Becoming Jinn

by Lori Goldstein

  “Kickin’, right?” Hana says.

  Yasmin sidles up to the bar and, with a drawl that confirms her alcohol intake, says, “I don’t know why you’re bothering. She’s never going clubbing with us.” Her icy tone makes that sound more like a threat than a statement. “I mean, Azra’s too stuck-up about being Jinn to even wear the outfit Hana made.”

  Made? I reach out and touch Laila’s sheer scarf. The material’s too rich to be dime-store quality. “Hana, you made these genie outfits? As in conjured?”

  “As in sewed,” Yasmin snipes. “By hand.”

  My stomach lurches.

  “You know she’s always had a thing for designing,” Yasmin says. “No, wait, you probably don’t.”

  Mina hides her head in her phone as she says slowly, “You haven’t really been around much, Azra.”

  Hana’s eyes dart to mine before fixating on a spot on the concrete floor.

  Suddenly Farrah blurts out, “Neither have we.” Everyone stares at her. She sets her hands on her hips. “Screw it, it’s true.”

  With deliberate steps, Laila leaves my side and moves to the center of the room. “Well, we’re all here now, so maybe the past can stay in the past?”

  The hush that comes over the garage contrasts with the raucousness of our mothers that flows through the closed door.

  Hana, Mina, and Farrah hover by the metal shelves against the far wall. With Yasmin on one side of the room, me on the other, and Laila in between, the dynamics of our Zar reveal themselves.

  Yasmin breaks the silence by plunking a glass bottle on top of the bar. “Perhaps we need to take our cue from them.” She begins to fill six shot glasses with a green liquor. “Absinthe.” Her tone infuses the word with sex and danger. Surely she’s been perfecting this. Nothing comes off sounding so velvety without practice.

  “You conjured that?” Laila asks, eyes wide.

  Yasmin wets her lips. Again, undoubtedly, a rehearsed move. “I could, but I didn’t have to. Lalla Kalyssa had it.”

  Though she’s used the respectful “Lalla,” the way my mother’s name spills from Yasmin’s devil-red lips comes across as anything but respectful.

  “Where?” I ask, my tone more accusatory than I meant. Not that I didn’t mean to accuse, I just didn’t mean to sound like I was accusing. “My mom only drinks wine.”

  The edges of Yasmin’s lips curl into a predatory smile. “Or so you think. I bet there’s a lot you don’t know. About your mother. About lots and lots and lots of stuff.”

  We’ve always rubbed each other the wrong way, but tonight there’s something underlying Yasmin’s posturing. She’s the quintessential silverback pounding her D-cup chest.

  I should ignore her. But the impatient tapping of her foot makes me focus on the lineup of shot glasses. I’m preparing to send them and the green liquid inside flying as payback for slamming the door in Henry’s face when I steal a glance at Laila, still standing between us with hope in her eyes. I owe her. So instead of the first shot glass crashing to the ground, it soars across the room, thanks to my powers. I catch it with one hand.

  “Nice, Azra,” Farrah says. “Took me a week to get the hang of levitating.”

  “Thanks, it’s no big deal,” I say, though the glass shakes the tiniest bit in my hand.

  With an exaggerated eye roll, Yasmin zooms the remaining shot glasses around the room. They stop with a jolt and bob in front of each of the other girls.

  Laila raises her glass in the air. “To lifelong friends.”

  I focus on her as I repeat the words. I then feel the burn of my first, and last, shot of absinthe all the way to my toes. Laila’s grimace as she sets her glass on the bar tells me she feels the same.

  She loops the shopping bag around her arm and says, “Guess now’s as good a time as any.” With a wobble in her step, she returns to my side and pulls out a small blue box that she places in my hand. “Happy Birthday.”

  The burn in my gut turns to nausea as I lift the lid.

  Connected to a silver chain lies a figure eight on its side. I touch the pendant that means “never ending” and am overwhelmed with guilt. The infinity symbol attached to this necklace matches the engraving on the gold locket that used to belong to Samara. The locket Samara gave Laila months ago. The locket Laila no longer has. The locket Laila knows is no longer in her possession but doesn’t know is now in mine.

