Becoming Jinn

by Lori Goldstein

  Laila laughs. “Oh, you can have boyfriends here. Human ones. Multiple human ones if you’re like Mina. Just so long as you don’t get too—”

  “Attached.” I sigh.

  “And you pretend not to know how to be a Jinn.”

  I skim the bottom of my foot against the perfectly manicured blades of grass and, for the millionth time, check my phone for texts from … from … anyone. Right, Azra.

  “How can you be so Zen about it, Laila?”

  She shifts in her seat and fiddles with her sunglasses.

  “Laila…”

  She whips off the shades. “What do you want me to say, Azra? Focusing on what we can’t have takes away from what we can have. What we do have. Like our Zar sisters? If you just tried a bit more, you wouldn’t have to be asking me what Hana does or doesn’t talk about. I know you’ve always been jealous of humans, but it goes both ways. If they knew, most of them would give up what we give up and more to have our powers.”

  Maybe. At least at first. But considering how many human wishes revolve around love, loss, and family, I’m not sure that’s true in the long run. Laila must know that. If she didn’t, then the locket with her father’s picture wouldn’t have been so important to her. The idea of her parents being in love wouldn’t be so special.

  “Besides,” she says, replacing her giant aviators. “We have so much to do until then, we won’t even have time to think about it.”

  Laila picking up her magazine shuts down the conversation, proving she’s as skilled in pretending as the rest of us.

  As I reach for my copy of Zeitoun, I wonder just how long she’s been waiting for an opening to talk to me like this. I’m about to settle back into my chair when I see movement across from us. “Don’t get spooked, but she’s back.”

  Laila jerks upright. “That squirrel? The one as big as Henry’s cat?” She whirls her head around.

  I roll my eyes. “How would I know if a squirrel’s a she?”

  With my chin, I gesture to the house next door, where Mrs. Seyfreth is perched on top of the crumbling stone bench in her backyard peering over the fence. Fur coat and all. This time, she’s added a sun hat.

  Laila hides behind the spread on Thong Your Thing? Find Your Perfect Fit. “She’s still doing that?”

  “Unfortunately. And it still creeps me out.”

  “Um, yeah, I can see why.” Laila nudges her chair closer to mine. “Do something.”

  “Something? Like what?”

  “I don’t know, make the fence taller.”

  “Because that won’t attract attention.” I snort. “Or be the first slip down your slide.”

  She squirms. “This is different. It’s for us, not her.”

  “Uh-huh.” I stare back at Mrs. Seyfreth, trying to creep her out instead, but it doesn’t work. Her lifeless eyes continue to be aimed our way. Forcing myself out of my lounge chair, I close the distance between us.

  The gap between the lilac bushes along the fence lines up perfectly with the location of Mrs. Seyfreth’s stone bench. If only that bush on the right shifted closer to the one on the left, it’d obscure her view.

  I wave my hand in front of Mrs. Seyfreth’s face. Nothing registers in her glassy eyes. I jump up and down. Still nothing. I wave my hand and jump up and down. Not even a blink.

  Oh, why not?

  Swiveling my head to ensure we’re otherwise alone, I hold my book in front of her face and focus my mind on the lilac bush. I dig my toes into the grass, imagine the system of roots underneath, feel the air gently caressing my mostly naked body, and command the lilac bush to move. It does. Purple flowers rest where Mrs. Seyfreth’s face used to be.

  My pangs of guilt don’t get the chance to deepen because a distant male voice saying, “Hey, Azra,” replaces every little twinge of remorse with debilitating stabs of panic.

  “Azra?”

  Henry’s voice. Louder now. Popping up on tiptoes to get a better view over our tall fence, I see Henry in our front yard. How long has he been in our front yard?

  As he approaches the fence, he runs his hand through his hair and his eyes bug out.

  He’s seen me! He must have seen me.

  Clutching my book to my bare stomach, I leap forward so my line of sight matches Henry’s. Not until I confirm he couldn’t have seen the magically moving bush from here do I breathe again.

  Now directly across from me, Henry’s gaze travels the length of my body. Oh, he’s seen me, all right. I curse myself for not conjuring that blanket.

