“And those Ancients you keep talking about have strict no-mermaid rules?”
“No. But I can’t change what a person is. Just how they are, if that makes sense.”
“Oh. Was she sad when you couldn’t do it?”
“My master?” I ask in surprise. “I guess so. I think she might have cried. I don’t really know…” I trail off, somehow ashamed of the fact that I don’t have an answer to Viola’s question.
She smiles at me, and her eyes are full of a kind of sweet sadness as she lets her hair fall in front of her face. It traps me for just a second, and I almost miss the wish that passes through her gaze. I can’t quite make the wish out—it’s something deep, something she hasn’t told me—something I get the feeling she hasn’t told anybody. How can I not see it in her?
“What is it?” I ask. I’m usually so good at reading mortals…
Viola presses her lips together and avoids my eyes. “I don’t have wishes like that. I mean, I know what I want to wish for—to belong somewhere, to something, with someone. But I want to belong only so I can…feel complete again, instead of broken apart from losing Lawrence—”
“He’s still your friend, you didn’t lose—”
“Yes,” she cuts me off. “I did. I didn’t lose him, really, but…I lost something. Some part of me broke when I realized I wasn’t loved anymore, that I couldn’t love him like before. But I can’t just make a wish to feel complete again—you said it won’t last, that wishing to be happy never lasts. So the thing that would make me feel complete is belonging instead of feeling invisible, but I don’t want to wish to belong. I can’t be that pathetic, that I have to wish for something like that.” Her voice gets smaller. “I just don’t know.”
I laugh. I don’t mean to, but I can’t help it—no wonder I can’t read the wish in her. It isn’t a real wish.
Viola’s eyes flash angrily. “I’m glad you think it’s funny.”
I chuckle again. “Well, it’s just that it’s impossible to be a broken or whole person. You can only be a person. You can only exist, you can only belong to yourself, and you can only be responsible for your own happiness or belonging or whatever. That broken-part-piece-whole thing is just a trick of the mortal mind. Three wishes won’t make you feel any more whole than you already do. At least not for long.”
I expect her to shoot back a reply and tell me off like she tends to. But instead, her eyes graze the ground, watery and rimmed in something between hurt and shame. She turns back to her paper.
I cringe.
She’s just a mortal. I shouldn’t feel guilty over a mortal. It’s her own fault she has a fake wish. But several silent moments pass, and my stomach begins to feel knotted.
Fine.
“I wasn’t laughing at you,” I mutter. There. Happy now?
She doesn’t look up.
“Don’t get mad. I have to hand it to you, you’re tough—most people would’ve made the wish to belong by now. I’m just saying that even if you wish for it, you won’t feel any different unless you can find the thing that will make you…belong.”
“You don’t understand,” she says with an intensity I’ve never heard before. “You probably just sit around Caliban all day where everyone is perfect and whole and…what do you do all day there anyway? How could I expect you to understand?” She shakes her head at me.
Viola doesn’t realize she’s given me two direct questions. To be honest, I could avoid answering both; she doesn’t really expect answers, so they don’t pull at me. Still, I roll my eyes and answer even though I’d rather not—maybe it’ll make me feel less guilty.
“Your parents are out for their anniversary?” I ask uncomfortably, turning to stare at the movie.
The question gets Viola’s attention. She looks up and nods, while I try to fixate on Keanu as he bends spoons on the television.
This is so embarrassing. Maybe I should’ve stuck with the guilt.
“Did he get her flowers?” I look over at her. She nods again, and the wish for someone to bring her flowers darts to the front of her eyes. As usual, she doesn’t say the wish aloud. Mortal pride. I fight the urge to roll my eyes, and continue instead. “What kind?”
“Roses. They were on the counter when I got home right before…I called you.”
“What color?” I ask.
“Light pink, I think.”
I look down at my hands as I answer. “Light pink. That’s…gentility, admiration, and grace. Unless he meant them as a pastel, because pastel roses are for friendship. And if they were more coral-colored than pink, it was for desire. That’s what I ‘do all day’ in Caliban. I deliver bouquets for the florist.” I wait to hear her make fun of me—most of the other jinn do.
