As You Wish (10 page)

“I GOT TOO
involved. I don't know why—why do I do this to myself?” I yell to the ifrit in the park. I can't get the scent of Aaron's cheap cologne and the expression in Viola's eyes out of my head, even though it's been hours—the sun has long set into a dark night seeded with stars.

I'm jealous. What's happening to me? Viola is angry at me and I care. I shouldn't care.

“You always had a soft spot for mortals, I think,” the ifrit answers, a defeated, disappointed look in his eyes.

“It's what kept me from becoming an ifrit,” I mutter. I pace back and forth in front of the oak tree, while the ifrit calmly
leans against its trunk, arms folded. There's no fear in Caliban. I wouldn't feel like this in Caliban.

Jealous.

There's definitely no jealousy in Caliban.

“You've got to get home, my friend. You think this is what matters, but getting
home
is what's important, your
kind
are important. Look at me—look how I've aged here! We were once the same age, remember? This isn't what you want, to die as a mortal.”

To change. To age. To be different every moment. To be like Viola. The thoughts that had grown to be something beautiful,
desirable
, become ugly and terrifying in the space of a moment. What have I become, that I could have any yearning to age? That I feel broken because of some
girl
? This is not who I am, what I am. I'm a jinn.
A
jinn, not
Jinn
. I have no name, no personal relationships—no matter what I've come to think. How many moments of my life are gone forever because of this?

“Look,” the ifrit says. He steps forward and places a hand—the hand of a grown man, not a boy—on my shoulder. “You broke the three protocols about a hundred times—the Ancients
are already furious enough about that. You've lost five days of your life. And look at yourself—you're a mess, because you've started caring for a girl who is your master. Your
master
—not your friend. You are always going to be the creature that grants her wishes, no matter what she says or what you want to believe.

“Get home, my friend. Get home to Caliban so you can make sense of your life again. I'll talk to the Ancients, try to get them to go easy on you. I'll tell them you just had a lapse in judgment and are back to following protocol and everything. Just get
home
.”

He's right. Of course he's right. He understands; he's a fellow jinn. How could I think a mortal girl could understand what I am? How could I think that in just five days, she and I could be…friends?

“Besides, those flowers aren't going to deliver themselves,” the ifrit adds with a grin. I force a fake smile through the stampede of thoughts in my head. The ifrit adds, “This is not your world. We aren't mortals, always searching for completion and getting their hearts broken—”

“It's not like that,” I snap. “I just…I know I'm a wish granter, and she's my master, but at the same time it's like…it's like she's my friend.” The words are spoken not in affection, but amazement.

She's my friend.

“Well,” the ifrit says, looking doubtful at this claim, “what did you think would happen—best case? She'll forget about you when you return to Caliban, you know that. Or do you think she won't wish, that you can stay here with her? That for the rest of her life, she'll put you above getting whatever she wishes for? Even better—that for the rest of her life, she won't slip up and say something like ‘I wish it would stop raining'? You can't win this. In the end, you'll be in Caliban. She'll forget you. And whatever ‘friendship' you think you have will be gone. Relationships are not for immortals. A bird and a fish may long for each other, but where could they live?”

I gaze across the park. The sun is starting to rise over the pool on the opposite side, and the stars are fading away into a peach-colored morning. Dandelions are growing on the park's sad excuse for a football field. There are no weeds in Caliban
either. Caliban, my home. I miss my home. Where things are normal, where I'm not confused, attached to a…
mortal
.

I turn back to the ifrit, a solid feeling in my heart and a firm decision in my mind. “Do it. Press her.”

“A wise decision, my—”

“But don't hurt her,” I interrupt, as my mind jumps to the thought of the ifrit pressing Viola by way of some grisly accident. “I know it shouldn't matter, but please. Don't hurt her.”

The ifrit raises an eyebrow and looks annoyed, but then nods. “All right. Give me a few days, I'll come up with something that won't hurt her.” The ifrit studies me for a moment more, then vanishes.

I collapse onto the ground and stare at the starless morning sky. Soon. Soon, I can go home again. It feels as if someone has pushed a boulder off my chest that was weighing me down to the mortal world. It's easier this way. It's easier to be jinn than mortal. I'm happier this way.

I CAN'T SLEEP.
It's late now, and even though my body aches and it begs me to rest, my mind continues to storm with thoughts of Lawrence and Jinn. I can't stop tears from filling my eyes every few minutes. I keep looking to the armchair Jinn usually sits in, how he sat there the night before while I slept, because…because I trusted him. Because I forgot what he was. Because I never thought he'd use his powers against me, to trick me. He was just
Jinn
, my friend, not some magical invisible creature. But not anymore. And Lawrence, too…something that feels like guilt and anger has settled deep in my stomach, weighing me down until I feel sick and clammy. I curl
my knees into my chest and force my eyes shut.

