Zacktastic (16 page)

“Don't worry about your sister,” Uncle Max says. “Her two halves are whole again, and back at home.”

“What about Mom?”

“What about her?”

“Does she remember I exist?”

“When you are away on genie business, she doesn't. No one does. But when you return, it'll be like you never left them. Keeps things seamless on our end.”

I nod. “And what about him?” I ask. E. M. Heddle, the real one, is slumped down at his desk.

“He's sleeping it off,” Uncle Max tells me. “It's exhausting when someone borrows your body. When he wakes up, this whole experience will seem like a dream, and the memory of it will fade in a matter of seconds.” Uncle Max lifts his left hand to push back the lock of floppy white hair that has fallen in front of his face. In his right hand is the bottle—my bottle—and he hands it over. “I'm sorry you had to learn all of this the
hard way, but I trust you'll take better care of that from now on.”

“I will,” I say. “I promise. I won't ever let it out of my sight. I won't close my eyes and go to sleep. I won't even go to the bathroom.”

“I'm glad you're willing to be so dedicated,” Uncle Max says. “But there are a lot of ways to keep your eyes on the bottle. You'll learn all about it in school.”

“They teach this stuff in school?” I ask incredulously. I've been in school for practically my whole life, and I can't think of anything close to genie stuff I've ever learned. “Are there special classes? How many other genies are there at Pinemont Elementary?”

“This is a different school,” Uncle Max says. “School for Genies.”

“School for Genies,” I say. I can't believe it. I picture the words carved into a big wooden sign like Millings Academy:
SCHOOL FOR GENIES
. Everyone would wear matching shirts with
SFG
stitched into the pockets.

SFG!

Like on my bottle!

“And to your question on other genies,” Uncle Max says. “You're the only one at Pinemont, so you won't know anyone else when you get to SFG, but you'll make new friends.”

“I don't actually have too many old ones.”

“I think you'll find you have a lot in common with your SFG classmates.”

“Will they all be sparkies, like me?”

“How do you know about sparkies?”

“Linx told me,” I say. “He said that's why sometimes my magic worked, but most of the time it didn't.”

Uncle Max nods. “One of the few things Linx said that you can believe,” he said. “You'll get the hang of it. SFG classes will be on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“But what about our Tuesday and Thursday adventures?”

“Why do you think we had those adventures, Zack?”

“To have fun? To make up for the fact that Dad was gone?”

“If they were fun and gave you any comfort, then that's certainly a bonus,” Uncle Max says. “But I was also trying to prepare you for all of this.” He points a finger at the bottle, and I feel it buzz between my hands. “I wanted to show you that there's a time to be scared, but there's also a time to be brave, and sometimes those happen at the exact same time. I wanted you to realize you can do brave things, entirely on your own, when you are called upon to do so.”

“That's why you left me at the Empire State Building last year,” I say.

Uncle Max nods. “And you made it back to the hotel,” he says. “You're supposed to start school next semester, but I think we can arrange for an early start. A lot of exciting adventures await you. And a lot of responsibilities, too. I
think you learned that.”

I nod. “I'm sorry I lost the bottle.”

“No permanent damage done,” Uncle Max says. “But we may not be so lucky next time, so there can't be a next time. Linx has been waiting for this moment.”

“For a genie to leave a bottle unattended?”

“For
you
to leave the bottle unattended,” Uncle Max says. “It has to be you, for him to come back. Even though it was a Genie Board decision, I'm the one who officially banished him. The only way for him to return is through the bottle of one of my descendants.”

“Holy smokes,” I say so softly that my words come out like a breath. “What would've happened if I hadn't called you when I did?”

“I don't know,” Uncle Max says, shaking his head. “That's what's so dangerous about Linx. He's like a storm, and storms are unpredictable.”

I shudder, thinking about lightning and how you never know where it will strike. “So it's me—
just
me—standing between him coming back or not.”

My uncle nods. “I'm sorry, Zack,” he says. “But it seems this was part of your destiny.”

