Zacktastic

by Courtney Sheinmel

  “Holy smokes,” I say so softly that my words come out like a breath. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t called you when I did?”

  “I don’t know,” Uncle Max says, shaking his head. “That’s what’s so dangerous about Linx. He’s like a storm, and storms are unpredictable.”

  I shudder, thinking about lightning and how you never know where it will strike. “So it’s me—just me—standing between him coming back or not.”

  My uncle nods. “I’m sorry, Zack,” he says. “But it seems this was part of your destiny.”

  There’s that word again: destiny. “If things are destined,” I say, “then why does it matter what we do at all? Aren’t they going to happen anyway?”

  “The universe sets things in motion,” Uncle Max says. “But we’re the ones who decide what to do with them.”

  “Like granting wishes.”

  “Yes, exactly. In that way, we’re all unpredictable. We’re all potential storms, I suppose.”

  “But at least when I granted Trey’s wish, I didn’t mean to hurt people,” I say. “I don’t understand why Linx does it his way. Why does he grant things in the opposite way that people mean?”

  “Something happened to him,” Uncle Max says. “Long, long ago. It’s a story for another time. But remember what I told you earlier, when people tell you their wishes, they’re telling you about themselves—the things that make them most vulnerable, the things they most want to change?” I nod. “Well, Linx likes to exploit weaknesses as he grants wishes, turning dreams into nightmares instead of making dreams come true. That’s what he was trying to do to you. Turns out—you’re stronger than he’d bargained for.”

  The door to Heddle’s office swings open.

  “There you are, genie,” Trey says. “Bet you thought you could make your escape when I went to the bathroom. I won’t be letting you out of my sight again until all my wishes are granted.”

  “He doesn’t remember,” I say to Uncle Max. “Is it like a dream to him, too?”

  “More like the blink of an eye,” Uncle Max says.

  “How did he know where to find me?”

  “There’s some leftover magnetic energy between the two of you. I’m sure he felt his way here without even realizing it.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Trey says. I see him take in Uncle Max, who is back to looking like the Uncle Max I’ve always known—crazy hair and rumpled clothes. “Who the heck is he?”

  “You can see him?” I turn to Uncle Max. “He can see you?”

  “He has genie vision, for now,” Uncle Max explains. “He rubbed your bottle.”

  “My bottle,” Trey says, swiping it away from me. I’d managed to hold on to it for a total of about thirty seconds. Trey’s eyes flick around the room to Mr. Heddle’s desk. “What is going on? Did you put a spell on him?”

  “No, he’s fine,” I say. He doesn’t look completely convinced, and I take the opportunity to grab the bottle back and clutch it to my chest tighter than ever.

  Trey balls his hands into fists, and for a second I’m afraid he’s going to hit me. “My dad is the third-richest man in the United States,” he says. “If you don’t give my property back to me, he’ll hire every lawyer in the entire country to sue you to get it back. Besides which, you’re my genie and I’m telling you to give me back the bottle. I’m your master, so you have to obey me.”

  “We prefer to think of it more like a partnership,” Uncle Max tells him. “Less of a genie-and-master situation.”

  Like I’d pick Trey for my partner. I guess the point is, I don’t get to pick who I’m matched with. Which makes him feel like my master after all.

  “But he can have the bottle, Zack,” Uncle Max says. “Just keep your eyes on it.”

  Trey smugly takes it back.

  “You’re welcome,” I say.

  “You didn’t even want to give it to me. I should be thanking . . . whoever the old man is.”

  “Trey, this is my uncle Max,” I say. “Uncle Max, this is Preston Hudson Twendel the third. He goes by Trey.” Or Twerp, I think to myself.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Uncle Max says.

  “Yeah, you too,” Trey says. “Are you a genie, too?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am,” says Uncle Max.

  “I hope you have more experience than this newbie.”

  “Just a few hundred years,” Uncle Max says.

  “Excellent, because I haven’t gotten any of my wishes yet.”

  “Think back,” Uncle Max tells him. “Before you stepped into the bathroom stall, was there anything you wished for?”

  “I just said I didn’t get any,” he says.

