Saving Wishes (The Wishes Series) (6 page)

I shook my head. “I’m not entirely sure but I’m hoping you’ll stick around long enough to find out. Everything will be okay in the end.”

Breathing suddenly became easier. I wasn’t convinced he understood me but he hadn’t jumped in the car and locked all the doors either. I was content to walk away.

For now, everything was exactly as it was supposed to be. I was never going to be able to turn the clock back but I felt confident that I had at least explained myself.

It wasn’t a moment I wanted ruined by Nicole’s relentless need for details so I bypassed the café and started walking home.

“What happens if it doesn’t work out, Charli?” he called.

“Then it’s not the end, Adam,” I replied, barely slowing my walk.

4. Shifting Universes

The distance from the café to our house was ridiculously long. As soon as I was sure I was out of Adam’s sight I took my phone and punched in Alex’s number. “Can you come get me, please?”

“Hello to you too,” he replied.

“I’m sorry. Hello. Can you please come and pick me up? I’ve just left the café,” I amended, sounding sweeter.

“I’ve got a few errands to run. Do you want to come with me?”

Even after running errands, I’d still be home in less time than it would take me to walk. “Yes, please,” I grumbled, tilting my head to look at the sky. The clouds were threatening rain now. I had managed to stay dry all day but was concerned that my luck was running out.

I heard Alex before I saw him. The V8 engine stuttered as he downshifted to take the bend. His beloved Holden Ute was one of his few guilty pleasures. He was the most sensible, level-headed man on earth except when it came to his car. It got washed every weekend – at least once. I swear he talked to it when he thought no one was listening. Every year he traded up for the newest, loudest model available and like a fickle schoolboy, his affections would quickly shift to the new car.

The engine dulled to a throaty rumble as he pulled up beside me. Alex leaned over and pushed the passenger door open. “What happened to Prince Charming? He couldn’t give you a ride home?”

“I
chose
to walk,” I said with dignity.

“But you didn’t,” he grinned. “You called me.”

“Only to see if you’d answer your phone,” I replied. “Do you want to hear about my day?”

“Well, you didn’t call asking for bail money so I can only assume it didn’t end too badly.” The dark look I levelled at him had little effect but he amended his answer. “Of course I want to hear about your day.”

“He dropped me off at the café and Lily was there. I basically fed him to her on a platter.”

“Poor bloke.” He laughed, knowing full well what the Beautifuls were capable of. “I’m sorry it didn’t end well, Charli.”

“I never said it didn’t end well.”

Alex glanced at me. “Okay, then.”

If I had ended the conversation right there, he would have been perfectly content. Alex did not cope well with drama.

I waited a few minutes before speaking again. “Do you believe in fate, Alex?”

His face contorted into a frown as discomfort set in. “What’s this all about, Charli?”

“What if fate brought Adam to me?”

His eyes remained on the road, but I had his undivided attention.

“The kid is here visiting his cousin, Charli,” he stressed. “Fate has nothing to do with it.”

I told Alex the postcard story in its entirety. “It can’t be coincidental,” I declared.

He groaned. “Look, you take beautiful pictures of the Cove. It’s not much of a stretch to think someone who saw them would come here and check it out for themself.”

I remembered the desperation in Adam’s voice when he’d told me how he needed to see it with his own eyes. He’d spoken as if he’d had no choice.

“The universe hasn’t shifted, Charli.” He grinned. “I would have noticed something like that.”

“So you don’t believe in love at first sight?” I quizzed.

Alex shifted uncomfortably. “No.”

“What about the fabulous Mademoiselle Gabrielle Décarie?” My pathetic accent sounded more like a fortune telling witch than a French socialite.

“Hardly,” he mumbled. His protest was weak and I wasn’t buying it. “What is she going to think when she finds out you’re shifting universes with her precious cousin?” he asked, changing his tone.