There's that word again:
destiny
. “If things are destined,” I say, “then why does it matter what we do at all? Aren't they going to happen anyway?”

“The universe sets things in motion,” Uncle Max says. “But we're the ones who decide what to do with them.”

“Like granting wishes.”

“Yes, exactly. In that way, we're all unpredictable. We're all potential storms, I suppose.”

“But at least when I granted Trey's wish, I didn't mean to hurt people,” I say. “I don't understand why Linx does it his way. Why does he grant things in the opposite way that people mean?”

“Something happened to him,” Uncle Max says. “Long, long ago. It's a story for another
time. But remember what I told you earlier, when people tell you their wishes, they're telling you about themselves—the things that make them most vulnerable, the things they most want to change?” I nod. “Well, Linx likes to exploit weaknesses as he grants wishes, turning dreams into nightmares instead of making dreams come true. That's what he was trying to do to you. Turns out—you're stronger than he'd bargained for.”

The door to Heddle's office swings open.

“There you are, genie,” Trey says. “Bet you thought you could make your escape when I went to the bathroom. I won't be letting you out of my sight again until all my wishes are granted.”

“He doesn't remember,” I say to Uncle Max. “Is it like a dream to him, too?”

“More like the blink of an eye,” Uncle Max says.

“How did he know where to find me?”

“There's some leftover magnetic energy between the two of you. I'm sure he felt his way
here without even realizing it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Trey says. I see him take in Uncle Max, who is back to looking like the Uncle Max I've always known—crazy hair and rumpled clothes. “Who the heck is he?”

“You can see him?” I turn to Uncle Max. “He can see you?”

“He has genie vision, for now,” Uncle Max explains. “He rubbed your bottle.”

“
My
bottle,” Trey says, swiping it away from me. I'd managed to hold on to it for a total of about thirty seconds. Trey's eyes flick around the room to Mr. Heddle's desk. “What is going on? Did you put a spell on him?”

“No, he's fine,” I say. He doesn't look completely convinced, and I take the opportunity to grab the bottle back and clutch it to my chest tighter than ever.

Trey balls his hands into fists, and for a second I'm afraid he's going to hit me. “My dad is the third-richest man in the United States,”
he says. “If you don't give my property back to me, he'll hire every lawyer in the entire country to sue you to get it back. Besides which, you're my genie and I'm telling you to give me back the bottle. I'm your master, so you have to obey me.”

“We prefer to think of it more like a partnership,” Uncle Max tells him. “Less of a genie-and-master situation.”

Like I'd pick Trey for my partner. I guess the point is, I don't get to pick who I'm matched with. Which makes him feel like my master after all.

“But he can have the bottle, Zack,” Uncle Max says. “Just keep your eyes on it.”

Trey smugly takes it back.

“You're welcome,” I say.

“You didn't even want to give it to me. I should be thanking . . . whoever the old man is.”

“Trey, this is my uncle Max,” I say. “Uncle Max, this is Preston Hudson Twendel the third. He goes by Trey.”
Or Twerp
, I think to myself.

“Pleased to meet you,” Uncle Max says.

“Yeah, you too,” Trey says. “Are you a genie, too?”

“As a matter of fact, I am,” says Uncle Max.

“I hope you have more experience than this newbie.”

“Just a few hundred years,” Uncle Max says.

“Excellent, because I haven't gotten any of my wishes yet.”

“Think back,” Uncle Max tells him. “Before you stepped into the bathroom stall, was there anything you wished for?”

“I just said I didn't get any,” he says.

“You wished to be someone other people liked,” I tell him. “My sister has a lot of friends, so that's who I turned you into.”

“What? I didn't want to be turned into someone else!” Trey says. “I wanted to be me.”

“Well, you are again,” I tell him.

“Do I have any friends?”

I look at Uncle Max, and he gives a slight shake of his head. “No,” I admit.

“So I'm returning that wish. Actually, it's already returned, since I'm me again. And now I demand a new one. And if you don't give me one, I'll sue.”

“The court system you speak of doesn't work in our world,” Uncle Max tells him.

