“So that means you’ve been lying to me for my whole life?”
“I’ve never told you anything that wasn’t true.”
“You didn’t tell me anything at all.”
“I’m telling you now.”
Like that makes up for everything. I don’t know what to think or feel. My head feels heavy with too much information. “You could’ve killed me!” I practically shout.
Uncle Max shakes his head. “Nonsense. I’ve only come close to killing someone once, and that’s a story for another time,” he says. “Now, about the gift I just gave you—”
“Oh, no,” I say, cutting him off. “I am NOT living inside that thing.”
“Zack,” Uncle Max starts.
“No way,” I tell him. “No how. I’d never get to see my friends!”
In the back of my head I can hear Quinn’s voice saying, But, Zack, you don’t have any friends.
“And how would I eat?” I go on. “And what about . . . what about when I have to go to the bathroom?”
If my feet smelled bad, the inside of that bottle would be ripe!
“It’s not like a genie could fit a toilet in there,” I say.
“Slow down and look at me,” Uncle Max says. “I’m not living in a bottle, am I?”
“No, but—”
“Listen, what you’re feeling right now is perfectly normal. You’re in the anger stage, the second stage of finding out you’re a genie.”
“I have every right to be angry! I just found out you’ve been keeping the world’s biggest secret from me—that I’m going to have to spend the rest of my life granting other people’s wishes. Unless that part of the movie isn’t the way it happens in real life.”
“No, that part is true. But here’s something that’s also true: You’re now a part of something much bigger than just yourself. If you could only see that.”
“What if I don’t want to be part of anything bigger? What if I just want to be myself—the exact version of myself that I was yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that? Shouldn’t I get a say in this? I mean, why is this even happening to me? I’m not that . . . I’m really not that . . .”
My voice trails off, but here’s what I’m thinking: Quinn is right. I’m really not that special.
“Can’t you take it back?” I ask softly. “Make me not a genie, please.”
“I can’t take it back from you any more than I can take it back from myself,” Uncle Max says. He slips his right foot out of his sandal and shows me a wavy circle on his own big toe. I’d never noticed it before. “This is my genie bite.”
“Wait a second—I caught being a genie from you? Like it’s some kind of disease?”
“No, no, it’s not catching,” Uncle Max says. “It’s passed down through family bloodlines.”
“I can’t get anything from your bloodline if we’re not related,” I remind him.
“Ah, but we are,” he says. “I’m your great-grandfather, seven times over. Your mom doesn’t know it. Her dad didn’t know it, and his dad didn’t know it. The genie gene usually skips a few generations. There was no reason to tell them the truth.”
“So you did tell me something that wasn’t true.”
“I never actually told you that,” Uncle Max says. “I just didn’t contradict anyone when they told you I was an old family friend. I’ve been around too long for anyone to really keep track.”
“Well, I’m keeping track, and that counts for lie number two! How many more are there?”
“Listen, Zack, it was the best way for me to stay in the family, stay in everyone’s lives, without anyone suspecting anything. Not that they would suspect this. But I’m glad it’s out in the open between us now. It’s about time.”
“Time? Time for you to die and leave this genie thing all to me?”
“I’m not dying. That’s not how this works.”
“So being a genie means I’ll live forever? That’s even worse! Everyone I know will die, and I’ll still be here.”
“Zack,” Uncle Max says.
“No, this can’t be true,” I say. “It’s just a dream. A really, really bad dream. That’s the only way this makes sense.” I pinch myself to try to wake up, but that doesn’t work. So then I look away from Uncle Max, up to the sky, like I’m praying. I should clasp my hands together. Okay, done. “If it’s a dream, then I will be nice to Quinn,” I say.
“Ah, the bargaining stage,” Uncle Max says.
“I don’t want to hear any more about stages!”
“Then hear this: Being a genie, granting wishes for other people, is a powerful job,” Uncle Max explains. “There is value in power, as long as it’s used wisely.”
