It’s 9:12.
“Happy birthday to you,” my mother starts singing, and everyone joins her.
Happy birthday to you . . .
Happy birthday, dear Edgar . . .
Happy birthday to you!
I look at my phone. It’s 9:13. Crap. Why is that song so short? Edgar stares at me, panicking. “Are you . . . one?” I call out. “Are you . . . two? Are you . . . three?” I clap at each number, and eventually the crowd chimes in.
By the time we reach eighteen, it’s 9:14. I watch the seconds tick.
“Okay,” I vamp, “I hope you’ve got a great wish!”
Ten more seconds. That’s our cue. I nod at Edgar, who leans down toward the cake. It casts a glow over his features as his brow furrows and he concentrates. I see his lips moving silently as he says the words that have been prearranged.
Right now, inside the book that is safely waiting in my bedroom, Oliver is saying the exact same sentence.
I wish for a life with the person I love the most.
The alarm I’ve set on my phone dings—9:15.
At the last moment, Jules rushes forward so that she’s close enough to Edgar to touch him. Suddenly there’s a crash as a burst of wind blows open one of the old, uninsulated windows in our house. The gust swirls through the room, stealing the breath of every candle. For a heartbeat, the room goes pitch-black.
And then, with a whir of machinery and electronic beeping, the power comes back on.
“Awesome wish, dude,” Raj calls out.
I blink, unaccustomed to the bright light. And immediately I feel sick—nothing happened. Nothing changed. Edgar is still bent over his cake, his eyes closed. Jules has her hand on his back.
“Edgar?” Jules whispers.
His eyes open at the sound of her voice.
He turns toward Jules.
And walks right past her.
Staring straight at me, as if I am the only person in the room, he smiles crookedly. A smile I know; a smile I fell in love with. And then Oliver swings me into his arms and kisses me.
EDGAR
I wish for a life with the person I love the most.
All of a sudden my hair is blown back from my face by a powerful wind, and everything goes black. There’s a pounding in my head, and then so much brightness enveloping me that I squint, unable to see.
I feel a hand on my back. “Edgar?”
I turn, focusing on the doctor’s face. Then she pulls down her mask, and I see my mother.
I look up to find us on the sand at Everafter Beach. In a horseshoe surrounding us are all the characters from the book. I crane my neck and see the tangled tails of letters overhead.
My mother takes a step backward, gasping. “Am I . . . am I dead?”
“No,” I cry, throwing my arms around her. “No. You’re very much alive.” Over her shoulder, I grin wildly at the others. “Itworked!” I cry, the words bursting from me like fireworks. “It really worked!”
A chorus of cheers rises from the beach. My mother, though, is panicked. She turns in circles, as if she is trapped, her eyes wide at the flat, two-dimensional oddness of the interior of the book, her body jumping slightly every time one of the characters speaks. She has a punishing grip on my arm. “Where are we?” she whispers.
