Three More Wishes: Be Kind To Your Genie Read Online Free PDF Page B

were the chances that I could walk in my house with a woman who looked twenty years old and who had a killer body, and waltz her past my parents, up the stairs, and into my bedroom? Zero , that’s what the chances were.
    I mentioned my problem to Fatima. She replied, “I have an answer, if you can roll up your windows, Master.” (It was a muggy May night, and my clunker’s AC didn’t work.) I rolled up the windows, and she said, “When you get in your bedroom, open a window and hold the lamp out.”
    Then she ... I guess the best way to describe it is, she silently exploded in slow motion. She was sitting within the shoulder harness—then seconds later, the entire cab of my car was filled with a faint green tint and an exotic smell. Then both the smell and the tint vanished, and I was seemingly alone.
    My precaution had been wise. My parents were downstairs when I walked in. I suspect that they were staying up just for this chance to pounce on me.
    My mother soon asked, “How did you meet her?” Clearly understood in her tone was the question, Is she a crazy axe murderer? My father asked the same question, “Yes, Marvin, how did you meet her?”—but his tone of voice carried the implication of How did you score such a hot babe?
    I told my parents that I was tired, and would answer their questions in the morning. (After I’d had time to invent lies.) I excused myself, and went up to my bedroom. I shut and locked my bedroom door, then opened a window. On the lawn underneath my window, a cloud of green smoke suddenly appeared; then that smoke came up and into my outthrust lamp.
    I shut the window, locked the brass lamp in the footlocker and put the footlocker back in my closet, and got ready to sleep. Just before I let myself nod off, I sat up in bed and faced the closet. “Good night, Fatima,” I said, not sure whether she could hear me.
    My last thought before I fell asleep was, Tomorrow I start planning out what to wish for, and exactly how to word those wishes.

Chapter 6
What Do I Wish For?
    At the breakfast table, I answered, “She’s a friend of a Facebook friend—Mary said we should talk to each other. So anyway, Fatima and I—”
    “Rewind,” my dad said. “ ‘Fatima’? Isn’t that a Moslem name?”
    “I didn’t ask, Dad,” I said. “Maybe she’s from that place in Portugal. Anyway, Fatima and I started emailing, we clicked, it turns out she lives here, and so we went on a date.”
    “So what does she do?” my mom asked. “Does Fatima work somewhere, or go to school?”
    “Both, actually. She’s a History major at University of Texas, but she’s taking the semester off. So now she’s a salesclerk at a boutique in Riverview Mall.”
    “Why is she taking the semester off? Is there trouble?” Dad asked.
    “What boutique?” Mom asked.
    “Dad, I didn’t ask why she isn’t in college. It could be she ran out of money, or she didn’t want to live over in Texas anymore, or maybe a Mafia godfather is after her. Mom, the boutique? Um...” Think, Marvin! “She told me the name, but it didn’t mean anything to me, so I forgot it.”
    Mom shrugged. “I’m sure it’s a good one. She’s very stylish.”
    “I’ll be sure to tell her that. I’m sure she’ll be pleased.”
    The conversation turned to other subjects then. Inside, I breathed a sigh of relief.
    As I was rinsing my dishes in the sink, I said, “Mom, can you iron my white shirt if it’s wrinkly, please? I want to look right for Uncle Warren’s funeral tomorrow.”
    Behind me: dead silence.
    I turned around. My parents were giving each other embarrassed looks. At last my mother said, “Um, not a problem, Marvin. I can do yours too, Steve, if you want?” My mother said this last part with a raised eyebrow.
    “Um, sure, Lucy, that’ll be great. Thanks,” Dad said. He sighed.
    ****
    After breakfast, I cut the grass, and weeded the lawn some. Then I washed my car. This gave me time to Think.
    When I came inside, Mom