A Tale of Highly Unusual Magic by Lisa Papademetriou

Well, she felt comfortable until a handsome boy with mischievous hair walked in.
    â€œLeila!” Zain cried, as if Leila were the very person he had been hoping to see. He wore a cream salwar kameez, and looked thoroughly handsome as he walked over to their table and mussed Wali’s hair.
    â€œHey!” Wali griped. He didn’t look up from his ice cream.
    â€œI should have known I’d find you here,” Zain said as he leaned against the marble table. “It’s the best ice cream in Lahore.”
    Leila smiled, hoping that her skin was aglow from the embarrassment she was feeling. Elizabeth Dear always managed to make blushing seem charming. She wondered if she should ask after Zain’s mother, the way Elizabeth would have, or if that would seem weird.
    â€œWhat flavor did you have?” Zain asked her. “My mother always wants coffee. Two pints of coffee, one ofchocolate chip. The chocolate chip is for me.”
    With a smile, he stepped up to the counter and placed his order. She watched him as he waited, leaning against the marble counter. By the time Zain’s order arrived, Wali was finished, so he and Leila joined Zain on his way out the door.
    He started toward a white Lexus, then turned to grin at Leila. “Maybe this won’t arrive at its destination,” Zain said, holding up the bag. Leila was about to reply, when a man tugged at Zain’s elbow. The man was very small, only a head taller than Wali, and his face was a web of deep wrinkles spun across dark skin. He wore a pointed cap wrapped with tinsel, and what looked like a filthy orange sheet. He said something to Zain and looked at Leila.
    â€œWhat?” Leila said.
    Zain shook him off and replied angrily. But the man continued to stare at Leila from the shade of his thick gray eyebrows. His gaze held her paralyzed, and he said something to her slowly, as if he could make her understand. But she didn’t understand.
    The man reached toward her, but Leila felt unable to duck away. His fingers touched the top of her head.
    Leila finally found her voice. “What’s he doing?”
    â€œHe is a fakir,” Wali explained as Zain pulled out his wallet. “He gives you a blessing.”
    Leila didn’t find this terribly comforting, but at last the fakir stopped speaking. Zain offered the man a bill, but the fakir’s nostrils flared in disgust. Still, he took the money before walking away.
    â€œI apologize.” Zain folded his wallet and placed it back in his breast pocket. “There are beggars everywhere. It’s getting so bad.”
    â€œHe’s a holy man.” Wali spoke to Leila, ignored Zain.
    â€œWhat did he say?” Leila asked.
    â€œHe said that the world is a miracle,” Wali explained. “He said that you should not fear the world, but should look to the book for answers.”
    â€œThe book?” Leila repeated. Her head felt a little bit spinny. How could the fakir know about—
    â€œThe Quran, I presume,” Zain put in.
    Leila asked herself what Elizabeth Dear would do, but she did not manage to come up with an answer. This was all getting too peculiar. Was the fakir talking about the Quran, or about her book? Her magic book? The one thatseemed to be writing its own story every time she shut the pages? But he couldn’t be, because that book is not magic.
    She looked over at Zain, who was smiling at her, as if he hoped to comfort her. That’s what’s real, she told herself. This is my story. I get to decide on my story, and my story is a romantic adventure! Because I lead a life of international travel and excitement!
    This, my friends, is known as wishful thinking.
T HE E XQUISITE C ORPSE
    You could not see the damage the fire had caused, but it was there.
    There were many stories about why fire had not destroyed the house. Some said that it was made of stone, and fire could not burn it. Some said that a sudden rainstorm had put