I think of the flubbed fake ID Farrah made for Laila as I pack the leftover kebabs in foil. “A womb. Can you imagine if Farrah had tried? Now that would have taken one killer genie trick.”
As I place the silver packet in the fridge, my cell phone starts ringing. It’s Ranger Teddy. I answer and immediately head for the couch. I’ve only worked at the beach for a week, but that’s plenty of time to have learned that I don’t want to be standing for the duration of this call. He tells me a story that starts with taking his dog to the vet and ends with him eating what he hopes wasn’t a bad mussel at the Pearl, but it’s the middle that concerns me.
“Yeah, see you Monday,” I say before hanging up.
My mother, who poked her head in several times during the fifteen minutes I was on the phone, says, “I thought you were off until Tuesday.”
“So did I. The other girl in the rotation can’t come in. Something about a crab. I zoned out, so I’m not sure if it bit her toe or she bit its toe, but either way, she’s in no shape to work.”
So much for having two Zoe-free days. If only I could grant myself a wish and put an end to her constant griping.
That’s it. I pop up to a sitting position.
My research on Zoe is already done. I’ve spent five days with her, which is four days and seven hours longer than I needed to ferret out what she’d wish for. Granting her wish to be a basketball phenom should easily grant mine too.
“Hey, Mom.” My voice drips with sugary innocence. “How about Zoe? I’ve gotten to know her pretty well this week, but not well enough to be invested.” Well, I am invested, but not in a way that’s going to be a problem.
“Hmm.” She’s studying three containers of ice cream, contemplating which to open. Why, I don’t know. She’s going to open all of them by the end of the night. “Why Zoe?”
“Why not? Don’t you always say it’s not fair that young people don’t get chosen by the Afrit very often?”
“So you do listen to me.” She leans against the counter. “What’s in it for you?”
I widen my eyes and point to my chest.
“Drop the act.” She sets aside the pint of Tahitian vanilla.
I slide to the edge of the cushion. “She’s not happy. I want to help her.”
“Why?” She nixes the caramel gelato.
“Because … because it’ll complete me.”
“I meant why is she not happy.”
“Oh.”
She locks eyes with me. “But now my ‘why’ is for you. Spill.”
“Fine.” I give up. “She’s driving me crazy. She’s obsessed, bouncing that stupid basketball our entire shift. She wants to be as good as her brother. I can help her, right? And is it really so bad if granting her wish also grants one of mine?”
She tears the cellophane off the third container, the mint chocolate chip, our mutual favorite. “Well, it’s not going to cure cancer, is it?”
“Who knows?” I move to the kitchen. “Maybe she’ll get a college scholarship and major in biology.”
Her cherry-red fingernail taps against the container. “Oh, all right. Just tell me what time on Monday.”
What? I don’t need … anyone (Nate) seeing my mother babysitting me at work.
“Can’t I do this one myself? I know what Zoe wants.” I conjure my mother a spoon. “How hard can it be?”
She purses her lips. “You really want to do this alone? Because it’s normal to be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” I say brusquely, though what I mean is, I’m not going to tell her I’m afraid.
She takes the spoon out of my hand. “I’ll agree—”
“Great.” I head for the doorway.
She plunges the spoon into the ice cream. “I’m not finished.”
My hand braces against the doorjamb.
“I’ll agree, if you promise to study the cantamen.”
I relax. “Okay.”
“And—”
I tense.
“If you promise to call me the second something bad happens.”
“Bad?” I whirl around. “Why would something bad happen?”
“Sorry, if something bad happens.”
Why do I feel like she just jinxed me? “I promise.”
She sucks the ice cream off the spoon. “And one more thing.”
I swallow my groan. At this point she may as well come.
“Bring one of your sisters with you.”
Should have seen that one coming. “It doesn’t have to be Yasmin, does it?”
Her eyes smile, though she refuses to let her lips follow. “No, it doesn’t have to be Yasmin.”
I conjure a second spoon and dig in. “Deal.”
*
Upstairs, I plop onto my bed, feeling satisfied. When negotiating with my mother, getting one’s second choice is still a major win. Plus, if Zoe were toned down, I wouldn’t mind working every shift. Every shift? Or every shift Nate and his abs are also working?
I grab my phone and flip to Nate’s text: “Too bad.”
Now this is what I need magic to figure out. Is he joking? Is he … flirting? Does he want to throw a kegger here? Powers, useless powers. My neutral “Why?” zooms off, and I yank the covers over my head. An eternity passes before my phone dings:
Oh, just glad U R home safe.
That’s it? Home safe? Nate the lifeguard. Nate the protector. That’s all he’s doing. I’m an idiot if I thought it was something else. I stare at my phone but it doesn’t make a buzz, a ding, or a beep. Probably for the best. Despite my bravado in front of my mother, I probably should study some before granting Zoe’s wish.
Hanging upside down, I stretch to reach the worn, leather-bound cantamen I shoved underneath the box spring more than a week ago. My hand fumbles under the dust ruffle and lands on an old shoe box. I slide it out, knowing exactly what’s inside. I blow the dust bunnies off the box and lift the lid.
Amid the stickers, candy necklaces, and two tiaras sits the framed photograph of me, Jenny, and Laila. Buried for too long. I wipe it clean with the end of my bedsheet and set it on my nightstand next to Mr. Gemp.