4Chapter One: Once Upon a Time…
The cool March breeze ruffled my hair as I walked along the deserted beach not far from my father's house. I sat on the sand and stared out at the rippling water. Spring break with my dad and his new wife had been fun. I hadn't known what to expect when I landed at the airport and met Kristi. She'd cooed all over me, trying too hard to be some kind of mother/friend and I'd just smiled and greeted her as cheerfully as I could.
I suppressed my shudder and turned my mind to more positive thoughts. Kristi wasn't really that bad and if Dad had to remarry, he could do worse. And like my mother said, my dad was a good man who deserved to be happy. If only Mom could find someone…
The looming clouds put a damper on my last day in California. I knew I shouldn't complain; the weather had cooperated up until today. And the temperature, while not quite warm enough to swim, was a far sight better than what I'd go home to tomorrow. Still, California had spoiled me and I wanted to soak up as much sun before I returned to the unpredictable Michigan weather and the endless cloudy days. Mom had informed me last night on the phone that snow had been predicted for this weekend and she worried my flight would be delayed. Snow in late March was a horrible thing but I'd endured it my entire life.
I stood and brushed the sand off my capris. I held my flip flops in one hand while I walked along the water's edge, searching for more shells to take home to my mother. I'd already gathered bucketfuls for her but I knew she'd go through them in no time. She was so creative and I imagined our deck this summer would be overflowing with seashell wind chimes and candle holders. The tiny ones would be perfect for necklaces, bracelets, and anklets. I wondered if the tourists that always descended on our tiny Michigan town would buy them as quickly as they bought all the other trinkets my mother fashioned. Of course, seashells such as these weren't found on the shores of the beautiful Lake Klaire in southern Michigan. But the tourists weren't usually too picky.
The sun peeked out between a couple of clouds and glinted off something nearly buried in the sand. I rushed forward and dug it out, disappointed that it was only a discarded soda bottle. I aimed carefully at a trash can and sent it sailing. Three seagulls took flight, startled from their scavenging, as the bottle spun around the rim and fell inside.
"Two points," I grinned. The gulls chastised me overhead, obviously not impressed with my shooting skills. I moved away from them, not wanting their anger to result in a nasty mess on my head, if you know what I mean.
I continued my search, stopping to pick up shells here and there. I frowned when my hand became full. I should have grabbed a bucket. I found another trash can and peered cautiously inside, startling more gulls. I hunted up a stick nearby and used it to move the trash around, garnering the attention of some passers-by. I grinned and waved, not caring in the least if they thought I was crazy. Maybe they would think I was homeless and offer me a meal. I laughed aloud and their heads turned to gawk at me again. I shrugged and resumed digging through the trash. Finally I located a plastic bag that wasn't splattered with unidentifiable liquids, or solids for that matter. Using my excellent stick techniques, I carefully lifted the bag and dumped my shells inside.
Happy with my find, I hurried back down to the water. I gazed out at a boat far offshore and wondered who was on board and what they were doing. Were they fishing? Relaxing? Running from the cops? I closed my eyes and imagined a young newlywed couple, happily married and honeymooning in a boat on the ocean. They were poor but they didn't care. They would make it work somehow. The yacht belonged to his boss and he had graciously donated it for a week.
The couple scuba dives and finds an abandoned ship full of treasure. They haul it to the boat and discover they are suddenly rich. They buy a big house and fill it with loads of children and they all live happily ever after.
"How original, Jane," I muttered as I opened my eyes. A little boy hanging tightly to his mother's hand stared at me as they brushed past. I smiled and he attempted a tentative smile. He probably thought I was crazy, too. I laughed. Maybe I am. I do talk to myself frequently. I am my own best friend. I just give terrible advice.
I sighed and continued my walk, eyes trained on the beach. I did have a best friend back home. Other than me, that is. Joan. I called her Joanie and she loved it. We both had such ordinary names that I think that's what brought us together in the first place. All-alone Joan and Plain Jane. I giggled. Joanie and Janie sounded much better; like a couple of happy, peppy cheerleaders.
My heart sank. Cheerleaders we were not. Peppy either. But we were happy, I guess. Popularity was not utmost on either or our lists of important things. I suppose if we tried hard enough we could be included in more stuff. Our school was very small and everyone knew one another. Joanie and I chose to stick mostly together. God forbid should one of us get sick and miss a day of school. The other would be so lost.
Boys were another thing. Joanie had a crush on someone different every week. Not me, though. My heart belonged to Brett Renner. I froze, eyes glazing over. Brett with his tall, athletic frame and gorgeous blue eyes. Brett with his spiky, sandy brown hair. Brett with his cool car and easy smile. Brett with girls falling all over him. He knew who I was, sure, but he didn't notice me. Why would he? I stood at five feet, had plain, long brown hair, and plain brown eyes. I was skinny, probably too skinny, and not especially curvy or busty. Plain Jane.
I shrugged again, indulging in my favorite thing. Shrugging was so nonchalant and just cool -at least in my eyes. I continued down the beach, stopping here and there to pick up a shell. I stopped putting them to my ear to hear the ocean after my second day of seashell hunting. An angry crab grabbed a claw full of my hair and it was pure hell to shake that baby loose. I shuddered at the memory. That sort of thing only happened to me.
My bag grew heavier and I began to worry that it would split and dump my day's treasure all over the sand. That would certainly throw me into a cursing fit that might attract even more attention to me. Someone might even call the cops and complain about the crazy girl on the beach. Dad wouldn't appreciate that at all, even though I inherited my temper from him. Plus, a night in lockup wouldn't be a very nice way to end my vacation.
