Kelly McClymer-Salem Witch 02 Competition's A Witch (15 page)

Jakeera grinned evilly, and I had a faint fear that Samuel’s bracelet had let me down. “What did your note say?”

“Happy Birthday.” That was easy. Who’d know anything about anything from that sentiment! The bonus was that I really was telling the truth too.

For one second, I thought I had dodged the biggest rep-wrecking bullet possible. But nope. The big slide came from
doing something I’d done a thousand times before. Ordering pizza.

“Who’s hungry?” I asked, needing a break from the game and hoping to distract them with food.

“I am.” The answer came in a chorus of voices, so if anyone didn’t chime in, I didn’t notice.

“Great. Let me order the pizza.” I summoned the phone and hit speed dial for my favorite pizza place. “Anyone object to pepperoni?” I looked up to find everyone staring at me open-mouthed.

“Hello?” The phone took my attention from the girls before I could figure out what was going on. Witches ate pepperoni. Didn’t they?

I spoke into the phone, slowly and clearly so the place wouldn’t deliver some awful sardine concoction by mistake. “I’d like four pizzas, please, two pepperoni and two with extra cheese.” The ring that Samuel had given me vibrated. But I thought it was the phone in my hand, so I ignored the warning just a few seconds longer than I should have.

“You’re
ordering
pizza? For
delivery
?” Yvette said incredulously.

“Sure. Why not?”

It took me a second, staring at their astonished faces. Then I got it. Duh. Because only mortals order pizza, Pru. For not knowing that, you are sentenced to life on the scud side of the lunchroom.

There was no hiding my humiliation from Mom. One second there were sixteen giggling cheerleaders in her house. The next, there was complete—and very awkward—silence as all the girls went from thinking I wasn’t in regular classes because I was Agatha’s enemy to thinking I didn’t even know how to pop four pizzas for my own party.

Mom came up with the pizza that the delivery guy delivered the mortal way. She didn’t notice the silence instantly, probably because I was busy petting my new kitten and that caught her attention first.

She floated the pizza boxes in midair, directing the pizzas to spin out and distribute slices throughout the room. “Pru, your dad is allergic—”

“Elektra put a dander-free spell on her.” Because I couldn’t. But I didn’t need to say it. Everyone in the room—Mom included—already knew it. “I’m a witch now, remember? I need a familiar.”

“Oh.” She was distracted from the whole kitten thing by the silence in the room. Being a good mom once every fifth full moon or so, she said nothing about it. Directly. Indirectly, she asked, “Having fun, girls?”

There were a chorus of yeses that brought the party back on track as girls grabbed slices of pizza out of the air. But everything had changed. I was sooo not looking forward to school on Monday.

Mom looked at me sympathetically, which was not kewl. She could have warned me—but she’s used to doing things the mortal way too, so I bet she didn’t notice. There was a little guilt in her look, but more “poor Pru.” “What are you going to name it?”

“Her.” I nuzzled the kitten, which was probably the only living thing in that room that thought I was competent. “I’m going to name her … Disaster.” It seemed fitting. Especially since, beginning with Tara and ending with Sunita, all the girls found an excuse to leave without spending the night.

I have to say this for Mom, she isn’t afraid to ask the tough questions. She waited to have a heart-to-heart with me about what had gone wrong until I’d slept off the late night
of pizza and social suicide and stumbled down the steps (ignoring the vibrations of my ring—really, what did it matter if I did things the mortal way anymore?).

“Are you really going to name your kitten Disaster?” She could have asked a million questions, but that was the one she opened with. Typical Mom.

“Yes. You should see my room—you’d think she was a tiger instead of a tiny kitten the way she’s scratched things up.” I was going to call her Sassy for short, but I didn’t share that fact with Mom.

Apparently, the kitten’s name was all she needed to understand that something bad had happened. “What can I do to help, honey?”

“Can you get me out of remedial classes? That’s the only way I’ll ever prove I’m not the scud who can only order pizza the mortal way.”

“Oh.” She didn’t question me any further, just set her lips and twitched her nose. “Okay.” She sighed. “It’s time to deal with this, Prudence. I’m sorry I didn’t realize how important it was.” She stood up from the table, sending her teacup to the sink, where, no doubt, she’d wash it and put it away the mortal way. No wonder I was having trouble learning how to act like a witch, even with the ring Samuel had made for me.

I guess my thoughts were clear on my face, because she popped the teacup away and sighed again. “It’s been a long
time since I was sixteen. I may not have had to deal with the problems you face, but I had similar problems of my own.”

She looked at me. “Maybe Agatha was right, after all. My adapting to the mortal world, keeping you from using your magic, maybe it was unwise. I just—” She broke off. “Oh well, I can’t change the past—at least not without a lot of unforeseen consequences. I think it’s time to talk to her again.”

We popped into Agatha’s office without an appointment.

Agatha looked even more surprised than I was. “How did you get in here?”

Mom was focused and—annoyingly—serene. “I have my ways, as you may recall.”

For a moment, I felt sorry for Agatha. She didn’t have a clue she was facing a woman who had made a Girl Scout leader cry after the leader had told me—in front of eight other girls—that I was hopeless with knots and should just give up.

Apparently, Agatha did have a clue, because she stood up to face Mom. “I prefer to deal with civilized people who make appointments.”

Mom didn’t budge. “It’s time for her to take the test, Agatha.”

