Henry groans.
Eyes closed, I’m waiting for him to join me when all of a sudden a wave of frigid water washes over my legs. My body jerks upright. Not a wave. A Henry. Having dove under the water, he now stands above me, his feet planted on either side of my torso. My cries only fuel his torment. He balls up the fabric of his long-sleeved tee and wrings it out, dripping ice-cold saltwater onto my stomach.
I slap at his ankles and scoot back. He takes off his wet shirt and drops it on my head. “The all-powerful Jinn’s afraid of a little water?”
“I can’t help it if my species is more advanced than your primitive one. Our roots are in the desert. We know better than to risk frostbite by frolicking in glacial waters.”
Henry shakes water from his hair as he sits down next to me. “The desert? Thought you said the rest of the Jinn make their home underground. Like worms.”
I punch his bare shoulder. I’m wearing a tankini top and boy shorts over my bathing suit bottoms. In all the time we’ve been hanging out, this is as close as we’ve ever been with this little clothing on—aside from the time I apped myself into Henry’s closet to find him wearing only a towel, and then, not even that.
Whatever Henry’s been doing with Chelsea and whatever I’ve been doing with Nate has remained undefined. Or at least Nate and I have yet to label ourselves. It’s possible Henry and Chelsea have slapped a name tag on their relationship and neglected to mention it.
Henry’s finally started wearing the contacts I conjured for him while I still had my silver bangle. And he’s gotten a haircut since the last time I saw him. Maybe this new attention to personal grooming is a sign of his budding relationship. The next time I see Henry and Chelsea together, I might very well find a white rectangular sticker on their collective forehead saying, “Hi, my name is Dating.”
Chelsea’s niceness toward me continues. Since I’ve been hanging out with Nate so much, I know I should be happy that Henry has someone to be with too. I tell myself I would be happy if only that someone was someone other than Chelsea. I tell myself, but I’m no stranger to lies, white or otherwise.
Henry leans back on his elbows. “Janna’s really underground?”
“Sounds bizarre, I know.” I remember how I felt hearing this for the first time. “When my mom told me, I didn’t believe her. I thought it was like when parents tell their kid that the dog went to go live on a farm. Like a metaphor or something. But now, well, I understand that a little dirt and rock are no match for magic. If you’re an Afrit or on their good side, it’s a game of name your paradise.” I jut my chin toward the water’s edge. “Crystal clear ocean and pure white sand? Check. Tropical jungle with secluded tree house? You got it. Opulent castle wallpapered in gold? No problem.”
“Have to admit, sounds cool.”
“Except if you’re on their bad side,” I say before it registers that I didn’t want him to know this part. Ever since I received the bronze bangle, he’s been treating me like something breakable. If I tell him more, he’s going to seal me in a bubble. Not to mention, I’m pretty sure keeping Henry’s sense of wonder at me being Jinn intact has been helping to keep my resentment at bay.
He sits up. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”
I concentrate on picking fluorescent green goo off the back of my calves. I’m starting to better understand my mother not telling me things. Because sharing secrets can be as much of a burden as keeping them.
“Azra.” Henry nudges my chin to force me to meet his now, predictably, worried eyes.
“It’s not a big deal, really. It’s just that the jail I was telling you about? If I … if a Jinn messes up? Supposedly it’s less tiny cells and orange jumpsuits and more pitch-black caves and dungeons full of rats.”
He cocks his head.
“They take your greatest fear and make you live it.”
Before his jaw falls into his lap, I add, “Don’t worry, mine will just be a pantry stocked with nothing but salt-cured meat and fish.”
Henry flips his sunglasses to the top of his head. “It’s not a joke, Azra.”
“Well, it was, just maybe not a good one.”
He stands up and crosses his arms over his chest. “I thought you were taking this more seriously.”
I rise to my feet to look him in the eye. “I am.” I spin my bronze bangle. “This makes sure I am.” My lip chooses this moment to quiver, and I bite down. Hard.
“It’s okay to be afraid, Az.”
As I turn to watch the incoming tide, I’m overwhelmed with a sinking feeling. A flash of someone saying the same words in this exact same place skips through my head so quickly I can’t grab hold. It’s followed by an image of my mother, younger, tanned, and smiling, kneeling on the sand, facing the water. Facing me in the water. Her look so loving, so intensely happy, I can’t place it.
Instinctively, I jump off the rock. My feet move toward the ocean, and my body goes farther, deeper in, hoping my mind will follow and let me reclaim this memory, this figment of my imagination, whatever it is. Without me realizing it, my feet no longer reach the sandy bottom and my body is so numb, I start to descend. But Henry’s there to pull me back up.
He wraps his arm around my waist and propels me out of the water so fast it feels like apporting. But it’s just plain, old, normal brawn that sets me back down on the toasty black rock baked by the sun.
My teeth clank against one another. “N-n-n-need to w-w-w-arm u-p-p-p.”
He reaches for his shirt, which is still drenched. Dropping it, he crouches in front of me and places a hand on each of my upper arms. He rubs until the friction stops my teeth from chattering.
“What was that?” he asks, freaked out.
“Not really sure.”