The Popularity Spell (9 page)

T
he first thing I do in the morning is go to the terrarium and make sure Millie is alive. When I see him crawling around like normal, I run to the kitchen to pick out the rottenest piece of banana we have so he can eat an awesome feast while I'm at school.

“You feel all right after last night?” Dad asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “At least Millie's doing okay.”

I throw my clothes on—not even caring if my socks match—and I walk out back. I don't see the gravesite at first because there are lots of patches of dirt in between the grassy spots of our yard. Then I notice a big rock that I've never seen before. I walk over to it, thinking about Marty—remembering the way she liked rotten apple better than banana, and how she felt cool and tickly when she crawled on my arm.

As I get closer I see that underneath the big rock are a bunch of smaller ones spelling out a word.

LOVE.

I don't know who did it. Dad? Terri? Mom up in heaven? Magic?

I don't know, but I like that it's there.

When I see Sam at school, I don't tell her about last night. She never even met Marty, and I don't want to ruin the good feeling she has from Madison's awesome embarrassment. Pretty soon my sadness goes away a little bit, because everywhere I go, I'm hearing stories of Madison's presentation and its spectacular, stinky twist.

“Were you really there?” a seventh-grade girl asks me in the bathroom. I nod. “That must've been so funny.”

“It was,” I say, but I can't think of anything to add because I'm so surprised a stranger is talking to me.

“Excellent. Well, see you around,” she says, and heads out.

Wow. I stand there, staring at the bathroom door. Could this be it? Is the second part of our hex coming “to fruition” already?

Is this what being popular feels like? People you don't know talk to you and say “see you around” like they actually
want
to see you around? During our outdoor break, I almost feel like a celebrity as I stroll proudly across the courtyard to the jungle gym. Sam's already there and she says the same kind of thing happened to her, except it was a boy who's not in Focus! but wished he was. That's definitely the first time I've heard of anyone wanting to be in Focus! I think we actually might be popular!

Out of nowhere, Scabby Larry comes up and sits down next to us. “How cool was Focus! class yesterday?” he says.

“Totally cool!” I reply. It's hard not to be happy, and even though it's only Scabby Larry, I can't remember another time when anyone has joined me and Samantha during outdoor break, unless it's Madison and her friends making fun of us.

“Could it have been something she ate?” Scabby Larry wonders out loud. “I can't imagine Madison eating a lot of beans. What else makes you fart?”

“What makes you think Cleo and I want to sit here and talk to you about farts?” Samantha asks.

“Just making conversation.”

“Well, maybe you should converse with other Focus! kids,” Samantha suggests. “We're busy.”

“Okay,” Scabby Larry says, standing up. “Just thought it'd be fun to talk about.” Then he walks away.

“Why'd you do that?” I ask.

Samantha leans in, looking up at me through her curly bangs. “Remember what I told you about Scabby Larry before? If we're going to be popular, we have to be careful about who we talk to.”

“But other kids in Focus! talk to him.”

“Other kids in Focus! are
not
cool,” Samantha tells me.

“Well, we're not that cool either,” I say. She's my best friend; I have to be honest.

“We're cool in our own way, and people are starting to realize it,” Samantha says. “In
our
way, we're the coolest people in school.”

“In
our
way, we're the coolest people in Los Angeles!” I say. I'm stretching the truth a bit, because LA has movie actors and rock stars and people who are famous for no reason, but even they're not cool in
our
way.

“In
our
way, we're the coolest people on Earth!” Sam says.

We both laugh; then the bell rings and we head to science class, where Kevin announces it's time for two students to do their presentations. I can breathe easy because mine's not until next week, but Kylie Mae has bad luck, probably for the first time in her life, and has to go first. Hers is about photosynthesis, which is how plants turn carbon dioxide into oxygen. That's all I learn, though, because she talks real quietly and doesn't have any fun stuff to show—no drawings or pictures or real plants or anything. I look for some kind of energy or enthusiasm in those empty eyes of hers, but I don't see anything. So I snooze and daydream. But I perk up when I hear who's going next.

Madison Paddington!

If I had farted like her in front of people (even Focus! people), I would have asked Kevin if I could go last—or do my presentation for him after school, without anyone watching. But as Madison gets out of her chair and walks to the front, I don't see any fear on her face. If I didn't
not like
her so much, I might even be impressed.

She stands next to our classroom's TV and turns to us. “As many of you know,” she begins, “my father is a movie producer, and twelve years ago one of his movies even won a People's Choice Award.”

I start to get excited—not because her dad won an award, big whoop—but because it sounds like we'll be watching a movie. I'm going to be well rested after this science class for sure!

“He's currently producing a science fiction movie that's going to be released next summer, and he's letting me show you some clips so I can tell you what's realistic scientifically and what's not.”

