As You Wish

by Jackson Pearce

  “Sorry,” he says quietly, so fast that it seems he forgot to be short with me. It surprises both of us, and I think if the jinn’s skin were a little lighter, his cheeks would be red. The jinn looks away for a moment, then raises an eyebrow at my work. “You could wish to be a better painter, you know,” he says firmly, folding his arms.

  I shake my head at him. “It’s not about being good. It’s about being…passionate.”

  His mouth drops like he’s about to say something, but he closes it again. I get the vague feeling I’ve impressed him. I try not to show my satisfaction.

  I turn back to my canvas. “Look, when I have a wish, I’ll—”

  “Who are you talking to?” a voice interrupts. It isn’t the jinn’s.

  I whirl around to see Lawrence standing at the art room door, extension cords draped over one arm and a confused look on his face.

  Awkward Moment Number One of the day.

  “I…” I try not to look at the jinn, whose eyes are heavy on me.

  Lawrence can’t see him—no one else can see him, I remind myself. Don’t make a fool of yourself in the art room, of all places.

  “No one. What are you doing?” I ask, nodding to the cords.

  “Lighting for the play, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah—how’s the show coming?”

  “Horrible. The school board said that Rizzo can’t have a pregnancy scare and Sandy isn’t allowed to wear leather pants. And at the new, improved Rydell High School, there’s no swearing, sex, or smoking.” He steps from the doorway and drops the cords on a table.

  “Sounds like family-friendly boredom.” I grin. The jinn chuckles at the joke behind me, but of course Lawrence doesn’t hear him.

  “Pretty much. What can I say…the football team can practically be sponsored by Budweiser, but if the theater department shows a pregnant teen, all bets are off. I guarantee you they don’t have these problems in New York. Thanks a lot, North Carolina.” Lawrence nods at my paintings. “They look finished.”

  “Maybe. I’ve got another week to work on them, and they just aren’t…I don’t know…coming together the way I’d like. I think I’ll come in this Sunday and spend the entire afternoon with them.” I’m about to continue when Awkward Moment Number Two manifests, as bright laughter fills the hallway outside the art room. Lawrence and the jinn look to see the source, but I already know who it is.

  Of all the mornings. They had to come in on a day when I’ve got a jinn following me around.

  Ollie is traipsing down the hall toward the art room in a polka-dotted silk dress and long, plastic pearls. When she turns her back for a moment, a bright white tattoo of an artist’s palette shines on her honey-colored skin. Ollie is trailed by Aaron Moor, who is sipping on cappuccino from the gas station. They pause in the hallway to kiss; it doesn’t last long, but they press into each other and smile afterward in a way that makes me feel shaky. I was never one for PDA, even when I was with Lawrence, but right now I’d give anything to melt into someone like that.

  “She looks almost like a female jinn,” the jinn says, frowning when Ollie and Aaron kiss again. He jumps down from the counter and comes to stand behind me.

  Of course she does—only Ollie Marquez could look like a supernatural creature. If girl jinn are as beautiful as the guys apparently are, Ollie is dead on.

  Ollie smiles at me as they enter the art room—I force a smile in return despite the swirling nerves in my stomach. She goes to her paintings, while Aaron drops down in a chair. He kicks his feet up onto a table, and his eyes fall on me and Lawrence.

  “Hey, Viola. Wish I’d known you would be in here—I would’ve picked you up some coffee,” he says with a smile.

  “You could wish he’d gotten you coffee!” the jinn adds. I try to both smile at Aaron and roll my eyes at the jinn—the resulting expression probably makes me look like I’ve lost my mind. Perfect.

  “Dumott!” Aaron turns from me and calls out Lawrence’s last name. They’re friends—not like Lawrence and I are, but friendly enough because they’re both high-school royalty. “What’s with the extension cords?” Aaron asks.

  “Lighting for the play. Aren’t you doing sets for it?”

  “Yeah, I’m trying to. Not a lot of time, lately.”

  “Too many parties?” Lawrence asks with a half grin.

  Aaron laughs and Ollie nods. I try to look too busy sorting paints to answer, since my last “party” was my unicorn birthday bash when I turned eleven.