“But I—”
Hold up. Power has value? Does he mean like money? Will I be allowed to wish for things for myself? If that’s the case, if genies can grant their own wishes, then shouldn’t Uncle Max be rich? But his house is on the small side, and most of the stuff he has is pretty old.
Maybe he just hasn’t wished for money. Maybe there isn’t anything he really wants to buy. But I don’t think there’d be anything wrong with wishing up a few things for myself. It’s not like it’d hurt anyone else.
“Fine, I’ll be a genie, but there has to be something in it for me. I have some wishes of my own, you know.”
I’m starting to see the possibilities. I could conjure us up a great big house—one where Quinn and I each got our own bathrooms. Maybe we could each have our own staircases leading to our own rooms. Our own suites, I mean! Super big to fit everything I could ever want in the world, and I’d never even have to pass Quinn in the hall.
Forget night-vision goggles. I could buy a super high-tech surveillance system for the whole house with cameras everywhere connected to a wall of TV screens in my bedroom.
Or I could wish for a force field to be set up around our property so no one who’s not invited could get in.
Or . . .
Holy smokes. I could wish for Dad. Go back in time and tell him, “Sure, I’ll go run errands with you.” He’d wanted me to go, and I’d said no because Space Invasion was on TV. That dumb show about fake people. I’ll never watch it ever again. If I’d gone with Dad, if I’d changed that one little thing about that day, everything would have been different. We would’ve stopped for ice cream. He wouldn’t have been at the wrong place at the wrong time, and the accident would never have happened.
Or maybe I don’t need to go back in time. I’ll just wish him back to life right now, and I can catch him up on the last two years myself.
I don’t care which way it happens, just as long as I get him back.
“Do I make wishes out loud, and suddenly they’ll be granted?” I ask. “Are there special wishing words?”
“You aren’t the one who makes the wishes, Zack,” Uncle Max tells me. “That isn’t how it works.”
“But, Uncle Max, that’s not fair!”
“Fair doesn’t have anything to do with it,” he says. “But don’t worry about that right now. What you need to understand at this moment is that you’re in the seventh genie family. There are twelve genie families in this world, and we twelve are the only ones entrusted with this power—with this responsibility. It’s our destiny.”
“My destiny,” I say. I’ve never thought about having a destiny before. I just thought you live your life the best you can and cross your fingers that bad things like car accidents don’t happen to you.
“Yes, destiny,” Uncle Max repeats. “Ten years old is a bit young to start your genie work—four whole years younger than I was—and this is a job that demands some maturity. You’re going to learn a lot about people by what they wish for, sometimes more than they even know about themselves. I know you’re a good kid, Zack, a smart kid, and this all needs to be handled with the utmost care. But we’ll talk about all of this, I promise. Meantime, in the next few weeks, strange things may start to happen. As your powers begin to emerge, you may feel a bit like a spar
k plug. You’re a current of energy, and you don’t know how to control it yet. You have to be careful, and—”
“When can I start making the magic happen?”
“All in due time, Zack. All in due time. But here’s something I need to tell you now, and I can’t say it strongly enough: You need to hang on to that bottle. You don’t want it to end up in the wrong hands. That would be bad—very bad indeed.”
“Uh-huh,” I say.
“Unfortunately, there are evil forces in the world,” he goes on. “I’ve done my best to keep this world safe from them. But you can never be too careful.” Uncle Max pauses. “Zack, are you listening to me?”
“Yup. Bottle, evil forces, be careful.”
“A little bit of distance can go a long way. Remember that.”
“I’ll remember,” I say. “But wait—how am I supposed to keep my eyes on the bottle if I’m sucked up into it and spit out a different one? If they’re portals, like you said.”
“We call it sides of the bottle,” Uncle Max explains. “You look out for this bottle when you’re here, on this side. When you’re called away to the other side on genie business, there’ll be another bottle for you to keep a close eye on. It’ll be your ticket home, too.”
“Quinn’s not going to believe this,” I say.
“You can’t tell Quinn about this,” Uncle Max says.