Hmmm. I don't want to give Madison too much credit, but this sounds sort of interesting. She turns on the TV and Kevin turns off the lights. The first movie scene shows a robot acting like a butler in a futuristic house that's all white and clean with almost nothing in it. “Believe it or not,” Madison says, “this kind of robot already exists. They can't do everything, but they can perform simple household tasks. People in Japan use them like expensive toys….”

All of a sudden I feel something poking at my butt—a little poke, like from a toothpick. I reach my hand down, and it's a piece of folded-up paper from Sam, who's sitting behind me. I'm a little annoyed because Madison's presentation is actually kind of cool. But I open up the paper and read it.

Next hex?
it says.

I turn around, but Sam makes a hissing noise so I turn back toward the front. I sneak a pencil out of my desk, but I don't know what to write so I tap it a couple of times. Our hex worked perfectly and we're on the road to being popular. There isn't anything else I want.

Finally I stop tapping my pencil and write:
Not sure. What could be better than this?

Without turning my body too much, I place the paper on Sam's desk behind me.

Meanwhile, there's a spaceship on the screen and Madison is talking about how technology is getting closer to science fiction every day. “But right now, the fastest vehicle ever was the Apollo Ten rocket, which went almost twenty-five thousand miles per hour….”

Sam's piece of paper pokes at my butt again. I grab it. It says:
Fix Madison!

“Fix” Madison? What exactly does that mean? If Sam wants to fix Madison, it means she's broken. How is she broken? I tap my pencil as I think. I guess she's broken…because she's mean. So I write back:
How? Make her nicer?
This time I hold the paper in my hand down by my side. Sam takes it from me and writes her next note.
Let's do it!

I'm scribbling
Okay!
when the lights suddenly go on.

But Madison's presentation isn't over.

“Madison, take your seat,” Kevin says, walking over to the TV and pausing the picture on the screen. Then he looks at me and Sam. “What are you two doing?”

Neither of us answers at first. It's completely quiet in the room for what feels like forever. Finally Sam says, “Watching the movie.”

“And what have you learned?” Kevin asks.

We're both quiet again. I try to answer this one. “Ummm…that I'd like a robot butler.”

A couple of people laugh. Madison leans over toward her friends and mouths the word “Lazy.” Now I'm sorry that I liked her presentation even for a second.

“Were you two passing notes?” Kevin asks.

“No,” I answer quickly. “I was putting my gum away because I remembered you don't like gum in class.” I pretend to take chewing gum out of my mouth and put it in the paper, and I fold it up real small. Then I shove it in the front of my pants because these pants are more like leggings and don't have any pockets.

“Ewww, weird!” Madison squeals. “I guess they don't have trash cans in
Ohio
!” She giggles at her hilarious comment and a few other people laugh.

Oh well, Sam and I were popular for about five hours and thirteen minutes, but that's more popularity than I've ever had before. It was good while it lasted, but I guess now it's time to go back to normal….

Then a fantastic thing happens.

A fart sound!

It's not a real fart; it's just someone making the noise with their mouth. But more people laugh at this than at what Madison said.

Kevin gives up. “Quiet down, everybody! Let's get back to Madison's presentation,” he says. “And I expect everyone to pay attention.” Then, before he unpauses the screen, there's another fake fart like the first one. It sounds like a boy's voice. I glance over at Scabby Larry. From the look on his face I know right away it was him. I smile. And I don't even listen to the rest of the presentation because I'm too busy thinking about how if Sam and I succeed in making Madison nice, I'm going to be even happier than I am now.

F
riday after school, I check my email. I know it's old-fashioned and nobody uses it much anymore, but I'm always hoping for an update from the
Millipede Enthusiast
newsletter I signed up for. It's only come once so far, though. I guess there's not that much millipede news.

But today there's an email that surprises me. The sender's address is
ArnoldJuju
so I know before I even click that it's got to be Uncle Arnie.

And it sure is!

There isn't any message at all. It's just a picture of him with his eyes and mouth wide open. He's got some hair shooting out of his ears now, and he's holding a piece of paper next to his face.

I lean in and squint so I can read the paper, and as soon as I do, I run down the hallway and tell Dad that Sam needs to come over
inmediatamente
!

“What are you talking about?” Dad asks, scrunched over his computer.

“
Inmediatamente
means ‘immediately' in Spanish,” I tell him.

“Yeah, I could guess that.”

“Then why did you ask?” He gives me a look like I'm irritating him, so I get down to business. “Can Sam come over, like,
pronto
?” Then I explain, “
Pronto
means ‘soon' in Spanish.”