  “He’s charming, really. You should wish for him,” the jinn says in a bored tone.

  I’ve got a choice: ignore him or look crazy in front of Aaron. I’ve got to ignore the jinn.

  “Your pieces look great, Viola,” Ollie calls out from across the room. “I thought I’d finally come in and touch up mine.”

  “Thanks. I love yours, too,” I reply while Ollie kneels to sort her neon-orange and pink paints. Jealousy rips through me, both for the paint colors and for the way her dress flutters around her like water.

  “You don’t like her?” the jinn interrupts my thoughts.

  “I like her fine. She’s very nice,” I mutter.

  “Yeah, but that’s why you don’t like her.” He grins, stepping closer to me. “You know, she knows who you are. The two guys know you. You’re not as invisible as you think. So why don’t you just ditch that particular wish and wish for a nice morning cappuccino instead?”

  “Shut up,” I mutter. He can’t possibly be expected to understand that it’s not about people knowing me—it’s about not feeling like I belong with them. I shake my head at him in frustration as I turn away. “And you’re wrong about Ollie. I like her,” I whisper over my shoulder. I’m not sure if it’s a lie or not—after all, Ollie is nice. And perfect. Everyone loves Ollie.

  Breathe. Don’t let him get to you. I exhale and stand up, only to see Lawrence eyeing me.

  Awkward Moment Number Three. Lawrence raises an eyebrow, then starts toward me.

  “You’re in trouble,” the jinn says, a hint of amusement in his voice. It makes me want to punch him. Lawrence grabs my wrist as he passes me, dragging me along after him. Ollie and Aaron are too busy telling each other jokes between quick kisses to notice. The jinn ducks out of the way as Lawrence pulls me into the supply closet.

  “You’re hiding something from me, Viola Cohen,” Lawrence says in a low voice. The scent of clay and old paint fills my throat as I inhale.

  “You have no idea,” the jinn answers as he leans on the doorframe. Lawrence, of course, doesn’t hear him. I’d love to tell the jinn to get lost, but speaking to invisible people probably isn’t going to make Lawrence any less suspicious.

  “Whatever it is, Vi, you can tell me. It can’t be any worse than anything I’ve told you. You’re really going to keep secrets from your best friend?”

  I have to hand it to Lawrence. He can really lay on a guilt trip. I shoot the jinn a bitter look through the dim light before speaking.

  “If you had…let’s just say, hypothetically, you had three wishes. What would you wish for?” I say.

  “What?” Lawrence asks.

  I collapse onto a stepladder with a loud sigh. Words begin to fall out of my mouth the way emotions usually fall from my paintbrush. I start with Shakespeare class, last night in my bedroom, this morning. Lawrence listens, expressionless, and the jinn shoots me doubtful looks.

  When I finish, I feel both stupid and relieved. Surely Lawrence won’t think I’m as insane as I feel. Though I guess I can’t blame him if he does.

  Lawrence kneels down beside me. “So…like a genie. You accidentally summoned a jinn?”

  “Right. But now Jinn won’t leave me alone till I wish.”

  “My name isn’t Jinn, you know. That’s like me calling you Human,” the jinn says.

  I don’t answer. Instead, I look past him, staring at Ollie’s tattoo through the open doorway to avoid looking at Jinn or Lawrence. Lawrence puts his fingers to my cheek and guides my
gaze back to him. My throat tightens, like it does whenever Lawrence touches me like this. I pull away from his hand.

  “So, why not just make some wishes so he leaves you alone?” Lawrence asks. He still doesn’t believe me—he’s talking to me like an adult talks to an imaginative toddler.

  “Wow. This guy, I like,” Jinn says, moving away from the doorway and dropping down on my left, opposite Lawrence. “Listen to him, mas—er, Viola,” he corrects himself. I sigh and look back to Lawrence.

  “It’s not that easy!” I snap.

  “Sure it is. Just wish that Ollie was your best friend or something,” Jinn says, peering at Ollie through the closet door.

  “Shut up,” I hiss.

  “I didn’t say anything!” Lawrence answers.

  I feel my cheeks turn red.

  “Oh. Talking to Jinn. I see,” Lawrence says. I want to crumble—there’s doubt in his voice, and it makes me feel as alone and scared as I did when we broke up.