The question had already crossed my mind. I was Gabrielle’s least favourite person. We avoided each other like the plague, and that worked well for both of us. The most I saw of her was three hours a week during French class, if I bothered to make it.

Our road trip was quick. Alex ran a few errands and hardly anything was said on the way home, and that was okay. Alex was my safe place.

***

Monday mornings were always a problem for me. The feeling of dread was particularly bad that morning, knowing I had a double period of French after lunch. I considered ditching. I may not have been Gabrielle’s favourite person, but fortunately the principal didn’t share her opinion of me. The most severe punishments Mr Monroe dished out were half hour detentions, which I spent playing games on my phone or reading a magazine.

Lying in bed pondering my choices, I came to the realisation that I had none. Skipping French today was not an option. Adam would have filled Gabrielle in on the details of our day together. The relative safety of the classroom, where she couldn’t scratch my eyes out in public, seemed like the best place to face her.

My alarm blared. Hitting the snooze button for the third time was tempting but nonsensical. Not much effort went in to choosing my outfit. I grabbed the first shirt I found in my drawers, a long sleeved green stretch cotton tee. My choice of pants was even easier; I owned more pairs of jeans than any girl should admit to. The hot blast from the hairdryer felt good as I waved it over my wet hair. One of the few benefits of having razor straight hair meant that it always dried that way, no matter how much it was tortured. There was just enough time for breakfast before Alex rushed me out the door.

My brother drove me to school most mornings, which was a godsend in winter. My little car took forever to start on cold mornings, and when it did, the heater would still be blowing cold air by the time I reached my destination.

“Do you need a ride home?” he asked, pulling alongside the ancient front gates of Pipers Cove High School.

The school wasn’t as small as it should have been. Most of the neighbouring towns had no secondary schools of their own so students were bussed in, but even with the extra kids bumping numbers, it wasn’t a big enough place to be anonymous, a fact made painfully obvious by the group of girls waiting for me at the gate. News travelled fast, and Adam Décarie was bound to be front page.

“No, I’ll get a lift with Nicole. Thanks anyway.” I got out and slung my backpack over one shoulder, feeling like I was about to walk into an interrogation. I got a moment of reprieve when Alex became the focus of their attention.

“Hi Alex,” purred Lisa Reynolds, her entourage of friends cackling like geese in the background. Alex responded with a weak wave and drove off, far less cautiously than usual. Poor Alex. He seemed to be the unwilling object of desire of most of the female population in this town. I wasn’t totally oblivious to how good looking he was, or what a good catch he would be. He was athletic, strong and in a constant state of dishevelment thanks to his extra curricular activities like tinkering in his shed and surfing. Too bad for them that his mind was strictly one track, and it was focused entirely on the Parisienne witch waiting for me in fifth period French.

Lisa jumped off the fence, smoothing the back of her skirt as she approached. She towered over most of the girls our age. It was easy to see why she was the spokesperson. Her shoulder length brown hair didn’t shift an inch as the wind squalled around us. The only thing more excessive than the amount of hairspray she used was large number of silver bangles she wore. The way they jingled when she moved grated on me, and I don’t know how it didn’t send her crazy.

“You’ve been holding out on us,” she accused, pointing her finger at me. Her friends followed closely, as if attached by invisible strings. I ignored her and quickened my pace.

“He’s French, isn’t he? How long is here for?” she asked, not taking a breath between questions.

“American. Why don’t you ask him how long he’s here for?”

“I saw you talking to him at the reception,” she accused. “And Jasmine told me you spent the day with him yesterday. I just want the run-down. It’s not every day we get fresh blood.”

The notion that any boy who stumbled into Pipers Cove was fresh blood, up for grabs, was ludicrous but widespread. It strengthened my theory that the only way to transition into a well-adjusted adult was to get the hell out of town.

I managed to avoid Lisa for the rest of the morning. Nicole and I met at lunchtime, as always. We dumped our bags on the bench seats and sat on the picnic table, desperate to get closer to the warmth of the sun.

