Parties & Potions #4 (6 page)

“Will do. Love you.”

“You too. Wait—Mir?”

“Yeah?”

“Um, you don’t really eat on the toilet bowl, do you?”

She laughs. “No. Don’t be disgusting.”

I end the call and stick the phone in my back pocket. “Wendaline, you have to stop doing that in public!”

She slams her palm against her forehead. “Whoops. Sorry! I keep forgetting. I’ve been flying around the school, trying to find you. I checked the cafeteria first, but you weren’t there.”

Great. What if somebody saw her? “I was until about five minutes ago.”

“It’s all good. I had to pop home for my gym clothes. I forgot to bring them.”

By pop,
I’m assuming she means
zap.

“So, how’s my outfit today?” she asks, twirling. She’s wearing a black mesh skirt with a velvet turtleneck, fishnets, and black boots. “Better?”

“Better,” I say. Not by much. “Very Goth.”

“I know! Fun, huh?”

“Where do you get your clothes, anyway? Some witch catalog?”

“No, silly, on Eighth Street. At my cousin Ursula’s. Didn’t she mention it? She has a store that sells clothes and jewelry. She went to FET and everything. It’s all good.”

“Don’t you mean FIT? Fashion Institute of Technology?”

“No! FET Familiars, Enchantments, and Talismans. A postsecondary witch course that you can take in Paris during the summer.” She pulls on her necklace. “She made this. You like?”

“Is that a silver broom?”

“Yeah! A broom charm! Fun, huh? You can add as many charms as you want. Spell books, wands, cats…”

“Cute.” If you want people to think you’re a weirdo.

“She sells a ton of them. They’ve gotten really popular.”

The first bell rings.

“I’m going up,” I tell her as a rush of students rams its way into the stairwell. “You?”

“I’m going down. I have to go to the bathroom before class. I didn’t realize that you have to
ask
to use it. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

I laugh. “That you have to ask or that you didn’t know?”

“I have so much to remember!”

A wave of cool air blows through the hall and Wendaline vanishes.

If only she could remember to use the stairs.

“She said yes!” Miri screams when I get home from Tammy’s. She throws her arms around my neck.

“Yay, yay, yay!” We do a victory dance in front of the door.

“You’re brilliant!” she cheers. “It was the bonding plea that finally did it. I told her that having a Samsorta would make me feel so much closer to her! I am
so
happy,” she says. “You are the best sister in the whole world!”

“I know.” I kick off my shoes. “Is Mom home?”

“No, she went to dinner with Lex. She left us pizza money. Oh, and I got you black-and-white cookies. Your fa-vorite. Do you want one?”

“Thank you!” Boy, it’s nice to be appreciated. I dump my bag on the floor near the closet and head into the kitchen.

“I am just so excited. It’s going to be so much fun! I’ll meet so many people! I’ll get a great overview of magic! It’ll perfectly top off my training.” She carries over a plate of cookies and a steaming cup of cocoa. It’s always fun when Mom goes out with Lex. Miri and I get to have dessert before dinner. “Hey,” Miri says. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. How’s your training going?”

“My what?”

“Your witch training? With Mom? You know how she made me do it last year, and how I’m almost done with it? You didn’t think she’d let you get away without it, did you?”

“Oh. Right. Training. Well, we haven’t started it exactly.” I bite into the deliciousness. Yum. I can’t imagine what my mom could possibly teach me; I feel like I know more about magic than she does. “Maybe soon.”

“I think she mentioned something about starting next week.”

“Seriously?” I take a sip of the hot chocolate. Yum! Miri added mini-marshmallows!

“Yup. Lots of bonding with Mom.”

I roll my eyes.

“It doesn’t take too much time,” Miri says. “Only like three hours.”

I dig in to cookie number two. “Three hours a week isn’t bad.”

“No,” she says forcefully. “Three hours a day.”

Eeks. Did Miri spend that much time on her training last year? That doesn’t sound like fun. “I’m sure she’ll do an accelerated version with me.” I am smarter. Or at least older.

“Maybe. Hey! You know what?”

I take another bite of cookie. “What?”