It's hard to sleep—I keep jolting awake, both dreading and hoping to see Jinn in my bedroom. Morning comes far too quickly, and Aaron pulls into my driveway before I've even combed my hair. It's raining outside, a misty, light rain that turns the sky the same color as the asphalt and makes my skin feel sticky.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Aaron asks when I toss my bag into his car. I'm not sure if he's asking because my eyes are still puffy and red despite a layer of makeup, or if he's referring to me ditching him yesterday.

“Oh, yeah. Everything is fine,” I say, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, and try to give a lighthearted shrug. Aaron grins, nods, and reverses the car out of the driveway so quickly that my stomach spins until I'm so nauseous I beg him to slow down.

“Sorry,” Aaron says, and drops the speed down by a few miles per hour. “Do you want me to tell you about the end of the movie? I was worried after you left.” He reaches over and rubs my forearm affectionately.

“No, I'm good,” I say, sharper than I intended. I try to edge my arm away—for all I know, Jinn is in the backseat. Though I'm not sure why it matters; if he wants to spy on me and Aaron, he deserves to see us acting like a couple is supposed to act. I exhale as anger and hurt fill me again, and wrap Aaron's hand tightly in my own. When we park in the student lot, Aaron leans over to kiss me, and after a moment's pause I let him, some hateful part of me hoping Jinn is watching. But no one shoves Aaron; no invisible hand knocks him away. We just kiss, and after we get out of the car I can't help but feel disappointed. It's hard to be vengeful when Jinn actually
is
staying away from me.

I fake my way through Wednesday with the Royal Family—when they ask me what's wrong, I just claim I have allergies or a bad cold. It shuts them up, though a few explain how they just skip school if they're so sick that people can tell. Somehow this is not as comforting as they seem to think it'll be.

I'm not surprised that Lawrence avoids me; after all, according to him I'm responsible for his lack of a dating life. At lunch, he sits at the opposite end of the table, leaving me
surrounded with Aaron and cookie-cutter blonde girls. He picks at his food and leaves early, all without glancing my way. One of the blondes notices and suggests I go talk to him. “I mean, you two are, like, really close, aren't you?” she says, rolling a carrot stick between her fingers.

I shrug and try to act casual. “Not so much anymore.” The girl shrugs and goes back to eating her lunch of raw vegetables (a diet she swears by), and I watch Lawrence disappear down the hallway. I'm still angry at him—fuming, even—for the way he made me feel, for thinking I need to be babysat, for not telling me when he knew he couldn't love me. But for some reason, my stomach twinges in guilt. I quickly ask how the veggie diet is going so I don't feel compelled to follow him.

Thursday is much the same. When I wake up, I scan the room for Jinn, but the house is empty; knowing this causes a sort of hollow feeling to creep up on me as I get ready for school. I silently mouth Jinn's name in my Shakespeare class, where I first saw him, letting just enough of a breathy whisper escape my lips so that if he appears I can pretend it was an accident. Somehow the fact that he doesn't appear makes me even
angrier—what right does he have to hold a grudge against me? He's the one who was out of line. I even let Aaron kiss me in the school hallways to the point that people begin to whistle, figuring that Lawrence or Jinn will want to put a stop to it more than they want to continue the silent treatment. But no luck there, either.

“I'll see you tomorrow night, baby,” Aaron says as I get out of his Jeep on Friday afternoon. The rain has mostly let up, but the world is still gray and soggy. Aaron puts the Jeep in park and comes around to the passenger side to press me against the car and kiss me hard. I turn away before it goes on too long.

“Yeah, see you there,” I reply reluctantly. We have plans to go to some party. Amazing how I went from longing for an invitation to wishing I could avoid a party, all in the same week.

“Awesome. Need me to pick you up?”

“Um…yeah. Yeah.”

“Awesome,” he says again. “I'll come get you at nine.”

“Okay. I'll see you later.”

“Awesome.”

Great word, Aaron.
I dodge a last kiss and go inside, dropping my bag in the kitchen and collapsing on the couch to watch TV…alone. And lonely.