“But I still have more wishes, don't I?”

Uncle Max shakes his head. “It's one wish per visit, I'm afraid.”

“So if you guys go away, and I let some time pass, can I rub the bottle again and get more?”

“The bottle will probably make a nice pencil holder, or a vase,” Uncle Max says. “It's not going to be too useful to you once Zack and I leave—and I have a feeling that'll be happening pretty soon.”

“But wait!” Trey says. “What's the point of having a genie, then, if everything is going back to the way it was before?”

There's a loud knock at the door—so loud, it sounds menacing. It sounds the way Linx would
knock, if he were here. Is he back? Would he knock on the door?

My stomach clenches in fear, and over at the desk, Mr. Heddle is startled awake. “I just had the weirdest dream!” he exclaims to himself. Then he notices other people in the room with him. At least he notices Trey. “Sorry,” he says. “I sent for you earlier. I didn't realize you'd arrived.”

“What did you dream about?” Trey asks him.

“You know, I can't remember.”

The knock sounds again—louder and more room-shaking than before.

“I bet that's your father,” Mr. Heddle says.

“My father?”

“Well, of course. We couldn't find you, and he said he was firing up his private jet to find you himself.” Mr. Heddle pauses to take a deep breath. “Come in!”

The door bangs open, and in walks a man, his body as thick as a square. He's completely bald and his forehead is as shiny as a mirror. He
claps a pair of thick hands together, and it makes a sound like thunder. “Heddle, I demand an update on my son.”

“He was just here a second ago.”

“I've been calling and calling this office, Heddle. You tell me my son is missing, and then you don't pick up the phone to give me an update. And now you're telling me you've lost him again?”

“Uh, Mr. Twendel,” Mr. Heddle stutters. “I, uh . . . I don't know what to tell you.”

Trey comes out from his hiding spot behind a ficus plant. “Dad,” he says. “I'm here. He found me.”

In two huge, swift steps, Preston Hudson Twendel II moves toward his son. I see Trey brace himself for impact, and I brace myself, too. But instead of hurting Trey, his father grabs him in a hug.

“Dad!” Trey says. “Dad. I can't breathe.”

Preston Hudson Twendel II loosens his grip
on his son. “I'm sorry about that,” he says gruffly.

“I can't believe you're here,” Trey says.

“Of course I'm here. The question is, where were you?”

“Well, Dad. It's kind of a long story.”

“I canceled my afternoon meeting,” Trey's dad says. His thick arms are folded across his chest. “So I have time for a long story.”

Trey was right about his dad—he looks powerful, the kind of powerful that people are afraid of. But there's something that makes me feel like things aren't exactly the way they were before. Like right now, the corners of Trey's mouth are turned up just slightly in a smile.

I want to hear the explanation he comes up with for his dad, but I can't listen right now because there's a tingling in my toe. More than a tingling. It feels like it's alive. Like it's about to take flight.

“Uncle Max?” I say.

But Uncle Max is shrinking, in parts, right
before my eyes. Shrunken torso. Shrunken limbs. “I'll see you at home,” he says. Then his head shrinks, and he whizzes through the air toward the bottle.

A few seconds later, so do I.

20

H
ERE
'
S
W
HAT
H
APPENS IN THE
E
ND

I
t is already dark out when I land with a soft thud right back where I started, in Uncle Max's backyard.

You'd think I'd be better at landing, having been through it once before, but this time when I land on the grass, I roll straight into the dirt.

Someone says something, but I can't make it out with my infinitesimally sized ears. The best way I can describe it is to say it's like being underwater, and not being able to understand the words people above the water are saying.

But then:
pop, pop
.

There they are, back to their regular size.

“What?” I ask.

“Watch the flower beds,” Uncle Max calls. I look over and there he is sitting on the back porch. His face is lit up, but not in a genie way. It's just because the porch lights are turned on. He's pouring himself a glass of iced tea. I race up the steps, dusting myself for bits of dirt and grass and petals as I go. My heart is pounding like I'm still hurling through tunnels from one side of the bottle to the other.