  “You wished to be someone other people liked,” I tell him. “My sister has a lot of friends, so that’s who I turned you into.”

  “What? I didn’t want to be turned into someone else!” Trey says. “I wanted to be me.”

  “Well, you are again,” I tell him.

  “Do I have any friends?”

  I look at Uncle Max, and he gives a slight shake of his head. “No,” I admit.

  “So I’m returning that wish. Actually, it’s already returned, since I’m me again. And now I demand a new one. And if you don’t give me one, I’ll sue.”

  “The court system you speak of doesn’t work in our world,” Uncle Max tells him.

  “But I still have more wishes, don’t I?”

  Uncle Max shakes his head. “It’s one wish per visit, I’m afraid.”

  “So if you guys go away, and I let some time pass, can I rub the bottle again and get more?”

  “The bottle will probably make a nice pencil holder, or a vase,” Uncle Max says. “It’s not going to be too useful to you once Zack and I leave—and I have a feeling that’ll be happening pretty soon.”

  “But wait!” Trey says. “What’s the point of having a genie, then, if everything is going back to the way it was before?”

  There’s a loud knock at the door—so loud, it sounds menacing. It sounds the way Linx would knock, if he were here. Is he back? Would he knock on the door?

  My stomach clenches in fear, and over at the desk, Mr. Heddle is startled awake. “I just had the weirdest dream!” he exclaims to himself. Then he notices other people in the room with him. At least he notices Trey. “Sorry,” he says. “I sent for you earlier. I didn’t realize you’d arrived.”

  “What did you dream about?” Trey asks him.

  “You know, I can’t remember.”

  The knock sounds again—louder and more room-shaking than before.

  “I bet that’s your father,” Mr. Heddle says.

  “My father?”

  “Well, of course. We couldn’t find you, and he said he was firing up his private jet to find you himself.” Mr. Heddle pauses to take a deep breath. “Come in!”

  The door bangs open, and in walks a man, his body as thick as a square. He’s completely bald and his forehead is as shiny as a mirror. He claps a pair of thick hands together, and it makes a sound like thunder. “Heddle, I demand an update on my son.”

  “He was just here a second ago.”

  “I’ve been calling and calling this office, Heddle. You tell me my son is missing, and then you don’t pick up the phone to give me an update. And now you’re telling me you’ve lost him again?”

  “Uh, Mr. Twendel,” Mr. Heddle stutters. “I, uh . . . I don’t know what to tell you.”

  Trey comes out from his hiding spot behind a ficus plant. “Dad,” he says. “I’m here. He found me.”

  In two huge, swift steps, Preston Hudson Twendel II moves toward his son. I see Trey brace himself for impact, and I brace myself, too. But instead of hurting Trey, his father grabs him in a hug.

  “Dad!” Trey says. “Dad. I can’t breathe.”

  Preston Hudson Twendel II loosens his grip on his son. “I’m sorry about that,” he says gruffly.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” Trey says.

  “Of course I’m here. The qu
estion is, where were you?”

  “Well, Dad. It’s kind of a long story.”

  “I canceled my afternoon meeting,” Trey’s dad says. His thick arms are folded across his chest. “So I have time for a long story.”

  Trey was right about his dad—he looks powerful, the kind of powerful that people are afraid of. But there’s something that makes me feel like things aren’t exactly the way they were before. Like right now, the corners of Trey’s mouth are turned up just slightly in a smile.

  I want to hear the explanation he comes up with for his dad, but I can’t listen right now because there’s a tingling in my toe. More than a tingling. It feels like it’s alive. Like it’s about to take flight.

  “Uncle Max?” I say.

  But Uncle Max is shrinking, in parts, right before my eyes. Shrunken torso. Shrunken limbs. “I’ll see you at home,” he says. Then his head shrinks, and he whizzes through the air toward the bottle.

  A few seconds later, so do I.

  20

  HERE’S WHAT HAPPENS IN THE END

  It is already dark out when I land with a soft thud right back where I started, in Uncle Max’s backyard.

  You’d think I’d be better at landing, having been through it once before, but this time when I land on the grass, I roll straight into the dirt.

