Becoming Jinn (31 page)

Then again, if it's Nate's legs I want to be intertwined with mine, why am I this rattled to discover Henry groping Chelsea?

Clichés exist for a reason. Somewhere inside lurks a hidden truth. Turns out one of the truths behind the cliché that romance ruins a friendship is that it can apply even when the friends remain platonic.

A trick without any magic involved.

*   *   *

When I hit my front yard, I wrest the heels from my aching feet. The cool grass tickles my toes as I walk in circles. I move slowly, trying to absorb what just happened with Henry. That was our first fight. But friends fight, don't they? And we're friends, aren't we? We are. We always have been. But maybe we're more. Maybe we always have been more.

Just like with me and Laila. My heart pounds as I struggle to find the words to say to her to make her understand. To make her forgive. She will, right? I mean, if Mrs. Pucher's sister could forgive her, Laila has to forgive me for this. Then again, it took Mrs. Pucher's sister thirty years and a genie to get there.

As I approach the fence to our backyard, I see Mrs. Seyfreth out of the corner of my eye. The lilac bush still blocks most of her view. She doesn't brush a single leaf aside. She just stands there in her little world, peering into ours. But there's nothing to see here. Not even the tent. I force my dirt-smudged feet back into the high heels to get a better view over the top of the fence. All I see is our normal backyard.

A Zar reunion has never before ended on the same night it began. Laila must have told. My heart aches with the thought of Samara finding out what I did.

I inch open the front door. The living room is empty. I tiptoe upstairs, desperate to make it to my room without being noticed.

“Poor Yasmin,” my mother says through her open bedroom door.

Samara replies, “Hana and the other girls got her settled in at Nadia's. Laila seemed so upset by it all that I thought it was better if Yasmin spent the night elsewhere.”

“It's understandable,” my mother says, “but sad. I just wish it didn't have to ruin the girls' night. Yasmin needed it more than any of them.”

“It didn't ruin it. They had their initiation. That's what's important.”

There's an edge to my mother's voice. “Is it really though? The Zar sisterhood. Sticking together. Raina would likely have something to say about that.”

“When didn't Raina have something to say?”

My mother responds with a soft laugh. “Especially to me.”

Samara sighs. “So much history. So much to remember. So much that's hard to let ourselves remember.”

Yasmin and Laila and Henry and Chelsea. All of their wounded faces, at least half of which I am responsible for, float before me. I round the corner and plant myself in the doorway.

“Like what?” I demand. Being Jinn is so full of secrets and lies, I need a playbook to keep track.

My mother snaps her head in my direction. “Azra! Where have you been?”

I drop her high heels to the floor. “I want to know what's so hard for you both to remember.” My mind returns to Henry and me on the black rock. Maybe having memories does make it hard to move on, but not having any makes it impossible.

My eyes dart from my mother to Sam. “But it's not what, is it? It's who. My father. Laila's father. Is that why we don't talk about them? Because it's hard?”

Their shocked faces but thin-lipped silence fuel me. Lots of things in life are hard. And as I've just discovered, avoiding them doesn't make it any easier.

“Did it ever occur to you both that it may be hard
for us
because you don't … because you won't talk about them? Don't you want to, Sam? I know you cared for him. I know you loved Laila's father.”

Samara lifts herself off of my mother's bed. “Azra, I'm not sure what's gotten into you—”

“Stop. I know about the locket.” My guilt lashes out in the form of anger at my mother. I narrow my eyes at her. “How do you think it felt to know Lalla Sam actually
loved
Laila's father? That she knew it'd be important for Laila to be able to see him one day?” I push past the lump in my throat. “You … you just gave him up, didn't you? You didn't care about him at all. Is it the same with Raina? What happened? Did she chip your tagine so you banished her from the house? Did you just give her up too?”

Samara takes my mother's hand. The two of them have always had each other. Guess they didn't really need anyone else.

In my hand, my phone buzzes. A text. I close my eyes, selfish enough to want it to be from Laila, naïve enough to hope it's from Henry, but in my heart, knowing who it's from. I look down. Nate. I'm both disappointed and not disappointed.

