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The Art of Wishing: He can grant all her wishes. But only she can save his life - Hardcover

Ribar, Lindsay

 
9780803738270: The Art of Wishing: He can grant all her wishes. But only she can save his life

Inhaltsangabe

"[With] a genie like no other. . . this lighthearted book is a well-rounded combination of humor, romance and paranormal suspense, with likable characters and easy-to-believe dialogue." (Kirkus Reviews)

Margo McKenna has a plan of attack for everything, from landing the lead in her high school musical to dealing with her increasingly absent parents. But when she finds herself in possession of a genie's ring and the opportunity to make three wishes, she doesn't know what to do. Especially since Oliver--not blue-skinned, not bottle-dwelling, but a genie nonetheless--can see more than what she's willing to show him. With one peek into her mind, he can see the wishes that even Margo herself doesn't know she wants.

But Oliver comes with more than just mind-reading abilities, a flair for magic, and the prettiest eyes Margo's ever seen. Someone from his past is hunting him--someone bent on killing him, along with all the other genies in the world, for the sake of honor. And as Margo soon discovers, it will take more than three wishes to save him.

A whole lot more.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Lindsay Ribar lives in New York City, where she works in book publishing by day and writes YA novels by night. She is the author of The Art of WishingThe Fourth Wish, and Rocks Fall, Everyone Dies, as well as The Pros of Cons (co-written with Alison Cherry and Michelle Schusterman). Lindsay attends far too many concerts, watches far too much nerdy TV, and consumes fanfiction like it's made out of chocolate. She is fond of wine, cheese, and really cool accents. Ask her about her Harry Potter tattoo.

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“Okay, you said you’re a what?”

“A genie,” he said, lowering his fork to his plate.
“Right,” I murmured. “So, genies are real. You are a genie. I get three wishes. Okay. What else? Do you live in a bottle?”
“No,” he said, sounding almost offended. “I live in an apartment.”
“Are you seriously telling me the truth about this?” I asked.
“I seriously am,” he replied. “I was also serious about stealing a fry.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, take the fries. Have as many as you want. But, I mean, you don’t look like a genie.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You mean I’m not blue and I don’t sound like Robin Williams?”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said.
He grinned at me.
“Okay, fine, that’s what I meant. But I mean, look at that movie. Aladdin rubs the lamp, right, and it’s all fireworks and explosions, and out pops this genie, and you look at him and you go, ‘Oh, hey, look, it’s a genie.’ But you? You look… normal.”
“Except for when I disappear.”
“Well, yeah, except for that. But how do I know—“
“Try it,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows conspiratorially. “Make a wish. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

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