  Someone says something, but I can’t make it out with my infinitesimally sized ears. The best way I can describe it is to say it’s like being underwater, and not being able to understand the words people above the water are saying.

  But then: pop, pop.

  There they are, back to their regular size.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Watch the flower beds,” Uncle Max calls. I look over and there he is sitting on the back porch. His face is lit up, but not in a genie way. It’s just because the porch lights are turned on. He’s pouring himself a glass of iced tea. I race up the steps, dusting myself for bits of dirt and grass and petals as I go. My heart is pounding like I’m still hurling through tunnels from one side of the bottle to the other.

  Uncle Max holds the pitcher out toward me. “Care for a glass?” he asks, like everything is perfectly normal and nothing out of the ordinary happened today. Like my biggest problem is maybe perhaps I’m just a bit thirsty.

  “I have to go see Quinn!” I say.

  Back down the steps, around the corner, down the block, and up the three steps to our front door. I ring the bell, but I don’t wait for anyone to answer. I take the key that Mom hides inside a special rock and bang through the door. “Quinn! Quinn! QUINNNNNNNNNNN!”

  Our house isn’t that big, but it feels bigger than usual as I race through rooms, not finding her. Not until I trip over her, and fall onto Madeline, sprawled out on the floor in our den.

  “OW!” Madeline cries.

  “Watch it, nut job,” Quinn tells me.

  There she is. My sister. I stare at her, taking her in. She looks all right. She looks just like she always does.

  “What?” Quinn asks. “Why are you smiling like that?”

  “No reason,” I tell her. “I was looking for you and now you’re here.”

  “Zack, you’re being a nut job,” Quinn says. She waves her hand, her signal for get lost. “Can’t you see we’re watching a movie?”

  On the TV screen, two girls who don’t look much different from Quinn and Madeline are painting each other’s nails.

  “Stop smiling so much,” she says. “It’s weird. And do something about your feet.”

  I look down at my bare feet. I left one shoe at Millings Academy, and the other one at Uncle Max’s house. My genie bite looks a little darker than usual. But maybe it’s just that the lights are dimmed in the den, better for watching a movie. Can Quinn tell?

  “What about my feet?”

  “They stink!” she says. “They’re stinking up the whole room.”

  Uncle Max walks in right then. “Well, hello, birthday twins,” he says brightly. “And hello, Madeline.”

  “Hi,” Madeline says softly. Then she leans over and whispers something to Quinn. I think I hear the word Einstein, which makes both of them laugh. And yes, Quinn’s laugh is as cringe-worthy as ever, but neither she nor Madeline seem to care.

  “I didn’t hear the doorbell ring,” I tell Uncle Max.

  “The door was unlocked,” he says.

  “I guess I forgot to lock it behind me,” I say.

  “Hold the phone,” Quinn says. She’s looking at me with the same look of disbelief she had when I told her I was a genie. “YOU forgot to lock the door? Don’t you know there are a million break-ins a year?”

  “Three million,” I say. “But I had other things on my mind.”

  “Oh, look, my whole family is together,” Mom says.

  Mom is carrying a bowl of popcorn, and she sets it on the coffee table for everyone to share. I don’t mention how easy it is to choke on popcorn, or remind everyone to chew an extra amount before they swallow. I just look around at my sister, my uncle, my mom, and even Madeline. All together. “It’s great, isn’t it?” I say.

  “Shh, we’re watching the movie,” Quinn tells me.

  “You talked first,” I remind her.

  “No, I didn’t. Besides, you’re talking more.”

  Mom shakes her head. “I thought maybe the fights would stop when we hit the decade mark.”

  “Sorry to break up the family scene, but I have to get going,” Uncle Max says.

  “Can’t you stay to the end of the movie?” Mom asks.

  “Not this time. I have a bit of work to do.” He stands, and Quinn stands, too.

  “Can you pause the movie?” she asks. “I have to go to the bathroom. Plus, we should go back a bit because everyone was being so loud.”

  “Walk me to the door, Zack,” Uncle Max tells me.