My mother releases Samara's hand. “This doesn't concern you, Azra.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest and says stiffly, “I get that you're upset, but whatever's happened, it's no excuse to talk to me, to either of us, like this. Maybe you should go to your room before you say something you'll regret.”

A harsh laugh rumbles through my nostrils. “Sorry, Mom. I'm what you wanted me to be my entire life. A Jinn. Which means, I'm an adult. You can't ground me.”

Without a backward glance, I march across the hall into my bedroom. I realize I'm effectively grounding myself but I have nowhere else to go.

I turn the lock and slide down my door, sitting on the floor with my back against the frame. Like that could stop my mother if she wanted to get inside.

Which she does.

A soft knock precedes her, “Azra?” The scolding gone from her voice, it now cracks as she says, “I'm … I'm sorry.”

No, no, no.
This is worse. I can't handle her hurting. Not on top of everyone else's. Not on top of my own.

“Honey,” Samara says, “it can't be that bad.”

Oh, but it is, Lalla Sam. I can't face her … because I know I'll see in her eyes the same hurt, betrayed look I saw in Laila's.

“Please.” I don't bother to disguise the quiver in my voice. “Not now.”

Whispers on the other side of the door.

My mother then says, “Okay, kiddo, but I'm always right here.”

“
We're
always right here,” Samara says, and I hear her hand tap the door.

The light their bodies were blocking shines under my door as they retreat. It surrounds my hunched, shaking frame, highlighting me, here, alone.

My hand still clings to my phone, the message from Nate on the screen. Followed by another one, asking if everything's okay. Right now, he's the only one in my life separate from all of this. Looks like I've found a new escape hatch.

I wait until I hear my mother's bedroom door close before unlocking my phone. I flip through pictures of Henry, Laila, and Nate before opening my messages. I answer Nate's text, he answers mine, and I go again. With each zoom, I distance myself from today, from everything Jinn, and slowly, my guilt at texting Nate, at letting myself enjoy texting Nate, diminishes.

Nate not knowing I'm a Jinn means I have to lie to him, but as I'm discovering, it also means I
get
to lie to him. I lose my Jinn self and for now am just a girl learning how to flirt with a boy.

We text for so long, my back spasms from lying on the wood floor. Finally, as we're saying good-bye, I get the feeling Nate sends the text he's been working up the nerve to type all night.

Staff bonfire tomorrow night. Would you like to be my mate?… Date.

*face palm*

Either one works for me.

Despite everything, or maybe because of everything, Nate officially proving that the “first” in front of his “date” from the other day was a necessary adjective makes my heavy heart do cartwheels.

A second date with Nate, a second date with Nate. I bounce my head from side to side as I sing the rhyme in my head.

My lack of response other than bouncing brings a follow-up text:

Work thing, I know. Promise to make it up w/ third.

Third, oh really? I prove I've gotten the hang of this flirting thing as I tease:

Presumptuous much?

Know what they say about assuming …

That it brings u and mi together?  ;)

So maybe Nate the underwear model doesn't quite hide his inner dork as well as I thought. Nothing could make me happier.

The late hour combined with the lack of feeling in my thumbs signals it's time to go to bed. We sign off, and my joints crack as I change into my pajamas. Passing by my window before climbing into bed, I catch sight of Henry and Chelsea fused together, illuminated by the light on the Carwyns' front steps.

My mix of jealousy, anger, and guilt is an entirely normal response. My wish has finally come true. And this weight in my chest confirms that wishes do indeed come with a price.

 

29

Too small for my wrist, the silver tinsel stayed wrapped around my ring finger while I worked my morning shift at the beach. Chelsea, the only one from last night I've seen today, seemed both embarrassed and a little frightened when we crossed paths at work, neither of which made me as happy as I would have expected.

I now twist the tinsel in my hand as I sit on my bed, preparing to apologize to Laila. While I also owe Henry an apology, Laila comes first. Especially because today is her sixteenth birthday. The day she's been waiting for her entire life.

