The Popularity Spell (17 page)

I don't know when Samantha had time to send all of those, but she must have been very sneaky because it's easy for a teacher to see the glow of a phone, especially during a movie. The same frowny face is on every text, but I feel like those faces are getting madder and madder at me.

In the lunchroom it's pizza day, which reminds me of how this whole thing got started, how great it was, and how happy we were to learn voodoo was real. I don't feel like that now. I wish I'd never gotten the doll. I wish I'd listened to my dad. I wish Sam and I had never started this.

I'm already sitting at our usual table when I see Sam walk across the cafeteria with her tray. I'm hoping that once Sam gets some food in her belly, she'll be ready to talk like normal friends.

She sits across from me but doesn't say anything. I open my recyclable lunch bag, and the Velcro makes the loudest, scratchiest sound I've ever heard.

I'm not sure what to say, so I just smile. It doesn't work because she's looking down, sopping up the pepperoni grease pools with a napkin, so my smile only reaches her mop of hair.

I open my sandwich. Dad used too much wax paper so it takes forever to open, and it's the loudest wax paper I ever heard. It
scrape scrape scrape
s with every fold I undo.

As I take a bite of my sandwich, I notice Sam's eating her pizza. I feel like I'd better say something, so with my mouth full I ask, “How's the pizza?”

“How do you think the pizza is?” she asks, weirdly loud—much louder than my scratchy lunch bag or endless wax paper.

“Um, I don't know. Is it good this week?”

This time she talks even louder. “I don't know, Cleo, why would the pizza be any different this week than any other week?”

This is not good.

“WHY ARE YOU EVEN SITTING HERE, CLEO?” Sam says, yelling now. I start to see other people paying attention. Scabby Larry looks up from his phone and Kylie Mae pokes Lisa Lee and points toward me. “DON'T YOU WANT TO HANG OUT WITH ALL YOUR OTHER FRIENDS? ALL YOUR NEW AND BETTER FRIENDS FROM THE PLAY?”

I look around the room. It seems like the lunch ladies aren't even making noise anymore. I don't hear one piece of silverware clinking. I don't hear one dish being put on a tray.

I want to tell Sam that
she's
my best friend, and trying out for a play and not wanting to do hexes anymore doesn't change that. But before I can even open my mouth, she's shouting some more.

“NO ONE WANTED TO BE YOUR FRIEND WHEN YOU GOT HERE, AND NOW I KNOW WHY! YOU
ARE
A PIGGY FROM OHIO. YOU ARE A SELFISH PIGGY WHO ALWAYS WANTS MORE FUN AND MORE FRIENDS AND MORE FOOD!”

She picks a pepperoni off her pizza and throws it at me. It stings, but not because it's hot.

“Let me tell you what happened,” I say.

“I know what happened,” she says back, throwing another pepperoni that I wave away to the floor. “Your dad told my mom. Terri hurt her nose and wrist. And now you want to stop? She hurt her nose and wrist so you don't want to be my
sister
anymore?”

“That's not it,” I say, but she's not listening.

“No, it's okay,” she says, though her angry voice tells me it's not. “I thought you wanted to be sisters but I guess you're
fine
with your fun dad and your cool dog and auditioning for plays with Scabby Larry and Maddy Paddy. And I don't have anyone!”

“You have
me,
Sam! I'm still your friend!”

“Friends can leave. Sisters stay forever!” she yells. Then she throws one more pepperoni at me and picks up her tray. “I'd throw the whole pizza at you but I like it too much!” She stomps out of the lunchroom. I don't know where she's going but I can't make myself get up and follow. I'm in shock. Like Terri was. In my head I know this is painful, but I don't quite feel it.

I stare down at the table at my PB&J, but I'm not hungry. Then I look at my shirt. There are three greasy little pepperoni stains on it. I don't even care.

I start hearing sounds again. Forks and knives start clinking. People start talking. I'm sure they're talking about me and Samantha, but there's nothing I can do about it. I think about Jane Anne in Ohio, who decided she was too cool for me and stopped being my friend. That was hard, but at least she didn't do it like this—loudly, and in front of the whole school.