“Samsorta training is only once a week. If you did it, I bet Mom would consider it good enough.”

“But then wouldn’t I have to have a Samsorta?”

“Well, once you were doing the training …”

Wait a sec! The cookies, the you’re-the-best-sister routine, the clever intellectual reasoning, the threat of parental bonding … I thump my fists on the kitchen table. “You’re using my manipulation techniques! On me!”

She covers her face with her arm. “Mom said I could only do it if you do too!”

“Miri!”

“Please, Rachel? Pretty please? She said she doesn’t want to worry about me going on my own. She thinks you’ll keep an eye on me, and keep me from getting mixed up with the wrong crowd. Apparently, I’m not always the best judge of character.”

She did get me body-snatched over the summer. But still. “I don’t know, Miri….”

“Puhlease?” She opens her eyes all wide and sad-looking. “I just want to have people to hang out with. You went to Tammy’s after school. Mom went out with Lex. I stayed home by myself and watched television. Alone. Again.”

“Gimme a break.”

“I just wish I had people to talk to,” she says in her extra-squeaky voice, “when you go out with your friends and desert me.”

I groan. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to make you eat this cookie in the bathroom.”

“Please? How can you say no to me after all the stuff I did for you? The megels, the dancing spell, the love potion spell, the—”

“Guilt trip?”

“Puh-lease? Puh-leeeease?”

I know I’m going to regret this, but… I guess I do owe her.
“Fiiiiine,
Miri. If it’s that important to you, we’ll have a Samsorta.”

“Yes!” She pumps the air in victory. “It’s going to be so much fun!”

Wild and crazy Rafless cemetery fun. Wahoo. “What do I have to do?”

“Nothing,” she says happily. “Mom is calling Charm School tomorrow and signing us both up. That’s where Wendaline’s going too.”

“You just knew I’d say yes, huh?”

She blows me a kiss. “I learned from the master.”

Watch Your Back

It’s Wednesday (otherwise known as one day before my birthday), between second and third periods, when I know we’re going to have a problem.

I spot Wendaline in the hallway, in a black and red polka-dot monstrosity, and wave.

She waves back.

At least she’s not in her cloak. Not that this getup is much better. But at least there’s no popping or zapping anywhere. All good, right? Normal. Until I watch, horror-stricken, as a random junior boy sticks his Converse-clad foot out in front of her, sending her toppling to the floor. A spiral notebook and a pencil case veer in different directions.

The junior smirks. His friends laugh.

I hurry to the disaster site and help her up. “Are you okay?”

“It’s all good. I’m fine. So weird. I’ve been falling all over the place today. Something must be wrong with my equilibrium.”

She’s so clueless. “Wendaline! There’s nothing wrong with you! That jerk tripped you!”

“He did not!”

“He so did. I saw him.”

She shakes her head. “It must have been an accident, right? It was an accident?”

“Um …”

She flinches. “You don’t think it was an accident?”

“No,” I say. “I don’t.”

“But why would anyone trip me on purpose?” She bends over to pick up her now many-times-stepped-on notebook.

I spot a yellow paper taped to her behind.
Trip me
is scrawled in black marker. I pluck it off and silently hand it over.

Her jaw drops. “Why would someone do that?”

Sigh. “Because they’re mean.”

“But why? That is so awful! It’s been happening all day! My elbows are all bruised!” She rubs her arm, punctuating her point.

I pick up her equally bruised pencil case from the floor and pull her into an empty classroom. I take a deep breath. “Wendaline, it’s because of the way you dress.”

She looks at me with dismay. “Because I’m not wearing the same jeans and a shirt like everyone else?”

“Yeah.”

She throws her arms into the air. “That’s ridiculous! I have the right to dress however I want!”

“Of course you have the
right.
But maybe you shouldn’t.” I point to my own outfit—of jeans and a shirt. “Sometimes it’s better to blend in.”

“But this is my style!” she cries. “I don’t want to blend in. I want to be
me.
”

I wave the yellow paper. “
Being you
is getting you tripped.”

She snatches the note from my hand and crunches it into a ball. “Now it won’t.”

