Becoming Jinn

by Lori Goldstein

  Droplets of water run off the ends of his hair, sprinkling his shoulders. His hand reaches for the tucked-in corner of the towel, freeing it from his waist.

  I should look away.

  I don’t.

  He’s drying off his back, and I’m staring at his rounded butt cheeks. This is Henry, my friend Henry.

  Mortified, I try to app home but lack the necessary concentration and only succeed in hopping two steps forward, crashing right into the skis propped in the corner of Henry’s closet. He turns, and I squeeze my eyes shut. This is why, when I open them back in the safety of my own bedroom closet, I have no idea if Henry saw me or not. My pulse thumps in my temples as I force the picture of Henry’s taut derrière out of my head.

  So much for scaring the pants off him. As if I’m the one who’s been caught naked, I wrestle a pair of jeans off its hanger and pull them on right over my shorts. The pile of sweaters on the shelf tumbles to the floor as I extract a gray cardigan from the center of the stack. I’m nervously braiding my stupidly long hair when I hear Henry’s voice.

  “Azra? Are you home?”

  He’s been in my room a zillion times, but suddenly I don’t want him to come in here. I give up on the braid, rake my fingers through my hair, and rush out of my room.

  Henry’s at the bottom of the stairs. I stroll down, trying to act casual. But I can’t look him in the eye. As I pass by, I tell him my mom’s not here so he knows he can speak freely. I lead him into the living room where I begin putting lanterns back on the bookshelf.

  Henry helps, setting a brass lamp on the top shelf. His finger glides across the Russian nesting dolls, floats over the Italian mortar and pestle, and stops at the hand-carved Indian chess set.

  “Imports, right?” Henry gives no indication that he caught me spying on him. “That’s what your mother supposedly does? How you explain all this cool stuff?”

  I utter an affirmative “uh-huh” but keep my back to him as I return another lantern to its original position.

  Importing goods from around the world is my mother’s cover story. Like most Jinn, she’s never actually had a human job. Aside from money not being an issue for Jinn, human jobs, like human friends, risk us becoming too ingrained in this world. They grease up Laila’s slip and slide. Most Jinn abstain from both. No surprise I’m one of the few, not one of the many.

  Henry sits on the couch across from me. “You’ll be able to travel anywhere. Everywhere.” He snaps his fingers. “Just like that. You’re so lucky.”

  Henry’s right. My mother’s ability to apport allowed her to plop us on a beach in Hawaii for the afternoon as the snow piled up at home and whisk me off to that shop on the Île Saint-Louis, the little island in the center of Paris, just to have a cone of the best ice cream (or so she assures me) in the world.

  But Henry’s also wrong. I think I was twelve when I fully understood that the ability to wake up in my bedroom in Massachusetts and be eating a fresh-from-the-oven pizza in Naples for lunch came with a price tag that wasn’t paid in dollars or euros. My mother’s souvenirs were a constant reminder that the day I turned sixteen, my desires and choices would be irrelevant. I would be irrelevant. A necessary cog in a wheel whose inner workings I didn’t—and still don’t—quite understand. That day, I shattered my mother’s favorite Chinese vase, swearing I’d never amass such a collection of junk.

  Maybe one day I can app to China and find a replacement. If only I could take Henry with me.

  He lifts another lantern. It’s Mr. Gemp, the kitschy, tarnished-gold, Aladdin-style lamp with the long spout and curved handle that Hana gave me on my birthday.

  “Cheeky and bold,” he says, “hiding in plain sight. I like it. Better than sneaking around and hiding in closets.”

  Immediately my face burns. Henry’s innocent look doesn’t fool me. He caught me spying on him. Even I can’t bluff my way out of this one.

  * * *

  “You’re being careful with him, right?” my mother asks after Henry leaves.

  Suppressing my gasp makes the sound that comes out of my mouth closer to a gargle. Has she discovered our secret?

  “I know you two are growing close…” she says.

  Oh no, it’s worse than her finding out about Henry. This is going to be that kind of talk.

  “… but you can’t slip up and let him catch you using your powers.”

  Whew. Instantly my relief gives way to guilt.

