As Henry stares at his feet, I realize he’s embarrassed. Way to be paranoid, Azra. Looks like my mother was right not to let me grant his wish. Here I am reading into Henry’s small talk because of what I know, not because of what he knows. Invested.
Grabbing Laila’s arm, I try to further diffuse the situation by making a joke. “Maybe you’re right. Pretty sure I did see the Loch Ness Monster lurking in the deep end. See you around, Henry.”
Dragging Laila toward the gate, I stop cold when he says with renewed confidence, “Don’t have to see the future to count on that, Azra.”
*
One, two, three, I flop dollar bills onto the snack bar, beginning my third count of the morning.
I’m supposed to confirm the total in the register before my shift begins, but I’m too busy replaying yesterday’s encounter with Henry to concentrate.
Five, or is it six? I scoop the bills off the counter and start counting for the fourth time.
Telekinesis? ESP? Pfft.
My mom’s right. We are not sideshow freaks.
Eleven, or is it twelve? Or ten?
“Not again.” I slam down the bills and push them to the side. Zoe can do it. I’ve already made sure the ice is full and the fridge is stocked and the ketchup bottles are topped off.
When Zoe returns, it’s with the napkins we needed in one hand and her basketball in the other. She dumps the napkins on the counter in front of me, sits on the metal stool in the corner, and dribbles.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
My fists clench. Breathe, just breathe. She can’t possibly do that when service starts.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
“Look, Azra.” Zoe fills a soda cup with one hand and bounces the basketball with the other. “I can work and practice at the same time. This is really going to help my training.”
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
That’s it. I’m not spending my summer listening to the slapping of fake leather instead of the ocean. Spinning around, I open the shack door, snatch the ball out of her hand, and hurl it all the way to the dunes.
Zoe’s mouth hangs open. “Hey! How am I supposed to practice?”
I check to make sure the shack’s front shutters are all the way down before moving in front of her. “Do you really need to practice so much?” I take both her hands and push her back onto the stool. “I think you’re already the best player on the team.”
“But my brother says—”
I take a deep breath. “Your brother doesn’t know everything.”
The incantations spill from my lips. It’s like I’ve done this a million times, not just once. Zoe’s head is far easier to get inside of than Mrs. Pucher’s. And connecting with her anima barely elicits a blip on my emotional radar. The one thing she wants, the thing her brother said was the only thing standing in her way of being a rock-star basketball player, is to be tall.
I exhale slowly in relief. That I can do. I already have—sort of. I stand back, and just like Mrs. Pucher’s tomato plants and potato vines, Zoe sprouts. Once she’s at least two inches taller than I am, I try to halt her growth, but she creeps up another half inch. I shake out my arms and roll my neck. It’s too stuffy in here.
I turn to crack open the door, but that’s as far as I get. All at once it’s like my body’s being entombed in concrete. Starting with my feet, rising past my knees, strangling my lungs, seizing my heart, shrouding my lips. I can’t move. I can’t speak. But I can see. And I can think. I can think the most frightening thoughts that before this moment I’m not sure I even believed.
Because the door to the shack’s already open. Because standing in the door to the shack that’s already open is Henry.
His movement makes up for my immobilization. His feet move forward, then back. He approaches, then pivots as if to flee. He spins around again. One hand rubs his eyes, the other flattens against his chest. His eyes bug out, showing white, white, and more white. His jaw drops. His lips quiver. The only thing we have in common is that neither one of us can make a sound.
Finally, Henry raises a finger, pointing behind me. I hear it before I see it.
Thunk!
I mentally shatter the concrete holding me hostage and whirl around to see Zoe’s head bump against the wood ceiling.
Air in, air out. One breath at a time. One disaster at a time.
Using my powers, I swing the door shut and fasten the lock. I slide the stool over with my hands and point to Henry. “Sit.”
Without a word, he does, leaving me free to work on containing my Zoe disaster before her head cracks through the roof. So much energy courses through me that once I push all other thoughts from my mind, I’m able to harness it to curb her growth spurt. I ease her back down to an inch or so above her original height. Doing what I should have done originally, I engage with her body and tap into her growth hormones, magically commanding them to increase their output slowly—not all at once like I just did—over the course of the next several months. By basketball season, she’ll be the tallest one on the team.
Holding Zoe’s hand, I lead her outside. Behind the concession shack, I ensure no one is watching as I bring her out of her trance-like state and complete the wish-granting ritual.
She blinks as the sun hits her eyes. “What…? How are we…? Weren’t we just inside?”
With a sympathetic look, I rub her upper arms. “You weren’t feeling well. Don’t you remember? You thought you were going to be sick.”
“I did? I … Was I?”
I wince and rest my hand against the closed door. “Yeah, I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. It’s not pretty. Probably make you sick again if you’re still queasy. Are you?”
Zoe wraps her arms around her stomach. “Actually, I am. A little.”
Probably a side effect of the infusion of hormones. “Why don’t you go home and rest. I’ll talk to Ranger Teddy. I can handle it myself today. It’s a Monday. How busy can it be?”
Zoe hesitates. “If you’re sure…”
“I am.”