* * *
We both step back.
“Is it going to explode?” Shel asks.
I shake my head. “How should I know?”
The smoke is thick and pale gray, shot with glowing gold. It curls up into a circle, about the size of a dinner plate. I blink. There’s something forming in the smoke.
“Are you seeing that?” Shel whispers.
“Yes,” I whisper back.
It’s a face. An ugly, squat face. A man’s face, with a bald head and a ring through his nose. He opens his eyes and looks at me, smiling.
“I am Etok of the lamp,” he intones, his voice deep and important sounding.
“What lamp?” I ask.
He blinks at me. “I’m a disembodied head, speaking to you from a cloud of smoke, and that’s the first thing you ask?”
“Yeah, well, it’s not a lamp. It’s just a black bottle. Is it supposed to be a lamp?” I ask him. I mean, of course, I’m surprised. Talking heads don’t appear every day. But, what ‘s with this whole lamp thing?
He makes a face. “I used to live in a lamp. An oil lamp. But they became very hard to find a few hundred years ago, so I moved into this bottle.”
“Oh. Okay then,” I say. I sneak a look at Shel. Her eyes are open wide and her mouth is hanging open. She sees me looking at her and her jaw snaps shut.
“I am Etok of… the bottle,” he says.
I sit down on the couch. Shel sits next to me.
“I’m a little freaked out,” she says.
I nod. “Me too.”
She whispers. “Are we on anything?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
Etok lifts his chin. “Are you done now?”
We both nod. He clears his non-existent throat.
“I am Etok of the bottle. I am bound by magic as ancient as the stars themselves. You have released me to once again gaze upon the world, and as a reward, I grant you three wishes.”
I look around the apartment. It’s not like it’s crappy or anything, but most of the furniture is kinda old and Mom likes to collect turtles, of all things. So, there are ceramic or stone or resin turtles on every spare horizontal surface. It’s not too much of a world he’s gazing upon.
“Three wishes?” I say.
“Yes. But, I must warn you. They must be very specific. And – a warning. I am not, by nature, very nice. If I can grant your wish but can find some way to make you regret the result, I will.”
“Hey,” Shel says loudly. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”
Etok sniffs. “And how would you know, exactly, how it’s supposed to be? Have you ever been granted three wishes before? Eh? I thought not. I’m only giving you a warning because this place is rather pleasant. The last time someone released me, it was in a prison in Turkey. Very distressing.”
Shel and I look at each other. We have been playing the ‘Three Wishes’ game since the fifth grade.
“How long do we have?” I ask.
Etok frowns. “As long as you like. You can take years. I really don’t care. But, there is no ‘we’. I can only grant the wish to the person who opened the bottle.”
I raise my hand. “That’s me. I’m Ali. Alison.”
“So pleased,” Etok murmurs.
“Shel doesn’t get any wishes?” I ask.
Etok raises an eyebrow. “Did she open the bottle? Eh? Then, no. Shel doesn’t get any wishes.”
“Are there rules?” I ask.
He narrows his eyes. “There are not so much rules as conditions. Not many people ask that question.”
I shrug. “I’m fifteen. I live by conditions. What are they?”
“You cannot end a life or start a life. You cannot wish for anything that may adversely change the future of another. You cannot wish for love. That is beyond even me. You cannot wish for more wishes. And you cannot open the bottle a second time. This is your only shot.” He smiles. “Make it good.”
Shel and I look at each other.
“So,” she says, “I guess you can’t wish for Harry Styles to marry you and take you to London.”
I shake my head. “No. And I can’t wish Mr. Blaymore a horrible death.” Mr. Blaymore lives next door to Shel on the second floor. He has a terrible dog, and he always complains to the landlord that she plays music too loud.
“We should maybe start with something small,” I say.
Shel nods. “Right. Good idea.”
“So, what do I want that doesn’t have the potential of totally ruining my life if it goes wrong?”
We sit and think. Etok starts to whistle ‘Camp Town Races.’
“How about Jimmy Wilson?” Shel says.
Jimmy Wilson is absolutely the hottest guy in the entire sophomore class, and I have been passionately in love with him since seventh grade. He, of course, does not acknowledge my existence.
“What should I wish for?” I ask her. “I can’t wish that he fall in love with me.”
“Wish that he asks you to the Homecoming Dance.”
Perfect. That’s in two weeks time. No one else has asked me, surprise, surprise, and if I go to Homecoming with Jimmy, dozens of girls in my grade will have a fit.
“What can happen to screw this up?” I ask Shel. We spend a few more minutes thinking.
“The worst that could happen,” Shel finally says, “is that you don’t have a good time. Which means you’ll finally stop mooning over him. And that would be a good thing.”
“Yeah. And even if I do have a lousy time, I’ll still make every cheerleader in the whole school jealous, and that’s another good thing.”
“He might get drunk and vomit all over you,” Shel says.
“But, it would be Jimmy Wilson vomit.” I look at Etok. “My wish is that Jimmy Wilson ask me to the Homecoming Dance,” I say.
Etok closes his eyes and shimmers. “It is done.” He opens his eyes. “Anything else?”
“No. Not now,” I say. “Shel, you?”
“Nope,” she says.
“Then I shall return to my lamp, eh, bottle. You may replace the stopper if you like, just loosely. And when you have your next wish, let me out again.” He dissolves into gray and is sucked back into the bottle.
“I’m still freaking out,” Shel says.
“Me too. And the pizza’s cold.”
We finish the pizza anyway, looking at the black bottle. Then, I replace the stopper - loosely - and hide it in the bottom of my closet. And I dream of Jimmy Wilson.