  She tips her head toward the bookshelf. “Thanks for doing the lanterns. Mind if I ask one more favor?”

  To ease my conscience, I’d agree to just about anything.

  “You’ll stay in this refreshingly pleasant mood for dinner? Nadia, Samara, and the girls are coming for dinner.”

  “Great,” I say.

  My mother raises an eyebrow. “I invited Mina and Farrah too.”

  “But not Yasmin?”

  “Raina said she had plans.”

  “Then yes, great.”

  Skepticism lurks in my mother’s smile but she wants to believe. So do I. Pretty sure we have Henry to thank for that. He was with me when my phone buzzed like a swarm of bees as texts came in from my Zar sisters. They’d added me to a running chain joking about how Farrah could have tried to give that old guy a womb. Henry insisted this was proof that they really did want me to go with them to see Drunken Toad, which turns out to be a pretty decent band. I think he just wants the chance to see them next time—them meaning both the band and my smokin’ hot “cousins.”

  A couple of individual texts with Mina (asking about “the Adonis”) and Farrah (asking about my favorite Drunken Toad track) followed, and Hana and I have been e-mailing (mostly about her flash-card strategies but also about my apparently not-short-enough shorts).

  My phone dings, and I sneak a peek. Nate: “Flies not bad. Perfect now for hanging.”

  I squeeze the phone in my hand. Perfect now. Is that an invitation? Do I have time to accept if it is?

  “When’s dinner?” I casually ask my mother.

  “They’ll be here at seven-thirty.”

  Butterflies kick into gear as I realize the answer to my second question is yes. If only I knew the answer to the first.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, I debate texting him back to ask. If it’s not an invitation, and I act like it was, my bug-eyed sunglasses won’t be enough to hide how mortified I’ll be for the rest of the summer. But if it is and I don’t reply …

  I’ll just show up. That’s it. That way I don’t have to ask. If Nate still happens to be there, if I happen to run into him, I’ll let him talk first. Life is compromise, right?

  I open my sparsely filled jewelry box and let my fingers graze over my A pendant. Have I really not worn it since my birthday? Before then, I could count on one hand the number of times it left my neck. Worse than feeling naked without it, I felt like I was missing a limb. I remove my infinity necklace and hook my A back around my neck. It no longer calms me the way it used to. In fact, since Nate mentioned it, it seems to have the opposite effect.

  After brushing out my hair and putting on some lipstick, I pry open my dresser drawer and eye the red lace thong. I’m feeling bolder than usual, but not bold enough for that.

  Leaving the thong where it is, I pull out the bra and finger the delicate lace. I have to admit, Yasmin has excellent conjuring skills. And good taste. I peel off my cardigan and T-shirt, slip on the bra, and top it with a light cotton V-necked sweater. The mirror on the back of my bedroom door shows a curvy version of myself thanks to the push-up bra that I don’t want to like but do. It also shows the bright red lace through the thin, white sweater. In an instant, I change the sweater to a deep jade green. Sure, I could have changed the bra to white but then it would no longer match the thong.

  Nice try, Azra.

  I’m in the hall when Samara’s voice spills through my mother’s closed bedroom door. “I know I’m early. But Laila’s at the mall with some girls from school, and I’m bored.”

/>   Sounds about right, boredom being another Jinn trait and all.

  “Just in time,” my mother says, “I’m trying to finish writing this spell. Want to help?”

  “Pfft,” Samara says. “Me? What’s with the lack of confidence, Kalyssa? That’s certainly not the girl I remember. The one who spelled that nice policeman to forget the massive after-prom party that set the house on fire?”

  My hand seizes the railing. There’s a spell to make someone forget? A spell my mother could use on Henry? A spell I should use on Henry? No, Azra, remember: Scarlett O’Hara plan. Think about that tomorrow. Which, right now, is easy to do since I’m actually less shocked by the idea that there’s a spell to make someone forget than that my mother threw a party. A party that set the house on fire. Is Samara speaking metaphorically?

  “Led to my first time conjuring water,” Samara says, answering my question. “Ah, one of my top five nights ever.”

