You Wish - Chapter One

A/N: Hey! This is an idea that came to me from Taylor Swift's amazing new song, Speak Now - I absolutely adore it. This is going to be a three-shot, with a possible epilogue. I hopeth you liketh it.

"Hey," he slings an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to drop a kiss on my cheek. I shove him away, but I'm smiling. "You alright?"

"I was until I saw your face," I grin.

He rolls his eyes. "Leave it out. You so love me."

I stick my tongue out, not caring if it's childish or not. "You gonna sit down, or just stand there like an idiot all day?"

Throwing me a humorously dirty look, he throws his jacket on the wooden seat opposite me, unwinding his scarf and - wait for it - sitting down. I watch, my chin resting easily on my upturned palms, as he shakes the snow out of his dark brown hair.

"Happy?" he demands, leaning forward on his elbows until his face is mere inches from my own.

"Of course not," I whisper. I can feel his warm, minty breath tickling my cheek.

"You never will be," he chuckles to himself. His deep brown eyes meet mine, and I find myself leaning forward, and--

My eyes open. Oh, typical: I finally get to have a nice, sweet dream, and just at the best part, I wake up. Thank you, Mother Nature.

Not that that would ever happen, anyway. I mean, he's my best friend, for one... and, he's kinda engaged. Retract the 'kinda' from that statement and it's about right, unfortunately. I still remember exactly when he told me...

"Hey, Lex?" he asked, between mouthfuls of pasta.

I wasn't so polite. "Uh?" Bits of tomato sauce flew out onto the napkin laid out in front of me, but instead of being disgusted, he just smiled. Hey, he should be used to it - we had been best friends for what, ten years now? If we met when we were eleven, and he was twenty-two now... there or there abouts, anyway.

"Ever wanted to visit my anus?"

I just looked at him. "That joke stopped being funny, what, the first time you told it?" Mianus was a place in America, near New York, and Jem had always found that joke hilarious. Me? Not so much. I preferred the classic - that's what she said will never get old.

There was something off about him, though. Whenever the conversation shifted to him, he clammed up, and tried to direct it back at me. I'd always been the chatterbox of us two, but he'd only cracked that one joke all night, and we were on the main course. By then, whenever we'd been out before, I was usually contemplating suicide, just to get the hell away from him. We were only there, in some fancy Italian restaurant, because he'd called me the night before, desperate to tell me something, but apparently it just HAD to be in person. Naturally, I then freaked out, cancelled the appointment I had with my washing machine (we don't get along so well), and obsessed over it all day.

...What are friends for, eh?

"God, what is up with you?" I let concern weight my voice down just enough for him to know I was serious.

He looked at me innocently. "What?"

I narrowed my eyes, setting my fork down on my plate so I could fold my arms. "We're not playing this game."

"What game?"

"I'll hit you."

He knew I was serious, too, which was probably why he heaved a great sigh, and pushed his hands through his messy hair. I waited, eyebrows raised. Finally, he looked up and met my eyes.

I knew what he was going to say before the words left his mouth. It was all there, in his eyes.

"Me and Megan... we're engaged." His eyes closed once he'd said it, like he was afraid to look at my face.

I waited a few seconds, for the shock to pass through me, until I knew my voice would be steady as I spoke: "Congratulations."

His eyes met mine again, filled with scepticism. "Really?"

I shrugged. "Well, if you think she's right..."

He grimaced. "She sure thinks I'm right."

"She did not propose to you."

"No, but she made it pretty clear she was expecting it soon."

"Do tell."

"Well..." he leant forward conspiratorially. "I bought her flowers, and she chucked them over her head."