“Are you okay?” a voice asks me. I look up from my T-shirt.

It's Madison.

I can't really form an answer; all I can do is squeak out a noise that's not a word.

“I just wanted to make sure you're okay,” Madison says.

This is a surprise, and it might be a nice one too, but I'm too much in shock to know for sure.

It's a sad, sad weekend. The saddest I can ever remember. Dad has lost his girlfriend, and I've lost Sam, my only real friend ever. I don't have anyone to hang out with besides Toby and Millie, and they don't talk and tell jokes and laugh about the people in school. But in a way I guess they're better, because they don't make me do things I don't want to do. Toby and Millie let me be myself.

I can tell Dad is sad too. He doesn't open the curtains, but I know it's a typical sunny Los Angeles weekend by the sliver of light that sneaks in the corner of the window. Usually on a day like this, Dad will say something dorky like, “It's a magical day in California!” and suggest we do something fun together. He's not doing that today, so I give it a try.

“Hey, Dad, want to walk Toby around the lake?”

“No thanks, Cleo,” he says, staring at a blog on his computer.

“How about a bike ride?”

“No thanks.”

“Maybe we should go someplace where you could meet a new girlfriend!” I suggest, though I don't know where that would be.

Dad laughs a little bit. “That's easier said than done,” he says. “Cleo, this may be tough for you to understand, but it's really, really hard to find someone who you really love.”

“Love?” I'm shocked. “You
loved
Terri?”

“Yep, I did. I do,” he says.

I roll a chair over next to his computer and sit down by him. “I mean, I know she was more than a girl-who's-a-friend,” I say, “but I just thought you liked her a whole lot.”

“No, Cleo. There was a lot more to it than that.”

“Like what?”

Dad turns away from his computer and looks at me. “Well, I didn't tell you this before because I didn't want you to know how serious I was about her, but she's part of the reason we moved to California.”

“What?” I ask. I had no idea Dad kept secrets like this from me. I thought we told each other everything…but when I think about the voodoo doll, I know that's not true at all.

“I met her two years ago, at a conference she came to in Ohio. We talked a lot, and she came back to visit a couple of times….”

“Where was I?” I ask.

“Usually at Jane Anne's house for the weekend,” he says, and I can't believe Dad was living this whole other life without me. “But I knew Terri and I couldn't get closer unless we lived in the same city. I liked the sound of California and a fresh start. I didn't really have any reason to stay in Ohio, Cleo. It had been ten years since your mom passed away. That's a long time to live in the same house with someone who's not there anymore. I talked to your uncle Arnie about it a lot….”

I can't help but interrupt. “You talked to Uncle Arnie about all this?”

“Well, he and I don't have a lot in common, but he understood how I needed a change. We also knew it would be hard for you, here in a new place and not knowing many people at first. That's probably why he sent you that ridiculous doll for your birthday.”

That's a topic I do
not
want to discuss, but I don't have to because Dad continues. “Anyway, after I met Terri, Uncle Arnie turned out to be a good person to talk to.”

“You could have talked to me!” I say. “I'm always here!”

Dad laughs. He pulls my chair closer and puts his arm around me. “I know you are, Cleo. But this was grown-up stuff. So when I decided that you and I could both handle it, we moved. And I do think the change was good for you.”

He's right. The change
was
good—at first. Even though some kids like Madison were mean, Samantha and I became best friends. Now I'm thinking it might have been better if we stayed in Ohio, where I didn't have any friends to lose and Dad only had girls-who-were-friends.

“In all the years since your mom, Cleo, I never met anyone I thought I could love as much. Your mom would always say there was a special magic that brought us together. And I never felt that magic after her, for all those years.”

“Until Terri?” I ask, but I already know the answer.

“Yep, until Terri. She was different. Is different. I was waiting for you to love her too. Then I was going to ask her to marry me.”

“Marry you?” I ask. Wow. Dad has a lot of secrets, just like me. “If you and Terri had gotten married, does that mean she would have been my mom?”

Dad shakes his head. “No one else can be your mom, Cleo. But Terri would have been a very good friend.”