  “Lawrence! I’m serious!” I cry out. Lawrence takes my hand apologetically.

  “No, no, I’m sorry. It’s just…I mean, how can you be sixteen years old and have no idea what to wish for?” Lawrence asks, running a thumb over my hand.

  “Exactly!” Jinn shouts. I ignore him and am about to speak when Lawrence jumps up. He takes several shaky steps backward, staring over my head, his mouth hanging open. I look at Lawrence for a moment before realizing that he’s staring at Jinn, who is now slowly standing.

  “He’s…real…” Lawrence chokes on his words.

  I exhale and nod. At least now Lawrence is crazy with me. Lawrence takes a half step forward and extends a hand to poke Jinn’s shoulder. When his fingers make contact with Jinn’s skin, Lawrence jumps. Jinn shrugs and gives yet another annoyed look—he has a lot of them, I’ve noticed.

  “Wait, how come he can see you now?” I ask, rising from the stepladder.

  “I can be seen by anyone, if I want to. I’m just not supposed to. It breaks the second protocol. But I sort of thought showing myself to him would get you to wish faster, so I could return to Caliban quicker, which is the third protocol…but somehow now I doubt he’ll be any help.” Jinn tilts his head toward Lawrence, who pokes him in the shoulder again.

  “A jinn. You just…wishes…and…,” Lawrence murmurs.

  I nod. “I didn’t mean to. Apparently one strong wish will do it.”

  “Well.” Lawrence swallows hard and extends a hand to Jinn. “Good to meet you, then…Jinn.” Jinn gives Lawrence a defeated look, then clasps his outstretched palm.

  “Right. Think you can make her wish?” Jinn asks, nodding toward me.

  “Good luck with that,” Lawrence responds, grinning.

  I roll my eyes at both of them and leave the supply closet. They follow me just as the bell rings, Lawrence still giving Jinn amazed looks. Aaron is helping Ollie shove paints into a drawer, but looks up when we reemerge.

  “Lawrence, by the way—I’m having a party tomorrow night,” Aaron calls across the room.

  “What’s the occasion?” Lawrence asks, his voice strained from trying to ignore Jinn.

  “It’s…uh…it’s Saturday?” Aaron grins. Ollie laughs and Lawrence nods. “You’ll be there, right?”

  “Yeah, sure thing,” Lawrence answers. Aaron turns to me.

  “Viola, you should come,” he says.

  I should come. I’m invited. My first instinct is to mutter no—I don’t belong with the Royal Family. My lips part to make up a lame excuse about visiting my grandmother or something. But then Jinn steps into my line of sight, one eyebrow raised and an amused expression on his face.

  I hate that expression. I want to show that expression that I don’t need to wish in order to belong anywhere. Here I am, getting invited to a party—I can have friends on my own, without the hair or clothes or shoes, without a wish. I just have to say yes.

  I just have to have the guts to go.

  “Yeah,” I say quietly. I repeat myself, louder. “Yeah. I’ll go. Thanks for inviting me.”

  Take that, genie-boy.

  four

  Jinn

  I WATCH VIOLA opening packets of food that I’m very grateful don’t exist in Caliban. How can an entire meal be microwaveable? No wonder these humans age. Consuming things like that probably takes five years off your life instantly.

  Another day of my life is gone, without so much as a hint that Viola will wish anytime soon. I’m a good jinn. I grant wishes well—I don’t play with the wording, don’t trick my masters. I keep it simple. I try to give them what they really want. And this is my reward—sitting in my master’s kitchen, because she’s decided that not knowing where I am “creeps her out.”

  Mortals.

  “Do you eat?”

  I look over my shoulder at her. She’s changed again—her skin is slightly different, and her fingernails are the tiniest bit longer. I scan the room to see who she’s speaking to, but there’s no one.

  “Yes? No? Jinn?” she asks.

  “Me?”

  She nods. “Eat. You know, as in food? As in, would you like me to make you a Hot Pocket while I’m fixing one for myself?”

  “I, er, no. I mean, I eat in Caliban. And I sleep there. I just…not here.”

