Lizzie gasped, “I’m sorry, Willie.”
I said, “Oh, man, I am in trouble.”
Dodger said, “You’re not in trouble. See, I’m opening the window. Now we’ll just whip the pasta into shape, and then spray some air freshener around.”
Lizzie said, “Umm, Dodger? Willie?” She pointed to the stove, where the spaghetti pot was boiling over frantically. The starchy water was bubbling and hissing as it ran down into the burner.
Dodger said, “You’re still okay, dude. We’ll just—”
At that precise moment, I heard the front door of the house burst open and smash against the wall, followed by my mom’s voice: “WILLIAM BENNETT RYAN!”
I froze, paralyzed with terror. Lizzie turned about three shades of whitish green. We both looked at Dodger, who shook his head and said, “Oh, dude. Now you’re in trouble!”
CHAPTER NINE
Bottled Hope, Incorporated
I LOOKED AT LIZZIE. Lizzie looked at me. I looked at Dodger. Dodger turned on his heels and ran out of the room. I knew that in about four seconds my mom was going to come pounding into the room and throw the kind of fit you don’t usually get to see unless you’re watching When Bears Attack. Lizzie stumbled over to the stove and turned off the burner under the spaghetti. I tried hard not to whimper or flee.
I could hear my mom barreling down the hallway, yelling. I had three seconds to live … two … one …
POOF!
Just then, some guy in puffy pants, a vest, and a turban appeared right in front of me. He snapped his fingers, and everything got silent—dead silent. The hissing of the spaghetti water on the burner stopped. My mom’s shrieking ceased. I couldn’t even hear any street sounds through the open window. I noticed that nothing was moving; even the wisps of smoke in the air were just hanging there. Lizzie said to me, “Hey, what’s happening? Who’s this guy?”
Great. This was my idea of a perfect world—my house filled with smoke, my mom about to wring my neck, Dodger in hiding, and everyone on the planet frozen in place except for me and Lizzie. “Uh, I have no idea.” Trying hard not to scream, cry, or burst into hysterical laughter, I forced myself to say, “Excuse me, sir. Would you mind telling me who you are and what’s going on?”
He gave me a snooty look and said, “I, sir, am the Great Lasorda, Genie, First Class, president of Bottled Hope, Incorporated. Surely my little helper has told you all about me.”
“Little helper?”
“You know, my pet chimpanzee, Dodger.”
“Pet chimpanzee? Pet chimpanzee? You mean Dodger isn’t a genie?”
The Great Lasorda snorted at me. “Dodger, a genie? Please, be serious. I mean, I know there’s a tremendous magical-labor shortage, but what in the world gave you the idea that Dodger was a genie?”
“Well, he lives in a lamp, and he has powers and all, plus I’m pretty sure he said—”
The Great Lasorda was beginning to turn a scary shade of red. His voice sounded too calm, the way my school’s principal sounds right before he goes ballistic in the lunchroom. “You think Dodger has powers? Why? All right, let me guess. He showed you the Field of Dreams?”
That must have been the blue baseball diamond. I nodded.
“And the Bottomless Well of Treats?”
Ooh, the doughnut bag that had blown up all over my room. I nodded again.
“And the POOF! trick? Disappearing and all that? And reading your mind a bit?”
I nodded twice.
“Oh, and I suppose he probably took you for a little ride on the Magic Carpet of Khartoum?”
I shook my head. What the heck was a Magic Carpet of Khartoum?
“So, William Bennett Ryan, let me get this straight. All Dodger did was show you a few little parlor tricks, and you thought he was … a genie?”
“Well, he kind of—”
Now the Great Lasorda’s face was starting to look as purple as his vest. “He kind of what? Did Dodger intentionally lead you to believe that he was a genie? Because if he did, he will be punished severely. I don’t know why I should be surprised. After all, it’s not like this would be the first time.” He snapped his fingers, and Dodger appeared, looking almost scared.
The Great Lasorda said, “Dodger, have you explained to young William what your name stands for?”
Dodger gulped. “No, sir.”
