Exactly four hours later, Jon woke up to singing.
Not birdsong, not the gentle hum of the neighborhood, but something loud, enthusiastic, and extremely off-key.
“🎵 Ohhhhhhh I’m a little teapot short and stouuuuuut, here is my handle here is my—SPIN!”
The desk chair squeaked madly as the boy—no, the wish stone—spun round and round in it, legs sticking out like helicopter blades, tank top riding up with every rotation. He was laughing hysterically, hair sticking up in all directions like static was his natural state.
Jon groaned, rolling over and yanking the blanket over his head. “No. No way. You were supposed to be asleep. Four hours. I counted.”
The chair stopped with a thud, followed by two sockless feet padding across the carpet. The blanket was yanked away with surprising force.
“Four hours exactly, Master!” the boy said proudly, puffing his chest out. “I timed it. I’m very punctual. And now I’m back! Let’s wish!”
Jon squinted up at him, bleary-eyed and unimpressed. “You’re way too cheerful for six in the morning.”
The boy ignored that, dropping cross-legged onto the bed. “Guess what I was reading while you slept? Stuff about wish givers. It’s hilarious how people think things like me can’t grant wishes about love or killing. But guess what?” His grin stretched from ear to ear. “I totally can, Master.”
Jon sat bolt upright. “You can’t just casually say that!”
The boy giggled. “What, love and death? Pfft. Easy. Humans make too many rules. I don’t have rules. I just grant.”
Jon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I guess I’ve got to deal with this.”
“YAY!” The boy bounced on the mattress, nearly sending Jon’s head into the wall. “Deal with me, Master! Make a wish to do so! Make a wish, make a wish, make a wish—”
“Stop!” Jon hissed, throwing his hands up. “You’re going to wake my sister or my little brother, and then I’ll have to explain who you are!”
The boy froze mid-bounce, then broke into another too-wide smile. “Oh, no problem! I already made them think I’m your son!”
Jon’s brain screeched to a halt. “Wait. What?!”
The boy nodded, pleased with himself. “Yep! To them, I’m just your kid. Easy peasy. No awkward explanations. I fit right in!”
Jon stared at him. His mouth opened and closed a few times before sound came out. “You—you what?! You’re like ten. You look ten. I’m sixteen. That would mean I had a kid when I was six! What the actual hell?!”
The boy tilted his head, genuinely confused. “So? Isn’t that fine? You’d just be… y’know, the cool guy who had a kid when you were six. Very impressive. Dad!”
“Don’t call me Dad!” Jon groaned, burying his face in his pillow. “You’re not real. You’re a rock. Rocks don’t have kids. Six-year-olds don’t have kids! This is insane.”
The boy blinked. “Well… I don’t really know how kids are made anyway. I just figured… poof, now I’m your son, problem solved! Easier than explaining I’m a rock-boy-wish-thing, right?”
Jon let out a strangled laugh. “Oh god. Ohhh god. This is a nightmare.”
The boy clapped his hands. “No, it’s genius! You’ll be the only guy in school with a ten-year-old son! Instant street cred!”
Jon sat up, glaring. “That’s not street cred, that’s a social disaster.”
But the boy was undeterred, hopping off the bed and twirling around the room. “Dad, Dad, Dad! I like that better than Master, honestly. Less formal. More family. You’re Dad now!”
Jon dragged a hand down his face. “Why would Grandpa make you like this? Why not just… stay a stone?”
The boy paused mid-spin, thinking. “Hmm. I think it’s because of him being a baby now. You know, reincarnation, rebirth, second life, all that jazz. He made a whole bunch of wishes to make it perfect, and… well…” He shrugged cheerfully. “I might’ve gotten scrambled into this. Ta-da!” He struck a pose.
Jon blinked slowly. “Wait. Back up. Did you just say Grandpa’s a baby?”
“Yup!” the boy said brightly. “His last wish before handing me to you was to be reborn as a baby. Fresh start, no memories, no responsibilities. Probably in some country far away. I can’t tell you where, though—built into the wish. Locked down tight. Sorry, Dad.”
Jon’s jaw dropped. “So… Grandpa isn’t dead. He’s alive. Somewhere. As a baby. Starting over.”
“Bingo!” The boy snapped his fingers, grinning like he’d just won a game show. “You got it. Grandpa’s drooling on himself in a crib right now. Cute image, right?”
Jon’s brain fizzed like soda. “This is… this is insane. My granddad’s alive and a baby and I’ve got a magic rock that thinks it’s my son…”
“Correction!” The boy piped up, bouncing over to grab Jon’s hand. He pressed Jon’s palm against his head. “You’ve got a wish giver. And I really want you to make a wish now. It’s my whole life! My reason to exist! I need it! Wish, Dad, wish!”
Jon stared at him, still reeling. His chest was tight, his mind spinning. Grandpa alive. Grandpa a baby. This manic, grinning avatar of a stone shoving his head under Jon’s hand.
The boy’s eyes sparkled, wide and pleading. “Go on. Say it. Anything. Just wish.”
Jon’s mouth moved before his brain caught up. “God, I really wish that...?
