actually. What’s wrong with him? I turn toward Henry. His mouth hangs open, but he’s not making a sound. The crying isn’t coming from him. It’s coming from upstairs. And that handle I’m grasping? It doesn’t belong to a vacuum. It belongs to a stroller.
“Oh, shi—” Henry starts, but I’m already taking the stairs two at a time.
I come to such an abrupt halt on the landing that Henry barrels right into me. Through the open door directly across from where we stand lies the source of the crying—lying, literally, in a white wooden crib.
No, no, no, no, no, noooooooo!
Ms. Wood didn’t have a single thought about a baby.
The truth nags at me: I didn’t let Ms. Wood have a single thought about a baby.
But Ms. Wood wished to go to a tropical paradise.
Nag, nag, nag: Ms. Wood never actually used the word “wish,” which she’s supposed to do.
But Ms. Wood didn’t give any indication of living with someone else.
Nag, nag, nag: the Goldfish crackers, the “doll” clothes, the snacks packed in little baggies, the bags under Ms. Wood’s eyes, the messy hair, the being too pale, the frazzled hello.