Becoming Jinn

How can it be a 1? I could have sworn it was a 7. My mother even said I had a week. But I don’t have a week. I have a day.

 

I check the time on my computer. Scratch that. I don’t have a day. If 1 means twenty-four hours, I have exactly forty-five minutes.

 

I have no time to do external research. Mind-reading, it’s all on you.

 

The panic I feel inside oozes out of my fingertips, which are slimy and shaking as I pound out a text to my mother, a text that resounds from across the room. She forgot her phone. Again. And Samara doesn’t believe in those “smart thingys.”

 

I could app to the beach and find them, but what are they going to do? They can’t come with me. They’ll see how nervous I am, and all I’ll end up doing is ratting myself out. My mom will realize how little studying I’ve been doing all summer. Gone will be days off ogling Nate at the beach. No more evenings around Henry’s fire pit. And I can hang up my beige work polos for good.

 

I grab my mother’s phone and erase my message. Pausing, I then pick up my own and text Henry: “I have to do it today.”

 

He’s spending the day with his grandparents before they return to New Hampshire.

 

“But you haven’t done much research,” he replies.

 

Why do I tell him so much? “It has to be enough,” I text back. Though I add, “I’m ready” so he won’t worry, I can’t help but feel mildly betrayed when he simply replies, “Good luck.”

 

My first, second, and third attempts at apporting fail. I’m so rattled, the only thing I can do is hop on my fancy bike and pedal until my thighs burn.

 

I’ve granted three wishes. I’ve granted three wishes. Like a mantra this plays on a loop in my mind as I ride. By the time I turn down Ms. Wood’s street, my head is clearer. I circle the block, again and again, letting the sun and the wind calm my nerves.

 

The Afrit wouldn’t give me an assignment—an assignment to do in one day—if they didn’t think I could. And the clincher, if her wish proves to be more complicated, is that I have twenty-four hours before the circulus curse kicks in. I’ll be ready by then.

 

One last lap around the block and I stash my bike behind Ms. Wood’s hydrangeas. I stride up to the door, hoping to exude much more confidence than I feel as I rap my knuckles against the door.

 

A muffled sneeze makes me flinch. But the door hasn’t opened yet. I’m peering through the front window when a second, louder sneeze comes from … from the arborvitae at the front corner of the house. The arborvitae at the front corner of the house wearing shiny loafers.

 

He didn’t. Please tell me he didn’t.

 

I slowly swing my head.

 

He did.

 

 

 

 

 

23

 

Henry. Camouflaged behind the group of trees bordering Ms. Anne Wood’s house. He must have followed me.

 

He pokes his head past the arborvitae, and I glare at his dimpled, sheepish smile.

 

My knock takes so long to elicit a response, I’m cruelly teased by the initial relief that washes over me when I think Ms. Anne Wood is not home.

 

But she is. Too pale, a messy bundle of dark hair piled atop her head, bags under her vacant eyes, Ms. Wood cracks open the door and stares at me.

 

“Is anyone else home?” I ask.

 

Despite me being a complete stranger, the frazzled Ms. Wood shakes her head.

 

Perfect. Needing as much time as possible to read Ms. Wood’s thoughts, I launch right into the wish-granting ritual.

 

The arborvitae to my right sneezes a third time, but I remain focused. Either my mind-reading skills have progressed or Ms. Wood’s a particularly open human.

 

I’m so tired I can’t see straight. What I wouldn’t give to sit on a beach for two weeks with nothing but a bag of books and an endless supply of pi?a coladas. I’m not even working. Would be the perfect time to go to a tropical paradise—

 

That’s her wish? Easy enough. I’ll arrange for her to win a bogus contest, get her plane tickets to Hawaii and a paid-in-full hotel room, and she’ll be all set. Might take me a few days, but that’s expected—that’s the responsible way to grant wishes.

 

I won a contest? I won a contest!

 

What? Ms. Wood hasn’t uttered a word since her frazzled “Yes?” upon answering the door. I check Henry’s position, but he hasn’t moved—or spoken.

 

I’ll be in a hotel room. On the beach. All expenses paid. Ahh …

 

I’m still in her head. In her thoughts. But wait, aren’t those my thoughts? Am I actually giving her my thoughts? No way. The mind control I sought to erase Henry’s knowledge of me being a genie does exist? And I can do it? Only during wish-granting rituals or all the time? Please, please, let it be all the time.

 

Ms. Wood remains in front of me in her trance-like state. Why not test this new power now? She mentioned not working. I check her ring finger. Bare. Good, not married. If she has a boyfriend, she can call him from her tropical paradise and tell him to come join her.

 

Going further into her thoughts, I discover she’s been so busy lately, her friends and family have barely heard from her in weeks. A sudden vacation wouldn’t seem so sudden to them. So, really, there’s no reason not to send her today. Who needs the paraphernalia of a bogus contest for cover when I can simply implant the idea in her head and park her on a beach this afternoon? I have yet to apport a human, but it’s supposed to be the same as apporting a Jinn.

 

My mind instructs Ms. Wood to pack a bag, and she’s up the stairs before I know it.

 

It’s working.

 

Henry peeks out from behind the tree, but I shoo him away. I can’t have my concentration broken.

 

When Ms. Wood returns, I inspect her suitcase. She’s a neat, efficient packer. Clothes, toiletries, books, cell phone, even some snacks in little plastic baggies. Excellent. I grab her arm, and we’re gone.

 

*

 

By the time I return from Hawaii, Henry’s lying on Ms. Wood’s couch, watching TV and drinking a beer.

 

I swipe the bottle from his hand. “What are you doing?”

 

Lori Goldstein's books