Moon White: Color Me Enchanted with Bonus Content (24 page)

“We’re praying for her,” says Lucy. “It must be serious.”

“I’ll pray for her too,” I say. And I will. I will pray night and day. I will beg the God who is bigger than witchcraft to spare her from anything I might’ve created. I even confess my stupidity to Lucy, and as soon as school’s over we go back to the beach where I buried that
moronic witch’s bottle. But we dig and dig and never find it. Finally, Lucy tells me that God is bigger than any magic I tried to create, and we both get down on our knees and ask God to replace my bad intentions with his healing powers. I hug Lucy and thank her for being my friend. Then she comes home with me and prays over my room. I’ve already disposed of all my lame witch’s junk. Talk about some expensive lessons.

Then on Tuesday, right before ballet, I ask Naomi about Liz. She’s Liz’s godmother; she should know something. I can feel Sienna watching me from where she’s seated at the piano. I have no idea what she’s thinking. And I don’t really care at the moment. All I care about is Liz and whether I’ve brought harm onto her.

“Haven’t you heard?” asks Naomi.

I shake my head, waiting for the ground to drop away from under me when I learn the horrible news. Please, God, please let Liz be okay.

“She’s perfectly fine,” says Naomi with a smile. “Her mom called me last night.”

“But why was she at the cancer center?” I ask.

She frowns. “Liz didn’t tell you?”

“What?”

“She didn’t mention that she had leukemia as a child? And that every year they do a full spectrum of tests on her just to make sure she’s still in remission?”

“No, she didn’t tell me.”

“And she is!”

I hug Naomi. “Thank God!”

“And there she is now,” she says, nodding to the door that Liz is just coming through.

I run over and hug Liz now. I tell her I’m sorry that I acted like
such a horrible person and I ask her to forgive me.

“Of course,” she says, laughing. “No hard feelings.”

“And now that I finally have you both here in the same room,” Naomi adds, ”I want to ask you something.”

“Go for it,” asks Liz.

“I want to know if you’d be willing to share the part of the Sugar Plum Fairy in this year’s Christmas performance.”

“Share it?” says Liz. “How do you do that?”

“I’m not completely sure,” she admits. “I thought if you both learned it, you could either take turns, since there will be four performances. Or perhaps, if we could make it look right, you could dance a duet. I’m not sure, but we can figure it out. Are you willing?”

“Sure,” I tell her. “I figured Liz was going to get that part anyway.”

Naomi frowns. “But you knew it was your year, Heather, didn’t you?”

I shrug. “To be honest, I’ve had my head in a hole since last summer. I’ve just started to see the light.”

“Cool,” says Liz. “Now maybe you can show me how to find it.”

I laugh. “Actually, I’m not much of an expert. In fact, I was about to ask Naomi about visiting her church. Maybe you should come too.”

Then Naomi claps her hands. “Time to dance.” But she nods at me. “We’ll discuss that later.”

As we dance, I see Sienna peering curiously at me, and I realize that I’m going to have to explain everything to her. And, actually, I think I’m looking forward to it. But first I’ll have to start praying for her. Because, despite everything, I think that God wants me to reach
out to this woman, and I know that he loves her as much as he loves me. I just hope that she’ll be able to receive that love.

After class, Liz and I go to the WC for coffee, and I tell her a little more about all that’s gone on in my life these past few weeks. I even confess to her about the charm I put in her car.

“Was that what that was?” She throws her head back and laughs. “I’d been smelling something rancid in there, and I looked around and found this stinking bag. I thought it was some kind of rotten food that I’d forgotten about. I threw it out and got my car cleaned too.”

“Good.” I shake my head. “And I’m so sorry.”

She just waves her hand. “No problem. So tell me, have you really given up this Wicca biz for good then? No stirring a big black caldron or riding your broomstick around on Halloween next week?”

I laugh. “Hey, I noticed that Halloween is on Sunday this year, which means you’ll probably find this girl in church.”

As I’m driving home, it occurs to me that many of my recent problems seem to have evaporated. Oh, not everything, of course. I mean there’s still the Yaquina Lake dispute to be settled, although it’s looking a tiny bit better. Then there’s my poor old dad’s broken heart, but he has hired a decorator to redo our house according to our tastes, and I think that’s a healthy step. And, as far as I go, I know for a fact that I’ll never get Hudson back, but I’m dealing with that. But, really, a whole lot of other troublesome things seem to have simply vanished — just like magic.

No,
I correct myself as I turn into my driveway,
just like God!

1. What did Heather want for her life that she thought Wicca could provide?

2. Why do you think Wicca can be initially attractive to those who are seeking spiritual answers?

3. Think about the women Heather meets who practice Wicca — Willow, Sienna, Jane, Marie. How do they compare to your idea of witches? Did anything about them surprise you?

4. Describe the kind of people you think are most susceptible to the influence of Wicca and witchcraft. Why do you think that is?

5. Why do you think the witches in this story could not control whether the spiritual forces in their lives were good or evil?

6. What are some of the ways you try to get control of the circumstances in your life? What do you imagine God thinks about those methods?

7. What part of Heather’s story was most frightening to you? Why?

8. Why do you think the Bible has such strong admonitions against practicing witchcraft? (See, for example, Deuteronomy 18; 1 Samuel 28 and 31.)

