“Oh, hell yeah,” I said, pretend-punching the air like a boxer in the ring. “You better believe we’re doing it!”
Isa grimaced. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“We have to,” Ev and I said at the same time, with him adding, “These aren’t justanysteps, Isa.”
“I know,” she said. “Our fathers had their film festivals at my house, remember?”
Yes, I did. Of course I did.
Before Ev’s smile could completely falter, I smiled back at him and held up a hand. He only hesitated a heartbeat before high-fiving me, a straight-onsmack.“Victory!”
The seventy-two stone steps leading up to the art museum’s entrance had been nicknamed the “Rocky Steps” after Sylvester Stallone’sRocky Balboaseries. InRocky II,there’s this universally famous scene where the boxer runs all through 1970s Philadelphia and ends his workout by sprinting up the museum’s steps. A metaphor for an underdog ready to fight his fight. Both tourists and locals mimicked his climb on a daily basis.
“Neither of you are wearing sneakers, though,” Isa pointed out, gesturing to Ev’s desert boots and my gladiator sandals. It went without saying that in her heels, she wasn’t even going to attempt Rocky’s run. At least not today.
Ev and I exchanged a look. “We’ll make it work,” I said.
“Will you hold my blazer?” he asked her.
“It’sJames’sblazer,” Isa reminded him, “but sure.” She accepted the coat, then turned to me again. “I’m guessing you would like me to climb up first so I can take a video of you guys?”
I grinned. “Your cinematography skillsareamazing.”
When we were younger, Isa would film and edit original plays performed in my basement, and last spring, she’d tirelessly overseen promotional footage for my presidential campaign.
“Should we make a wager?” Ev asked as Isa carefully made her way up the steps, slowly but surely.
I side-eyed Ev. “I’m listening….”
“Okay,” he said as his face flooded with color, and then he spoke so quietly that I barely heard him. “Loser has to grant the winner a wish.”
A lump formed in my throat, and my heart twisted as my mind instantly flashed to this summer, when I’d come so dangerously and agonizingly close to kissing him.
Was he alluding to that night?
No,I thought. He couldn’t be. He was probably thinking about—Ihopedhe was thinking about—mending his broken friendship with Isa. I was already using whatever genie skills I possessed to make that happen.
“Just one wish,” Ev whispered, Isa still climbing. “Just one, just once.”
I didn’t say anything; it wasimpossiblefor me to say anything. I didn’t have the words. Just one, just once? My eyes welled up at the thought. If I won, kissing Everett Adler was one thing, but knowing that it would be our first andlastkiss?
It would be better not to kiss him at all.
Think of another wish, Grace.
A few moments passed.
“Grace?” Ev prompted.
“Sure, it’s a bet,” I said, focusing on Isa instead of him. She had picked up her pace.
“What’s your wish?” he asked.
To kiss you,I thought,but knowing that I’ll never have to stop kissing you.
Any and all circumstances aside, that wasexactlywhat I wanted.
Isa reached the top of the steps and waved before situating her phone for filming purposes. Once she gave us a thumbs-up, Ev and I readied ourselves to run.