I could say his name and he'll have to come. Not that I really want him to show up simply because I gave him an order, but…he'd still have to come. I sigh and bury my face in a couch pillow as the sinking realization washes over me for the thousandth time today: Without Lawrence and Jinn, I feel sick and alone, so much so that it covers up any anger I might have. They own a space in me that Aaron and my new Royal Family friends can't fill with lip gloss or beer, a space that's raw and aching. Like I'm being broken all over again.

 

Saturday morning arrives too soon. When I wake up, my eyes instantly go to the armchair. Still empty. I sigh and force myself to look away, catching sight of a few old painting projects piled up in the corner of my bedroom.

I haven't painted in days, I realize. Suddenly I miss the feeling of painting more than I knew until this moment, and the urge to grab for a brush sweeps over me like the need to eat or
drink. But all of my paints are at school.

I could go to the school; there are enough weekend activities that a door is always unlocked. Paint all evening. Skip the party tonight. Of course, it's not what the new shiny Viola should do. But it would give me something to do all day rather than bite my lip over the fact that I can't talk to Jinn or Lawrence.

Yes. I'm going. I grab my mother's car keys without asking, and a half hour later I slip into the school. My Expo paintings sit patiently, covered with ripped-up bedsheets. I yank the sheets off.

I don't like these. They're just paintings. Pretty enough, but just paintings. They aren't expressions or emotions…or me. I mean, they told us to paint landscapes, and I obeyed; I painted landscapes. Landscapes that belong on walls in living rooms, or above bedroom dressers. They don't belong to me. They aren't paintings that show the world who I am, what I am. I grab all five canvases from their easels, dropping them in a stack on a nearby table, and fill the easels with fresh, blank canvases—clean slates ready to be filled up.

The Expo is in just a few days. I'm not talented enough to come up with something amazing in that amount of time. I've got no business starting from scratch this late. But the desire to fill the blank canvas with color tingles through my chest, down my arms, until it feels like it may explode from my fingertips. I reach for a brush and splash color across the whiteness.

Hours pass, though I hardly notice. My hands are speckled in colors that match the bright sunset outside. The paintings are strange; something to do with me, Ollie, Lawrence, Aaron…something to do with Jinn. Something to do with studying pink hair and chain belts and French manicures, and how everything is a marker to show who you are, what you belong to. The emotions spill out onto the white until they don't consume my head anymore, until I don't care if the paintings are good or not.

My cell phone rings, and my brush clatters to the concrete floor.

“Hello?” I answer, rubbing my face, probably getting paint all over it.

“Hey, beautiful,” Aaron's voice says.

Viola. My name is Viola.

“Still want me to pick you up?”

I look longingly at the painting; it's not quite finished. “Actually…I'm working on a painting. I can't go,” I say.

Aaron sighs deeply. “But, baby, I just want to be with you tonight, you know? I love you.”

“Yeah.” But only because I wished for it.

“Can't you work on the painting another day?”

I can. I can do that. But I don't want to; I want to paint now, while all the emotion is stirred up. Jinn would understand that. So would Lawrence. But I can leave. I sigh as guilt fills me. It's my fault that he loves me, that he wants me there. It's not his fault for not understanding me, or why I paint. I owe it to him.

“Yes,” I reply, holding in a heavy sigh. “I'll meet you at my house.”

I try to look excited as I climb out of Aaron's Jeep a half hour later. Boys rush to help Aaron with a cooler, and girls shout for me to join their tiny circle of pretty people. But I can stand the gossip for only so long before I migrate away from
them, grateful to see that the backyard is almost empty, save for a few couples making out and a lone girl in a tiny flower garden.

It's a dark, cloudless night, and the moon is only a tiny sliver in the sky. The house is set far enough out that the nearest streetlights are just specks in the distance, and with so few of the house's lights on, the stars look especially brilliant. I sigh, gazing at them, then hear a sob from the girl in the flower garden. I raise my eyebrows and take several steps toward the girl while the nearest makeout pair moves away from her.

“Hello?” I call out. The girl doesn't answer, just gives another small sob. I step closer, through the garden's soft soil. The headlights of an arriving car shine across the girl's tearstained face. Her skin is dull and her eyes are empty, but she reminds me of someone….

I throw a hand to my mouth.

I think it's Ollie—no, I
know
it's Ollie—but this isn't…this isn't her. This isn't the girl I know, disheveled and weeping in the grass. Her skin is dull, her eyes look as though they're aching, and she chokes on a sob before laying her head to the
ground in what looks like defeat.

My wish wasn't supposed to hurt anybody. I sink to my knees beside the girl, who hardly seems to notice I'm here.

It's my fault. It's all my fault.

Jinn. Jinn, help. Please.