Free The Genius of Jinn by Lori Goldstein

 
     
     
     
    The force makes the walls shake. The force—not of magic—but simply of him.
    “Ta-da!” The announcement precedes his leap into the open doorway.
    Hairy Larry, arms flung wide and waving his signature jazz hands, lumbers into Farrah’s bedroom.
    Groans fill the room—from the floorboards under his weight and from the Jinn girls who will one day become my Zar sisters. The five future genies are sitting cross-legged in a circle in front of Farrah’s bed. I’m off to the side, shadowed by the palm tree whose ceramic pot I’m leaning against. I brush a low-slung frond aside and smirk at Laila, my … well, I guess my best friend, as Hairy Larry plants his size-twelve feet directly behind her.
    She nonchalantly transfers the throw blanket from her lap to the floor to shroud the oversized book she was reading from.
    “Laaaaay-la,” Hairy Larry croons as he drops to one knee. “You got me on my knees, Layla.” He sticks one jazzy hand under each of her armpits and swoops the petite Laila to her feet. “I’m begging darling please, Layla.”
    He twirls her around like a rag doll, his mouth hanging open in a goofy grin, before plopping her back onto the ground. Now windblown, her long blond curls have doubled in volume, further dwarfing her. She doesn’t bother to smooth them out. Instead, she scooches back next to me and hides behind the protective palm fronds.
    “Hana banana!” Hairy Larry cries, moving to the next Jinn girl in the circle. He tousles Hana’s tangerine-colored hair with his paw. It’s not an actual paw, despite how much it looks like it’s covered in coarse brown fur.
    Unlike us, Hairy Larry is human. Or so my mother assures me. But he’s even taller than she is, and his body is carpeted with dense patches of hair like moss on a tree stump. So, human? I’m still not sure. Unless Sasquatch is human.
    And why shouldn’t Sasquatch be real?
    We are.
    “Dreama me Mina,” he purrs into my next soon-to-be Zar sister’s mahogany-colored hair. Mina manages to tuck her round chin to her chest and miss the swipe of his paw, er, hand. “And hey, hey, hey, my Isa’s fancy Farrah. Hey, kid.”
    Farrah, who’s normally as jittery as a hula dancer bobblehead, is surprisingly calm in Hairy Larry’s presence. She beams at him and her eyebrows rise, disappearing under her growing brown bangs.
    Hairy Larry has been Lalla Isa’s—sorry, Aunt Isa’s—boyfriend for the past six years, since we were all seven. And for all those years, every one of her Zar sisters, which includes my mother, has at some point (and with varying levels of insistence) tried to talk her into ending the relationship. It’s not that we can’t date humans, it’s just that we aren’t supposed to become too attached. And despite what I think is a very real fear of choking on a hair ball, Isa’s attached, all right.
    With a clap and a pivot on one foot, Hairy Larry spins in a circle until he once again faces the doorjamb. And me.
    “Oh, didn’t see you back there, Azra-cadabra! You hiding, girly girl? Hope not from me.”
    I wasn’t. But I am now.
    Hairy Larry forms a gun with his thumb and index finger, points it at me, and winks. He clicks his tongue and swivels. When his gun lands on my last Zar sister, now standing with her hands on her sharp hips, he holsters it at his side. She narrows her dark eyes and tucks a strand of jet-black hair behind her ear.
    Hairy Larry slides back into the palm tree. “Yasmin,” he says, with the barest of nods.
    Though none of us yet have powers like our Jinn mothers, Yasmin doesn’t need magic to be intimidating. We’ve all been around long enough to learn that—even Hairy Larry.
    “A pleasure, as always,” Yasmin says, her tone heavy with sarcasm. She crosses to the bedroom door and curls her hand around the edge. Her long, skinny fingers drum against the painted white wood.
    Hairy Larry shuffles to the door. He runs a furry hand over his, ironically, bald head.