The Genie in the Designer Hoodie Chapter 1

In high school, there was a rich kid in our class. Filthy rich.

He was always treating everyone.

Fried chicken every three days, burgers every five.

The year he was most generous, he lost a bet and casually handed ten grand to a random girl on the street.

I relied on that money to finish high school and get into college.

Only later did I find out that the "rich kid" persona was fake, and losing the bet was a lie too.

All there was, was a teenage boy’s awkward, hidden, and unspoken crush.

Four years later, his family went bankrupt, and he was living on the streets.

I crouched in front of him and held out my hand:

"Hey, wanna come with me?"

* * *

I have a notebook hidden in the deepest corner of my desk.

It records all my wishes, big and small.

The earliest one was:

"I don't want to be beaten with a stick anymore."

So, when I was ten, my mother resolutely filed for divorce.

She took me and fled from my abusive father, escaping that small, backwoods town where I would have been sold off for a bride price by the time I was fifteen.

My mother made that wish come true.

The second one was:

"I want to go to school."

From then on, my mother worked three jobs a day—washing dishes during the day, running a street stall at night.

She begged people to get my residency sorted out and sent me to school.

In my young eyes, my mother was omnipotent; there was nothing she couldn't do.

"I want a scarf that doesn't pill."

"A two-dollar duck hair clip."

"Gloves that actually keep my hands warm."

I continued to write down my wishes in my childish handwriting.

Until the twenty-eighth one:

"I want to eat a delicious birthday cake with Mom."

My omnipotent mother didn't make this wish come true.

She suffered a sudden brain hemorrhage on the way to buy the cake and was rushed to the ER.

I borrowed a lot of money, prayed to every god, and cried until the world spun, but it was all useless.

When I was fifteen, I lost my last remaining family member.