“A friend would be good right now,” I say. He pats me on the shoulder and goes back to reading the thing on his computer—or pretending to.

I text Samantha a couple of times and tell her I want to talk. What I don't say is that I've made a really big decision and she's not going to like it at all.

Sam has made most of the decisions up until now, and I've gone along with her ideas. Now it's my turn.

I've decided I need to get the doll back from her and destroy it once and for all.

The problem is…well, there are a lot of problems. I have no idea how to get the doll back, and I don't even know if it
can
be destroyed. According to Scabby Larry and Albert Einstein, matter doesn't go away; it becomes something else—like snow becomes water or Marty the millipede became plant food in the ground. What if I get the doll back, and I throw it away or burn it or give it to Toby to play with, but it still has its power? There'd always be the danger that something could go wrong again, no matter how good someone's intentions might be. And now that I really think about it, Sam's and my intentions weren't always good. We just pretended they were.

There's only one person who has the answer to my questions. I call Uncle Arnie. But when his computer screen comes on, no one's there—just Fuzzer, his cat, sitting on the desk licking his paw.

“Uncle Arnie?” I ask, wondering where he is.

“I'm a cat now, Lil' Cleo!” Uncle Arnie's voice booms. “A crazy N'awlins voodoo queen put a hex on me, and I became my own cat!”

“Oh no!” Boy, Sam and I have caused a lot of trouble, but at least we didn't turn anyone into an animal. “What are you going to do?”

Right when I realize Uncle Arnie is joking, his face joins his cat on-screen. “Sorry, Cleo, didn't mean to scare you! I was just kidding around. But you shouldn't joke with voodoo. I know that for a fact.” He holds up his hand with the icky scar that he says came from a stove. “See, that was an important lesson for me. If you don't take voodoo seriously, people can get hurt.”

“I think I already learned that lesson, Uncle Arnie.” He must see how upset I am because he asks what's wrong. I don't want to tell him everything, so I just say that the doll has started to spook me and I think I should get rid of it.

“Well, that's too bad, Cleo, because Positive Happy Voodoo Doll is only meant for good, as you know. But now that you've got me mulling it over, I suppose there's always a chance things might go wrong. Some of the more crafty and conniving people down here in New Orleans, I could see them finding a way to take a good thing like this and make bad things happen. Though I guess it could happen by accident too.”

Now he tells me.

“That's why I try to spread positive happy juju,” Uncle Arnie says. “There are enough bad things in the world already.”

I can't disagree with him there either. I'm not proud that I had anything to do with bad, mean juju, mojo, gris-gris, or hoodoo—accidentally or on purpose—and that's why it's time to end it.

“So…how do I destroy it? For good?”

Uncle Arnie settles into his chair, and I can tell he's taking this seriously. “Well, Cleo, I designed my dolls to work best with two people so kids could learn about the power of togetherness and friendship instead of being alone. I hope that's worked for you.”

It's too complicated to explain how it did and then it didn't, so I just nod.

“The same principle applies to destroying the doll,” he says. “First off, you and a friend need to rip it in half.” He picks up a doll that kind of looks like mine and attempts to rip it. He pulls on its arms and nothing happens. His face gets red as he pulls one arm and the opposite leg. He grunts and tries one more time, but the doll doesn't rip.

“See, Cleo, this is why you need a friend. It's hard to do yourself. But I'm sure you and your pal will be able to do it together.” He tosses the voodoo doll offscreen, and it must hit something because there's a loud clanging sound. The cat meows and looks up lazily. “Once it's ripped in half, you can use scissors to cut it into smaller and smaller pieces. Then you need to bury it in two separate places—one near you, and one near your friend. And that's it.”

I'm quiet as I let it sink in.

“Sound like you can do it?” he asks.

“I'll try,” I say. “Thanks, Uncle Arnie. And don't turn into a cat.”

He holds the cat in front of his face. “I'll try not to, Cleo!” And then he and Fuzzer are gone.

Now I have my answer, but I still have a problem. Sam is my only friend, and she's not going to destroy the doll with me; that's for sure. I can't tell Dad about any of this, and I don't think he'd count as a friend anyway. There isn't anyone else.