Groaning, I pull myself out of bed, dragging my hands through my hair. How the hell does one night constitute hair that feels like straw, and looks like I've just been pulled through a hedge backwards? God knows. I sleepily step back up onto the bed, and check my calender: the 25th of May, the day before my best friend's wedding, and the day my twin sister Lucy is coming to visit, with her boyfriend, Lucas. I jump back down to the floor, and view the text on my phone:

Lex, will be there in thirty minutes. Please be up?! Luce xxx

It takes me a few minutes to register both the text, and the fact that it was sent... oh, just twenty minutes ago.

Shit.

Cursing, I run to the bathroom (which is right next to my bedroom, my flat being ridiculously tiny), and splash water over my face in an attempt to wake myself up. Unfortunately, it's boiling hot, and I just end up scalding my hands.

"Shit, shit, shit," I shake my hands madly, trying to ease the pain, and end up smashing my head against the shelf holding my contacts. "Oh, for crying out loud."

Why me? It's always me. No, really - when I was fifteen, Jem and I went to see Muse live. It was in a massive field that was packed to the brim, and we were having the time of our lives when I tripped. As we were holding hands as we jumped, he came tumbling down with me.

Guess which one of us fell in poison ivy? It's not hard, is it?

Thank God I took a shower last night, before falling into bed. Typically, I didn't bother to dry my hair, though. I grab the hairbrush, and yank it through my bright red curls. Once I've tamed it as much as I can, I clean my face (with cold water this time, thank God), and lash on a bit of black mascara for luck - I don't wear make-up. After slipping my green-tinted contacts in, I stand back, and survey myself in the mirror.

My hair's still frizzy, but it's falling in loose ringlets, rather than the mad Russell Brand static-like springs of before. It's impossibly red. No, really, it's dyed. Framed by long black lashes, my eyes are glowing green, but that's the effects of contacts and mascara than anything natural. The only things that are natural about my face right now are my unnaturally large nose, unnaturally pale skin, and my... actually, my lips are pretty damn decent. All I need is for people to look right at my lips, all the time, and I'll be alright.

In all honesty, though, I'm not awful-looking. The only thing that turns heads about me is the colour of my hair, and I'm okay with that. At least I don't plaster myself with foundation like Megan, Jem's fiancée, or shove as many gaudy clips and bows as I can into my hair. I honestly feel sorry for Megan's hair. It's so abused. Never mind my own hair, which definitely belongs on a horse's mane, I'm just going to feel sorry for Megan's. It's got to be hard, clinging to something as hollow as her head, even without the crap she shoves in it.

Once I've checked my spots (I have an addiction to popping the ones with those ugly white heads, but who doesn't?), I race back to my room, and pull my pyjamas (an old over-large Leeds Festival t-shirt, and black leggings with holes behind the knees) off in record time.

I've just managed to shove my favourite jeans on, when the doorbell rings. Nice timing, Luce. I panic for a moment, before deciding to just throw my Leeds Fest t-shirt back on.

"Hey," I say as I open the door grandly.

"Oh, Lex..." Luce sighs, looking me up down. I glance down, and crack up laughing: I was in a rush that my t-shirt is back to front, and my jeans are inside-out. "I'm not even surprised."

Lucy herself looks gorgeous. It's definitely easy to see who got the looks, out of us two - Lucy's got silky-smooth, naturally platinum blonde hair, that hangs long below her shoulders, and an hourglass figure most girls would kill for. She's wearing a long, pink top, with a golden locket, black leggings, and cute platform shoes. She's even got a tan (probably from her recent holiday in Hawaii she went on with Lucas, for his work), and her cheeks are a rosy pink, probably from having Lucas's hand in hers - Luce's like that. Typical. Even when not compared to my stick-thin figure and snow-white skin (not just from genetics, but from lack of exposure to the sun), she looks like a model.

She just has to be my twin.

Once I've ushered them in, and shown them to the single sofa (which, incidentally, is opposite the kitchenette... my flat's small), I head back to my room.