“Oh, come on, please,” I say. “Just a little bit. Or maybe I could do some sort of trick in front of her. You know, to prove it.”
Quinn thinks she’s so much cooler than I am. This will certainly show her!
“No, I mean you can’t tell her,” Uncle Max says. “You’re physically unable to. If you try telling anyone outside the genie world, the words that come out of your mouth won’t make any sense. You’ll just sound a bit strange until you change topics.”
“How can I even be sure you’re telling me the truth about that? Maybe you don’t want me to tell Quinn, so you’re telling me lie number three.”
“You don’t believe me?” Uncle Max asks. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He leaves me on the back porch and goes inside. A minute later he’s back with a phone in his hand. “Here. Your sister is on the line for you.”
I press it to my ear. “Uh, hi, Quinn.”
“This better be important, Zack. Madeline and I are in the middle of doing spa treatments.”
“It is,” I promise. I pause to take a really deep breath in, and then I exhale out.
“Gross, I heard that!” Quinn shouts.
“What’s gross about breathing?” I ask, but then I change my mind. “Never mind. I have something to tell you. Something crazy. Something amazing. Something crazmazing!”
Crazmazing. Adjective. When something is crazy and amazing at the same time.
“Ugh,” Quinn says. “Just spit it out. And use actual words that exist in actual dictionaries, please.”
“Okay. I know you’re not going to believe this. But I’m a genie.”
“I’m not going to believe what?”
“I’m a genie,” I repeat.
For a couple of seconds there’s just silence. And then Quinn starts yelling: “Zachary Noah Cooley, I told you to use real words! But if you’re just going to speak some fake alien language to me, then I’m hanging up the phone!” And that’s what she does, without waiting for me to answer. The next thing I hear is a click and a dial tone. I lower the phone from my ear and look over at Uncle Max.
“I told you so,” he says.
“Aw, man,” I said. “That stinks!”
“Sorry, Zack,” Uncle Max says. “It’s a safety mechanism put in place by the Genie Board in the seventh parallel. Decision number two hundred and fifty-eight. We’ve had trouble in the past.”
There’s something called a Genie Board?
“Okay,” I say. “Can I use some of my spark plug energy to do magic in front of her? Not accidental magic, though. Real stuff, just like you did to me. Then she’ll totally believe me. Or maybe she won’t, and she’ll think she’s turning into a nut job herself!”
“That’s not the way you’re supposed to use your power, Zack.”
Not supposed to doesn’t mean not possible.
“But you can come to me with any genie business,” he continues. “I’ll be able to understand you. And you must tell me if you feel anything out of the ordinary. Like if you have any strange sensations. Those tend to pop up when people make wishes around you. It’s a little like an allergy. It’ll be different than when you’re actually called upon to grant wishes. But still, you should tell me about them when they occur.”
“I had a strange itch today,” I tell him. “Quinn’s friend Madeline said she wished something. And by the way, my toe didn’t itch a little bit. It itched like crazy.”
“How crazy?”
“Like a hundred fire ants bit me in the same spot,” I tell him.
“Hmm,” Uncle Max says. “It’s happening sooner than I thought. On Monday I’ll make a call to SFG.”
SFG? As in the initials on the bottle? Who could he—or she—be?
I don’t have a chance to ask. “Uh, Uncle Max,” I say. “Something’s happening right now.”
“Your toe is itching again?”
“No, it’s not itchy. It feels . . . I don’t know . . . it feels alive.” I guess toes are always alive, as long as they’re part of a living body. But when was the last time you were aware of the life in your toe? “It feels like it’s about to take off.”
Tingles travel from my toe up my whole body. Suddenly I’m lifted up. For real. I’m floating in the air, and spinning around and around and around. You know that pins-and-needles feeling you get when your foot falls asleep? That’s what my whole body feels like. “What’s happening to me?!”
“You’re being called away for your first genie assignment,” Uncle Max says. He’s on the porch still. Standing up now, but his feet are still planted firmly on the ground.