Instead, several moments of silence pass. I finally raise my head to see Viola staring at me with a puzzled expression.
“You’re a flower boy?” she asks. The corners of her mouth twitch in a poorly hidden smile.
“I’m a bouquet deliverer—forget it, I shouldn’t have said anything!” I growl. This is what you get for having conversations with your master.
“No, don’t be mad,” she says, but there are hints of laughter in her throat—deep laughter, different from the bubbly way she laughs around people at school. Her face sparkles in amusement. “It’s not like that. It’s just not what I expected you to do. But why a bouquet deliverer? It pays well?”
I put my head in my hand. I should never have tried to explain. She wants an answer, badly, and though I try to ignore her, the questions pull at me until the wave feeling is too much to bear.
“No, it doesn’t pay well. It doesn’t pay at all, actually—we don’t work for money, we work because we like our jobs. I like it because…” I grimace and sigh. “Jinn don’t fall in love or attach to one another, like humans do. We’re immortal in Caliban, so falling in love for an eternity is just…unrealistic. But for that one moment when they’re getting flowers, it’s like that doesn’t matter. It’s the only moment where they don’t care that the jinn who sent the flowers will be replaced by another lover in a week. It’s…different. It’s this one instant when someone isn’t just another random jinn, but is something special to someone else. So I like being the one who delivers the flowers so I see it, that’s all.”
I wait a beat before meeting her eyes, but when I do, her face is no longer twitching in amusement. Instead, her lips are curved in a gentle smile. “That’s beautiful,” she says. “Though it sounds sort of lonely.”
I pause. “I’ve never really thought of that before. I wouldn’t call it lonely. We just aren’t…needy. Mortals need to attach because you have sadness and desires and a limited time to live. We don’t have that there….” I trail off, unsure if I’m making any sense.
Viola nods. “So do you send flowers to anyone?”
“No, actually,” I say, surprising myself—I haven’t thought of sending flowers in ages. “Female jinn are a little self-obsessed and…uh…grabby. I haven’t dated in years.”
“But you’re so charming!” she replies. I raise an eyebrow, then catch the sarcastic glimmer in her grin.
It’s hard not to laugh when her eyes are sparkling with amusement at her own joke. “Yeah, yeah. It’s different there, though. We aren’t chained to one another like everyone here is. You have yourself, your own identity. So long as you know who you are, you can be happy, so there’s really no need to date—unless you’re bored.”
Viola chews on her pen cap through a wry grin. “Yeah. Or maybe you just can’t get a date.”
I sigh, but smile. “Okay, fine. You could wish for flowers, you know.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“How about flowers and chocolate?”
“Nope.”
“Who doesn’t like chocolate? A heart-shaped box of candy would make anyone feel whole,” I say.
“Come on,” she responds, “be reasonable. We aren’t talking about choosing between left and right. Choosing three wishes is a huge deal.
”
“For you. Not for Keanu.”
“Well, of course not. Everything is easy for Keanu. The guy can dodge bullets,” Viola says.
A loud, grinding sound—the garage door opening—cuts her off. Her parents are noisy getting out of the car, like they’ve had a lot of wine at dinner. Viola looks at me as she rises from the couch.
“I’m going to my room. They’re going to want to watch C-SPAN or something,” she says.
I stand and shove my hands in my pockets. She doesn’t want me in her bedroom again just yet, I can tell, but at least her fear of me has melted away.
“So I need to leave?” I say, even though I already see her answer. She looks apologetic, but nods. “All right,” I say, and the room blurs as I begin to vanish. “Good night, Viola.”
five
Viola
FIVE HOURS TILL the party.
Four.
Three. I should have spent the day painting—time always goes faster that way. I begin rooting through my closet, wondering what I’m supposed to wear tonight.
“You could wish for a new wardrobe.” Jinn’s voice comes from behind me. I don’t jump this time—I guess I’ve gotten used to him appearing and disappearing. I sigh and turn away from my scant collection of outfits, meeting his eyes as I fall into my computer chair.
