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around me and started getting the giggles at the strangeness of the situation.
    He cocked his head, interested.
    “I don’t normally have such vivid dreams,” I explained.
    “Ah,” said the devil.
    “Were you, like, going to trade me Phoebe’s metabolism for my soul?”
    He didn’t answer, just kept looking at me.
    “Do people actually make deals that are so lopsided?”
    “Lopsided?”
    “Her metabolism isn’t even that awesome,” I pointed out.
    “Okay,” he said.
    “Would she, like, get fat?”
    “If that’s important to you, we could negotiate it,” he said.
    “It’s not!” I told him. “I was just curious! But seriously, for my soul? A slightly faster metabolism? Would anybody make such a stupid deal?”
    “Why do you think it took me two days to come?” he said slowly. “There’s a wait list.”
    “Oh my God,” I said.
    “No,” he answered.
    “Oh, no, I mean, I didn’t…”
    “Kidding,” he said, with a smirk. “So what do you want?”
    “As a trade for my soul?”
    “While I’m here…”
    “I don’t even think I have a soul, I should warn you. I kind of suck.”
    He smirked.
    “Oh! You already know that about me, right? I mean, is that, like, part of your job?”
    He cocked his head slightly; since he looked more intrigued than annoyed, I went on.
    “I’m nasty and jealous and very sensitive, if you believe my sisters. I’m totally selfish. And cranky, too. So I don’t know why you’d negotiate for my soul at all. I mean, if you exist, and if it exists, neither of which I am convinced of, by the way, you’ll definitely be getting my soul eventually anyway.”
    He nodded. “Eventually. But you could have something now, if you want it. What do you want, Allison?”
    “Oh, that’s easy. To be gorgeous and brilliant and maybe immortal—no, wait, I shouldn’t be so selfish, right? How about a long, happy, healthy life for me and everybody I love, world peace, and a million more wishes.”
    “I’m not a genie.”
    “Oh,” I said. “Right. No million more wishes?”
    “No,” he said. “I’ll give you gorgeous.”
    “Sell my soul to be gorgeous?”
    He shrugged.
    “But then I could, like, die within a day of turning gorgeous, or something.”
    He smiled. “Very good. Okay, you’ll be gorgeous, and you’ll live at least a normal life span, unless you do something crazy like lie down on the train tracks or start smoking or something. I won’t kill you off early just for spite.”
    “Awesome. Thanks,” I said. “But how about if I give you something else? Instead of my probably nonexistent soul.”
    “Oh?” he asked. “What have you got?”
    I looked around my room. “TV?”
    He shook his head. “Mine’s nicer.”
    “Tennis racquets?” I pointed at them, lying beside him on my couch. “You can have them both. They’re brand-new almost, top of the line.”
    “I play golf,” he said.
    “My cell phone?” I offered.
    He didn’t budge. I wasn’t sure if he was hearing voices from, like, the underworld or something. I listened but heard nothing.
    After a minute he said, “Let me see it.”
    I picked my cell phone up off my night table and tossed it to him. He opened it, pressed a few buttons, turned it over and over again in his big hands. “The camera doesn’t even have a flash.”
    “So what?” I said.
    “Midlevel cell phone…gorgeous.” He held my phone in one hand and, I suppose, my imaginary gorgeousness in the other. Apparently my imaginary gorgeousness weighed significantly more.
    “I could, like, spread rumors about how cool you are, plus the phone,” I offered.
    He squinted slightly at me, which crinkled the corners of his eyes. He was actually a hottie, despite being, like forty, and also imaginary. “I’m not in the market for a new PR rep,” he said. “On the other hand, I like you, and I like the springiness of the keys on this phone. And I’m already here. So. Tell you what. Choose somebody, and that person will think