My room is definitely the best one in my flat, not that there are many to compare it to, it's so small. The walls are bright blue, and adorned with various posters - I have six Harry Potter ones, three Paramore ones, a couple of Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World ones, and a few other random ones. There's also a bulletin board, next to my manga calender, covered in various photos. Most are of me with Jem, though there a few of Lucy, and my closest girl friend, Aimee. There are so many I've had to start pinning them to the wooden frame surrounding the cork - there's even one from Jem's fourteenth birthday.

It was a school day, and we were hanging around doing nothing at break, as per usual. Then I saw the tiara. What would you do, if it was your best boy friend's (note the gap) birthday, and you saw a pink, plastic tiara just lying on the ground? Exactly. I picked it up, forced it onto his head, and crowned the Birthday Princess. Everyone and anyone was instructed to call him Princess for the rest of the day - including our English teacher, who didn't seem to find it quite as amusing as we did, and confiscated the tiara for the rest of the day. I'd already taken a picture by then, though.

After I've finished smiling at the memory (I called him Princess on his twenty-first. That's just how legendary that tiara is), I chuck on a purple t-shirt that I tie-dyed myself, with Jem last year. Being me, I decided it was too boring as it was, and bought a 'Team Gryffindor' print off of Ebay (one pound fourty-nine, if you were wondering), with the Hogwarts crest on it, and ironed it on. Needless to say, it's my favourite t-shirt.

"Hey," I say as I plop down on the little footstool - my new third chair - next to Luce. "Sorry 'bout that."

"It's cool," Lucas replies, smiling. "Lucy told me to expect it."

I've only met Lucas a few times before, on account of Lucy and I attending different universities (being the nerdy one with brains, I go to Oxbridge), but I like him enough not to break his nose. Not because he's ever done anything to hurt Luce, just as a warning if the thought even crosses his mind. He's got sandy-brown hair that's a little too short for my liking, and warm brown eyes that always seem to be watching Lucy.

Lucas and Lucy are one of those sickeningly sweet couples. You know, the ones that whisper sweet nothings into one another's ears, are forever holding hands, stealing kisses, and wrapping their arms around one another at any chance they get. I'm not going to deny that it's cute, and I'm obviously happy for my sister, but honestly. Maybe it's just me, but I don't think I could cope with a relationship as... as SWEET as that.

If I ever get a boyfriend (unlikely), he'd have to a sort of caring disregard for my own squeamishness, and physically force me into a hug, and be able to literally steal any kisses. I'm not saying that I wouldn't hold their hand, or happily kiss them sometimes, but... I'm just not a touchy-feeling kind of person. I never have been. He'd also have to get over that, and not be an arse (impossible for most men, since it's practically a programmed instinct).

That said, I'm probably never going to get a boyfriend, anyway. The one relationship I've ever had was when I was when I was six, and a boy called Eddy tripped, and landed on my face. It was an awkward situation, especially when the teacher, instead of helping, just about killed herself laughing. Thanks for that, Mrs B. I'll never forget you.

After a few moments of mindless daydreaming, I snap back into it, and realise what Lucas just said.

I turn to Luce, glaring. "I'm extremely offended."

She laughs. "Last time I came here, I was sat waiting outside, in the pouring rain, for two hours."

"Oh, God," Lucas' face meets his palm. "What did she do?" Typical. He's met me, what, three times, and he's already adopted one key Jem phrase.

"She was still asleep," Luce explains, "and the landlord wouldn't believe we were sisters." She blushes at the memory.

"Hang on... you told me he wouldn't let you in without ID, and you'd left your driving license at home!" I accuse, my voice laced with mock anger.

Luce's cheeks burn, and she studies the floor. "Um..."

Lucas grabs her, and pulls her back into his chest, wrapping his arms around. He's shaking with laughter, but Luce relaxes instantly. Oh, to fall in love... I'd rather fall in chocolate.

"I know I'm pig-ugly, but that's just unnecessary," I joke. Still, I'm planning to have a good word with Josh, the guy who owns this little block of crappy flats. I'll probably end up threatening him with my collection of Lord of the Rings action figure, but a sad, geeky threat's better than nothing, right? ...Wrong.

