Just A Wish

By Rowena Zahnrei

MG, 499 Words

WINNER!

Kids’ Choice Writing Contest, 2024

Middle Grade, 2nd Place

I found the ring in a clump of wet leaves on the way to school. Normally, I don’t pick junk out of leaf-gunked gutters, but the twinkle caught my eye, and the ring didn’t look too slimy. So, I rubbed it dry on my jeans and—

POOF!

A girl about my age (eleven), wearing an outfit just like mine, sat cross-legged in front of me – about six feet in the air!

“I’m the Genie of the Ring.” She flicked her ponytail then checked her pink-glitter nails. Also like mine. “You get one wish. Don’t waste it.”

I don’t know about other neighborhoods but, where I live, this kind of weirdness isn’t a regular thing. Still, I’m a big reader and I’ve seen a lot of shows. So, instead of screaming like my aunt, or poking the genie with a stick to see if she was real, I asked: “Just one?”

“Uugghhhhhhh…” The genie rolled her eyes so hard, her head flopped to the side. “One wish is valuable, get it? But more than one? You’d just squander your first wishes, then use the last to fix the mess. If you’re clever enough to hold one back. Most humans aren’t. And infinite wishes? Not a thing. Don’t try it.”

The genie leaned in, her eyes like green fire. “All good? Then, ready. Steady. Wish!”

My mind flooded and stalled, drowning in dreams, possibilities, consequences. I saw the genie’s smug smirk, just like my big brother’s that time he almost beat me at chess. And I realized…

This wish – it wasn’t an opportunity.

It was a trap.

And I knew how to escape.

“Come on,” the genie urged. “Better to wish now than stall all day and still mess it up.”

“That happens a lot, does it?” I asked. “Humans messing up their wish?”

The genie laughed. “I’ve yet to meet one who didn’t!”

“I guess you have to be pretty precise. Say what you mean, exactly how you mean it?”

“Most humans wish for money, long life,” the genie said. “They don’t think: where’s that money come from? And immortality doesn’t mean you stop aging. That must be part of the wish.”

“Hm…” I nodded. “Then, I wish for you to do it.”

The genie squinted. “Do what?”

“Make my perfect wish,” I said.

“Wait...” She tilted her head as if I’d thrown her a super-hard math problem. “You want me to make your wish?”

“The perfect wish,” I insisted, all wide-eyed innocence. “Show me how to do it right.”

“Well…” She tapped her chin. “It’d have to be small. Specific. Something tailored to affect only you.”

“Any ideas?”

“A cheeseburger!” she suggested. I tried not to laugh. “At lunch, today – I can make it so you’re served the tastiest, most perfect cheeseburger ever made.”

I considered. “Might be nice – if there weren’t so many jerks in the lunchroom. Wouldn’t it be fantastic if humans everywhere would just stop the hate?”

The genie scoffed. “I wish.”

She gasped.

I grinned.