“Aren’t you coming with me?” I ask.
“A genie works alone,” he says. “But I didn’t think this would happen so soon.”
“Uncle Max!”
“It’s all right, Zack. It’ll be all right. Just . . .”
His voice is fading away. I’m headed right toward the green bottle. It looks bigger than before. In fact, it looks gigantic. Did it grow? I whip my head toward Uncle Max, and he looks like a giant. Holy smokes, I’m shrinking! How small will I get? Down to nothing? I want to cry out, Help me! But my voice is gone.
“If you need me, call me through—” Uncle Max says.
But whatever the end of his sentence is, I don’t hear it. I’m sucked inside the bottle instead.
6
DUMPED
I’m twisting and turning and hurling superfast. This must be what the Speed of Light roller coaster feels like. My heart drops down to my stomach. My stomach is in my throat. And my throat, well, I don’t know where it is. I can’t feel it anymore. I can’t even tell if I’m screaming, because the sound of wind is too loud in my ears. There are so many twists and kinks and turns—it’s as if I’m traveling through someone’s lower intestine.
They say the speed of light is the fastest speed there is. But this has got to be faster—even if that’s not technically possible.
Very few things are impossible, Uncle Max had said.
Ah, I’m slowing down now. I feel myself being pushed out of something.
But pushed is the wrong word. It’s more like I’m being squeezed. I have to suck in my stomach and hold my breath.
And I’m out.
There’s no time to be relieved about it because I’m flying through I-don’t-know-where. The sky? Outer space? I don’t have time to look around before my body remembers there’s such a thing as gravity, and NOSEDIVE!
I’m heading toward something dark and blue. It looks just like a lake. That is, if you’re looking at a lake from high above.
Holy smokes! I’m heading toward a lake?!
; It’s getting closer. I don’t know how to swim, which means I’m about to drown! I’m too young to die!
I squeeze my eyes shut, tight as I can. I can’t bear to watch.
And then . . .
Nothing.
No smash, no splash. This doesn’t mean I’m dead, does it? I don’t feel dead—not that I know what being dead feels like. But I feel, well, alive still. And not like I’m nose-diving anymore. I open one eye, just a slit.
The dark blueness is right below me. I’m hovering above it. I guess gravity doesn’t apply to genies after all. Man, that was close. Probably broke the record of closeness in the history of close calls.
I open my other eye. Hmmm. That’s not water. It’s . . . well, I don’t know what it is. It’s kind of, uh, cushiony looking. I reach out a teeny, tiny arm. But I’m not close enough to actually touch it.
The pins-and-needles feeling all over my body is back, and suddenly: Pop!
Whoa. That’s my right hand. My GIANT right hand. Or maybe it’s just back to the regular size, but it looks giant compared to the rest of me.
I can reach the blue now. It does feel like a cushion.
Pop! goes my left hand.
Pop! Pop! Pop! Just like popcorn kernels, my body’s growing bigger in bits and pieces. One of my eyes bugs out before the rest of my face goes bigger, kind of like a bubble bursting out of my eye socket. I can’t even imagine how strange I must look.
There’s one last enormous pop, and I’m back to my same, wonderful, state-of-the-art Zack-body. And then SPLAT! The cushion breaks my landing, before I roll off it and onto the floor.
Oh, beloved floor! Glorious floor! Floor of solid ground! I could kiss you!
But that would be weird, so I don’t.
Instead I do a quick inventory of my body. Fingers and toes: check! Eyes, nose, and mouth: check! Two arms, two legs: check! I think I’ve got it all. Phew.
Now to figure out where I am exactly. I sit up and look around. On the far wall, colors are spiraling like pinwheels. I stand slowly, blinking, blinking, blinking. I realize I’m actually staring right into an enormous stained glass window as the afternoon sun glares through it. I spin around and see rows and rows of dark pews. That must be what I landed on: one of the dark-blue cushioned pews.
Zacktastic Page 4
