Mr. Gaspin and the Reggs have been gone for at least five minutes and there hasn’t been a peep from inside the Dumpster. I can’t even hear Trey breathing. Either he’s holding his breath or . . .
Or he’s dead. A handful of gravel shouldn’t do that much damage. But I guess if even a tiny piece hit you in the exact right spot on your temple, you’d be a goner.
Or maybe Trey isn’t dead. Maybe he’s just unconscious and it’s up to me to resuscitate him. I know how to do it because I looked it up on YouTube: I’ll have to put my mouth on his mouth—kind of gross, but hey, I’m saving a life. Then I’ll pump my hands up and down on his chest and count as I go.
Climbing into the Dumpster isn’t the easiest thing in the world, especially with just one sneaker. But my feet find the grooves on the side. I swing one leg over, then the other.
Oooph. I land on a pile of junk and Trey.
“OWWWWWW!” he says.
“You’re alive!”
“Of course I’m alive,” he says, pushing me off. Now there’s something digging into my side. “But thanks to you I have a few more bruises.”
I twist around to get comfortable—or as comfortable as one can get on a pile of metal and wooden construction scraps. “Sorry,” I say.
“I thought genies were supposed to fix problems, not cause them. You sure don’t act like a genie.” He adjusts the broken glasses on his face. Aside from the smashed right lens, the left side of the frame is sticking up at a funny angle. “And you sure don’t look like one, either.”
I look down at myself—besides the missing shoe, my jeans are torn at the left knee, and there’s dirt on my hands and elbows. Probably on my face, too. I push my hair out of my face. “My mom says I look better when you can see my eyes,” I say.
“Your mom? Genies have moms?”
“Oh yeah,” I say. “Genies have whole families—moms, sisters, and . . .” My voice trails off.
“It doesn’t matter,” Trey says. “All that matters is you’re a genie and I have some wishes to make, and I don’t want to waste any more time, now that it finally worked.”
“What finally worked?”
“Rubbing the bottle,” he says. He has a look on his face like, Duh, genie! “All this time, I thought it had to be a fake. Just a dumb souvenir my dad brought back from his business trip to Bolivia. Or actually that his assistant brought back. My dad is too busy to waste any time shopping for me.”
“So you rubbed it today?” I ask. “In the chapel?”
“I rubbed it a thousand times before today and nothing happened,” he tells me. “I only had it with me today because I was going to throw it away. Then those kids showed up. And finally you popped out. Not that you were much help.”
“Yeah, those guys,” I say. “They seemed pretty mad at you. You must’ve—”
But Trey cuts me off. “Never mind them. I have wishes to make!” My toe tingles with the mention of that word—wishes. “The genies in the movies always grant wishes. I get wishes too, right?”
“Uh-huh,” I say. I reach down and scratch my toe. It’s pretty dirty from walking all the way from the chapel to the construction site. You can’t even see my birthmark anymore. I scrap off some dust and mud with my fingernails. Then I pick the dirt out from under my nails and flick it away.
Trey scoots back, even though I wasn’t flicking the dirt anywhere near him—honest. “The genies in the movies are not at all this gross,” he says.
“Hollywood got a few things wrong,” I explain.
“Clearly,” Trey says. “Is wearing just one shoe a genie thing?”
“I don’t think so,” I tell him. “But I only found out today that I’m a genie.”
“Ugh,” he says. “A newbie? I got a newbie?” He’s shaking his head. “No wonder I’m in a Dumpster. Patricia should’ve picked a bottle with a genie that actually knows what he’s doing.”
“I’m doing my best,” I say. “I climbed in here after you, even though I didn’t have to. I only did it to be nice and helpful. And you could’ve made it easier. Like, you could’ve popped your head up or waved your arm or shouted or something when they left, just to let me know you weren’t dead.”
“It’s not my job to do you any favors.”
“Or you could’ve said something when that teacher came around,” I say.
Trey’s chin drops, just slightly, but I know I’m onto something.
“That guy, Mr Gaspin, he would’ve helped you out for sure,” I go on. “And it’s not like you knew I’d be waiting here to rescue you. Unless . . . unless you were afraid they’d get you even worse next time, if you ratted them out. That’s it, huh?”
“I’m not afraid of them,” Trey says, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m not afraid of anyone.”
“Yeah, right,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says. “Right. They only do that stuff to me because they’re afraid of me.”
“They didn’t look so afraid,” I tell him.