9. If you were Heather’s best friend, how would you advise her concerning her involvement in witchcraft?

10. Practitioners of witchcraft believe that they are the goddess or god of their own lives and that they are in control of all that happens. Who is god of your life? What controls you?

Sometimes the need to survive justifies the means.

One

A
PRETTY BLONDE GIRL SAUNTERS OVER TO WHERE
I’
M SEATED ON A CEMENT
bench in the courtyard. It’s a warm September day and I’ve been reading a book and basically minding my own business, waiting for the lunch break to end so I can go to class. I continue looking down at my book, pretending I haven’t noticed this girl, pretending like I couldn’t care less that she’s staring at me. I don’t actually
know
this girl, although I’ve seen her around. And I definitely know her type. In some ways I
am
her type. For starters, she’s the kind of girl who wears the right designer and wears it well. Not in the flashy, overdone, Paris Hilton sort of way, but in a way that shows she has a good sense of style and class. She keeps her makeup impeccable without looking cheap, and her highlights appear totally natural. She’s looking at me with an expression of superiority mixed with boredom, as if I’m not really worthy of her attention, but for some
reason she has set her sights on me. She places one hand on her hip, striking a pose I’m sure for the benefit of her friends, who are packed together, whispering, about twenty feet away. Her upper lip curls ever so slightly, as if she’s just gotten a whiff of something that smells bad. And then she speaks. “So
you’re
the one.”

I close my paperback and study her carefully, taking my time to respond, waiting just long enough to make her a little uneasy, or so I hope. “The one
what
?” I keep my tone even. No way do I want her to know she’s making me uncomfortable. The first step toward losing power is to let them see you squirm. I know this because I know how to make others squirm. Sometimes it’s necessary.

“The one who
somehow
made it onto the varsity cheerleading squad.” Now she’s actually looking down her nose at me. And that’s when I notice that there’s a slight ball on the tip of her nose and, from my angle, it’s just a bit reminiscent of Miss Piggy. Enough that it makes me actually smile. So she’s not so perfect after all.

“What’s so funny?”

I just shrug as I slip my book into the oversized Burberry bag that I snagged from my mom’s closet last weekend. “I assume you stopped by to offer me your hearty congratulations.” I make sure she can hear the sarcasm in my voice, then I slowly stand. Of course, I wonder why I bother, since she’s at least six inches taller than me and I’m still looking up at her. My five-foot stature has some perks, like when it comes to gymnastics or being tossed high in an exuberant cheerleading stunt, but it gives me a definite disadvantage in power struggles like this.

“Who
are
you anyway?” she asks as if she’s the reigning queen of Belmont High. Maybe she is.

“Reagan Mercer,” I say lightly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, uh, whoever
you
are.”

“Everyone
knows
who I am,” she nods toward her friends, who are slowly meandering over as if on cue. Now I notice that they are some of the same girls who tried out yesterday. “I’m Kendra Farnsworth,” she continues in that smug, superior tone, “the girl that you
barely
beat out for varsity squad. In fact, I’m first alternate, not that I care.” She looks as if she’s about to yawn now. Perhaps she’s boring herself as much as she’s boring me. But she’s not finished. “I’ve been cheering since middle school and I was on varsity last year, and if you hadn’t dropped in, like out of nowhere, well, I’d still be on varsity right now. Not that I care so much, since I think I’ve outgrown that whole scene.”

Suddenly I remember this girl with clarity. As usual, I had tried not to watch as the other girls did their routines during tryouts yesterday. It’s just my way. I figure if they do really well, I’ll get discouraged and lose my competitive edge. Or if they totally flop, I’ll get overconfident and not give it my best shot. For me, it’s just better not to watch. But suddenly I remember this girl and exactly what went wrong. She started out just fine, but then she forgot the second half of the long routine. Oh, she did it with a fair amount of grace and style and actually laughed at herself, then did a couple of really good jumps that made the crowd cheer. Still, to forget that much of the routine . . . well, it didn’t look too promising to me. And apparently it had cost her a position on the squad. Like that’s my fault.

The list was only posted this morning, and since the other names are still unfamiliar to me, I only looked at it to make sure my name was on it. Even then I contained my enthusiasm, covered my pleased surprise. Because despite knowing I’d performed a flawless routine and even thrown in a couple of backflips that seemed to impress the crowd, you can never be sure. So when I read my name on the list today, I just sort of nodded, did a silent internal cheer,
then went on my way. I’m fully aware that I need to play this out carefully. Being the new girl comes with all kinds of challenges and liabilities. Obviously Kendra Farnsworth is one of them.

“Sorry about that,” I say in a voice that I mean to sound genuine. “That’s a tough break.”

She rolls her eyes, then studies a perfectly shaped fingernail. “Tell me about it.”

I look at her French manicure with those white tips that never look real. I’m surprised she hasn’t heard that French is out, but maybe she doesn’t care. “I forgot part of a routine once,” I say offhandedly. “It was in a state competition.” Okay, that is a total lie, but I need to get her to trust me by appearing to be transparent. The truth is I was really worried that I’d forget our hardest routine when we competed at state last year, but it never actually happened. I made sure it didn’t. But my “confession” does the trick. It causes Kendra to smile, ever so slightly, and I think maybe the ice is thawing a little. She gives a nod over to where her friends are standing and, as if on cue, they come over and begin talking to me, introducing themselves and cautiously congratulating me for making the squad. Apparently some of them made it too.