  “That was a long time ago,” my mother says. “Powers fade.”

  “Powers don’t fade unless you make them, Kal.”

  “Not now, Sam.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not in the mood for one of your lectures on how I’m not living up to my duties. If that’s why you came early—”

  “I wasn’t going to say anything of the sort,” Samara says, feigning innocence. “But since you’ve brought it up … just what do you think you’re doing with Azra?”

  I release my grip on the handrail and inch closer to my mother’s door.

  “How much have you told her?” Samara asks. “Maybe the rest of the girls aren’t ready, but they will be soon. I’m already dropping bread crumbs for Laila. We know Raina told Yasmin long ago. As for Azra, even I can admit she’s smarter than the rest of them, mine included, which means she’s more likely to get herself into trouble. She needs to know everything.”

  So I’m not the only Nadira keeping secrets. Maybe hiding Henry isn’t my fault. Maybe it’s hereditary.

  My mother inhales and exhales loudly. “You’re right. I know. She’s always been more like you than me. Skeptical, questioning—”

  “That used to be you too, Kalyssa.”

  “Precisely why I want her to have this time. You know how moody and withdrawn she’s been the past couple of years. I was hoping, just maybe, she’d have some fun, enjoy it, appreciate the good before learning the bad.”

  “It doesn’t have to be bad,” Samara says. “It wasn’t for our parents or their parents. It can be that way again.”

  “I thought we were talking about Azra.”

  “We are. We’re talking about Azra and Laila and all of them. And us. I don’t know what it’s going to take for you to realize that.”

  “You think I don’t miss the way things used to be as much as the rest of you? But I can’t, Sam. I can’t lose anything more.”

  Samara’s voice lowers, and even with my ear pressed against the wood, I can’t hear what they’re saying. Maybe if I crack open the door, just a smidge … my hand reaches for the doorknob when all of a sudden a gust of wind rustles my hair.

  “Oh my Janna!” Mina’s voice calls from behind me. “Is this … it is!”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and drop my hand to my side. Opportunity missed. I turn around to see Mina in a gold sequin crop top and skintight white jeans wiggling my phone.

  “The Adonis,” she says, one hand slapping her jutted hip. “Azra, you little vixen!”

  “Shh,” I say, pushing her farther into my bedroom and pulling the door shut behind me.

  “What?” asks Farrah, who’s wearing a matching silver sequin crop top and black jeggings.

  Should have known Farrah would be here too. These two make my mom and Samara look like strangers.

  Mina holds up the blurry photo of Nate I snapped while he was on a morning run. She must have backed out of the text message to my contacts.

  “The dark-haired boy,” she says to Farrah. “He just asked Azra out on a date at the beach.” Mina faces me. “The question is, why are you still here?”

  Farrah grabs the phone. “Let me see that.” She returns to the text. “That’s not an invite.”

  “Sure it is.” Mina reclaims the phone. “And I should know.”

  “Maybe.” Farrah snatches it again. “But maybe not.”

  Before they give me whiplash, I hold up my palm. “Wait.” I hesitate. Am I really about to ask them for dating advice? There is no part of that thought that feels possible to me. I take a breath. “So, what do I do?”

  “You go,” Mina says. “But let him find you.”

  Farrah fluffs my hair. “And if he’s with another girl, find one of those alabaster boys and kiss him on his milky-white lips!”

  Another girl? Nate could be hanging with another girl? With a group of girls? With his lifeguard buddies? “I-I-I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t—”

  “Farrah?” Mina reaches for my elbow.

  “Just say when.” Farrah latches on to my other wrist.

  I back up, which only pulls them forward. “What are you—”

  “When,” Mina says.

  Farrah’s long bangs falling across her winking eye is the last thing I see.

  20

  Ptah! I lift my head and spit out sand. Tiny grains trickle down my V-neck.

  Mina and Farrah apped me to the beach.

  I’m lying on my stomach at the unpopulated end, facing the ocean. In front of me, the two of them twiddle their fingers.

  “Oh,” Mina says, “we came by to say a quick ‘hi.’ So you knew we weren’t lying about wanting to come to dinner.”

