The Art of Wishing by Ribar Lindsay

Author:Ribar, Lindsay [Ribar, Lindsay]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-03-20T23:00:00+00:00

Naomi’s house was the first stop, and she greeted us with blatant disapproval. “What took you so long?” she said, stepping aside so we could come in. “Does it really take that long to un-stall a car?”

Oliver shot me a quick look: a silent hint that I should go along with the stalled-car thing, even though I could have figured that out on my own.

“I’m just lucky it’s running at all,” I said, arranging my features into what I hoped looked like relief. “Thank goodness Oliver fixed it.”

He gave Naomi a sunny grin. “What can I say? I’m good with my hands.”

Naomi let out a loud bark of laughter, then gave me a quick nod of approval. Apparently Oliver had just proven that he wasn’t boring. Score.

“Okay,” I said. “Naomi, you can do my makeup, right?”

“Like I’d let you do it yourself,” she said with a smirk.

“Awesome, thanks,” I said. “Then I just need to change, and—oh.”

My throat closed up, and my hand pressed reflexively against my chest. There, half hidden in the shadow of Naomi’s epic staircase, stood Vicky. She watched us silently, like she was trying to blend into the background. But this is the real Vicky, I reminded myself. She is not going to cut me open or break my fingers or attack Oliver.

“You okay, McKenna?” said Naomi. “You’d better not puke on my floor.”

“No, I’m fine,” I said, pulling myself together with a long, deep breath. As long as nobody else stabbed me tonight, freaking out again was not part of the plan. “Let’s get upstairs.”

In addition to being an amateur fashionista, Naomi also had the largest makeup collection I’d ever seen. She knew how to use it, too. When we got upstairs, she sat me in the section of her room that she’d dubbed the Vanity Corner, and began applying her vast collection of expensive powders and pencils and glitter to my face. While Vicky busied herself perusing Naomi’s bookshelves, Oliver hovered protectively over me, occasionally touching my shoulder or passing Naomi the items she needed, but never speaking. He was clearly still dwelling on Not-Vicky. Not that I blamed him. I was, too.

We all jumped when my phone rang. The display showed my home number. I thought about letting it go to voicemail, but for some reason, getting stabbed made dealing with my parents seem a lot less scary by comparison.

“Where are you, sweetie?” said Mom when I picked up.

“About to get into the car.”

“Oh, good.” There was a muffled noise, and the sound of voices. “We’re ready to leave as soon as you get back.”

Steeling my nerves, I took a deep breath. “I’m not coming back,” I said. “I’m going to the South Star.”

A sharp intake of breath. “Margaret, we agreed—”

“No,” I said calmly. “You and Dad agreed. I didn’t agree. You guys can still go visit Aunt Sarah, but this is my gig, and I’ll play it if I want to. I’ve got some people coming with me, and we promise we’ll be safe.

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