  My “thank you” comes out in a whisper, causing Laila to bite her bottom lip. “Do you really like it? I wasn’t sure since you’ve always worn your ‘A.’ But my mom thought maybe you’d be ready for a change.”

  Though I’ve worn my A necklace nearly every day of my life, I hesitate for only a moment before unhooking the clasp. I test the pendant’s weight in my hand before dropping it in my pocket. It’s lighter than I would have thought.

  I bend my head forward, allowing Laila to secure the new necklace. She then unwinds the sheer scarf draped around her neck. Underneath, an identical figure eight sparkles against her rosy skin.

  She envelops me in a hug. “I know it’s not official yet, but you’ve always been my sister.”

  Behind Laila, Yasmin downs another shot, her eyes clouding over. My own are brimming with tears and so I close them, ignore Yasmin, and squeeze Laila right back, kissing the top of her blond head.

  Laila then hurries over to the other girls and places a box in each of their hands. “I know our Zar won’t be legit until I turn sixteen, but since that’s taking for-ev-er, I couldn’t wait.” Tears well in her eyes. “We’ll all match, which is perfect because there isn’t another group of Jinn I’d rather be bound to. Mina, Farrah, Hana, Yasmin, and Azra. My sisters.”

  Squealing, Mina and Farrah almost knock Laila over as they embrace her.

  Hana pulls me next to her, and I’m wondering how to apologize for not changing into the genie costume when Mina comes around my other side. “Love your tunic, Azra,” she says.

  My thanks puts an enormous smile on her soft, round face, surprisingly not all that different from the one in the photograph despite the years and becoming Jinn in between.

  Making human friends has always been a struggle. After Jenny was gone, these girls were all I had. But being friends with them meant I was like them—not just accepting of being a Jinn, but happy about being a Jinn.

  Can I really dislike what I have to do without disliking them? I’m not sure, but I’ll admit that as I touch the infinity symbol around my neck and eye the matching ones topping off everyone else’s stripper-worthy ensembles, I find myself “oohing” a bit like Farrah. Okay, so only on the inside, but still.

  Yasmin places her unopened box on the bar and instead reaches for the bottle of absinthe. Though I know better than to taunt a snake, my sudden urge to protect Laila causes me to echo Yasmin’s earlier words. “You’re going to just pour that? Like a human?”

  Yasmin’s head snaps up, and she freezes. My only warning is the slight narrowing of her eyes, but it’s enough. When she hurls the bottle at the ground, my powers suspend it in midair. When she apps herself to the top step by the door to the kitchen, I immediately follow, knocking her to the bottom stair and into the wall of boxes as I reappear.

  Fuming, Yasmin grabs Laila’s hand and apps them both to the driveway. Using my powers, I raise the garage door and stroll outside. Hana, Mina, and Farrah trail close behind.

  At either end of the driveway, neither of us makes a move. Though it’s dark, any human who passed by could still see us. I may have a touch of an instigator inside me, but even I’m not going to do magic in plain sight on my first day. Yasmin, who’s been at this for almost a year, apparently feels differently. She smirks and disappears.

  Stunned, no one utters a word.

  8

  When Yasmin returns to the driveway, it’s with a plump cat in her arms. And a red scratch on her cheek. She tentatively strokes the silver-and-black-striped fur, and I gasp. I recognize the cat. It’s strictly an inside cat, specifically, the Carwyns’
inside cat.

  “Give it to me,” I say, rushing toward her.

  Burying her nose in the cat’s fur, Yasmin turns away from me. “But he’s so cute. Just like his owner.”

  The vicious hiss emanating from the animal causes Yasmin to jerk her head back.

  Fear, astonishment, and anger mix with the alcohol to make my head spin. I turn to Laila. Somehow she puts the pieces together. “Did anyone see you? Did Henry see you?”

  Hana, Mina, and Farrah each clasp a hand over their mouth at the same time.

  “Too far,” Hana says, shaking her head.

  With her back still facing me, Yasmin shrugs. Or maybe that was a wince. “My mother always says we shouldn’t have to hide who we are.”

  Laila marches over to Yasmin and plucks the cat out of her arms. “But we do. This isn’t a game.”

