Becoming Jinn

“Azra,” Laila calls from the bathroom. “Think there’s still cake?”

 

 

I clutch the locket in my hand as Laila, whose blond hair appears two shades darker when wet, enters my room. She’s wearing my robe. The white, waffle-knit fabric drips from her arms, concealing her small hands. She rolls the sleeves and bunches the material in front so she won’t trip as she moves to my closet.

 

“Mind if I borrow a top?” She slides hangers aside. “Geez, an old black-and-white movie has more color than your wardrobe. That’s it. I’m taking you shopping. No arguments. You’ll pick something out for your birthday present. Subject to my approval, that is.”

 

Remorse makes my insides roil. “But you already gave me a present.”

 

Still facing the closet, Laila says, “It’s a milestone birthday. Certainly you deserve more than one.”

 

I’m about to open my palm when I realize something. Now that I can app, I can slip into her bedroom and stow the necklace under her bed or in the pocket of an old coat. She’ll have it back. That’s what’s important. Not how she gets it back.

 

Coward.

 

The bond between Zar sisters is revered above all else. We share everything, from learning to grant wishes to raising daughters to leaving the human world. We swear to be friends—sisters—for life. We promise to help one another. Not to hurt one another. So why tell her and hurt her for no reason?

 

Nope. Sorry. Still a coward.

 

By the time Laila faces me, holding up a sleeveless tank that’s been too small for me for two years and yet still lands at her hips, the locket is no longer in my hand.

 

“Mint?” I ask, holding out a piece of candy instead.

 

Sometimes the lie is better than the truth. If being Jinn in a world of humans has taught me anything, hasn’t it taught me that?

 

*

 

By the time Laila and I make it downstairs, our Zar sisters are almost finished returning the garage to its normal state.

 

“Your mom was pi-i-i-ssed,” Farrah says, as she runs a broom over the floor using her magic. The bristles hover an inch above the ground but the dirt still collects into a small pile.

 

Thanks to Mina. She catches my eye and winks.

 

Hana caps her yellow highlighter and closes it inside the Coco Chanel biography she’s reading. “Think you’ll be grounded?”

 

I haven’t done anything to get me grounded in years. Mostly because I haven’t done anything in years.

 

“Because,” Hana says, “if not, we’re all going to hear some band—”

 

The broom clatters to the ground. “Some band?” Farrah turns the rhinestones in her headband scarlet. “The bass player was wooed from Drunken Toad. Drunken Toad, I mean, come on.”

 

Mina throws a hand in the air. “Plus, they’re hot.”

 

Hana says, “We’ll text you, then?”

 

It’s likely the brief pause before my “sure,” that elicits the snort from Yasmin. She then drops the bottle of absinthe into her bag. “We’re done here. Time to go, my little Jinnies.” A perfect imitation of the Wicked Witch of the West.

 

With promises of being in touch soon, a flurry of arms encircle me and Laila before Hana, Mina, and Farrah disappear.

 

Yasmin stays behind. “I forgot my coat.”

 

Laila looks back and forth between us. “I’ll get it?” she half says, half asks.

 

Once Laila slips into the house, Yasmin opens the garage door with her powers and gestures across the street. “That’s always been easier for you, hasn’t it? Being friends with the humans?”

 

All that happened last night, all that’s happened this morning, I’m at a loss for words. Thankfully, I’m pretty sure this is a rhetorical question.

 

“But you should know,” Yasmin says, “my Zar is open to you. You just have to be open to it.”

 

My Zar?

 

“But we come first.” She plays with her mother’s ring. “I realize now that’s the lesson my mother was trying to teach me all this time. She wouldn’t let me be friends with humans.” She drills her beautiful gold eyes into mine. “And yours shouldn’t have either.”

 

My heart twists, and I’m not sixteen, I’m not a full Jinn with all the powers that come with it. I’m ten, back in my room, listening to Yasmin mock my pain over losing Jenny.

 

*

 

After everyone is gone, the effects of the shredder my heart’s just been rammed through must show on my face, because my mother agrees to let us have the birthday cake we didn’t get to eat last night for breakfast. The slice with the “16” goes to Laila. Not surprisingly, it’s always been her favorite number. My mom gets the “Az,” and Samara gets the “ra.”

 

I stare at the exclamation point on top of my piece. Maybe eating such excitement will help me feel it.

 

Samara pushes herself back from the table. “Let’s go, Laila, before we leave the birthday girl with only crumbs for leftovers.” As she hugs me good-bye, she touches the infinity pendant around my neck. “What a nice idea Laila had.”

 

I’m going to be sick. Again.

 

“What’s with the long face, doll?” Samara says. “Was this all really so traumatic?”

 

Yes, and no. Laila and I made a pact to keep Yasmin’s cat burglary a secret from our mothers. Laila thought we should tell, but the look on Yasmin’s face when Laila called for my magical help made me push for giving her a pass. A pass I now regret.

 

“No, it was great,” I force myself to say. I try to draw on that exclamation point in my belly but can tell from the look on my mother’s face it’s not working.

 

Laila places her arm around my shoulder. “Come on, Az, the Zar sisterhood is tradition. We have to stick together.”

 

“Indeed.” Samara grabs my mother’s hand and twirls her around. “Look at us. Don’t doubt what the Zar bond can give you. After all, we’re all we’ve got.”

 

That’s not true. The locket proves it.

 

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