Agatha didn’t spit ice pellets at her, to my great surprise. Instead, she raised one white eyebrow, rippling the wrinkles in her face in a truly creepy way. “Who are you to make that decision when it’s my name on the school?”

Mom put her hand on my shoulder. “A mom who knows what’s good for my daughter.”

The news surprised me, but not Agatha, who practically had every wrinkle on her face engaged in active sneering. “You were such a flighty thing when you were a teacher. Taking a classroom of kindergarteners to a butterfly garden? Piffle. We were lucky the wings they gave themselves were not seen by mortals. We had to bury you in the library cataloging books to keep you from causing trouble, as I recall.”

Mom had taught at Agatha’s? Had worked in the library? I turned to look at her. When? And why hadn’t I known?

Mom was not to be distracted, however. She was on a mission. “They made themselves beautiful wings, Agatha. I’ve never understood why you didn’t see that.”

Okay. Who had taken my mom and where were all the pod people coming from?

But, with her next sentence, the mom I had known for sixteen years returned. “Prudence has studied hard and if she wants to try taking the test, what’s the harm? At the very best she’ll pass it and be working hard in the regular classroom to make the school—and you—proud.”

Agatha snorted.

Mom ignored her. “At the very worst, she’ll know which areas still require some work.”

Great. Mom really didn’t think I would pass the test, she
was just giving me something to work toward to keep my spirits up.

Agatha gave me a chilly once-over. “I can tell her that without the need for a test. Every area except social skills needs more than a little brushup.” Agatha shook her head. “No, the girl needs more of a plaster-and-lathe job, not just a brushup.”

Mom frowned. “If this is personal, then I would like to see you think about what is best for the student in your charge, Agatha.”

That made the ice queen crack. Big-time. Steam wafted steadily from her heavy white robes. “You dare?”

“My daughter deserves a chance to take the test and pass or fail it on her own merits.” Mom still managed to sound both implacable and polite. I don’t know how she does it, but I hope it’s something I inherited from her. It will come in handy if the Witches actually make it to the regional competition.

Agatha sniffed. “It’s just like you, Patience, to believe you know better than those who have the experience and responsibility for this decision.”

Mom just stared at her, quietly, as if she was sure Agatha would say yes and she was just politely waiting.

I was ready to run away. Far away. Because after all this, I wasn’t sure if I should take the test. What I didn’t know could fill a book. Actually, it did fill a book—our family spell book.

I was just ready to stand up and stop the Battle of the Salem Witches, non-sports version, when Agatha spoke.

“Yes.” Nothing else. Just yes. And then it was her turn to wait for a response.

Mom was classy, as always. She just smiled as if Agatha’s cave-in was a foregone conclusion, and said with 100 percent sincerity, “Thank you, Agatha.”

We popped back into the kitchen without any other pleasantries. I don’t know if that was Mom’s doing or Agatha’s, but I knew it wasn’t mine. Which didn’t make me feel any more comfortable about this test that I was apparently going to be taking now. Now that I didn’t want to. Now that I was convinced I would fail.

Mom hugged me. “Don’t worry, Prudence. You’ll do your best. You always do.”

I took a deep breath. Mom had made what I wanted to happen, happen. I really couldn’t take it out on her that I was scared I would fail. Besides, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that concentrating on the possibility of failure will result in failure. Now was not the time to think about everything at stake. Cheerleaders and A-list students needed to pass tests, not fail them, if they wanted to keep the leadership vibe going strong.

I knew she wanted something positive from me. For a minute, I wasn’t sure I could do it, but I mustered my cheer courage and smiled. “You know what they say, Mom: ‘A
good cheerleader never gives up and a great cheerleader never gives in!’”

I’m not quite sure she believed I was feeling it, but she just gave me another hug, popped us peanut butter cookies and milk (which I exchanged for carrot sticks and yogurt dip), and promised, “I’ll make sure Cousin Seamus fits some more tutoring time in with you.”

At which point, we both realized that Agatha had said yes to the test, but hadn’t said a word about when I’d have to take it.

It says a lot about how scared I was that I hadn’t noticed. A good cheerleader never forgets the importance of details, and a great cheerleader never lets her guard down until the game is over and done.

Spirit! We shout it high!
We got what it takes!
Watch us fly!
Spirit! And no more mistakes!

I scratched out my latest attempt at a new cheer for the team. “Mistakes” was too negative, and a cheer has to be positive to the max. I was finding that staying positive was getting harder and harder. No surprise there. There’s nothing fun about feeling like someone who went to the plastic surgeon for a touch-up and ended up looking like a mannequin with Claymation lips. I knew some of those women when I lived in Beverly Hills. Some of them were my friends’ mothers.

I’d been glad for my cheer training when I had to smile like I wasn’t freaked out to look them in the lifted eye. I’d wondered if they knew it. Most of the time they acted like they thought they looked perfectly normal. But sometimes … sometimes I thought they would have cried if they’d had working tear ducts.

That’s the way the other kids at school looked at me all day long. Like I was one of those women. Like they felt sorry for me, but were trying hard to hide it. I suppose the sympathy was better than any catty face-to-face criticism. I suppose. But if I hadn’t found an anti-crying spell in the family spell book before school, I would have been a Prusize fountain all day long.

I didn’t even stop by for some much needed real sympathy from Samuel, Maria, or Denise at lunchtime either. Since they were fringies, I knew they’d very helpfully tell me exactly what rumors were being spread about me. My imagination was bad enough—I didn’t need a triple dose of reality as well. Instead, I went to the library and stayed there until it was time to return to class.