“I get it, I get it,” he says. He stands up and stretches. “But I'm supposed to have Terri over for dinner tonight, and you two should spend some time together. Can't we ask Sam over tomorrow or Sunday?”

“No, we can't!” It's very important that Sam come over
now,
because what I saw in Uncle Arnie's email is going to make our next hex even more super-awesomely-wonderful than our last one. But of course I can't tell Dad
that.
“Sam and her mom are going away tomorrow morning, so if I don't see her tonight I won't see her until Monday, and I really, really need to see her tonight.”

“Weren't you together all day at school?”

Ugh! Dads don't understand anything!

“Come on, Dad. We can make dinner for Sam and her mom, and I'll help cook and I'll clean up and even though I'm still extremely depressed about Marty, I'll be totally nice to Terri the next time I see her. I bet she'd love to see you tomorrow.”

I beg and beg, then beg a little bit more, and finally he calls Sam's mom. I only hear his end of the conversation, but I can tell Paige is telling him what I already know—that they're going to Mexico for the weekend. It sounds glamorous, but Samantha says it's only a couple hours' drive. Her mom goes to a spa on the beach while Sam visits her dad.

I look at Dad really hard, like my staring could make Sam come over. I've never had a friend like Samantha, ever—someone I can joke
and
talk about serious things with, and hang out with for hours, and share special secrets with like voodoo. I thought I had a good friend back in Ohio—Jane Anne—but when fourth grade turned into fifth, she became a “cool” girl and ignored me after that. So in a way, I wasn't totally bummed when Dad and I moved to California.

On the phone Dad is saying, “Are you sure that's okay, Paige? We don't want to get in the way of your packing or anything.” It sounds like Paige is saying yes! “Okay, then, we'll see you around seven.”

Dad clicks the phone off and I cheer and jump up and down. “Thank you!” I shout, then give him a big hug.

“You're very welcome,” he says, grumbling. “But you owe me one.”

He starts to dial another number as I shout, “I owe you one, two, three, and four. I owe you everything, Dad! I owe you my life.”

“Okay, that's enough.” He walks away from me into the kitchen so he can cancel his plans with Terri.

I'm glad. I mean, I kind of understand that she didn't kill Marty, and I
will
try to be nice to her next time like I promised, but that doesn't mean I like her. Dad should like Samantha's mom instead. That way I'd get to spend lots more time with Sam. So after he's off the phone with Terri, I suggest real casually that he make his best, most tasty homemade meal—chicken with rice and bacon green beans. And when I smell bacon sizzling on the stove at 6:30, I know he agreed.

I get another idea when I look at our scratched and scruffy kitchen table with old, old stains and tiny crumbs that never quite disappear. “Hey, Dad, do we have a tablecloth?”

“Ummm, I don't know,” he says. “Look in the closet with the towels and blankets.”

I look, but the best thing I find is a sheet with little flowers on it. I fold it a few times and put it on the table, smoothing it out to look nice.

“That looks good,” Dad says. “We'll have to buy a real tablecloth sometime.” He's come up with a plan for the night—he says we'll all eat dinner together and then we kids can play afterward. I don't bother correcting Dad when he says “play.” The voodoo instructions say that “a voodoo doll is not a toy,” and we know that now. We are not planning to
play
at all.

When the doorbell rings, Toby goes crazy barking and jumping. Inside I'm as excited as he is, but I try to act like a popular kid would and take my time getting to the door. It's hard, though, because I'd really rather run!

Samantha's in the clothes she wore to school and her mom is wearing a silky blouse and sparkly necklaces that hang low between her boobs. Her super-shiny black hair is long instead of pulled back, and her lipstick is very red. Terri barely wears any makeup and always dresses casual like us. How could Dad
not
like Sam's mom more?

Toby jumps up on her, and there's nothing she can do because she has a bottle of wine in one hand and a small bag from a fancy store in the other. She's saying things like “Nice dog, cute dog,” but it doesn't look like she likes him for real. Classy ladies like her probably aren't dog people. Dad runs in from the kitchen, yelling, “Toby! Get down!” and grabs him by the collar. “I'm sorry, Paige; he's excited. He's not used to visitors.”

“He's used to Terri,” I say; then I realize I probably shouldn't mention Terri at all.

“Who's Terry?” Samantha's mom asks. “A handyman?”

“No, just a friend of theirs,” Sam tells her. It's great how fast she thinks of stuff.

It's quiet for a second; then Dad invites Paige and Samantha into the kitchen. “Dinner's almost ready, so why don't you girls stay here with us?” Dad says. Samantha and I groan.

