I sort of wish I thought of that first.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  He ignores me. Doesn’t even look at me. Just steps away from me like I’m a germ trying to invade his lungs. “You’re such an idiot,” he says, turning around and shuffling out of my room.

  Well, that was rude. “Hey, Spence,” I call after him.

  He ignores me. Spencer ignores me.

  I stand there in a daze, watching him disappear into the dark hallway, shocked. This is not normal Spencer; something has to be wrong—and not asthma-wrong, either. I mean, if my wish list gave me any indication of what to expect from here on out, there’s a pretty decent chance that my Hail Mary attempt at wishing Spencer well last night might just have worked. Which means Spencer isn’t sick anymore, which would be the greatest thing in the world.

  So, if he’s healthy now, why does he seem so grumpy? Spencer’s never even this grumpy after a night of coughing and wheezing. In fact, I don’t think Spencer knows how to be grumpy.

  Maybe last night’s asthma attack still happened.

  Maybe I did the spell or whatever it was all wrong last night, and only half of my wishes were granted; three out of seven is nothing to complain about. Had I known that ahead of time, though, I would have put Spencer at the top of the list.

  After getting dressed, there is still no sign of anybody else up. Or anywhere, for that matter. The house seems too bright, too quiet, too clean—and for a weekday morning feels alarmingly empty, even at 7:30. Where has all the noise and commotion run off to? Where’s Mom, trying to shove a bowl of oatmeal or yogurt smoothie into my hands as I rush out the door? Why isn’t Dad reading a newspaper with his legs propped up on the kitchen table, despite the rest of the world getting their news electronically? And the twins—where is their tornado of commotion that follows them around everywhere they go?

  Maybe Indy’s arm is still broken. Maybe last night’s trip to the hospital still happened and everyone is sleeping in as a result. I can’t blame them. I would have sidled up to my snooze button all morning if it weren’t for Dad.

  But, if that’s the case, what’s the plan for me getting to school now that walking is out of the question?

  Enter wish number four: New BMW, where are you?

  I scan the kitchen and family room for the garage entrance, wondering how in the world to go about picking the right door in a house this size. Which side is the garage even on? From where I stand, I count nine doors. Figuring I might as well start somewhere, I head toward the closest one.

  My black strappy sandals tap along the wood floor, shamelessly exposing my green-painted toes for all to see. Normally I keep my long, ugly toes out of sight, almost always shoved into old Nikes or closed-toe shoes at the very least. But it would appear that at some point between my old life and this new one, I got an over-the-top pedicure I don’t remember getting.

  I’m not going to let that go to waste.

  Two doors already proved fruitless—a closet and a pantry. I edge around a round wooden table near the next set of doors, expecting to trip any second over one of my little brothers’ toy airplanes or latest Lego creations that always seem to be abandoned in the most inconvenient places. Over the years I learned to keep my shoes on at all times for that specific reason. But, miracle of all miracles, there is not a Lego or a toy airplane in sight. Maybe in my rich life we have maids.

  I could go for that.

  Down a high, arched hallway, I stop at the crushing scent of lily. Mom . . . It’s her favorite flower. In the summer she always cuts lilies from our yard and arranges them in a vase for the kitchen table. She’d have them in containers year-round if they bloomed that often. But here they are, staring back at me in a glass vase atop a table at the beginning of November.

  Lilies in the fall cost a lot of money.

  I hit the jackpot a little further down the hallway, where a heavy door opens into to a six-car garage. SIX. That’s five spaces more than my old garage. Three spaces are empty, the others occupied by an orange Range Rover, a black convertible Porsche, and exactly what I’m looking for—a shiny black Beamer.