Since my bronze bangle prevents me from apporting, I steel my nerves and dial her cell. She doesn't answer. I call the house phone. No answer. I open my laptop and try her that way. Nothing. I probably wouldn't answer either.

I load my e-mail and type my rehearsed apology. It takes me almost an hour. I read it over. Twice. And then delete the whole thing. Because it sounds rehearsed.

As much as I want to forget all things Jinn, as much as I don't want anything to ruin my date with Nate, what I should do is skip the bonfire and ask my mother to app me to her house. I should, but rust is beginning to eat away at my steel nerves. My guilt on the other hand is all spit shined and gleaming. Because I'm more relieved than disappointed that Laila didn't answer any of my calls.

Coward that I am, I type an e-mail that simply says,
“I'm sorry. Happy Birthday, Sister.”
I send it along with a photo I take of the silver tinsel wrapped around Mr. Gemp—the genie lantern Hana gave me on my birthday that I should be passing to Laila today.

This is when the tears I should have shed last night come.

 

30

Nostalgia for a past whose simplicity eluded me at the time makes me choose the purple linen tunic my mother gave me for my birthday. I'm wearing it over the lace bra and thong conjured by Yasmin. She really does have impeccable craftsmanship. The thong doesn't itch like I thought it would.

At the bathroom mirror, I keep one eye on the YouTube instructional video that plays on my laptop while I attempt to apply more than my usual lip gloss. The angled brush draws a line of deep pink on my cheeks, and I force my guilt to take a time out, just for tonight. A sparkling green camouflages my lower lid, and I bury the image of Laila's sad, knowing eyes. Mascara thickens my long lashes, and I replace the image of Laila's blue—now, gold—eyes with Nate's blissfully unaware chocolaty ones. With each brushstroke I cover the part of me that is Jinn. I become a normal teenage girl going on her first real date.

I put down the tube of cinnamon-colored lipstick and assess my work. Paired with the copper accents in my long, dark hair, the end result causes me to do a double take, not out of conceit but out of astonishment for how much I resemble my mother when she was my age. I could stand in for her in any picture in her high school album and I'm not sure anyone could tell the difference.

Tonight calls for something better than jeans. Fortunately, the benefit of being my mother's doppelgänger means I have effectively doubled my wardrobe. In her bedroom, I try on three different skirts before settling on a white denim mini I can't ever remember her wearing.

Before leaving, I sift through her jewelry box. This may be the first time I've ever thought about accessorizing. I feel a twinge in my chest when I think how proud both Hana and Laila would be.

Checking out the stockpile of jewels in the bottom drawer, I spy a thick, African-style wooden bracelet that looks like it'd pair well with my bronze bangle and slip it over my hand.

I rummage through, holding up black pearls from China and glass beads from Italy, but decide the necklace I'm already wearing works best. I start to close the drawer. That's when I notice what the large wooden bracelet was hiding.

Tucked into the furthest reaches is my silver pendant with the cursive
A
engraved on the front. But it can't be. Because that pendant's currently around my neck. I pick up the duplicate
A,
which feels much heavier than the one I'm wearing. It's the weight I remember it being before I turned sixteen.

It seems no matter how hard I try to prevent anything from ruining my date with Nate, the universe has other plans. Because the large piece of jewelry was hiding something else: the two pictures of my mother and her beau that I last stashed in my pillowcase. That was weeks ago. Of course, my mother's changed my sheets since then. Why didn't she say anything? The Jinn secrets' playbook keeps getting bigger.

I return the pictures and the heavier clone of my
A
pendant to her jewelry box. I'm reinstating my Scarlett O'Hara plan and giving myself tonight off. I have a lifetime to decipher this Jinn playbook. I'm not going to let anything ruin my night.

*   *   *

A melted bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream sits on the coffee table in front of my mother. Neither one of us can eat ice cream slow enough that it melts. If that isn't enough of a clue that something's amiss, I catch the look on my mother's face as she slides something between the sofa cushions.