October 11, 9:15 am.

"A WHAT!" My father yelled at me in disbelief. But that was nothing compared to the look my mom was giving me: everyone knew witches were the exact opposite of genies, and to say you want to be one…well, let's just say it's the equivalent of a human saying they wanted to be a demon. It's very, very bad.

"Daughter," Mom said to me through gritted teeth, "go to your bottle NOW."

I did as I was told, but, in keeping with my new persona, I made sure to sigh in a deeply depressed way on my way back up the stairs.

Once I was safely in my room, Aunt Jeannie blinked herself back out of my pocket and collapsed on the bed in laughter.

"Oh, that was just too good!" she cried, grinning at me. "See, I told you it'd work. Now aren't you happy you have such a nice aunt to help you in your time of need?"

"But I got in trouble!" I said, not bothering to hide my disappointment. "You said they'd be worried about me and start paying me more attention, and instead I just got sent to my room so they can go back to ignoring me. When is this plan going to work?"

"Oh, but it is," she replied mischievously. "They may be a little upset, but they are definitely worried about you. Wanna hear what they're saying?"

"Yeah!" I said eagerly, forgetting my unhappy mood. Aunt Jeannie blinked, and something looking like a radio popped into her hands. She fiddled with the dials for a minute, and suddenly we could hear everything my parents were saying downstairs:

"What is going on with her!" my dad yelled, obviously just as mad as he was a minute ago.

"I do not know, Anthony," my mother replied, "but I do know that what she just said is incredibly horrible for any genie to say, and she knew it. Witches are our mortal enemies—they use their powers for evil, and they hate genies."

"Have you ever met one?" my dad asked.

"Well, no," my mother admitted. "But that is what the great Hadji has always told us, and he makes sure every genie is aware of it from a very young age. Oh, Anthony!" she cried again, suddenly sounding on the verge of tears, "I am just so upset! She has never acted like this before, but lately she has been so rebellious and defiant, and I do not know what to do!"

"Oh, Darling," my father said, his voice softening considerably. "She's a teenager now, and while that's certainly no excuse for her behavior, we can't let it upset us so much. Especially now with the baby; you shouldn't be under so much stress. Why don't you go lie down while I go up and have a long talk with our daughter?"

"Alright, Anthony," I heard my mother reply before I hurriedly switched off the radio.

"Aunt Jeannie, what do I do now!" I asked her, panicking. "We haven't gone over this part of the plan! What do I do?"

"Calm down, dah-ling, I knew this was coming," she replied slowly, obviously a little disturbed by the loving tone in my father's voice when he was talking to my mother. "Act just as depressed as you were downstairs, and whatever you do, don't cave in when he guilt-trips you!"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

She rolled her eyes. "You heard him. He's worried about your mother, and he's going to come up here, lecture you, and then try to make you feel bad by saying you're going to make your mother sick. But don't give in! We want to get you to the point where they think something is seriously wrong with your emotional state—that you really are depressed. That will turn the guilt around on them and get you attention. Good attention," she added, seeing the skeptical look I shot her.

"Ok, fine!" I said hurriedly, hearing my dad coming up the stairs. "Now hurry and leave, because I'm supposed to be in my bottle!"

Aunt Jeannie just scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Where's your appreciation for your aunt's brilliant idea?"

"I'll thank you when it works!" I shot back, and quickly smoked into my bottle. I heard Aunt Jeannie blink away, right before my bedroom door opened and I felt my bottle being shaken gently.

"Jeannie, I need to have a word with you," my father said. "Come out now, please."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before smoking out: It was showtime again.