She has received four rejections (Harvard, Yale, MIT, and Princeton). The other schools are still quiet on the subject of applicant Bella Swan. Except Stanford.
Stanford thinks she is interesting, and would like to interview her in person, when would be convenient for her?
Hmm.
[Hey Alice. If anybody asks you, would you mind telling them you bought me a motorcycle?]
She can drive herself to the airport.
She's had a while to design it now, and what she doesn't know about motorcycle functionality she can let the magic handle. "Behold," she intones, and burns a pentagon.
It appears.
It's sleek and beetle-black and detailed in brilliant gold with patterns like thin vines twining around all its edges. If it were an inch long and strung on a chain it'd be jewelry; instead it's like a metallic animal crouched on the floor of the garage.
"Doesn't need gas," Bella brags. "Can use it in case someone's watching me though."
She wishes on another pentagon, because she wants her riding gear (pants, jacket, fingerless gloves, and a pair of short-heeled half-calf boots) to have certain properties. "Repels water, helpfully temperature-regulating whether warm or cold," she says. There's a helmet too, appearing in the same conjuration, equally shiny, although whether she'll use it or it's just for show is anyone's guess.
It's black with gold designs on it too, and it fits like a sexy, sexy glove.
"After you went and got me such a silly present I just had to go ahead and get my motorcycle license," she shrugs, petting the soft leather on her thigh.
She tilts her head. "There might be extra requirements to drive a motorcycle at my age, actually. My birthday's not till September... I wonder if I need Charlie's permission or something. I will look into that." She strokes her bike. "But I'm keeping this regardless. I like it."
He does not promise not to go home later and think about fucking it. Mmmmmm.
(Promising something doesn't mean the same thing to him that it does to most people. The promise, by itself, is meaningless. What he's saying, the thought behind the words, is that he acknowledges she doesn't want him to do that and therefore predicts that he won't. He isn't paying much attention to this definition at the moment, but it's still there.)
"And I am glad that you are keeping it, because it's fucking awesome and so are you."
Bella grins. "Now I have to find out if I can get licensed to use this thing in time to drive myself to the airport so I can go interview at Stanford. You'd think I'd be nervous about leaving it at an airport, but it won't start or even roll if anyone but me tries and when not operating it's way too heavy to lift."
Alice gives the bike one last lingering look, and then follows her. That thing is gorgeous. And it suits her perfectly. He wishes he could actually get her a present that cool. But it's pretty much guaranteed that anything he might think to provide is inferior to what she could wish up for herself.
"You're covering for me. I can't get that for myself, not readily," Bella responds to this thought. "You as good as got me this, because otherwise I'd have to fabricate the plausible ability to build the damn thing in order to have it in public. Oh, and you got it for me from a super secretive private hobbyist you met on the Internet who did you a one-time favor and who does not want his or her name publicized."
Bella looks up motorcycle laws in Washington. It turns out she needs Charlie's permission to take a sixteen-hour course and then pass a written test to be allowed to bike hither and thither. "Sixteen hours, dang," she says. "Oh well. If it turns out it would help, can I borrow some cash to pay an instructor to let me do that over a weekend instead of sitting through some regularly scheduled class that meets for an hour every evening for two and a half weeks?"
"Grand. If you care, I'll pay you back when I too become a millionaire. If you don't, I will forget about it altogether after about twelve minutes of mild guilt." She starts looking for motorcycle instructors. She can just fly wherever, land a few blocks away, and claim to have gotten a ride.
"Not a fan of dresses or suits on me in general, although if I have to show up to something super-formal I'd wear a dress. Maybe now that I don't trip on imaginary things all the time I'll start showing up to dances? I'd wear dresses to those, and I'll let you make 'em if you want if you let me vet the design."
"Mm?" Charlie asks. "Why would you return it if you like it?"
"Well, I'm not licensed to drive it," says Bella.
Charlie's silent for a beat. "Laney, did you get my daughter a motorcycle?"
Charlie blinks.
"Stanford?"
"Yeah, they want an interview!" Bella says sunnily. "I can fly down on a weekend, and you won't have to drive me... if I can get your permission to take a motorcycle course."