  The front door to Henry’s house bursts open. “Slinky? Here Slinky!” He races through the side yard, calling for the cat.

  The six multicolored bangles Yasmin has stacked against her magical silver one clank against one another as she tries to hide the drop of blood springing from a fresh scratch on the back of her hand.

  She pushes her shoulders back. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Seems pretty fun to me.”

  Henry bolts across the front lawn to the other side of the house.

  With a hiss for the cat and a wicked smile for me, Yasmin nabs Mina with one hand and Farrah with the other and heads for the garage.

  Hana looks back and forth between me and Laila and the slowly closing garage door before rounding her shoulders. “You’ve … you’ve got this, right, Azra?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she scurries behind the others and into the garage right before the door bangs shut.

  The noise causes Henry to skid to a halt. He takes in Laila with Slinky in her arms and me standing awkwardly next to her.

  “Slinky!” He runs barefoot across the street. “Man, do I owe you guys for finding her. Lisa’s bawling. She won’t go to sleep without this stupid cat by her side. One minute the thing was curled up on her pillow, and the next it was gone.”

  Laila swallows hard. “Did she…? Did Lisa see anything?”

  “No,” Henry says. “She got up to use the bathroom and by the time she came back, the cat had made a break for it. How I have no idea. The central air’s on, and my dad swears all the windows and doors were shut and locked.”

  “Crazy,” I say just to have something to say. “Maybe … maybe…”

  Laila tilts her head toward the Carwyns’ garage door, bugging her eyes at me. Finally, I understand. I concentrate and watch the scuffed “A+J” rise as the door lifts a few inches off the ground.

  I point across the street. “Maybe the garage?”

  Henry turns around and studies his house. “Huh, how did I not notice that before?”

  “Oh,” Laila says, moving closer to Henry, “it’s funny the things we miss that are often right in front of our noses.” She gently lays the cat in his arms and retreats to the front door.

  She doesn’t look my way to see how my eyes are begging her not to leave this in my hands. What if Henry’s still suspicious? What if they no longer keep the litter box in the garage? What if the door to the house is locked up tight? What if—

  “Ouch.” Henry sticks the finger Slinky just nipped into his mouth. “Stupid, demonic cat. I swear I don’t know why Lisa’s so attached. The mongrel hates me, and the feeling is mutual.”

  The giggle that leaves my mouth is so uncharacteristic that I blame the evil absinthe.

  Henry smiles. “Find this funny, do you?” He shakes his head. “You wouldn’t if you woke up to this mangy beast standing on your chest like it’s contemplating whether or not to suffocate you with its fat belly.”

  I giggle again, enjoying the image of Slinky creeping toward Yasmin’s pointy nose.

  Wearing the same amused look from earlier, Henry says, “Well, I should get this thing back to Lisa before she has a complete meltdown, if she hasn’t already.”

  I glance back at my house. For the first time in years, the idea of following Henry through his front door, even with all the memories of Jenny, is more attractive than walking through mine.

  “I remember when you first got her,” I say. “Jenny picked her out, didn’t she?”

  His smile turns bittersweet. “Yeah. I wanted a turtle. But Jenny said—”

  “You can’t cuddle a turtle.” Tears pool in my eyes. Damn that absinthe. I start inching backward toward the garage. “I should go.”

  “Course, sorry, you’re the guest of honor, and I’m making you miss your own party. Thanks again.” He hurries across the street. When he reaches the sidewalk in front of his house, he turns around. “Oh, and I’m glad to see you went with that costume.”

  Looking down at my white pants and purple tunic, I say, “What costume?”

  “You know, just a normal teenager. It suits you.”

  * * *

  Music is playing, Jinn are dancing, and cameras are clicking as I walk through the door to my house. I hide out in the corner. The Christmas-tree-colored mix of red, white, and green alcohol combined with the rich tagine churns my stomach like a lifeboat on rough seas.

  Eventually I’m dragged into the darkened dining room where all sixteen candles glow on my perfectly iced chocolate cake. The shadows cast on the walls reflect the room full of Jinn, but the only thing I’m seeing is the shadow that should be here, blowing out sixteen candles of her own.