“She’s still looking at me, isn’t she?” I asked, dropping my head so my hair fell as a shield across my face. I couldn’t rule out lip reading as a tool in their gossiping arsenal.

“Lisa?” I nodded, rolling my eyes. “She’s talking to Lily.”

“Oh, just perfect.”

“You started this mess,” she reminded me, totally unforgiving. “You’re the one who stirred them up.”

“I know I did.”

Probably picking up on the regret in my tone, Nicole softened. “Do you think you’ll see Adam again?”

“I doubt it.”

I wasn’t hopeful that I’d ever hear from him again. For all I knew, he was on the morning flight to Melbourne.

The bell rang. Fifth period French.

I sucked in a deep breath and opened the door. My eyes focused on my chair down the back and I walked straight to it before I noticed Lisa in the usually vacant chair beside mine. Escape was impossible. I sat, looking to the front of the class for the first time. Mademoiselle Décarie was nowhere to be seen. She was annoyingly punctual, irritatingly perfect...and ten minutes late for the first time in the history of year twelve French.

“Why did you tell Lily and Jasmine he couldn’t understand English? I spoke to him and he seemed fine,” Lisa hissed, as if speaking a foreign language was a sickness. I was working on a calm reply when Gabrielle Décarie breezed into the room. “My apologies for being late.” Her accent made her words musical. I scribbled mindlessly on my notebook, keeping my head low.

“Where did you two go yesterday?” whispered Lisa, refusing to give up.

“Nowhere,” I mumbled.

“Chapter four...chapitre quatre,” instructed Gabrielle, pacing the length of the aisle between the rows of desks.

I flipped the book to the page and feigned interest as she began reading. I glanced up as she passed my desk and she met my glance with a homicidal glare. Her recital didn’t skip a beat. Her words flowed effortlessly, giving no hint of the loathing she was throwing my way.

As soon as she’d passed, Lisa hissed, “Are you seeing him again?”

I shuffled to the left but she moved with me. “Shut up,” I hissed through gritted teeth.

Never one to give in easily, Lisa scrawled her next question on a piece of paper and shoved it across the desk at me. Before I had a chance to pick it up, Mademoiselle Décarie’s hand thumped on top of it.

“Do you have something to share with the class, Mademoiselle Blake?” Chairs scraped loudly as every person in front of me turned around to stare.

Suppressing the urge to throw up, I refused to meet her eye. “No. I have nothing to share,” I replied, sounding far more confident than I was.

Her perfectly manicured fingers pushed the note towards me. “Read it to the class...in French.”

A pin drop could have been heard. All eyes were on me.

I picked up the note and read it quickly, silently. Reading it aloud would have been a very bad idea. I did what I knew best how to do, infuriate Gabrielle even more.

I cleared my throat. “I hate French class,” I pretended to read, uttering every word in English but putting a ridiculous French spin on it. The class burst into giggles and Gabrielle snatched the note, stuffing it into her pocket. I wasn’t out of the woods yet.

Lisa’s sigh of relief was audible. “Thank you,” she breathed.

“I didn’t do it for you,” I spat.

Mademoiselle Décarie’s heels clicked on the wooden floor as she marched up to the front.

“Read through to chapter six, silently,” she said acerbically, dragging her chair loudly as she pulled it out.

The hour passed in total silence. I didn’t read a word but kept my head down, pretending that I was. Even Lisa wasn’t brave enough to talk. I looked up only once, in time to see Mademoiselle Décarie take the note from her pocket and read it. Her lips formed a thin line and I knew why her expression was sour. Lisa’s words, scrawled messily, were hurtful and cruel:
I hope he’s nicer than his cousin. Stuck up princess.

Gabrielle’s eyes met mine and I quickly looked away. I counted down the seconds until the end of class. The bell finally sounded and people filed out. Mademoiselle Décarie sat motionless – even Lisa made it past her desk unscathed.