“Be careful,” I say uneasily. “You have to watch your back.”

“Literally, apparently.” Her shoulders slouched, she hurries down the hall.

The cafeteria is extra-crowded because of the torrential rain outside. When it rains in Manhattan, it rains hard. It rains cats and dogs.

Cats and dogs. What kind of creepo expression is that? Why would it rain animals? If I were going to make up an expression about it raining animals, I would at least use air-borne animals like pigeons or mosquitoes.

From our table, I watch a tiny freshman girl accidentally bump into Wendaline in the lunch line.

“How do you know Wendaline?” Tammy asks, following my gaze.

I fidget with my brown paper bag as Wendaline spins around, eyeing the other freshman suspiciously. Uh-oh. Now she thinks everyone is out to get her. “Wendaline’s an old friend of the family,” I mumble. I’m afraid my family friend Wendaline is about to crack and turn the innocent freshman into a pigeon in about a millisecond.

Tammy sips her juice. “Right. Is she really a witch?”

I almost spit up my sandwich. Cough, cough! Choking, here!

“I know the Heimlich and I’m not afraid to use it,” says a familiar voice behind me. Raf.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, and chug my water. “All clear. Hi. No tray?”

He gives me a quick kiss, takes a seat beside me, and drops a rumpled paper bag on the table. “I brought my lunch today. Leftover lemon chicken. Hey, Tam.”

“Yum, I love Chinese food.” I also love talking about Chinese food, if it keeps the conversation off Wendaline. “My favorite is General Tso. Delicious. I should have ordered that for dinner last night, instead of pizza.” I look down at the two slices I brought from home. Keep talking, Rachel. Don’t stop. “I eat way too much pizza. I’m going to turn into a pizza.”

“You’d be an adorable pizza,” Raf says. “Pepperoni eyes and tomato lips. I’ll switch with you as a precaution.”

“Really?” So romantic. He hands me his container of chicken and I hand him my pizza—as well as my heart.

Yeah, I know that was
cheesy
(wink, wink), and I don’t care.

“Hey, Raf,” Tammy says. “I was just asking Rachel for more info on her family friend. The one who says she’s a witch?”

Tammy! Get over it already! “Wendaline is a big joker.” I wave my hand. “Trust me. She was kidding. She kids around a lot.” Ha-ha.

“She didn’t sound like she was kidding,” Raf says, unwrapping my pizza. “She sounded like she thought she was a witch.”

“She was a hundred percent kidding.” My heart pounds extra-loudly If we weren’t in the noisiest place in the world, they would one hundred percent hear it.

“Maybe she
is
a witch.” Tammy shrugs, as though this entire discussion is no big deal, and not the scariest conversation of my existence.

Raf laughs. “Sure. And I’m a vampire.”

Ha-ha. Ha.

“You don’t believe in witches?” Tammy asks.

My heart fully stops. It is no longer beating. I’m pretty sure I am now dead, or at the very least, in a coma.

“Are you joking?” Raf asks, making a face. “You do?”

Stop, stop, this entire conversation must stop immediately. I’m going to pass out.

“I don’t know,” Tammy continues. “Maybe. Why not? Just because I don’t know it’s there doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, right?”

Raf takes a whopping bite of the slice. “I’m more of a what-you-see-is-what-you-get type of person.”

“Seriously?” Tammy asks. “Not me. I think there’s lots going on that we just don’t know about. Like in the water. When you go for a dive, you see an entire world that you had no idea existed from the surface. Sea horses! Cuttlefish! Blue devils! Barracudas! It’s overwhelming. One minute you’re on the boat, and the next you’re eye to eye with a hammerhead.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll stay above the surface,” Raf says, laughing. “Not sure I’m ready to take on a shark.”

Am I being compared to a shark? I’m mildly con-fused but relieved we’ve moved on to another subject. Kind of.

“They don’t bite,” Tammy says. “Not much. Any-way, my point is that you never know. If she says she’s a witch—”

Oh, come on, Tammy! We’ve moved on! Hammer-heads, give me more hammerheads!

“—then maybe she is.”

