Be Careful What You Wish For

Chapter 1 - The Wish

Revised Chapter 1
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Chapter 1: The Wish

“Miss Alder, if you give me anything less than a 90 on this, you’re not just grading me. You’re gambling with my scholarship to Yale.”

James leaned forward in his chair, eyes locked on the weary English teacher like she was holding a detonator. He watched her hesitate, and saw the way her fingers twitched over the paper. She was going to give him an 83. He could feel it.

“I’m not saying you have to do anything,” he added, voice velvet-smooth. “I’m just saying it would be… tragic. For both of us.”

The next week, the final grade came back: 91. James didn’t even crack a smile. He’d already moved on to calculating how close that kept his GPA to a perfect 4.0.

He wasn’t going to Yale. Never had a chance. But he was gunning for valedictorian, and he’d be damned if a clueless teacher got in his way. As far as he was concerned, manipulating her wasn’t dishonest but strategic.


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James had always relied on intelligence over empathy. He could break down anyone's failure into cause and effect with surgical coldness. Consoling them never crossed his mind.

He once told a crying classmate:
“Jessica didn’t dump you because she’s shallow. You eat chips like they’re antidepressants and haven’t touched a gym since middle school. You're not ugly—you're just fat. Fix that, and girls like Jessica will come crawling back.”

The punch he got in return had confused him more than it hurt.

People didn’t want honesty, he’d concluded. They wanted flattery. And since James refused to flatter, people refused to like him. Their loss.


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After high school, he kept excelling…on paper. Promotions slipped away because he couldn’t lead without controlling. To James, teamwork meant everyone shutting up and letting the smartest person (him) take over.

He had no siblings. No cousins. His parents, both only children themselves, were emotionally absent and socially tone-deaf. He grew up talking at people, never with them.

Still, he told himself his problems were superficial.

“They’re intimidated,” he’d mutter to his reflection. Chiseled jaw. Abs. Thick black hair styled like Joey from Friends. He figured he was just too good-looking to be relatable. Women liked him until he opened his mouth. Then they scattered like he’d confessed to arson.

His last three friends, the ones who knew him since grade school and tolerated his abrasiveness as “just James being James” had all moved out of state in the last two years. And now his parents are gone too. Out of state. Retired early. Not even a call today.

So here he was. Alone on his birthday.

He lit the candles himself, staring into the flickering light above a store-bought yellow cake with vanilla frosting. His favorite. It tasted like childhood, like the one time a girl had kissed him in middle school and said he smelled like cupcakes.

He closed his eyes.
“I wish I had real friends. People who loved me. Someone who wanted me. Every night.”
He blew out the candles.

For a second, the flame flickered unnaturally, bending toward him. The wax froze mid-drip. The air hummed, like a held breath in a theater.

And then, it was over.

The room returned to normal. The candles went dark. The silence was heavier than before.

James didn’t notice the subtle twitch in his reflection. Or the crooked, slow smile forming on the waxy surface of the frosting.


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