“Trust me,” he says. “They’re terrified. You should be, too. Do you know who I am?”
“We weren’t formally introduced,” I remind him. “But I know your name is Trey.”
“I’m pretty sure that you’re supposed to call me Master.”
And that would make me his servant? Uh-uh. No way. No how. If he thinks that, he has another think coming.
“Maybe I should just call you twerp,” I say.
“I wouldn’t if I were you. Trey is short for Preston Hudson Twendel the third.” He pulls a plastic card out of his pocket and flashes it in front of my face.
“What’s that?”
“My key card to my dorm,” he says. “It has my name and my picture—see?” He flashes it again.
“Twendel,” I say. “That name sounds familiar.”
He shifts his weight and stuffs the card back in his pocket. “It’s the name of this construction site we’re on right now,” he tells me. “My grandfather was Preston Hudson Twendel the first, and my dad is the second. You know who they are, right?”
“Am I supposed to?”
“Everyone does,” he says. “My grandfather is the guy who started PHT Capital, which happens to be the biggest bank in the world.”
“Huh,” I say. “My mom has an account there.”
“Of course she does,” Trey says. “And my dad is the president of the whole thing. When I grow up, it’ll be MY bank. So what do you have to say to that?”
I shrug. “That’s cool for you and your dad,” I say.
“That’s right,” he says. “It is. Money makes you powerful.”
I remember that Uncle Max said being a genie does, too. If only I could figure out how to make that work in my favor!
“My dad has more money than anyone,” Trey goes on. “He basically owns Millings Academy. It’s the best boarding school in all of California.”
Hold up. Did he say California? I’m in California? That’s clear across the country from Pennsylvania!
“If my dad wanted to, he could get Oliver and Jake kicked out.” I know he means Shaggy and Buzz. “He could get them kicked out like that.” Trey snaps his fingers. “My dad doesn’t tolerate losers. He just gets rid of them. If he knew those two losers threw me in a Dumpster, he’d get rid of them for sure.” He pauses, for just a second. “And then he’d get rid of me for being the loser who let them.”
“So you are afraid of someone,” I say. “Your dad.”
“Maybe I am. But I bet you’re afraid of your dad.”
“He’s dead,” I say quickly. I’ve learned that’s the best way to say those words, like you’re ripping off a Band-Aid. It hurts, but then it’s over with.
For a split second there’s a flash of panic in Trey’s eyes, the same look everyone gets when they first hear. After that, they either become really curious and want me to tell them all the sad and scary details, or they want to get away from me as fast as possible, like having a dead father is catching or something.
But Trey recovers quickly. “So are you going to do any magic, or do I have to get out of here myself?”
“Uh,” I start.
“Never mind, newbie. We’ll just climb out.” Trey stands and reaches up toward the top of the Dumpster. “I’ll go first. You spot me from this side. It’s the least you can do.” He stands up and holds on to the side of the Dumpster, looking over his shoulder at me. “You’re lucky anyway, about not having a dad,” he says. “I might have you get rid of mine.”
“I wouldn’t get rid of anyone’s dad,” I tell him.
“I think you have to do whatever I tell you. And just so you know, my dad’s not a good person. He’s not even a good dad. Every single teacher here sucks up to him. Gaspin would’ve reported straight to him if he’d found me here. The trouble Oliver and Jake are going to be in is nothing compared to what I would’ve faced. So, about my first wish.”
Oh no. Something’s happening. My toe is itching and burning. What if he makes the wish to get rid of his dad? And what if I can’t control myself, and I accidentally grant it?
All right, Zack, it’s time to think outside the bottle!
Ooh, the bottle—that’s it!
“Hold up,” I tell Preston Hudson Twendel III. “Those kids left the bottle on the ground, and I need it before I do any wish granting.”
I don’t, really. At least I don’t think I do. But this twerp doesn’t know that, and I have a plan: (1) get out of the Dumpster; (2) grab the bottle; (3) run as far away as possible; (4) get sucked up and get home.
I’m not sure how to make the getting-home part happen, but I’ll deal with that after I’ve completed the first three parts of the plan.
Trey is out of the Dumpster now, so it’s my turn. One foot over, then another, and now a jump down to the ground. Oomph.
But when I stand up and wipe the dirt off myself, the bottle is nowhere in sight. “Where is it?” I ask.
“The bottle? I don’t see it. Does this mean I don’t get my wishes? That is SO UNFAIR!”