  Assuming it’s mine, I grab the BMW key fob hanging on the wall and skip down the stairs. Halfway down I stop, overwhelmed by the hugeness of this moment. A smile inches its way across my face as tingles kiss my skin from head to toe. This is what it’s supposed to feel like—being one of the lucky ones: a luxury car to call my own, freshly arranged flowers in the hallways, a clean house, a perfect nose, and a sweet pedicure. I even look the part in my two-hundred-dollar jeans and black silk shirt. What can possibly go wrong with a life like this?

  two

  At school I pull into a parking space, feeling self-conscious about driving something so expensive. It doesn’t feel natural—more like I’m playing make believe and soon my peers will call me out for being a poseur.

  I grab my things and lock the door, loving the beep-beep noise the alarm makes. It sounds so posh.

  “Kenzie,” someone calls from across the street.

  I look up, trying to find a face belonging to the voice, but a row of sycamore trees blocks my view. With my shoulders back and head up like I know what I’m doing and where I’m heading, I cross the street.

  Like nothing about this whole scenario is abnormal.

  But I stop when I realize who called out my name. Brecke Phillips. She’s staring at me in anticipation, like she’s waiting for me.

  What am I supposed to say to her? How do I act normal when I don’t even know what normal is? What’s the protocol for when Brecke Phillips waits for you at the front of the school?

  Quick, think.

  “Cute earrings,” I blurt when I reach her, hoping that will cut it.

  Not so much. She frowns and narrows her eyes at me, though I have no idea why, considering I just gave her a compliment. “Relax, Kenzie. I already said I’d give them back tomorrow, okay?” she says, looking the other way.

  Wait.

  Her earrings are mine? Whoa. I didn’t see that coming.

  “No, that’s not what I . . . never mind,” I say, annoyed at myself for already starting off so shaky.

  We walk the rest of the way up the sidewalk and in through the front doors, me trying to think of the right thing to say. Trying to sound like the richer version of me might sound. “So, how’s it going?” I finally come up with, still not feeling any less stupid than before.

  To my surprise, it works. Brecke’s cherry red smile is back. “Last night was such a blast,” she says, her hand on my arm as we turn down a hallway. “It was perfection, actually—the music, the food, the decorations—everything. Tanner seemed to think so too.” She pulls tighter on my arm, tugging me closer to her. “Too bad we can’t do it at your house every year. You should hear what everyone’s saying.”

  My house. My house on Sea View Drive.

  “I mean, your house makes the rest of us look so ghetto,” she adds.

  I almost laugh, the way she makes it sound like she’s roughing it in a multi-million-dollar house, wherever her house is now since I confiscated her original one in my wishing. Sure, it isn’t the biggest house at the top of Sea View Drive anymore, but if it’s like every other house around here—trying to decide on whether to install a swimming pool or a sport court and then you go ahead and get both—I’m pretty sure that still puts you near the top of the food chain.

  “I have no idea how I’m going to top it next year,” she adds, pouting.

  “You’ll figure it out,” I say, wishing I had some kind of memory of the Pumpkin Ball as this girl in this life, not last night’s embarrassing episode of serving up cocktails and caviar, being scolded for fraternizing with the customers. What does it feel like to be the envy of the party? To dance in these feet, I wonder, peering down at my green-painted toenails. For a second, the sound of an orchestra blasts through my ears at the same time a room full of faces, all eyes on me, smiling, raising champagne glasses in a toast, floods my mind so I can almost taste it . . .

  And then the image is gone, whatever it was, and we turn the corner into Senior Hallway.

  Always packed with jocks, cheerleaders, and pretty much any senior who matters, it’s the shortest route from our lockers to the other end of the school. I always avoid it because you’re asking to get trampled if you take that route, especially if you aren’t a senior. Sometimes you even catch an armpit in your mouth or an elbow in your rib along the way too.

  But not this time.

  Most of the seniors look up and say hi to us as we pass through, like we belong. Which, apparently we do. All at once I feel extremely impressed with myself for finally being a lucky one for the first time in my life. I even lift my chin, smiling a little bigger.

  Attention does that to you.

