Butter Knives and Wishes

“Where are we going again?” he asks. I swear he’s worse than a four-year-old with ADD.

         “To get something to eat.”

         “Why?” I sigh and turn to him. Yes, his face is definitely the one of a four year old.

         “Because I haven’t had anything to eat all day and I’m freaking starving.” He clucks his tongue disapprovingly and I punch him in the stomach lightly.

         “What is it with your maniac joy in hurting me?” he whines, face going to someone around my age. I roll my eyes, fighting down a smile.

         “Food first.” We walk to a restaurant off of the street and grab a booth. Girls who are obviously ditching stare at us. Well, to be more precise, him. He grins and sips from his soda.

         “This is a nice place,” he murmurs. I find myself staring at him. He looks at me and raises an eyebrow. “Is this the right time to make a wish?”

         I swallow hard and glance down.

         “Guess not,” he mutters as a girl saunters over. She’s at least nineteen. I narrow my eyes.

         “Can I help you?” I ask. She looks at me like she didn’t know I was there.

         “Not you.” She grins at Genie and my stomach lurches. She slides in next to me, batting her eyelashes. He’s enjoying this. He’s enjoying my pain.

         “Hi.” She’s twirling her hair. He smiles at her. “You’re cute.”

         I stare at the butter knife on the table. I imagine me picking it up. I imagine jabbing it at her.

         But I don’t. Instead, I grab her hair and yank. She screams, jumping up.

         “What the hell is wrong with you?!” she screeches. I smile.

         “Oops.”