Finally, Jon shouted, voice cracking, “FINE! I wish that I am always as happy as you, with it seems you know all the fucking answers!!!”
The boy’s eyes went wide, his grin exploding into pure joy. “DONE!”
The word snapped like a firecracker. Jon didn’t even have time to pull his hand back. He was still clutching the boy’s arm from their wrestling match, and the moment the magic hit, it was like someone had plugged him straight into sunlight.
Jon gasped. The heaviness in his chest, the thick knot of stress, the constant self-loathing—all of it ripped away like cobwebs in a strong wind. His heart fluttered, light as helium. His skin tingled, his head buzzed, and suddenly the room wasn’t terrifying or confusing anymore.
It was… awesome.
“Oh my god,” Jon breathed, eyes wide as he spun around, staring at everything. “This room is sick. Look at that trophy shelf! And the games! And the jerseys—holy crap, I’ve got a hockey stick rack? Dude! This is my room! My life! This is amazing!”
He stumbled toward the mirror and caught his reflection again. A blond boy, grinning ear to ear, hair sticking up in perfect just-woke-up style, eyes bright with excitement.
Jon’s jaw dropped. Then he laughed. A real laugh, not a bitter or forced one. “God, I look way cooler now than that stupid Jon person. I’m Tommy. Cool me. Tommy, bro!”
The boy clapped and bounced on the bed, thrilled. “See? See?! Told you it feels good!”
Jon—no, Tommy—turned and lunged at him, hugging him around the shoulders with a grin so wide his face hurt. “You’re the best! I—I wish I had all of Tommy’s memories! And knew his life like it was my own! But I still wanna remember me too, just—just mix it together!”
The boy’s hair flared like it caught sunlight, and magic thrummed again.
Tommy’s brain flooded.
Memories poured into him like someone turning on a firehose. Ice rinks. Skates cutting sharp into the ice. The snap of a puck against a stick. The roar of a crowd of kids on the bleachers. A referee’s whistle echoing like thunder. His body remembered drills, passes, the way his legs bent and drove him forward on the ice. He could feel the sting of cold air on his cheeks, the rush of speed, the pride of scoring goals.
He gasped, falling to his knees. His hands dug into the carpet as flashes blitzed across his vision—coaches shouting encouragement, teammates cheering, the heavy thump of goalie pads. Then home: his mom, laughing in the stands with a scarf wrapped around her neck, hugging him tight after games, tucking him in at night. His dad, calloused hands steadying his shoulders, lacing his skates, teaching him how to stand straight when life tried to knock him down.
And beside him, always, his twin.
Tyler.
Tommy’s eyes shot open. He turned to the boy, to his brother, and his grin stretched even wider. “Tyler! You’re Tyler! My wishing bro, my twin!”
Tyler’s face lit up like Christmas. “Yes! You remembered! Finally!”
Tommy laughed, tackling him again, but this time it wasn’t angry—it was giddy, wild. “Bro, this is so sick! I’m not just some loser anymore—I’m me, I’m Tommy, I’m awesome, I’m good at hockey, I’ve got like—like—thirty friends! Dude, thirty!”
He jumped up, arms in the air like he’d scored a winning goal. “I can ace all my classes! I can remember anything I read! Photographic brain, bro! I never forget! Tyler, this is insane!”
Tyler rolled on his back, laughing so hard he nearly cried. “See? Told you! I make lives better!”
Tommy stopped in front of the mirror again, flexing his skinny nine-year-old arms. “Man, this is way better than being Jon. Jon was lame. Jon sucked at math, sucked at sports, sucked at everything. But me? Tommy? I’m smart, I’m cool, I’m Canadian!” He tried the word out in a thicker accent: “C’nadian, eh? Haha, nailed it.”
Tyler hopped off the bed and shoved a game controller in his hand. “C’mon, let’s play before Mom calls us for dinner. And after that, hockey practice. We’re gonna crush those guys tonight!”
Tommy’s face split in a grin, bouncing on his toes. “Heck yeah, bro! We’re gonna kill ‘em! Aye!”
He giggled, the word “aye” sticking to his tongue like maple syrup. He said it again just to hear it. “Aye! This is so awesome!”
Tyler flopped back onto the bed, sighing happily. “You’re way better now. No grumpy Jon. Just Tommy. My brother. My partner.”
Tommy spun around the room like a whirlwind, tugging his jersey off the back of the chair, pretending to slap a puck with an invisible stick. “I’m Tommy! I’m nine! I’m awesome! Tyler, bro, you’re the best!”
He skidded to a stop, eyes gleaming, cheeks flushed with happiness. “Thanks for making this life for me. I love it. Let’s play before Mom calls! Then we’ll hit the ice, and we’ll totally wreck those other kids!”
“Yeah!” Tyler cheered, grabbing his own controller. “Let’s go!”
And for the first time in forever, Jon wasn’t Jon at all.
He was Tommy.