  We stop at our lockers, though it feels strange to be standing here next to Brecke so casually like this. I’m used to her and the rest of the lucky ones ignoring me and everyone else while they block all access to my own loser locker that I got stuck with freshman year. I always tried to maneuver my way through them without being noticed, figuring it was better being invisible than being annoying.

  Usually it worked—being invisible, that is.

  “Crap, I’m out again,” Brecke says, shaking an empty pill bottle upside down, her eyes darting up and down and all over the place as she digs through her purse.

  “Out of what?”

  “Nothing.”

  She turns her back to me and opens her locker.

  I turn, tackling my own locker combination, but can’t help making eye contact with three . . . no, four senior boys. Cute ones too. This feeling expanding inside me is like a drug. Please give me more . . .

  “Are you even listening?” Brecke punches my arm.

  “Yeah, what?” I snap. Woops. Hello, Rude Mackenzie. “Sorry,” I say right away, hoping she didn’t pick up on it.

  But she did. Her smile fades and she turns away, looking hurt. I’m about to apologize again when we’re ambushed by more of the lucky ones—Liv Sandstrom, Morgan Moeaki, Tanner Slade, and, of course, James Odera.

  My heart spins in circles, my palms sweating.

  I am so out of place here, so out of my league. Everyone is all smiles and jokes, animated with excitement about last night. My arms explode in chills, and my cheeks feel red when James puts his arm around me and tugs me close to him. I feel his hand barely grazing mine as he whispers in my ear, “I missed you, K.”

  James Odera gave me a nickname, and I sorta love it. I want to scream. Here I am—finally part of the group I always only watched from afar. It’s amazing what upping your tax bracket can do for you.

  I scan the faces around me, enamored by their attention. Even their body language differs from before, when I was an outsider. Two girls watch us from across the hallway. Morgan spins her head around and gives them the “what?” look.

  I know that look.

  “Are you sure we can get in?” asks Liv, wearing a wicked smile on her perfect, pouty lips.

  “I told you, it’s not patrolled,” says Morgan.

  I wonder what they’re talking about but am afraid of looking clueless by asking. In this group that’s the last thing you want.

  Brecke and Tanner have slipped away and are quietly laughing about something between them. I can’t tell if they are an item or still working on it. In my old life, we all knew they were into each other but hadn’t done anything about it yet. From the looks of it, it seems as if they’re still on that page.

  The warning bell rings, and I turn my attention back to Liv. Her hair is a whirlwind of blond knots pulled together into some kind of braid. She’s in the middle of describing something with her hands, her metal bracelets tinkling with every movement.

  “You okay, baby?” James asks me, his hand on my back again, his face terrifyingly close to mine. “You’re so quiet today.”

  Breathe.

  I look up, making eye contact with him. It’s strange picking out so much detail in a guy who in the past I only saw from across the hall. As if his looks aren’t enough, he smells of musky aftershave and some kind of sporty shampoo. His dark hair is trimmed close to the scalp, except for right on the top, where it is perfectly styled into some kind of man-hawk, not a piece out of place. His eyes are almost black with a hint of brown in them. I never knew that.

  “Yo, K?” he says, his voice gentle. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I answer, leaning into him, melting into his body until somebody bumps into me, knocking me away from James and waking me up. The group laughs at something that Morgan said, and I join in to be sure nobody can accuse me of acting too good for them.

  “Let me know as soon as you find out so I can hit the parents up for some ATVs,” James says, turning his attention away from me. I never realized his voice was so low or noticed how his Adam’s apple bobs up and down when he speaks.

  Suddenly Jared and Katie appear behind Liv to join our circle.

  “What up, J-Dawg?” James says to Jared, the two of them meeting at a high five and a shoulder bump. He turns to Tanner. “Somebody got in a sick workout this morning. Show me those guns, T-Slade. Come on, buddy, let’s see what you got!”

  “Hi, James,” Katie squeaks, batting her dark eyes at him until he notices her.

  “KayTee, baby. You’re looking hot today,” he says, scanning her from top to bottom, making the whole group laugh, except for me.