“And have you explained your exact job description in accordance with the by-laws of Bottled Hope, Incorporated, Section Seven, Paragraph Five-B?”
Dodger turned away, and I could have sworn I heard a catch in his voice. “No, sir.”
The Great Lasorda sighed, rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and said, “William, Dodger should have explained to you that his name is an acronym. It stands for Deputy On-call Dispatch Genie, Emergency Reserve (Third Class).”
“Wait, so he is a genie, then?” I wanted Dodger to be a genie—my genie. “It says genie in his name.”
The Great Lasorda snapped, “Dodger is NOT a genie. He is a DEPUTY, EMERGENCY RESERVE genie (third class).”
“Then why did he come out when I rubbed the, uh, disguised teapot-thing? If you’re the genie, shouldn’t you have been the one who popped out?”
Dodger snorted. Now he looked more angry than scared. “Yeah,” he said, “except the Great Lasorda was too busy to answer a plain old dispatch call. What was the emergency this time, O Mighty One? Did you need to spend two months at the Crystal Springs of Shalla-Bal again, making sure the temperature was just right? Or maybe you were taking your yearly urgent trip to the Sahara Palms Sandstorm Spa to make sure the sunbathing dunes are still in tip-top shape?”
Dodger looked at me. “Dude, this guy once spent forty years making a bunch of Israelites wander around the desert, just so he could get a deep tan.”
The Great Lasorda snarled, “ENOUGH! When you found the lamp, I was otherwise occupied, and there was no other genie available. In fact, there was no deputy genie available. There was no deputy, emergency genie available. And THAT is why you got a deputy, emergency reserve genie (third class).” He took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice had a dangerously false sweetness. “A deputy, emergency reserve genie (third class) who concealed his true job description and mission from the client.”
“Client?” I asked.
“That would be you,” Dodger muttered.
“And his true job description? What do you mean, his true job description?”
Dodger was looking down at his feet as the Great Lasorda responded. “Generally, deputy, emergency reserve genies (third class) are dispatched to people who fit a certain, ahem, profile. They serve as companion animals to children who …”
Companion animals? Jeepers.
“ … have special friendship needs. Just as seeing eye dogs help those who have visual challenges, and police dogs use their sharp sense of smell to make up for their masters’ dull noses, Dodger is here to make up for your … friendship impairment.”
I couldn’t believe this! “Friendship impairment? So Dodger appeared because I’m a—a—a loser?”
The Great Lasorda gave me an oily smile. “Please, William, loser is such an ugly word. We prefer to think of our clients as ‘victory-challenged.’”
“Wait a minute, Mr … . uh … the Great. I am not a loser!”
The Great Lasorda cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows.
“Okay, I mean, I am not victory-challenged. Look, I have two friends right here: Dodger and Lizzie.”
“Ah,” said the Great Lasorda, “but Dodger is here because it is his job. And Lizzie … Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie. Why don’t you tell Mr. Ryan why you have been following him around for the past month?”
Through this whole conversation, Lizzie had been so quiet that I had nearly forgotten she was there. But at the Great Lasorda’s words, she blushed and started stammering. “Well, Willie, I’m here because I’m your … friend. Right? We’re … we’re buddies, aren’t we?” She looked at the Great Lasorda with a hopeful
little half-smile, the way I smile at Amy when I don’t want her to say something that will get me in trouble.
The Great Lasorda raised his eyebrows again. “And would you please tell William exactly why you have pursued a friendship with him?”
What the heck was this guy talking about? Lizzie had always been around. And when Tim left town, she had just—
“Um, Willie?” Lizzie said, not quite looking in my eyes. “I started hanging around you this month because—because I made a promise.”
“A promise? What are you talking about, Lizzie? You never promised me anything.”
Now her eyes did meet mine for a split second. “I didn’t promise you, Willie. I promised Tim that I would watch out for you. He was …” She paused and looked to the Great Lasorda, who nodded at her. “He was worried that you wouldn’t have any friends after he left.”