  Standing in our teeny foyer, Uncle Max tells me he plans to write to SFG tonight to tell them I should start in the intermediate class. “If you can tell me what you learned today, Zack.”

  “I learned you were right about keeping an eye on that bottle,” I say. “Except . . .”

  “Don’t worry, Zack,” Uncle Max says to me, pulling it out of a pocket in his shirt I didn’t know was there. “I was watching it for you. Now, did you learn anything else?”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about the wish Trey made—not the one I ended up granting, but before that. He told me he’d wish to get rid of his dad. And I don’t think that’s what he really wanted. I think sometimes people wish for things because they want them, and sometimes they wish for things because they’re afraid. Like Trey was really afraid of his dad. Mostly, he was afraid his dad didn’t like him. That’s why he wanted to change.”

  “That must have been a sad thing for you to see—a son not appreciating his father, and vice versa.”

  “Yeah, but did you see in the end when his dad showed up? That was his real wish. He didn’t even make it, and it came true. He was so afraid of his dad, but in the end it turned out he didn’t have to be. So I guess I learned sometimes you have to listen to your fears. And sometimes you have to do the thing you’re afraid of, and it’ll make you happy.”

  “And how did that make you feel?”

  “It made me happy, too. It was nice that that happened because of me—even if I didn’t know I was doing it when I was granting his wish. But that was the best part. It’s cool if that’s part of my destiny.”

  “You know, you’ve reached the final stage of finding out you’re a genie,” Uncle Max says.

  “What’s that?”

  “Happiness.”

  “Zack!” Quinn shouts. “You didn’t put the toilet seat down!”

  “I haven’t been home all day!” I shout back.

  “Well, who else could it have been, nut job?”

  “Quinn, don’t call your brother names,” Mom says. I smile at Uncle Max. “And, Zack, go put down the toilet seat.”

  “Go take care of it,” Uncle Max says. “And then get some re
st. Tomorrow will be a whole new adventure.”

  I shut the door behind him, but before I head down the hall, I lift my fist to my chin and say to the imaginary Drew Listerman: “How’s that for a day in the life!”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Growing up, two of my dearest wishes for adulthood were: (1) to write books, and (2) to be friends with other authors. I want to thank all of my writing pals for helping to make those wishes come true—and thanks especially to Sarah Mlynowski and Laura Schechter, for providing such wonderful spaces for the magic to happen. Thanks also to Gitty Daneshvari, for the dinner conversation that stretched my imagination and changed the course of the story, and to Adele Griffin, for an essential early read.

  Thank you to my nephew Zach, the original Zacktastic, and to a few more young friends who read the first draft of this book . . . and then later drafts, and yet more drafts: Avery and Chase, Madden and Brody, and Maverick and Memphis—you guys rock! And thanks to your moms—my stepsister, Laura Liss, and my dear friends Lindsay Aaronson, Amy Bressler, and Logan Levkoff, who fielded all my e-mails and phone calls.

  Speaking of phone calls—thank you, Erin Cummings, Jennifer Daly, Regan Hofmann, Arielle Warshall Katz, Geralyn Lucas, Alyssa Sheinmel (my sis!), Elaine Sheinmel (my mom!), Jess Rothenberg, Bianca Turetsky, and Meg Wolitzer, for being on the other end of the phone, all hours of the day.

  Thanks to my stepdad, Phil Getter, for loving this story from the very first chapter; to my dad, Joel Sheinmel, for being the world’s most willing and enthusiastic proofreader; and to Kai Williams, for her amazing eleventh-hour notes.

  Thank you to Laura Dail, Tamar Rydzinski, and everyone at the Laura Dail Literary Agency, for the ongoing support and cheerleading. (That includes you, Katie Hartman!)

  Thank you to the Sleeping Bear Press team for giving Zack Cooley—and while we’re at it, Stella Batts—a home. Special thanks to Judy Gitenstein, Heather Hughes, Lois Hume, and Audrey Mitnick. And to my editor, Barb McNally, “thanks” doesn’t seem to be enough, but I’ll say it anyway: Thank you, Barb, for making Zacktastic better than I ever could have on my own.