LITMIR.BIZ

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pauses, like she’s thinking. “Now they can.”

      “Right.” I raise my hand to the gallery door, push it open. The scent of wine and clay swoops over us. I think everyone in the theater department was invited, but the artist, a guy named Sampson who works in set design, sent me an invite himself. He said he was worried no one would come, and he wanted to see one friendly face in the room. I was surprised—I wouldn’t call us friends. We barely know each other. But it was a good opportunity to keep my promise to Juliet.

      The art gallery is an old antebellum house on campus. All the walls of the house have been painted black, and in each room are a few tables with sculptures in the center. It’s all weird stuff—animals with houses growing out of their backs, their faces twisted into looks of agony. It makes it hard to stare at any one sculpture for too long.

      “Lawrence,” a warm, quiet voice says, and I see Jeffrey coming toward me. He’s smiling, his eyes are flickering.

      “Hey,” I answer, reach forward, and shake his hands. They’re soft but strong, and he smells like dryer sheets. The scent makes me want to step closer to him, makes me wonder if this is what his bedroom smells like.

      “Hi, I’m Jeffrey,” he says, leaving my hand to reach for Juliet’s. She grins widely and takes it, shaking it a little awkwardly.

      “I haven’t seen you around before, Juliet,” Jeffrey says curiously, glancing at me.

      “She’s a friend,” I say. “Visiting from Virginia.”

      “Right,” Jeffrey says, nodding at both of us. “I don’t really know anyone here,” he admits, looking at the crowd. “I’m glad you showed up.”

      I try not to smile too big, not to look too ridiculously eager. The three of us meander around the room, toward the first in the rows of sculptures.

      JULIET

      Everyone is staring. I think, anyhow—their eyes slide on and off me, but it still feels like staring. I cling to Lawrence like he’s anchoring me; he gives me a strange look but then touches my forearm gently, leads me along behind Jeffrey. I see wishes filtering around Jeffrey’s face, but I’m too distracted by the onslaught of eyes to tell exactly what they are. Even though I can’t read Lawrence’s mind, it’s very clear what he’s wishing for. They’re obvious in the way he watches Jeffrey’s movements. It’s like a broken, shattered version of the way Jinn watches Viola.

      “I don’t get it,” Jeffrey says as we arrive at the first piece. He shakes his head. It’s a miserable-looking ceramic dog with a two-story cottage growing out of its back. He looks at Lawrence, who is staring at the piece, analyzing it.

      “I think,” Lawrence says, frowning, “maybe it’s about how things that are normal, things that most people want, can be painful?”

      I stare at the piece, baffled. But Jeffrey nods at Lawrence, says that maybe that’s what they’re all about, and that they should ask Sampson later if they can find him. They talk easily, fluidly. I understand why someone might love Lawrence, even why someone might love Jeffrey, with their kind voices and soft smiles. We move on to another piece, this one a rabbit looking even more miserable than the dog. I just don’t understand mortal artwork, I guess.

      “What do you think, Juliet?” Jeffrey says, glancing toward me as we come to a statue of a bear with an armchair lashed to his back.

      “I . . .” I shake my head and glance toward Lawrence. I have no idea what to say. He comes to my rescue.

      “I think I look old enough to scam a glass of wine off the bartender,” Lawrence says, nodding to the guy manning the bar—he can barely be twenty-one himself. “Either of you want one?”

      “Yes,” I say quickly, just so I can get away from the conversation for a moment.

      Jeffrey shakes his head. “I don’t drink, but thanks.”

      Lawrence seems surprised, but nods. Together we walk toward the bar.

      “Anyone you want to kiss yet?” Lawrence asks as we grow closer.

      “I don’t know.” I shrug. He sighs and introduces me to a few other people from the theater department. We approach the bar. Lawrence was right—the bored bartender doesn’t think twice before filling two glasses of red wine.

      “Will you . . . um . . . Jeffrey . . .” Lawrence struggles for words as he takes the glasses from the bartender. It’s a moment before I understand what he’s asking. What he doesn’t want to say.

      “You want to know what Jeffrey is wishing for?” I ask, forgetting the bartender can hear me. He gives both Lawrence and me strange looks. I respond by sipping my wine, but cringe at the taste. We turn our backs to the bar and look at Jeffrey, who has wandered into the main hallway.

      Focus, Juliet. I study him, wait for him to glance this way. It’s easiest to tell wishes if you can see their eyes. . . .

      “Never mind,” Lawrence says loudly, stepping in front of me, breaking my line of sight. “I never should have asked anyway, to be honest.”

      “Why’s that?”

      “It just seems . . . wrong. I’ve had it used on me before. I can’t believe I was going to do it to someone else. To use magic and find out about people I . . .”

      “Love?” I say eagerly.

      “No.” Lawrence cuts me off quickly. “Not even close. People I’m interested in.”

      “But it was part of our deal,” I say, a little frantic—how am I supposed to get kissed without Lawrence’s help?

      “Relax, I’ll still help you,” he says. “Although really, you could introduce yourself to people. You don’t need me, you know. Just try it.” We stand together for a moment while I think about the possibility of walking around, talking on my own.

      What would I talk about? I’ve been to this world plenty of times, but I can count the number of conversations I’ve had with humans on one hand.

      “Lawrence?” a voice from behind the bar asks. It’s a boy I don’t recognize, with short hair and blue eyes that seem too bright for his face. Lawrence nods at him.

      “Sampson, hey,” he says. I turn away from them. I can do this. I walk toward the other side of the room, arms crossed. First person I see wishing to talk to me, I’ll introduce myself to. It’ll be easy. I turn and look, and a wish seems to grab me. It tugs at me desperately, the longing to talk to me hot behind the boy’s eyes.

      Behind Jeffrey’s eyes.

      LAWRENCE

      Sampson is confident, certain. While everyone else looks at his sculptures with a slightly bewildered expression, he looks thrilled. He talks me through how he creates them, and by the time I turn around I’ve lost track of Juliet. This place has so many walls that unless she’s standing in the main hallway, I won’t be able to see her. I notice Jeffrey has disappeared as well.

      “Are you okay?” Sampson asks. “You’re not looking for a way to run out of here, are you? Because that’s occasionally the reaction to my long explanations about sculpting.”

      I laugh. “No, not at all. I was just looking for my friend. The girl I came in with?”

      “Pretty, dark-haired girl?”

      “That’s her.” I nod. “Let me go make sure she’s not getting into trouble. . . .” Sampson nods and claps me on the back as I walk away, back to the room with the dog sculpture.

      JULIET

      “Did you lose Lawrence?” Jeffrey says, glancing at his hands like I make him nervous.

      “No, he was talking to someone else,” I answer. Now that I’ve seen one wish, it’s impossible not to see dozens of them flooding out of Jeffrey. He likes me. He wants to hold my hand. He wants to see what

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