  14

  “It’s too cold!” Laila cries, skimming just a single toe along the surface of the Carwyns’ pool.

  Henry’s inside getting us more sugar for our iced teas.

  “You’re the one who wanted to come over here so badly. ‘Oh, Henry, I’ve been dying to take a dip!’ Well, dip away, Sister.”

  Serves her right for forcing us to come over here. If my mother’s remotely right about Henry having a crush, I don’t want to encourage him. He’s Jenny’s brother. The idea of him having a crush makes me more uncomfortable than Mrs. Seyfreth’s blank stare.

  Before we followed Henry into his backyard, I conjured myself a long black T-shirt, which I’m now wearing over my skimpy bikini.

  “But it’s like ice!” Laila scoops up pool water and sprinkles it on my toes.

  “Stop that!” I jerk my foot back, but Laila catches me by my ankle and points at my toenails.

  “Why haven’t you painted them? I’m sure you’re way better than the salon we went to last week.”

  “We?”

  “Oh, not our Zar.” Laila cringes slightly. “Just some girls from school.”

  Laila’s always been less insular than the rest of our Zar sisters. Still, it hadn’t occurred to me before now that everyone else getting their powers might be making her feel left out.

  “I should have called you,” she says.

  I cannot let Laila feel bad about this. “We both know I would’ve turned you down.”

  “But maybe not next time?”

  “But maybe not next time,” I say, not expecting to mean it. But I do, or at least I want to.

  “Maybe you can do both of ours later?”

  I exaggerate an eye roll. “Fine, but no foot massage.”

  Her pleased look morphs into a pout as she attempts to submerge her entire foot. “Azra, come on. For me.”

  She’s back to that. The pool, which she wants me to heat up. Standing at the shallow end, I wonder why inground pools have to be so big.

  Laila sighs. “Shall I call Yasmin to help?”

  My head springs back. Such a little instigator. First Mrs. Seyfreth and now the Carwyns’ pool? Laila’s becoming a bad influence. A bad influence who has just proved how well she knows me.

  Through gritted teeth, I say, “I’ll do it,” and brush past her. I barrel down the top two steps and immediately flail and grasp for the handrail. I have to bite my tongue so I don’t cry out. Before I know what’s happening, little bubbles simmer at the surface of the water the entire length of the pool, from shallow to deep end.

  Instantly, Laila slides the rest of the way in, even plunging her head under the water. “Ooh, it’s like a hot tub.” She plays with the bubbles, purring like a kitten. “Admit it. This is better.”

  “Well, sure it’s better.” I plant myself on the top step. “Seriously, how do humans swim in anything below ninety degrees?”

  Oh crap. Humans. Like Henry, who’s opening the screen door. I meant to warm the pool just enough that Laila and I wouldn’t get frostbite but not so much that he’d notice.

  “Laila,” I say, but she’s on her back, floating into the deep end. I need her to distract Henry from coming into the pool while I try to lower the temperature to something that isn’t suitable for boiling lobsters.

  Raising my voice, I say again, “Laila.”

  She flips over. “Something wrong?”

  I splash the water and nod toward Henry. “I need time. A little
help?”

  It takes her a second before she understands, but then she says, “I’m on it,” and begins to breaststroke over to the ladder in the deep end.

  I’m working as hard as I can, but it’s not fast enough. The pool temperature hovers below hot tub but above something believable for this early in the summer in Massachusetts.

  Henry sees us in the pool and deposits the sugar bowl and his eyeglasses on the patio table. “Get your scorecards ready, ladies.” With expert form, he dives into the pool.

  Apparently, fear stokes my powers. The water temperature plummets, but not before Henry’s head bursts above the surface. “Holy smokes, it’s like bathwater!”

  Already at the ladder, Laila jumps out. “Oh, no, it’s freezing.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest and chatters her teeth as she runs to get a towel.

  By the time Henry swims to me, the water has cooled to a believably tepid level.

  “Not bathwater,” I say, showing him my very real goose bumps. “At least not my bathwater. I guess you like yours lukewarm?”