“Right, a new wardrobe. A worthy use of a wish. What do girls wear to parties in Caliban, anyway?” I ask. “Do they dress up?”
“I guess. Or dress down, rather. They don’t wear a lot to parties….” I raise both eyebrows. Jinn shrugs and continues. “All jinn girls sort of look the same, though, so there’s no real point.”
“You’re so romantic.” I smirk and then laugh when Jinn fakes a gentlemanly bow before collapsing onto my bed.
“Yeah, well, to be honest, you sort of stop noticing the difference between one jinn and another after a while. We don’t have names, and we all look pretty similar—it gets tricky to keep everyone straight, much less feel romantic about one in particular.”
“That’s so bizarre, to think of you not having a name. You’re Jinn,” I say. Who else would he be without that title? It somehow blows my mind.
Jinn laughs, then answers brightly, “I guess. Though that’s just a name you gave me. When I get back to Caliban, I’ll just be another jinn again—” He cuts himself off, and his eyebrows furrow in a puzzled expression that I don’t totally understand.
I’m about to ask what he’s thinking when he speaks again. “Anyway, female jinn go to parties half naked. It’s not as appealing as you’d expect, but it’s what the Ancients want.” He begins picking at my quilt with a bored expression.
“Whoa, back up,” I say, shaking my head. “The Ancients want jinn girls to be half naked?”
“Well…sort of. There aren’t many jinn left—I think there are a few thousand of us. That’s why they’ve got the protocol and everything; all the rules are an attempt to keep us from dying out.”
“And naked jinn girls prevent genocide?”
“No, but it encourages…um…reproduction.”
I cringe. “Sorry I asked. I thought you were immortal, though?”
“In Caliban. But all these little mortal world visits where we age add up, after a while.”
“Oh,” I say, swallowing hard to try to hide my guilt. Jinn shrugs and winds a loose thread around his fingers. I finally turn back to my computer screen, clicking through images of the new arrivals at the Gap. I look back to my closet with a sigh—I have nothing that looks like these clothes. I really need to go shopping more than once a year.
To add insult to injury, when Lawrence arrives to pick me up, he looks like he just stepped out of a fashion magazine. He carries the strong scent of coffee from a day spent working at a local coffeehouse, but he somehow makes it smell like expensive cologne instead of mochachinos.
“Wear the black,” Lawrence advises once I’ve paraded my outfit options for him.
Jinn, who has been idly sorting through my stuffed animals, looks up at me. “I like the black, too,” he says, then begins arranging the toys so all the cats are with other cats.
Lawrence looks at Jinn and shrugs. “Then it’s unanimous. Wear the black. And come on, it’s time to go.”
What I wouldn’t give for a paintbrush right now.
Arriving at the party is like showing up to a bizarre Hollywood premiere: I know all the stars, but only a handful know me. I watch them all, studying them, trying to figure out the best way to capture this giant blur of light and red and dance and beer. Red cups are scattered over the front yard, and all the doors and windows are open. Something inside crashes, followed by the twittering laughter of several girls. Music is playing so loudly that it makes my heart vibrate. There are so many cars parked in the yard and on the street that we have to pass the house and park almost a block away, where I can still hear the music pounding.
“Why am I here?” Jinn mutters as we walk through the darkness toward the brilliantly lit house.
“Moral support?” I answer with a smirk.
“Go, Team Viola!” Jinn says, doing a little cheer with his arms.
I laugh. “Fine, go then.” The words fall from my mouth before I realize he’ll take it as a direct order. I meet Jinn’s eyes. “I mean…unless you want to stay.”
Jinn raises his eyes at me. “Eh, I’ll stay. Who knows, tonight might be the night you decide to make a wish.”
“Speaking of wishes, Vi, you could wish I’d remembered to bring money for the beer,” Lawrence says as he picks through his wallet, littering the ground in crumpled receipts. “Whatever. I’m sure we can get in,” he adds after meeting my eyes—I can feel my eyebrows wrinkling in concern.