"Leave it out," Lucas rolls his eyes at me, still cradling Luce like she's six. See, I just couldn't do that. I'd end up smacking my head against his chin as I tried to fight my way out of there - I know I would, that's just typical me. Typical Lex.

We spend a comfortable hour or so exchanging homework horrors, the best and worst teachers we've got, and general stories. Lucas does some kind of work that means he's constantly travelling from country to country (don't ask me what, Lucy tried to explain it once, and I switched off half-way through, if that), which means that, in the last year, Lucy's been to Dubai, Australia, America (probably the most frequent), and, the most recent, Hawaii. Hell, they'd had to cut Hawaii short to come to Jem's wedding! They're still young, but Lucas works hard, and Lucy always gets part-time job if they're staying for more than a couple of weeks. Lucas is always telling her to just enjoy herself, but Lucy's determined to make herself useful. There's a trait we both definitely share - the need to be independent. We are women, after all.

"Are you going tomorrow?" Lucy asks after a conversation involving a jellyfish, and Lucas's foot (ouch). It was obvious she was talking about the wedding, a subject I'd been trying to avoid. Not even my house-elf Jerry can save me from this; yes, I invented a house-elf called Jerry, and yes, he's real. I'm obsessed with Harry Potter, okay?

"Duh," I say eloquently. "Jem begged me to. I'm meeting him tonight, actually."

"What, the last night of Megan-less days?" Lucy enquires, smiling a little sadly.

I shrug again. "I guess."

Luce doesn't push me any further, knowing it's a sore subject, and Lucas just observes the conversation. Good boy. A few hours later, we exchange hugs and kisses, as they depart, off to visit our long list of relatives, while they're in town. Most of them will be attending the wedding tomorrow (Jem grew up as much a part of our family as I am of his), but, once I pointed this out, Luce said, 'Oh, but that's just not personal enough!' I swear, Lucas was immensely disappointed. Can't blame the guy, really, I'm just as bad.

You see, Megan Cliffe and I just do not get along. There's the fact that she's everything I hate - pessimistic, fake, make-up slathered - and then there's the fact that she hates Jem and I being as close as we are. She's controlling, clingy, and so not Jem's type. I was amazed when he told me he was with her, and even more so when he still was more than a week later.

I guess I always thought we'd end up together. And I'm not one of those girls who spends all their time wrapped in romance novels, or daydreaming about the 'perfect' wedding - my books are fantasy, epic battles, and strong female heroines, my daydreams full of the gruesome murders I'm going to commit once I rule the world. Jem and I have... a complicated history.

On New Year's Eve last year, at the stroke of midnight, he kissed me. I was sober, he was not. I went home... elated. I was so over the moon, so happy. Yeah, me - the sarcastic one who spends all of her time reading and writing fan fiction. Jem did that. Unfortunately, he was so drunk at the time he doesn't even remember it. So when he asked what the hell he did last night, I didn't tell him (I instead said that he'd phoned Megan's mother, and tried to educate her on the benefits of lesbianism).

Everything was just how it was, except I was left with an over reactive heart (whenever he touches me, it seems to go into hyper drive), and some seriously mixed feelings. I tell myself I'm just nervous for him, for his big day, but that doesn't really cover the ache I get in my chest whenever I think of him and Megan together forever.

I don't even know if he's happy.

Sighing, I check the time, and realise it's about time for me to make my way down to our little meeting spot. I shrug my black cardigan on, shove my phone (which likes to imitate a brick) into my pocket, and let myself out, bidding goodbye to Jerry on the way.

A/N: (: I hope you liked it. The next chapter should be real soon.

Reviews are greatly loved - Jerry likes to frame them in silver picture-frames, and hide them behind the toilet in his shiny stash which he thinks me and Lex don't know about.