Free The Genius of Jinn by Lori Goldstein Page B

were?”
    But this isn’t who we were. This is lore. There’s so much genie lore, from the carpets we’ve never flown on, to the lamps and bottles we’ve never been trapped in, to the three wishes we don’t actually grant.
    Mina slides her phone under her cutoffs. “Sorry, Lai.” She flicks the top of Farrah’s head. “Listen up, Farrah.”
    Farrah’s eyes snap open. “I am. But maybe you could, like, skip all the boring parts?”
    Though this might discourage most, most are not Laila. “Well, do you think spirits are boring?”
    “How about summoning spirits?” Hana adds.
    Mina raises an eyebrow. “Now we’re talking. Go on.”
    As Laila starts explaining that even today there are true believers in many cultures who insist djinn are spirits that can be called upon to do things like heal the sick or chase away bad luck, I duck out from under a palm frond to reach for my backpack.
    In all the Hairy Larry commotion, it got pushed under the bright yellow dust ruffle of Farrah’s twin bed.
    As I inch over, Laila continues reading the cantamen. “‘Many consider djinn to be one part of a community of orishas, which are intermediary spirits that run the world. Each has a specific function and dominion—’”
    “Like angels?” Farrah says.
    We all look at Farrah in surprise, and I stop my stealthy slide toward my backpack and the Choose Your Own Adventure waiting inside. I was kind of obsessed with the series a couple of years ago.
    When I was helping (being forced to help) my mother clean out the shelves in our living room to make room for another set of Moroccan teacups, I saved a couple of books from their fate—a cardboard box destined for the garage—and snuck them to my room. Though I’m older, I can’t deny that my heart still pounds with anticipation as I debate each alternative: “If you decide to enter the dark cave immediately, turn to page 85; if you decide to search for a weapon first, turn to page 93.” I remember one book that supposedly had sixty-eight possible endings. Hard as I tried, I never could find them all. The series had been a favorite of my mother’s when she was a kid. When they were reissued, she bought every single one for me.
    I thought it’d help pass the time today if Laila and I read one together like we used to. And maybe, this time, Laila wouldn’t force me to make all the choices.
    “Angels, nice call, Farrah,” Mina says, tousling her best friend’s hair. Though Farrah can recite the liner notes of every boy band’s latest album and tell you where and when everyone from the Beatles to Wham! played their farewell concert, scholarly studies that don’t come with a musical note are not her strong suit.
    I nab my backpack and try to blend into the alcove. As I begin to read, my hand reaches for the pendant around my neck. The cursive A engraved on the front stands for the first letter of the name I share with my grandmother on my mother’s side. Another family member I’ve never met. The necklace used to belong to her. Maybe that’s why it’s always calmed me. I’ve worn it nearly every day of my life; I don’t remember a time when it wasn’t looped around my neck.
    I return to my book, ready to quietly thumb through an adventure on the high seas. I’m deciding whether to slip on my scuba gear or stay on the boat when muffled voices float out from under the bathroom door.
    “Shh!” Yasmin cries. “They’ll hear you!”
    What? Is she talking to me?
    A second voice, muffled by the closed bathroom door, says something I can’t make out. I wasn’t yet that engrossed in my adventure, but still I lift my head to check on my other Zar sisters, confirming that none of them made it by me unnoticed; they’re all sitting on the floor by the bed, just as I thought. So who could Yasmin be talking to? I lean against the door, straining to catch a word.
    But before I can, the door opens and I’m falling onto the tile floor. Right next to Yasmin’s tapping bronze