“Oh, is it so terrible to hang out with your parents?” Paige asks, and I wonder if Sam likes the sound of “your parents” as much as I do. We sit down at the table while Paige hands Dad the bottle of wine and the fancy bag. There are two candles inside. “I told Mom that it'd be nice to have candles on the table,” Samantha tells me. Usually we eat with a bright light shining down on us, but when Paige lights the candles, the room looks classier—like an expensive restaurant where they serve filet mignon.

Samantha and I talk about school things (yawn) that we don't mind the adults overhearing while Paige leans against our kitchen counter drinking a glass of yellow wine and watching Dad finish making dinner. Soon we're sitting around the table all lovely and proper like a regular family. There's not much noise aside from chewing, and Toby's whimpering since no one is feeding him.

“Bradley, these green beans are scrumptious!” Samantha's mom says suddenly. I don't know why, though. Usually they're pretty yummy, but tonight they're too squishy on the inside and too black and crunchy on the outside
.

Dad must like hearing it, because he tells her all about his recipe. I see Samantha's face in the candlelight across the table. She raises her eyebrows at me as she pops a green bean into her mouth, smiling as she chews.

We let the adults keep talking until we clean our plates. Then I tell Dad, “We're done!”

“Thanks, it was delicious, Mr. Nelson,” Sam says.

“Well, thank you, Sam,” Dad says, looking proud. “Cleo, you and Samantha can go to your room if you'd like.”

“But I told you I'd help with the dishes.” If I'm not honest about it now, I'm sure a different, ickier chore will come back to bite me in the butt later, like cleaning the bathtub or pulling hair out of the sink.

“Don't worry about it; I'll do them later,” Dad says. Shock and happiness zip through my body. I'm about to say thanks and give him a hug, but Sam's mom interrupts.

“Oh, I'll help you with them, Bradley,” she says. “You did a lot of work tonight.”

“You're dressed a little too nice to be washing dishes,” Dad says. So he must be attracted to the way she looks! Maybe he
does
like her!

“Okay, we're gonna go!” I say, and make a run for it.

Samantha and I rush down the hallway and lock the door to my room. “What is that smell?” she asks.

“My millipede! For science class!” I say proudly. I pick up the terrarium from my desk and show her how I decorated it, with all its extra twigs and grass.

“It's kinda gross,” she says, her nose all crinkled up. “I thought you said they were cute. This looks like a fat worm.”

“Oh, they're super cute when you get to know them,” I tell her.

“Them?” she asks. “I only see one.”

“Oh yeah. I used to have two, but one died. She's buried in the backyard with a gravestone and everything.”

“That's too bad,” says Sam. “Was it sad?”

“Yeah, pretty sad.”

“You should have texted me. I could've tried to make you laugh or sent you a funny video or something.”

“That would've been nice,” I say. “Thanks, Sam.”

“At least you still have one.”

“Yeah, that's good, I guess.” And what's even better is having a friend like Samantha. She and I don't have to agree on everything, and we're still friends. And I know she'll like millipedes once she spends more time with Millie.

We're quiet for a second; then Sam brings our focus back to the most important matter of the night. “We'd better hurry up and do our hex before my mom decides that I have to go to bed at 8:30.”

“But it's Friday!”

“I know! But we're leaving for Rosarito early in the morning and Mom likes having a
sched-u-le.
” She says “schedule” in a snooty accent, like her mom might say it.

“Don't worry, they're drinking wine! Adults lose track of time when they drink wine.” I feel pretty grown up because I know things like this.

“Why do you think I told my mom to bring some?” says Samantha, and I realize she's pretty grown up too. As I'm sliding under my bed to get the voodoo doll, I hear her say, “What would happen if your dad and my mom liked each other?”

I grab the box from in between some old Lego and a pile of dusty Toby fuzz and come back out quickly. “I was thinking about that too!” I say. “It'd be great!”

“Well, not as great as doing hexes…”

“But pretty great!” I say.

“If they started dating, there'd be lots more nights like this. We'd all have dinner together all the time! And not just at home!” Sam's talking almost as fast as I do. “We'd go to restaurants, and movies, and other fun places….”

I jump in. “And if she became his girlfriend and not just a girl-who's-a-friend, we could go on weekend trips and vacations together.” I'm already picturing us on the beach in warm, sunny Mexico, even though I've never been there and I don't know what Mexico looks like. I'm picturing a California beach but with tacos and sombreros.

“Then, if they got really serious—” Sam starts to say, and I cut her off because the idea is too exciting to hold in.

“They'd get married!” I shout.

“We'd be sisters!” Sam shouts back.

“We would live together! Like, in the same room!”

“And we could get bunk beds!” Sam says, and I love that idea, though I'd want the bottom bunk because I'd be afraid of falling down the ladder if I had to get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I don't bother saying that now, because as much as I want my dad and her mom to get married, it's probably a long way off.