  Again, like on my birthday, Henry gives me a look I can’t quite make out. This time, it’s not amused, it’s not even the expected confused. It’s … intrigued?

  As if distancing myself from the evidence would help, I hop out of the pool and wrap a Wookie-emblazoned beach towel around me, another relic from the days when Jenny and I would spend hours floating on inflatable rafts, fleeing from Henry, who was determined to dunk us.

  I settle myself on the lounger farthest from the pool, sinking as the saggy bottom gives underneath me.

  “That’s the oldest one,” Henry says, following me. He points to a chaise across the yard next to Laila, right by the pool. “Those are better.”

  I wring the water out of my T-shirt. “I’m good.”

  Tousling his hair and inadvertently, I think, flinging droplets over my legs, Henry pulls up a chair next to me. “You really didn’t think the water was warm?”

  I shrug.

  Henry studies the pool. “It’s funny, I was in earlier, and it was really cold. It’s just … weird, I guess.”

  Tilting my head back, I squint. “Sun’s out now.”

  “Yeah, still…” Henry clasps his hands together and lowers his eyes. He taps his foot against the splintering wood decking. “I … I left my phone up on the porch.” He pauses, still not looking me in the eye. “Too bad, I wanted to show you something I have on it. An app.”

  My body tenses at the word before I understand what he means.

  “I wonder…” He sneaks a glance at Laila before continuing. “Think you could get it for me?”

  I twist my head around. He wants me to get up? “Uh, I guess, but I’m pretty wet too.”

  He swallows, meets my eye for only a split second, and in a low voice, says, “Then don’t get up.”

  My cheeks scrunch up, bumping against my eyelashes. “But then how—”

  He clears his throat and leans forward. “Well, see, I was watching this documentary the other day. On ESP and telekinesis…”

  Confusion jumbles my thoughts, fear quickens my pulse, but my instincts are in control, and they tell me to get out of the chair. I push my hands against the arms of the lounger, which somehow causes the worn fabric to suck me in even deeper.

  Henry’s staring at me, expectedly. Knowingly. But he can’t know. Maybe he thinks he saw something earlier with the lilacs. Maybe he thinks something’s off about the pool. And, fine, maybe he’s even thinking back to the great Slinky escape. But two plus two plus two does not equal anything close to Jinn.

  He leans in even more. The surprise that consumed my face before I managed to hide it must be what bolsters his confidence. “Well, it’s too bad.” He steals another glance at Laila, presumably to ensure she’s still out of listening range. “Because the app’s pretty cool. It lets you use the phone like binoculars. Pretty good ones, too. Last night, I could, well, I could see all the way across the street. Your mom … she sure loves ice cream, huh?”

  This time, I vault out of the chair. “You spied on my mom?”

  The real question is if he spied on me. If he saw me levitating the contents of my shoe box. The app can’t be that good. Can it?

  Indignation seems like the best way out of this. “We could call the police, you know. Being a Peeping Tom isn’t just creepy, it’s against the law.” I turn around and raise my voice. “Laila, it’s time to go.”

  Even though she’s wearing those ridiculous aviators, I can tell she’s giving me a disappointed look. “Already? I was going to go for another swim.”

  “Nuh-uh. It’s way too cold for that. Besides, my mom’s expecting us. Yours too.”

  Though she cocks her head, she mutters, “fine,” and starts gathering her things.

  It’s not until Laila appears next to me in her crocheted cover-up that I face Henry again.

  “Thanks for the swim,” I say, to which Henry simply nods. Confidence gone, he seems as disappointed and confused as Laila.

  Laila slings her tote bag over her shoulder. “What were you two talking about anyway?”

  “Nothing,” I say quickly, cringing inside that she had to ask. Cool, Azra, stay cool. Henry has no idea. He couldn’t have any idea. I nonchalantly toss my wet ponytail off my shoulder.

  “Well, not exactly nothing.” Henry stands. Like me, he towers above Laila. “Just this documentary I was watching on … well, on … telekinesis.”

  Laila’s hand flies to her mouth. Her eyes flicker to mine before she taps her fingers against her lips, pretending to yawn. Then, with a nervous laugh, she says, “You can’t actually believe in that stuff.”