I couldn’t believe it. The whole time Lizzie had been hanging around me, I’d flattered myself into thinking she was desperate to be my friend. And really, the entire time, I had been the desperate one. Jeepers, I was victory-challenged. Severely.
I just wished I could crawl into Dodger’s bottle and hide for about a thousand years.
The Great Lasorda said, “As you can see, William, Dodger’s intervention has been a complete failure. If I am not mistaken—and I am never mistaken—there were three wishes in your heart, as follows:
1. To make ‘Dumb Old Lizzie from England’ stop following you around;
2. To make your mother trust you with your own safety;
And 3. To turn you into a baseball star.
Have any of those goals been achieved?”
I looked at Lizzie, who was now glaring at me, and Dodger, who was giving me puppy-dog eyes (well, one puppy-dog eye, anyway). I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say.
“Well? Lizzie has spent half of this week hanging around with you. Your mother is about to burst into this kitchen and ground you until you’re old enough for her to start grounding your children. And all you have to show for your baseball practice is a swollen nose.”
Dodger interjected, “Oh, sure, when you put it that way it all sounds bad. But what about all the fun we’ve been having? And, Willie, isn’t it better having Lizzie as a friend?”
Lizzie snarled, “I am NOT that boy’s friend!” Then she ran out of the kitchen and into the dining room, sobbing.
The Great Lasorda said, “Oh, yes, Dodger, I can see how your campaign to free Willie from his problems has been a flaming success so far. Right, Willie?”
I couldn’t even look at him.
“And so,” the Great Lasorda continued, “please accept my personal and professional apologies on behalf of Bottled Hope, Incorporated. In consideration of the disappointing service you have received from us so far”—he paused to glare at Dodger—“I hereby guarantee that you will receive full personal attention for the remainder of this week. You will be granted the standard Three Wishes Upgrade, of course. Will that be satisfactory, William?”
Wow, three wishes! I looked around at the smoky, messy kitchen, the spill-stained stove, the shattered bits of china I could see through the dining room doorway, and the long shadow of my mother reaching in from the hall. If I had ever needed three wishes, this was the time. The Great Lasorda was looking right at me, so he couldn’t see that Dodger was shaking his head and making neck-cutting signals. I didn’t see what the big deal was, though. How could getting three wishes possibly be a bad thing? I looked back and forth between Dodger and the genie, both of whom were waiting for my answer.
“Uh, sure,” I said. “Three wishes sounds great!”
The Great Lasorda smiled. His smile was a little sinister, but hey, I could live with a little creepiness if it got me out of this mess in one piece. “Excellent,” he said. “Then I’ll just banish our mischievous little chimp back to his lamp, and we can get to work on making your wishes come true.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Banish Dodger?”
Dodger blurted out, “Wait a minute, Your Greatness! I want to stay here. I want to help Willie!”
The Great Lasorda snorted. “I think I can handle three simple wishes on my own, thanks. It’s bad enough I’ll have to clean up for what you have already done, without having to monkey-sit you for several days as well. Now, all I need is for Willie to say the word, and you can go eat a nice banana in your little lamp. How about it, Willie? Are you ready to get everything you could ask for?”
The Great Lasorda smirked at me expectantly. Dodger was still making with the sad-puppy face, and I knew the “monkey” comment must have bothered him a lot. For a moment, I felt really sorry for him. We had definitely had some fun together, even if things hadn’t worked out right. But then I looked around at the wreckage of my house. I thought about what was going to happen if my mom saw the smoking ruins of the kitchen. And, as a distant SLAM! let me know that Lizzie had made her way out the front door, I made up my mind. I needed a miracle. I needed three wishes. “I’m sorry, Dodger,” I said.
Dodger looked totally crushed. His shoulders sagged, and he looked away from me at the wall. He muttered, “So am I, dude. I was your frie—” Just then, the Great Lasorda snapped his fingers, and Dodger was gone. All that was left was a chimp-shaped hole in the smoke.