I did an about face and headed back to Dad's house, still scouting the shores for unusual shells. My heaping bag tugged at my arm and I knew I didn't really need any more – I was going to need an extra suitcase to lug them all home as it was – but you never knew what you'd find.
I stopped short and squatted. The sun had moved out from behind a cloud at that moment and bounced off an object buried in the wet sand. I dropped my bag and my shoes to dig my fingers in the sand, not noticing the dirt embedding under my nails. Whatever it was sparkled in the brief sun and I couldn't help but to think it was something good. It took me at least ten minutes to unearth it but it was worth it. When I finally yanked it loose from the sand, I fell back on my rump, not caring that I was soaking the back of my pants. I smiled in delight. It looked like an ancient teapot – something from thousands of years ago. It was actually quite plain, the sides smooth and the spout long. The handle curled elegantly but left enough space to get a proper hold. Time and the salt water had tarnished the gold finish but I figured I could clean it up with Mom's silver polish when I got home. I opened the lid and found nothing but water and more sand. I dumped it out and turned it over and over in my hands. My mind immediately flew to one of my favorite Disney movies and I imagined rubbing the lamp and causing a puff of blue smoke to float out of the spout.
I snorted and placed my newest treasure in my bag, on top of the shells. I was seventeen now; time to give up my fantasy Disney world and focus on the real one instead. I stood and continued home -well, to Dad's home – swinging my arms happily. I trotted up the deck steps and wiped my feet carefully on the welcome mat. No need to upset Kristi with sand on her clean floors. I dropped my bag of shells near the door so I could rinse them in the hose. I hurried to the guest room to change my wet pants and joined my father and stepmother in the living room
"Find more shells?" my father asked with a soft smile.
I nodded. "Lots. I think I'll have to walk over to the surf shop and buy a little suitcase to take them home."
He laughed, highlighting the wrinkles near his eyes. "I reckon you will."
"What would you like for dinner on your last night?" Kristi asked, trying her hand at mothering again. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. At least she was trying.
"Oh, anything. Whatever is easiest." I could be accommodating, too.
Dinner was a happy affair. We ate grilled fish on the deck and fine tuned our plans for the morning. I helped Kristi clean up then disappeared to my room so I could pack. I'd washed and dried all my shells and packed them in the cool California duffle bag my dad had purchased for me at the surf shop. I set out my clothes for the morning and piled my luggage near the bedroom door. I sat cross-legged on the bed and inspected my teapot. I'd rinsed it under the hose earlier and had blotted it dry. It was clean of sand and dirt but it didn't shine like I imagined it would. I considered all the things my mother could do with it. I knew she'd love it and thought maybe I'd give it to her. But a tiny part of me could see it sparkling in the sun on the window sill in my bedroom. It was so old and mysterious that it sent my imagination into overdrive. I held it close to my face and ran my finger over the illegible inscription on the bottom. I wondered what it said. Maybe after I cleaned it up I could make out the letters. If the words weren't in English, I could look them up on the Internet.
I shivered in anticipation. Another mystery! I couldn't wait to get started unraveling the clues of the ancient teapot. The stories I could write about it! If only it weren't so tarnished.
I carefully set it on the bed and crept down the hall to the kitchen. Under the sink I found an old rag and some glass cleaner. That would have to do for now. I hurried back to my room and scooped the teapot in my arms. I squirted the glass cleaner on one side and rubbed furiously, hoping to bring a little sparkle back. The teapot grew warm in my hands, the temperature increasing to near scorching level, and a puff of gray smoke did appear from the spout. I dropped the teapot, scrambled off my bed and backed into the door as the gray cloud grew. As the cloud cleared, I loosened my hold on the door knob and squinted at the dark shape looming near the dresser. Once I was able to see clearly, I nearly screamed. There, in the middle of my room, stood a boy about my age, smiling ruefully.
"Who…what…" I stammered. "What are you doing in my room?"
He laughed sardonically. "Finally, a reasonable response."
My hand clutched the doorknob again, prepared to yank the door open should I need a quick escape. "Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my bedroom? How did you get in here? You know, my father is just down the hall and all I have to do is scream."
He rolled his eyes and sat on the corner of my dresser. "Scream if you feel the need. But if you will just hear me out, I don't think you'll want to do that."
"Who are you?" I demanded again. My heart was pumping furiously in my chest but my feet were frozen to the floor. "I know karate. I could kill you with one punch." Yeah, I was lying but I hoped he wouldn't call my bluff.
"Settle down, tiger," he scoffed. "I'm not here to hurt you. That's not possible. I am in your service. You are my master. I'm to look after you while I'm here. And to grant your favors."
Okay either I was dreaming or I really was crazy. "What are you going on about? Who are you? How did you get in here?"
"You released me from the lamp. I am Kieran and I am in your service until our task is complete." His smile was dazzling, I had to admit.
My head grew light and my knees wobbled. I held the door knob tighter, using it for support. "Maybe I'm stupid but I'm not getting any of this. What do you mean you are in my service? What favors are you supposed to grant?"
"Silly girl," he said, wide smile still on his lips. "Don't you see? You freed me. I am your slave. Your wish is my command."
"A genie," I muttered before darkness took over and I slid to the floor.
A/N: Hello again! Sorry this isn't 'Ava' but I'm still really stumped on that one. This story is something I thought of awhile ago and I figured I'd give it a go. It's just a sort of silly story, bordering on stupid, and totally unbelieveable, but what the hell, huh?
Things are slowing down for me again and I'm hoping I'll have plenty of time to write. I'd like to finish this story this summer.
Tell me what you think and thanks for taking the time to read this chapter.