1st 5 Pages February Workshop- Jreije Rev 2

Name: George Jreije

Genre: Middle Grade Fantasy

Title: Jewels of the Nile

Pitch:

Summer vacation is a magical time for twelve-year-old Bashir. In Lebanon, away from the bullies and schoolwork in Boston, he passes the days swimming with his two best friends. And when he discovers a golden ring on the last day of vacation, he slips it onto his finger, not realizing that he has awakened the centuries-old djinn living inside.

Yet the djinn proves only to be good at making life miserable, which Bashir learns when his parents are kidnapped by a demon. As it turns out, only a djinn can harness the power of an ancient weapon dating back to the Egyptian empire―the Jewel of the Nile. And the demon has been hunting shards belonging to the Jewel in an effort to make it whole again.

The last obstacle in the demon’s way of fusing the shards is Bashir―but to stand against the demon, he must first learn to become one with his djinn. Only together can they save his parents and rid the world of the demon’s evil.

Please consider JEWELS OF THE NILE, a 65,000 word #ownvoices Middle Grade fantasy with Lebanese-Arab themes. This novel will appeal to fans of Roshani Chokshi’s ARU SHAH AND THE END OF TIME and Sayantani Dasgupta’s THE SERPENT’S SECRET.

Pages:

Bashir sprinted along Beirut’s sunny coastline, clutching three popsicles that were dripping spots of orange, red, and blue across the scorched cement. Each step he took was like walking over hot coals. Had Mama brought a few pieces of lahme, they could have cooked the meat into lamb kabobs right there on the ground.

Farrah gazed up from making kissy faces into her phone. She waved him over to their usual spot beyond the crowds in the sitting area. “Over here!”

She and Ziad were resting along the clear waters, their legs submerged up to their knees. Bashir handed them each their treat and nudged a space for himself in between, shoulder to shoulder. He stuck his feet in the water and let out a breath. Sweet relief.

“The good stuff,” said Ziad, taking a bite off the top. “Shoukran dude!”

Bashir signed you got it, but he knew neither of his friends understood what his hand gestures meant. He didn't mind. For eight years, the three of them had spent most of their summers together. And to him, Ziad and Farrah’s company had always been enough. It always would be.

While they all cooled down, Bashir brushed away one of his black curls, squinting from the too-bright sun. Augusts in Lebanon were the best for swimming, but the mosquitos, heat, and countless tourists made it miserable for just about everything else.

“Jealous that you get to go home tomorrow,” said Farrah. “I have to stay another week, and I bet my friends already went shopping without me.”

Bashir shrugged. Farrah’s shopping paradise sounded like torture while Ziad. an athlete, must have been excited to return to the soccer field. And as for Bashir, he’d rather find a private corner in the library. A quiet place to curl up and read until his vision grew blurry.

Bashir would trade anything to make this summer last forever. Thinking about how he’d soon be leaving his friends made his stomach ache. Only one day after his flight, Ziad would be returning to Michigan and Farrah to California. No more listening to their interesting school stories or complaints about summer reading. And it wasn’t that he didn't like America; even the frigid winters weren’t so bad. It was just tough being different back home. Unlike Ziad and Farrah, most kids didn't like different.

“Cheer up!” Ziad seemed to have noticed Bashir’s smile fading and raised his nearly-melted popsicle in a toast. “To surviving eighth grade,” he said with his familiar lisp. “Next time we sit here, we’ll all be thirteen!”

Bashir nodded, hoping his luck might change this year. He and Farrah both raised their frozen treats to toast, but that’s when he noticed there was nothing but the stick left on his. Peering down, lines of red and blue ran down his bare chest. He gazed back up and, noticing that Farrah was looking at him, he wrapped his arms around his chest, fearing judgement. Instead, she leaned back and chuckled.

“Uh-oh. Looks like someone needs a bath.” Ziad gripped Bashir’s thin arms. Before Bashir could do anything, his friend shoved him off the rocks.

He didn't have time to curse Ziad in his thoughts as water cooled his face and head. He sunk deeper and deeper. While he knew that he should be kicking and reaching to get back to his friends, there was a strange sense of peace beneath the surface. Up there, Bashir had to deal with bullies and schoolwork and all manners of wajbat―what his parents called responsibilities in Arabic. None of that existed in the sea. No pressure to be like the other kids, to smile and nod when adults talked to him. Here, it was quiet.

Bashir liked the quiet.

So he swam deeper instead. The further down he went, the cooler the water. It relaxed his limbs and provided a welcome change from the heat. Opening one eye, then two, sight settled in quickly. The depths were a murky green amidst the sea plants. Fish darted by, entire schools of them.

A gleam caught Bashir’s eye. He blinked and it was still there―an almost imperceptible shine amidst the shades of red, brown, and green all blurring together underwater.

Commanding his burning lungs to hold firm, he swam towards that light. His heart began to thump faster. Seaweed brushed his chest and the fish became larger. He sank down further still, to where the sand and rock intertwined, where tiny critters crawled in and out of holes invisible to the eye. He reached along the rough sea bed. His palm ran alongside the smallest of crabs, then swept across more quickly as the need for air reached desperate levels. His fingers found a soft patch and dug in. Scooping weeds and pebbles, feeling something crawl along his knuckles and fall away, he retrieved the shiny mystery last of all.

A jolt raced up Bashir’s spine and he let out a stream of bubbles. Convulsing, the pain was like the time he poked an electric socket, only ten times worse. A sudden, thundering voice entered his ears and said, awakened at last.

The pain vanished as quick as it came. And the voice…

Bashir saw no one nearby. He wanted to search around, to see if there had been anyone nearby, but he was out of air. Desperate, he kicked off of the rocky sea floor and shot up towards the sun, breaking the surface seconds later. Swallowing large gulps of oxygen had never felt so good as the moment his mouth shot open. The popsicle stick floated beside him as he paddled alone. It just drifted along the water, almost unnoticeable.

Funny, he often thought of himself that way. Drifting through life. For the most part, going unnoticed.

“I didn't mean to push him, I swear!” Ziad’s lisp separated his voice from all the others, loud and worrisome. “He could be dead by now. I’m going in.”

Farrah shoved him away. “Are you crazy? Going after Bashir will be hard enough, I don’t want to rescue two idiots. I’ll jump in.” Bashir blinked the water out of his eyes, spotting Farrah toying with her earrings. “Hold these, you darn―

He’d just gained full vision, ready for her to come to his rescue when her neck tilted up and she spotted him. Both she and Ziad waved him over. He swam toward them, now several feet off the coast.

Sand filtered out of his hand with each stroke so he squeezed his fist harder, careful not to drop his treasure. He held tight until, reaching his friends, he raised his arm and dropped a glittering golden ring onto the rocks before them. Letting go of the object sent a shudder through his body and he felt oddly tired. Neither Farrah nor Ziad said a word as Bashir hoisted himself out of the water. Both were curiously eyeing the ring’s solid gold finish―it had no scratches or dents, appearing as though it had just been forged.

“Where’d you find that?” Ziad’s eyebrows furrowed, reaching for the ring until Bashir swatted his hand away. “What gives? I push you into the water and you come back with a cool trinket? Not fair!”

“So you did push him, eh?” Farrah reached over and jabbed Ziad hard enough to elicit a yelp.

Bashir laughed soundlessly. He didn't care all that about the ring, treasuring Ziad and Farrah over any hunk of metal.