CHAPTER TEN
Happily Ever After Dinner
SO THE GREAT LASORDA and I had a little talk, and he granted my first two wishes. From the moment he snapped his fingers again, Lizzie would bother me no more, and my mother would have full and complete trust in me. He asked, “Are you ready? Because once I grant these wishes of yours, things will be very, very different.”
I took a deep breath, coughed out some smoke, and nodded. The Great Lasorda snapped his magic fingers. And POOF! The smoke disappeared. The mess on the stove disappeared. The Great Lasorda disappeared. The smashed china plate reassembled itself and flew onto the table, which was now miraculously set. The delicious, spicy aroma of well-cooked homemade food filled the kitchen, and I saw that several steaming pots were sitting on potholders on our breakfast bar with serving spoons sticking out of them. The Great Lasorda was pretty obnoxious, but apparently, he knew how to make things happen.
I braced myself for my mom’s frightening entrance, but she came in smiling. My dad followed behind, listening intently as Amy rattled on about some girl who had fallen on the playground. My mom turned to her and said, “Oh, honey, it’s too bad that your friend fell down. But these things happen. What do you expect the school to do, pad the whole school yard?” The whole family shared a big chuckle over that one, although I had to force my laugh out a second after everybody else’s.
Then my dad said, “Hey, Will, you made dinner! Excellent! What is it?”
“Uh, it’s a surprise,” I stammered.
“Well, surprise us, then,” my mom said as they trooped to the table and sat down. “I love surprises!”
Jeepers, my mom had always hated surprises.
I sat down, too, and said, “I wasn’t sure who would want what, so I decided you can all just, uh, serve yourselves. Unless you think it’s not safe for Amy to walk with hot food, I mean.”
Mom and Dad looked at me funny, and Amy jumped up to serve herself. I said, “Hey, by the way, I’m sorry I left school before after-care. I had this, um, emergency project to do, plus I wanted to have time to cook this special meal for you.”
Mom said, “After-care? When was the last time you went to after-care?”
Dad chimed in, “Yes, Will, you’ve been taking care of yourself after school for over a year now. Why would today be any different? Are you feeling all right? You’re acting kind of, well, confused all of a sudden.”
I took a sip of water. All of these changes were making me dizzy. Mom said, “Oh, James, he’s fine. I wish you wouldn’t baby him all the time!”
I tried not to choke on my water as Amy came back to the table with her plate heaped high. She had a steak knife teetering on the edge of her plate,
and I had to resist the urge to tell her to be careful. Mom and Dad didn’t even notice that their seven-year-old daughter had a razor-sharp object balanced mere inches above her lap.
For the first time, I got a good look at the food I had supposedly made. Apparently, I had whipped up a big old pot of chili, along with corn bread, rice, and a salad. I got myself some, and I had to admit, I’m a heck of an imaginary cook. Still, I couldn’t get over how my whole family was acting like this was one hundred percent normal in our house. Just to make some conversation, I said, “So, Mom, how was the Safety Committee meeting?”
Now it was her turn to nearly gag on her drink. “Safety Committee meeting? How in the world would I know? I was down the hall at the Physical Education Advisory Board session. Good news, Will—they’re finally going to put in that rock-climbing wall I’ve been pushing for!”
Wow, it was like my mom had been beamed into outer space and replaced by a supercool alien mom. But rock climbing terrifies me.
Mom continued, “You know, Will, this chili is SUPER!”
Amy nodded and grunted. Neither of my parents even scolded her for trying to talk with her mouth full. My dad asked, “Did you have fun making this? It sure tastes like you put a lot of effort into it.”
“Uh, yeah, Dad. It was quite an adventure.”
“Well, you know what I always say, son: Every day should be an adventure!”
I smiled weakly at him, wondering whether he had ever said that before. I was pretty sure that if he had, my mom—the old mom—would have straightened him out pretty fast. “By the way,” Dad continued, “I have a proposal for you. Seeing as how you enjoyed cooking so much, and we’re all enjoying eating what you made, why don’t we make this a routine? You could cook for us every Tuesday and Thursday, when your mother has her meetings.”
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