  I puff, again and again, making the same wish I made when I was ten and Laila was standing before me, silver tinsel around her wrist, her brow creased, her tongue protruding from between her lips, concentrating so hard I thought she’d explode.

  I wish I were normal. I wish I had a normal family. I wish becoming Jinn didn’t mean losing everything else—Jenny, my father, me.

  It is a wish I’ve made on every birthday, on every shooting star, on every eyelash since I can remember. It can never come true. I know it can’t. I know it can’t. Still … doesn’t hurt to try. Just in case.

  The forkful of chocolate cake hits my lips, and I know I’m going to be sick. I manage to app myself to my bathroom but land in the tub. I throw back the shower curtain and fall in front of the toilet. My mother’s next to the bowl, having already lifted the lid. I’m grateful. I wouldn’t have had enough time to open it myself.

  * * *

  In bed, tucked under the covers with Laila asleep next to me, her mouth hanging open, I hear my mother and Samara arguing.

  “You’ve never hidden your contempt for this world,” my mother says, “but that’s my daughter. How could you let her? How could you start this?”

  “Contempt is right,” Samara replies, “because this would have never happened in our world. It’s absurd, this making things taboo. Of course all they want to do is defy us. But, whatever. We’ll do things your way—again. But for the record, you’re the one who agreed to let them have the wine with dinner.”

  I can practically hear the grinding of my mother’s teeth.

  “You were always so quick to take risks, Sam. You and Raina.”

  The harshness in my mother’s voice surprises me.

  “And you were always so willing to go along, Kalyssa. Always following the rules. Always so afraid to take a risk. And look how that’s worked out. For them. For all of us.”

  “This isn’t about that,” my mother quips.

  “The hell it isn’t,” Samara says. “Tell me, did you even get to see him today? Did his risk pay off? His risk for you?”

  The heaviness of my eyelids pushes them down. I don’t want them to close, but I can’t help it. I hear the sound of crying from my mother, then from Samara. Forcing myself to stay awake, I strain until a few minutes later I hear the sounds of laughter, from Samara, then from my mother.

  And then I’m asleep, silver bangle tight around my wrist.

  9

  “My head’s killing me,” Laila says. Wit
h a moan, she shoves her face under the pillow next to me.

  I touch my forehead and wince. Shh. I don’t think I manage to say it out loud. I roll onto my side and yank the comforter over my shoulder. Today, I will skip.

  Again, my mother has other plans. She’s perched at the foot of my bed. Samara stands next to her. They’re both smiling. At least they’re not fighting. Do I even know what it was they were fighting about?

  “Since you two like trying new beverages so much,” Samara says, “we thought we’d introduce you to coffee.”

  A tall, white mug appears on my nightstand next to Mr. Gemp. Steam swirls above it. A matching cup materializes next to Laila.

  “Can’t you just make it go away?” I ask, struggling to sit up. “I feel awful.”

  “Good,” my mother says. “I want you to feel awful. Samara had to stop me from making you feel worse.”

  A long lecture about the dangers of drinking follows. We are too young, our Jinn bodies can’t yet handle the effects, we have to follow the same rules as human teenagers no matter what our Jinn world might or might not allow, and on and on. My mother speaks while Samara tries not to smirk.

  I sip the sugary coffee, and my head begins to clear. I nod from time to time—gently. It hurts to move too much. But I’m not really listening anymore. As the thumping in my head confirms, I’m not drinking alcohol again. I’ve found a much better replacement. Take that, Jinn blood. I tilt my coffee cup to suck down the last drops.

  “Lalla Nadia’s making pancakes. From scratch.” My mother ignores Samara’s huff. “I trust you two will be down shortly?”

  My stomach turns at the idea of food, but I say, “Uh-huh.” The heavy breathing next to me signals that Laila has fallen back to sleep, full coffee cup in hand. I smack her leg.

  “Huh?” Laila jerks awake. Coffee sloshes over the side of her ceramic mug. “What cat? There was no cat.”

  I widen my eyes and shake my head.

  “Oh, honey,” Samara says, “if you’re going to dream, dream big. Lion, panther, chupacabra, make it worth it.”

  Our mothers leave, and Laila offers me some of her coffee, pouring half her mug into mine. We sip in silence until something from last night comes back to me.