The Art of Wishing by Lindsay Ribar Read Free Book Online

place somehow made the idea of wine very appealing. “Wine . . . yeah . . . I mean no! No wine. Thanks, but we’re fine.”
    The waiter nodded, and I watched him move toward the woman with the cigarette. He said something to her, and she laughed: the tinkling laugh of a black-and-white movie star.
    “Go ahead,” came Oliver’s voice, cutting into my thoughts. “Pick any three things you want, and wish for them.”
    Finally I forced myself to look back at him. He was lounging in his seat like he owned the place—like a salesman trying to impress a customer. Except there was a nervous edge to his posture, and a sharpness in his eyes, that gave me pause. There was way more happening here than just a sales pitch from him and a yes-or-no answer from me.
    I narrowed my eyes a little. “What’s in it for you?”
    “What?” he said, clearly taken aback.
    “If I make three wishes, what’s in it for you?” Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the ring. I put it on the table in front of me, and it glinted in the candlelight. “Before, you wanted me to give this back. You weren’t even going to tell me about the wishes, and now you’re all, ‘Make wishes and solve all your problems, and by the way, let’s go to a fancy café!’ Why? What do you get out of it?”
    “A job well done,” he said.
    I laughed. “Please. I want a real answer, Oliver. I’m serious. Why did you do all this? Why do you want me to make three wishes?”
    He raised his eyebrows. “Real answer, huh?” he said. I nodded, and he shifted anxiously. “All right, then. I like your wishes, Margo. The ones I can see in your head. I want you to make three wishes because after I leave this place, I won’t be able to grant wishes again for a very long time. Maybe forever. And if that’s the case, then, well, I want the last wishes I grant to be good ones.”
    Now it was my turn to be startled. “Good ones? Wait. Why do you need to leave? Didn’t you just transfer to Jackson High a couple months ago?”
    “I did. And I need to leave because there’s someone looking for me, and I . . .” He paused for a breath, then said carefully, “I’d rather he didn’t find me.”
    “Who is it?”
    Oliver shifted in his seat. “He was my master once. And a friend, at least for a while. I granted two wishes for him, but he returned my ring without making a third. He said it wasn’t time yet.”
    I peered at him. “But it’s time now?”
    “Yes.”
    “And I’m guessing his third wish won’t be of the happy, sparkly, cupcakes
-
for-everyone variety.”
    “You could say that.”
    “So why wait?” I asked, exasperated at how little sense he was making. “Why are you sitting here with me, instead of hiding?”
    “For the reason I told you,” he said with a soft smile. “Well, that and the logistical stuff.”
    “Logistical stuff?”
    “Sure. The moment you picked up my ring, it bound me to you. So until you make three wishes or give the ring back to me, my magic and I are yours to command. I can’t leave until then. Like I said: logistics.”
    His tone was light, but that serious edge still lingered around his eyes. He was here because he was trapped here, that was what he was saying. Suddenly, the candlelight and fancy décor were terribly distracting.
    “Take me back,” I said immediately. “The diner. I want the diner again. Take me back, okay?”
    Alarmed, Oliver waved his hand again. The French café thing vanished, and I was surrounded once again by vinyl seats, cartoon food, and useless jukeboxes. I made myself breathe. Oliver watched me uneasily.
    “Are you serious about wanting to grant wishes for me?” I asked. “Instead of, you know, running away?”
    He nodded, relaxing again. “I was. Still am. I mean, the sooner the better, obviously, but . . . yes.”
    “How soon?”
    He lifted his wrist, like he was checking an invisible watch. “Five minutes ago?” he said, with a little laugh that I didn’t quite