  “Dude, I think we’re on,” Jared announces to the group. “Tuesday night.”

  Tuesday. What are they talking about? I smile and pretend to be as elated as the rest of them.

  “Woo hoo hoooo!” James whistles, sending out another round of high-fives, this time to everyone in the group. Except for me. I lift my hand to meet James but instead of slapping it like he does the rest of them, he grabs it and yanks me toward him. Our faces meet, stifling my breath as he kisses me on the lips. Right there in the hallway. In front of the world.

  It’s my first kiss.

  Nobody seems to notice my body shaking.

  My first kiss.

  Liv turns to me, her eyes narrow. “Where did you disappear to last night?”

  Who, me?

  All eyes are on me now, our circle of friends quiet. I’m still blushing, still trying to recover from being kissed in the hallway by James Odera. Still holding onto the echo of his lips on mine.

  “Yeah, you missed Jared break-dancing,” Morgan says. “It was epic.”

  But my mind isn’t working yet.

  What was the question?

  “Did we bore you? Is that why you left?” Liv asks suggestively as if picking a fight. I blink at her, wondering what she’s getting at. Did I leave the party early? How am I supposed to know? That wasn’t me last night.

  They all stare at me, still waiting for an answer. My eyes pan over each face. I gulp, hoping someone will offer an explanation for my whereabouts so I don’t have to make something up. Somebody here should be able to vouch for me. Maybe James? Or Brecke? But when I appeal to them for help, even they are quiet. Evidently not a person here knows what Liv is talking about—including me.

  Not knowing what else to do, I make something up, hoping my response will prove too boring for anyone’s suspicion. “I was tired. Just went to bed early,” I say, dumbly, immediately sensing the small amount of confidence I momentarily gained already beginning to drain.

  Katie’s laugh slices through the pounding in my ears as she brushes her fingers across James’s arm. I feel a tinge of jealousy, especially at the way she smiles at him as if she were requesting a private invitation. His eyes briefly flick in her direction, and then he steps away from her until her hands fall back to her side.

  Morgan whispers something to Liv, and a rush of conversations start up again.

  “Dude, I’m going to be late,” Jared says, eyeing the clock on the wall.

  I step backward into Brecke, not realizing she’s right behind me. How long has she been there?

  James draws closer to me, gathering a handful of my hair into his fingers, pulling it away from my ear. His lips touch the tip of my outer ear and I feel the heat from his breath warm the side of my face.

  I close my eyes.

  “See you at lunch, K,” he says sweetly.

  And then he is gone, leaving Brecke and me alone.

  I start walking to Spanish class, but stop at Brecke’s shrill voice behind me. “Where are you going?” she asks, still rooted in place.

  “What do you mean?”

  She points behind me. “English is that way.”

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  Oh, crap.

  My schedule must’ve changed along with my new life. New me, new friends, new address, new schedule, I guess. What else changed?

  “Oh . . . right,” I say, spinning around and heading the opposite direction, though I still have no idea where I’m supposed to go.

  Maybe to the office to get a new schedule?

  But before I can take another step, Brecke’s voice stops me cold. “Why did you lie to them?”

  What is she talking about?

  “I . . . I don’t . . . know . . . ,” I say, staring at her.

  We stand only a few feet apart, the two of us face-to-face in the empty hallway, the morning sun tempered by clouds catching us on either side of the hallway windows. “What do you mean?”

  “You said you went to bed early,” she says, folding her arms. “We both know that’s not true.”

  Give me half a hint, will you?

  But, no, she frowns at me, her perfect, beautiful face shooting darts of hellfire in my general direction. What does she know about my whereabouts last night, and why is it such a big deal?

  “I just . . . I don’t know, Brecke. I blanked out for a second, that’s all.”

  “I don’t get you, Mackenzie. Why didn’t you tell them?”

  Tell them? About what? “What are you talking about?”

  “Quit playing dumb, okay? It may work for James and the rest of the group, but not me.”