Alexandra Bullen - Wish  

Y ou must be Olivia.

His shoes came into focus first: squishy loafers with soft raised edges and thick, sensible soles. They reminded Olivia of mushrooms, not only because they were the color of mushroomsthe beige, rubbery, pre-chopped kind usually sold in plastic-wrapped containersbut also because they could easily have been made from some species of fungus.

It is Olivia. Mushroom Foot shifted his weight uncertainly from one toadstool to the other. Isnt it?

Olivia Larsen uncrossed her arms and sat up. Had she been sleeping? She remembered finding a hidden spot on the grass by Golden Gate Preps double-wide doors just as the bell was ringing for lunch. She remembered staring numbly at the sidewalk, getting an ankles-eye view of her new classmates as they filed in and out. But she could tell by the way the boy was looking at her, sideways from behind a mop of dark, springy hair, an embarrassed little half smile twitching into place, that hed been standing there for a while.

Sorry, she said, swatting the seat of her khakis for patches of dirt. That was all she needed: to be paraded around on her first day of school with wet brown splotches all over her butt. I mean, yeah. Im Olivia.

As soon as she stood up Olivia felt dizzy, like the insides of her brain were spinning. She squinted, burrowing her fingertips into the sides of her temples, the dull headache that had been with her for months firing up behind blue eyes.

Im Miles. Im supposed to give you a tour. Our moms work together, right? He thrust one hand forward for her to shake and then quickly pulled it back, as if hed accidentally touched something hot. Are you okay?

Olivia tried to nod, but a full-body yawn stretched her mouth wide open, her eyes reflexively squeezing shut. She hadnt had a solid nights sleep since her family had arrived in San Francisco a few days before. Strange, new city sounds were keeping her awake, and that morning shed stared restlessly at the digital numbers on her alarm clock, praying it would forget to go off.

You must be exhausted, Miles warmly allowed, directing a handful of hair away from his forehead.

Olivia swung her saggy backpack over one shoulder. She almost hadnt brought itwhat was the point of a book bag when you didnt yet have any books? But it was the same bag shed carried to school every day since the beginning of seventh grade, a navy blue JanSport with faded nylon straps, and it reminded her of home.

We can do this another time, if you want, Miles said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his thin-wale, dark green corduroy pants. They were belted below the waist by a fraying piece of rope, tied into a knot and bulging out from under the hem of his muted orange and blue button-down shirt.

No, Olivia said quickly, feeling bad. It wasnt his fault their moms worked at the same law firm downtown and had arranged for him to show her around at lunch, like some kind of high school playdate. Ill be fine.

Miles untucked his hands from his pockets, clapping them together and then cringing, like he was surprised by the sound theyd made. Okay, so, he said, clearing his throat, are you ready for the grand tour?

Olivia tried her best to smile as Miles flattened his long fingers against the lobby door and pushed it open.

The lobby was oddly shaped, with an angular roof that jutted out over the entryway and a futuristic front desk built in against one pristine white wall. The receptionist was a youngish woman with choppy hair the color of a pink highlighter and silver studs in both eyebrows, with a cordless phone wedged between her shoulder and ear.

Miles gestured to her with an open palm. Olivia, Bess. Bess, Olivia. The receptionist looked up quickly and flashed her a smile as Miles turned on his squishy heels. Shall we move on?

Olivia followed Miles around the corner and through a narrow, dark hallway that snaked around the perimeter of the whole school. Golden Gate Prep was a confusing combination of modern and medieval design, with an unassuming slate and glass exterior disguising the labyrinth of hollow corridors and stone archways within. It felt like the building had been renovated from the outside in, and then forgotten.

Its not so bad once you get used to it, Miles offered, as if reading her mind. Olivia smiled and did her best to keep up, hiding another yawn with the sleeve of her peach-colored cashmere cardigan. It was almost as if basic human functions were beyond her control these days. She was lucky if she managed to string a few intelligible words together in between.

Sorry if I suck at this, Miles muttered, pushing ahead and dragging one hand along a thick wood panel that split the wall waist-high. There are people who actually do this here. You know, like, give tours and things, he said apologetically. But not on a random Thursday after spring break, I guess

Olivia nodded, her legs stiff and her muted black boots heavy as cinder blocks as she struggled to keep up.

Speaking of which, Miles said, pausing at a crossroads where one hallway abruptly bisected another, what are you doing here, anyway?

Olivia felt familiar crimson splotches blooming on her face and neck. She had long since accepted the unique dermatological curse of wearing her emotion for all to see, and arranged her mass of strawberry blond curls so that they fell over one shoulder, hoping to hide her blushing profile.

Er, sorry, Miles stammered. That sounded way less harsh in my head. Its just, we dont usually get anybody new this late in the term, and all my mom told me is that you moved. She didnt say where from.

Boston, Olivia offered, digging her fists deeper into the fuzzy pockets of her sweater. This was always her answer, even though it was a lie. Nobody had ever heard of little suburban Willis, which, despite being only twelve miles from the Boston city line, might as well have been in another state for all of the time Olivia had spent there.

Wow, Miles said, his dark, bushy eyebrows arching skyward. You didnt drive all the way out, did you?

No, Olivia said a little too loudly, recoiling at the idea of a cross-country road trip with her parents. They werent exactly the word-game-and-trail-mix type of familyat least not anymore. We flew in over the weekend so my mom could start at work, she explained. I guess the firm made her an offer she couldnt refuse.

Right, Miles said, with a careful nod that said he knew there was more to the story. That wouldve been a killer commute.

Olivia managed a smile as he pushed through another set of sturdy glass doors and led them outside.

Welcome to lunch, he announced, letting his recycled-rubber messenger bag fall from his shoulder.

The courtyard was a big open circle, with dappled sunlight playing on the crooked cobblestone. Scattered around clusters of low tables and benches, students were chatting and laughing.

Wheres the cafeteria? Olivia asked, squinting back through a wall of arched windows.

Theres the Depot, I guess. Miles shrugged, taking an orange from his bag and digging in to peel it with his fingers. Little caf next to the lobby. They have pretty decent coffee, fresh fruit, vegan pastries, whatever. Most kids bring from home. If I have a long enough break, I usually go out.