Lawrence heads toward the house, nodding to the two barely dressed girls who flank the door holding buckets stuffed with dollar bills. The girls wave at Lawrence, all sparkly teeth and plastic jewelry, and I see him pointing to his empty wallet. But when he nods at me, their expressions fall.
“I mean, we can’t let you both in for free…that’s sort of the point of the Beer Buckets,” one says. Does she think that I can’t hear her? That I didn’t see her face change when she saw me?
Jinn mutters and rolls his eyes. “Say you can pay.”
I shake my head at him quickly, hoping the girls won’t notice, but Jinn pushes me forward, lurching me toward them. I give the girls a look I know is pathetic and desperate. But instead of the looks of disgust I expect, one of the girls reaches toward me and swipes at thin air, then drops her hand into the bucket of money.
“Thanks! Go on in,” she says in a cheerful voice. Lawrence looks surprised but smiles and steps inside the house.
I freeze.
“Illusion,” Jinn explains. “They all saw you give her money. Blonde on a power trip, if you ask me….”
“Thank you, Jinn,” I whisper sincerely as we step through the doorway. I touch his hand briefly in appreciation; his eyes jump to mine in surprise.
“I didn’t come all this way to walk back down the block,” Jinn replies, yet his voice lacks the edge I was expecting. I glance back just in time to see a look of disgust and regret on his face as he scans the party he just got me into.
The inside of the house is filled with the malty sweet scent of cigarette smoke and spilled beer. It’s loud, dark, and muggy; I feel sweat trickling down my back from the heat of the crowd. Everyone is standing in small circles, talking and leaning on one another: girls in fuchsia and turquoise with perfect straight teeth and boys with well-styled hair and coy grins. Aaron waves at us from across the room. He’s motioning us to come over. I smile, and Lawrence puts a hand firmly on my shoulder.
“Do you want me to stay with you, Vi?” Lawrence asks. “Er—us to stay with you?” he modifies when he remembers Jinn. It’s no secret to me that Lawrence is worried about me being here—he doesn’t think it’s my “thing.” Maybe he’s right, because part of me wants to wrap my arm around him until my nerves die down.
&nb
sp; But no. I don’t want to be Lawrence Dumott’s Invisible Girl shadow anymore. I want to belong with these people on my own. And besides—this is Lawrence’s party, too. I can’t insist he babysit me all night.
“No,” I say, hoping my voice sounds more confident than I feel.
Lawrence nods. “Well, if you need me, I’ll be out back. Jinn? Coming with me? Or did you want to watch Aaron smash beer cans on his head?”
I roll my eyes at Lawrence, and Jinn gives me a questioning glance. “Go with Lawrence,” I sigh. I’m about to correct the order when Jinn holds up his hands with an appreciative nod.
“I know. Not an order. It isn’t as strong when you don’t really mean the command.” He glances at Aaron warily, then follows Lawrence, weaving through a couple of girls who are dancing with one another to give some guys nearby a cheap thrill.
“Viola!” Aaron waves again. He’s surrounded by bleached blondes who give me dull, bored looks. I push through the girls (who, thankfully, make no attempts to dance with me). I catch sight of Ollie’s golden skin on the opposite side of the room, where she sips a peach-colored wine cooler that matches her tank top.
“Sit down! I’ll have someone get you a beer,” Aaron says warmly. The faces of the girls around him darken. Are they jealous of me? No. That’s impossible.
I inhale deeply and nod at Aaron. “That’d be great, thanks.”
“Hey! Jason!” Aaron yells over the thick noise of gossip and music. A burly football-player type turns around. Aaron holds up two fingers, and the guy shoves his hand into the closest cooler, then tosses both cans over the coffee table. Aaron catches one after the other and hands a can to me.
I don’t like beer. I’ve had it only once or twice before, and I sort of think it tastes like rubbing alcohol. But I’m not about to refuse one here—I pop the can open and try to pour it down my throat, to avoid tasting it all too much. Aaron turns away from me, distracted by a joke a willowy girl is sharing. I glance at the girl on my other side, but I can’t figure out how to start a conversation with her. She probably doesn’t even know who I am anyway.