  Farrah gasps, but I laugh. “At least not this time, I say.”

  “Touché, Sister.” Mina gives me a wry smile. “But we do have to decline your mom’s invite.”

  Farrah changes her black headband to silver. “That anemic boy asked us out.”

  Us?

  Mina dabs gloss first on her own, then on Farrah’s lips. “And Azra?” she says, puckering. “Zar sisters always kiss and tell. Text us your details and we’ll text you ours.”

  Ours? Really?

  They disappear and I make a mental note to delete all incoming texts from Mina.

  I prop myself up onto my elbows and wipe my face. My heart’s pounding from apping but also from a feeling in my gut that, for once, Farrah was right. Nate wasn’t inviting me. I was simply too invested to think clearly.

  Flopping back down, I lie with my cheek on the sand and listen to the gentle break of the waves. Hypnotized by the sounds of the surf, at first I think Nate crouching down next to me is a mirage.

  “Azra?”

  But mirages don’t speak. Right?

  “I was waiting for a text that you were coming,” he says. “We must have missed each other at the entrance somehow.”

  So Nate’s text was an invitation. I should have known better than to doubt Mina’s well-honed expertise.

  I scramble to sit up and discreetly brush grains of sand off my new cleavage, but Nate’s too close for me or my new cleavage to be anywhere near discreet.

  Looking into his dark caramel eyes, I call on the confidence of my red bra. “Yeah, strange. Must have slipped right by you.” I push my hair behind my ears. “Anyway, sorry about not responding. I wasn’t sure until the last minute. I’ve got a family thing tonight.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to pull you away.”

  “You didn’t. My family thing is why I’m here and not there.”

  He laughs. Nate actually laughs at my joke.

  “It’s getting dark.” I realize I have no idea how long I’ve been here. Mina and Farrah neglected to app my phone along with me, and I never wear a watch.

  Nate looks at the darkening sky. “I know people come here for the sun and all, but I love it at night.”

  And with that, my fleeting worry that I’m late for dinner goes out with the tide because I couldn’t agree more. The deserted beach at night, lit only by the moon and the stars … magic couldn’t do any
better.

  “Me too.” I tilt my head at the rolling surf. “It’s like a private screening. All this, just for me.”

  Nate starts to stand. “And here I am interrupting. Sorry, do you want me to go?”

  “No,” I say too loudly. “I mean, I think there’s maybe one more seat at this showing.” I am the definition of looks being deceiving. No matter how sexy the bra and being Jinn may make me, my brain cannot keep up.

  Maybe Nate’s a fan of corny, because he sits on the sand so close to me that our shoulders touch. He then fills me in on the beach gossip I’ve missed. Ranger Teddy busted a group of football players from our school who weren’t even trying to disguise the beers in their hands. Chelsea, desperate to deepen her tan, refused to put on sunscreen and her body is now as red as her lipstick. A stopped-up toilet overflowed, and the bathroom attendant quit rather than clean it up.

  “Oh, and the best part,” Nate says as he lays his hand on my knee. Even through the thick denim, his warmth penetrates, flushing my body with a heat ten times stronger than apping.

  He arches his back. “I saved someone.”

  “You … you what?” Though not even this can make me forget about his hand on my knee.

  “Rescued from the clutches of death,” Nate says dramatically. “Okay, well, not exactly, but this guy was swimming really far out and got a wicked cramp.” His grin is both self-deprecating and proud. “I reached him before anyone else.”

  I’m not surprised, which I say before I think maybe I shouldn’t. He already knows I’ve watched him running. I need to be careful not to cross into stalker territory. But Nate’s genuinely taken aback. He seems touched by my compliment.

  It’s gotten late, and though I don’t want to, somehow the decision is made to head back.

  I sweep the sand off my jeans and bend to pick up my shoes. In a single smooth motion, Nate plucks my sandals off the ground with one hand, rights himself, and slides his other hand into mine.

  My body tenses from pinky toe to earlobe. Nate must feel it because he starts to release my hand, but I tighten my grip, interlacing my fingers with his. I savor the lightning bolt jolt that comes as he guides me through the dark, down the long empty beach, and over the dunes.