  I’ve never heard of a master offering to cook for his or her jinn before. It’s just not done. Does it break the first protocol, about respecting one’s master? I’m not sure…I really should start carrying that Pocket Guide of Jinn Protocol around with me. How much trouble am I already in with the Ancients? They aren’t exactly known for being lenient. I wonder if it’s a problem that she’s calling me Jinn. I have to admit, it’s nicer to hear than “Hey, you!”

  She shrugs and breezes past me to the living room, “food” and a canned drink in hand. I follow—normally, I’d wait for the order to do so, but since she rarely gives them, I’ve gotten used to assuming what she wants. She collapses onto the couch and grabs a pad of scribbled-on paper from the coffee table. I lower myself into an old armchair on the opposite side of the room, grimacing at the scent of aged leather. Everything in this place reminds me of time.

  She stares at the paper blankly.

  Being mortal must be terribly boring.

  “It’s my speech. For the Expo next week,” she says, glancing up at me. “We have to talk about our paintings. How stupid is that? Isn’t the point of paintings that they say what you don’t want to say aloud?”

  “I thought the point of paintings was being passionate,” I reply, leaning back when Viola changes again. Her hair got a little longer, perhaps, or her eyes a little darker. It’s difficult to pinpoint.

  She laughs, so casually that it startles me. Masters don’t…laugh at things I say. They make wishes. I grant them. Then I go home.

  “Here,” she says, and tosses me the television remote.

  “Um, thanks.” Masters definitely don’t invite jinn to watch television with them.

  My thoughts wander as I hit the POWER button, memories of Caliban flowing through my head. Mostly of me sitting in my apartment, watching the flower-lined streets and the green and silver city below—half metropolis, half garden, but all glittering and brilliant. My apartment was smaller, but it had a wide balcony that overlooked the sparkling city below and the mountains on the horizon—nothing like the cramped, musty apartments I’ve seen in this world. I close my eyes and remember walking in parks of flowering hyacinths and snapdragons, eating curried vegetables and jasmine rice, gazing at the lights of the skyline….

  Sigh. I have to stop lingering on thoughts of home. It’s only making me feel worse. I open my eyes and look to the television. A familiar face appears on the screen.

  “Hey! I know him! He’s one of my former masters.”

  Viola looks up from her paper. “Who?”

  “The guy in the long coat. He knew all his wishes right away. I was back to Caliban in twenty minutes.” I don’t remember his name—in fact, come to think of it, I’ve never known
a master’s name before now.

  Viola’s eyes widen and she blinks at the screen. “Keanu Reeves?” she asks in amazement.

  I nod.

  “What did he wish for?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” I say, waving a hand at the screen. “Fame.”

  “That’s why he’s famous? Because of a wish?”

  “Have you seen his movies? Surely you didn’t think he made it on his acting skills?” I grant wishes; I don’t work miracles.

  Viola looks back at the screen, eyes screwed up in awe. “I guess that makes sense,” she says faintly as my former master delivers a line poorly. “Wow.”

  “I tried to convince him to wish to be a good actor instead of wishing to be a famous actor but he said good actors don’t always become famous,” I add.

  Viola changes again. “What other wishes have you granted?”

  Her direct question pulls at me, but it’s not overpowering; she’s just asking, not demanding an answer. A nice change from most masters, I think, before I respond, “Just your standard things, mostly. Money, success, love. I brought a dog back from the dead once for this woman, that was interesting—strange wish, I thought, but it made her really happy. I shouldn’t be telling you this either. First protocol, I think. But, hey, maybe revealing their wishes will give you some ideas.”

  “You brought a dog back?” Viola asks. “That’s…that’s a wonderful wish.”

  “I suppose.” I play it off, but to be honest, it was one of my favorite wishes as well.

  “So there’s nothing you can’t grant? No rules?” Viola says.

  I shrug. “Sort of. Well, no, I guess there are a few. I can’t grant wishes for more wishes. Oh—and I can’t make you a mermaid.”

  “Um…what?” Viola asks, raising her eyebrows and smiling a little.

  “A few years ago I had this master who was a dolphin trainer or whale trainer or something. Anyhow, she wanted me to make her a mermaid.”