  Henry shrugs. “I … I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, why not?”

  As Henry stares at his feet, I realize he’s embarrassed. Way to be paranoid, Azra. Looks like my mother was right not to let me grant his wish. Here I am reading into Henry’s small talk because of what I know, not because of what he knows. Invested.

  Grabbing Laila’s arm, I try to further diffuse the situation by making a joke. “Maybe you’re right. Pretty sure I did see the Loch Ness Monster lurking in the deep end. See you around, Henry.”

  Dragging Laila toward the gate, I stop cold when he says with renewed confidence, “Don’t have to see the future to count on that, Azra.”

  * * *

  One, two, three, I flop dollar bills onto the snack bar, beginning my third count of the morning.

  I’m supposed to confirm the total in the register before my shift begins, but I’m too busy replaying yesterday’s encounter with Henry to concentrate.

  Five, or is it six? I scoop the bills off the counter and start counting for the fourth time.

  Telekinesis? ESP? Pfft.

  My mom’s right. We are not sideshow freaks.

  Eleven, or is it twelve? Or ten?

  “Not again.” I slam down the bills and push them to the side. Zoe can do it. I’ve already made sure the ice is full and the fridge is stocked and the ketchup bottles are topped off.

  When Zoe returns, it’s with the napkins we needed in one hand and her basketball in the other. She dumps the napkins on the counter in front of me, sits on the metal stool in the corner, and dribbles.

  Tap, tap, tap, tap.

  My fists clench. Breathe, just breathe. She can’t possibly do that when service starts.

  Tap, tap, tap, tap.

  “Look, Azra.” Zoe fills a soda cup with one hand and bounces the basketball with the other. “I can work and practice at the same time. This is really going to help my training.”

  Tap, tap, tap, tap.

  That’s it. I’m not spending my summer listening to the slapping of fake leather instead of the ocean. Spinning around, I open the shack door, snatch the ball out of her hand, and hurl it all the way to the dunes.

  Zoe’s mouth hangs open. “Hey! How am I supposed to practice?”

  I check to make sure the shack’s front shutters are all the way down before moving in front of her. �
��Do you really need to practice so much?” I take both her hands and push her back onto the stool. “I think you’re already the best player on the team.”

  “But my brother says—”

  I take a deep breath. “Your brother doesn’t know everything.”

  The incantations spill from my lips. It’s like I’ve done this a million times, not just once. Zoe’s head is far easier to get inside of than Mrs. Pucher’s. And connecting with her anima barely elicits a blip on my emotional radar. The one thing she wants, the thing her brother said was the only thing standing in her way of being a rock-star basketball player, is to be tall.

  I exhale slowly in relief. That I can do. I already have—sort of. I stand back, and just like Mrs. Pucher’s tomato plants and potato vines, Zoe sprouts. Once she’s at least two inches taller than I am, I try to halt her growth, but she creeps up another half inch. I shake out my arms and roll my neck. It’s too stuffy in here.

  I turn to crack open the door, but that’s as far as I get. All at once it’s like my body’s being entombed in concrete. Starting with my feet, rising past my knees, strangling my lungs, seizing my heart, shrouding my lips. I can’t move. I can’t speak. But I can see. And I can think. I can think the most frightening thoughts that before this moment I’m not sure I even believed.

  Because the door to the shack’s already open. Because standing in the door to the shack that’s already open is Henry.

  His movement makes up for my immobilization. His feet move forward, then back. He approaches, then pivots as if to flee. He spins around again. One hand rubs his eyes, the other flattens against his chest. His eyes bug out, showing white, white, and more white. His jaw drops. His lips quiver. The only thing we have in common is that neither one of us can make a sound.

  Finally, Henry raises a finger, pointing behind me. I hear it before I see it.

  Thunk!

  I mentally shatter the concrete holding me hostage and whirl around to see Zoe’s head bump against the wood ceiling.

  Air in, air out. One breath at a time. One disaster at a time.

  Using my powers, I swing the door shut and fasten the lock. I slide the stool over with my hands and point to Henry. “Sit.”