Wendaline is now done with the line and moving toward our table. She cannot sit here. No. It’s too risky. Blood rushes to my head. What if she tells them again that she’s a witch? No, what if she zaps something and
shows
them she’s a witch? What if she tells them I’m a witch too? What if they’re scared of me? What if they think
I’m
going to bite?

Wendaline needs to find her own friends and stay away from mine.

“Rachel,” Raf says, patting my knee. “What do
you
think? Do you believe in magic?”

Blood. Rushing. “I—I—I—” I think I’d better cut Wendaline off before she catches the tail end of this conversation and ruins my life. I bolt out of my seat. “I’m going to buy a bag of chips.”

I catch Wendaline and her lunch tray at the midway point. I take a deep breath to calm myself down. “Hey. Wendaline.”

“Hi, Rachel! Thanks so much for saving me. I haven’t kissed the floor in the last hour, thanks to you.”

“Oh, no problem,” I say wearily.

“It’s been the worst day ever. I forgot about that whole bathroom rule again, and Mr. Stein yelled at me!”

Great, now she has me feeling bad for her again. Telling her,
Please don’t sit with me anymore,
is unlikely to cheer her up. “Oh! I have good news.”

“I like good news.”

“Miri and I are in. We’re gonna do the Samsorta!”

“Really? Excellent! That
is
good news! We can cele-brate together! Are they going to let you into Charm School?”

“My mom is calling them today.”

She adjusts her hold on the tray. “Let’s go sit down. I’m starved and this weighs a ton.”

Here it comes. “Wait. There’s something I want to talk to you about.” Deep breath. “Don’t you want to make friends with people in your own grade? You’re still welcome to sit with me, of course.” But please don’t. Pretty please? Pretty please with a maraschino cherry on top?

She shrugs. “I haven’t spoken much to anyone in my grade.”

“Maybe you should try.” I look around the room and scout out the cliques of freshmen. “Any girls you recognize from class?”

She points to a group of über-glossy-looking girls. I’m talking full-on highlights, designer jeans and tops, noses so upturned they’re practically touching the clouds, or at least the ceiling. “They’re in my homeroom.”

Hmm. I don’t know if they’re the
best
place to start. “Anyone else?”

She glances around. “It’s so tough to tell these people apart. They all wear the exact same thing. Oh, I think those girls are in my art class.”

The girls she’s pointing to look a little less snobby. One is wearing a purple peasant skirt and a matching off-the-shoulder blouse, and the other has a chunky pink streak in her hair and a silver nose ring. Peasant Skirt Girl is laughing heartily at whatever Pink Streak Girl is saying. Yes, they are a much better choice for potential friends. Since they are not wearing the traditional JFK uniform, they are obviously already a few degrees left of mainstream. “Perfect,” I say. “Go say hi. Tell them you’re in their class. Ask if you can join them for lunch. If they’re rude, just pick up your tray and come sit with me. ’Kay?”

“ ’Kay Thanks, Rachel. Again. You’re a lifesaver.” She stands up straight and heads toward them.

“Wait!” I whisper. “Wendaline!”

She turns. “Yup?”

“Don’t tell them. About … you know. Not right away. ’Kay?”

“But … Okay.”

I watch her timidly approach them.

“Hi,” she says. “I’m in your art class. Do you mind if I join you?”

“Sure,” Pink Streak Girl says. “What’s your name?”

Aw.

I
am
a lifesaver. Except it’s not Wendaline’s life I’m concerned with saving.

It’s my own.

Miri accosts my mom the second she walks through the door. “So? So? What did they say? Are we in?”

“I have good news and bad news,” my mom begins, leaning her dripping umbrella against the door. “Wow, it’s really raining out there.”

“Is it raining birds and mosquitoes?” I ask.

“Um, no.” She looks at me quizzically. “Should it be? You didn’t do a weather spell, did you?”

“Can we get back to the news, please?” Miri asks.

“Right.” Mom slips out of her rain jacket and hangs it up. “I called the Charm School, but they started classes back in August. So it’s too late for this fall, but they’re happy to sign you up for next year.”