“You girls don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Yasmin raises her upper lip in what I think is an attempted fake smile but that doesn’t make it past a snarl. “Uh-huh.” With a jab of her heel, she slams the door in Hairy Larry’s face. “What he wouldn’t do? Like be so ignorant as to shack up with a member of another species?” She snorts. “Not likely.”
“Watch it, Yas,” Mina says. She wraps a protective arm around Farrah, who, as usual, is a pace or two behind.
This time, I’m glad. She doesn’t need Yasmin’s insults in her head. She genuinely likes Hairy Larry. And despite his quirkiness and tendency to shed, it must be nice to have someone else around even part of the time.
The rest of us just have our moms. Our families, including the fathers we’ve never met, don’t live here in the human world. They don’t live with us. They never have.
“Well,” Laila says, drawing out the word with her high-pitched voice. “Where were we?”
She lifts the blanket off the large tome she was reading from when Hairy Larry made his jazzy entrance. Spinning the book around, she opens to a handwritten chart that runs across the top of the page.
“See,” Laila says, tapping the yellowed parchment, “right here it says that the term genii is the plural form of the Latin word genius. ”
Already Mina’s back to jabbing her fingertips against the phone half wedged under her butt, and Farrah’s eyes are glazing over as she hums a mind-numbing but catchy refrain.
Hana slips on the eyeglasses she doesn’t actually need and leans forward to recite what’s written on the page of Laila’s family cantamen. Spell book, rule book, history book, and memoir all rolled into one, cantamens are unique to each Jinn family. We don’t normally claim them as our own until we turn sixteen. That’s when we receive the spelled bangle that will activate our Jinn ancestry and the magic that lives inside us.
Three more years. We have three more years. For Hana, for Laila, for the rest of my Zar sisters, becoming Jinn can’t come soon enough. But my wish, if we Jinn were able to have our wishes granted, is that it’d never come.
Hana sits back on her heels and trails her finger along the swirly writing. “‘Ancient Romans believed in spirits that watched over every man. Spirits called genii. A ‘genius,’ then, was a spirit responsible for shaping a man’s character and for guiding his every action. Believed to be present at birth, a genius eventually came to be thought of as a great inborn ability.’”
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Laila says. “It’s exactly like who we are. What we can do.”
Mina clucks her tongue, and Farrah sways to the music inside her head. Yasmin doesn’t respond. She drifts toward the alcove where the door to Farrah’s bathroom lies. Thanks to their magic, our Jinn mothers act as architect, contractor, and designer all in one when outfitting our homes.
Hana pushes her glasses up into her red hair and continues. “‘Some Romans also believed in a spirit, called an evil genius, that fought the good genius for control of a man’s fate.’”
An evil genius. Exactly who Yasmin is.
She opens the door to the bathroom and disappears inside.
Unable to contain her excitement, Laila lugs the cantamen into her lap and reads, “‘Many cultures in the Middle East and North Africa still believe in similar spirits today. They call them djinn. ’” Laila meets my eye. “With a d. ”
Hana nods. “I’ve heard of that.”
Of course she has. Hana’s the complete package: pretty, stylish, and, as my fellow Massachusetts citizens like to say, wicked smart.
Excitement sparkles in Laila’s pale blue eyes. A contrast to Mina, whose eyes are locked on her phone, and Farrah, whose eyes are closed. Laila slams—which for Laila is a firm pat—her hand against the book. “Guys, this is important. It’s our history! How can we become who we are meant to be if we don’t know who we
Yasmin raises her upper lip in what I think is an attempted fake smile but that doesn’t make it past a snarl. “Uh-huh.” With a jab of her heel, she slams the door in Hairy Larry’s face. “What he wouldn’t do? Like be so ignorant as to shack up with a member of another species?” She snorts. “Not likely.”
“Watch it, Yas,” Mina says. She wraps a protective arm around Farrah, who, as usual, is a pace or two behind.
This time, I’m glad. She doesn’t need Yasmin’s insults in her head. She genuinely likes Hairy Larry. And despite his quirkiness and tendency to shed, it must be nice to have someone else around even part of the time.
The rest of us just have our moms. Our families, including the fathers we’ve never met, don’t live here in the human world. They don’t live with us. They never have.
“Well,” Laila says, drawing out the word with her high-pitched voice. “Where were we?”
She lifts the blanket off the large tome she was reading from when Hairy Larry made his jazzy entrance. Spinning the book around, she opens to a handwritten chart that runs across the top of the page.
“See,” Laila says, tapping the yellowed parchment, “right here it says that the term genii is the plural form of the Latin word genius. ”
Already Mina’s back to jabbing her fingertips against the phone half wedged under her butt, and Farrah’s eyes are glazing over as she hums a mind-numbing but catchy refrain.
Hana slips on the eyeglasses she doesn’t actually need and leans forward to recite what’s written on the page of Laila’s family cantamen. Spell book, rule book, history book, and memoir all rolled into one, cantamens are unique to each Jinn family. We don’t normally claim them as our own until we turn sixteen. That’s when we receive the spelled bangle that will activate our Jinn ancestry and the magic that lives inside us.
Three more years. We have three more years. For Hana, for Laila, for the rest of my Zar sisters, becoming Jinn can’t come soon enough. But my wish, if we Jinn were able to have our wishes granted, is that it’d never come.
Hana sits back on her heels and trails her finger along the swirly writing. “‘Ancient Romans believed in spirits that watched over every man. Spirits called genii. A ‘genius,’ then, was a spirit responsible for shaping a man’s character and for guiding his every action. Believed to be present at birth, a genius eventually came to be thought of as a great inborn ability.’”
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Laila says. “It’s exactly like who we are. What we can do.”
Mina clucks her tongue, and Farrah sways to the music inside her head. Yasmin doesn’t respond. She drifts toward the alcove where the door to Farrah’s bathroom lies. Thanks to their magic, our Jinn mothers act as architect, contractor, and designer all in one when outfitting our homes.
Hana pushes her glasses up into her red hair and continues. “‘Some Romans also believed in a spirit, called an evil genius, that fought the good genius for control of a man’s fate.’”
An evil genius. Exactly who Yasmin is.
She opens the door to the bathroom and disappears inside.
Unable to contain her excitement, Laila lugs the cantamen into her lap and reads, “‘Many cultures in the Middle East and North Africa still believe in similar spirits today. They call them djinn. ’” Laila meets my eye. “With a d. ”
Hana nods. “I’ve heard of that.”
Of course she has. Hana’s the complete package: pretty, stylish, and, as my fellow Massachusetts citizens like to say, wicked smart.
Excitement sparkles in Laila’s pale blue eyes. A contrast to Mina, whose eyes are locked on her phone, and Farrah, whose eyes are closed. Laila slams—which for Laila is a firm pat—her hand against the book. “Guys, this is important. It’s our history! How can we become who we are meant to be if we don’t know who we
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