Witcha'be (4 page)

“Stop. There’s a reason.” Lenni rested her chin on her fists. I resented the way she took up for Bianca.

“A witch that runs screaming from peanut butter.” I gave a hollow chuckle. “I’m definitely not threatened by her anymore. It would be different if she was allergic, but what kind of wimp can’t handle a little PB without puking? I mean, should we call 911?”

Lenni gasped, her eyes wide, color draining from her face.

I whirled.

Bianca stood behind me in the doorway, nostrils flared, black eyeliner smudged. “The door doesn’t always fasten, remember?” Red lipstick feathered around her mouth.

“Molly doesn’t know about Sam,” Lenni whispered.

Bianca stepped into the room, pulled the door closed and jiggled the knob, forcing the latch. She lowered to the floor, brought her knees to her chest and laced her fingers around them. “Do you have any idea what
anaphylaxis
is?” She formed the words slowly.

I shook my head.

“I learned that word when I was six. The same year I stopped eating peanut butter.”

I glared at Lenni. She’d said Bianca wasn’t allergic to peanuts.

Bianca unlaced her fingers and reached into the low neckline of her top. She pulled out an oval-shaped locket, black on a silver chain, and popped it open with her thumbnail. She held up a small picture. “This is Sam.” A little boy with strawberry-blond hair smiled—his ivory skin and green eyes unmistakably familiar. “My baby brother.”

“He’s cute,” I said, my mouth dry.

“He’s dead. Died at age two from a severe allergic reaction. Anaphylaxis, the doctors called it. I was six, and had a hard time pronouncing it back then. They said he was in a lot of pain, but never cried.” She stroked the picture then snapped the locket shut and tucked it under her top. “Sam is dead because he ate his very first peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” She’d closed herself up with the locket. “Would you like to guess who made that sandwich for him, Molly?”

“You?” I asked quietly.

“Good guess. Do you still find my reaction to eating peanut butter funny?”

I felt heavy. “Bianca, I’m sor—”

“No!” She exploded from the room, banging the door against the wall.

Lenni chased her, their footfalls echoing down the staircase in unison.

I picked up the bottle, poked in the fake flowers, and then set the bouquet on Lenni’s desk. A container of nail polish tumbled from its niche in the plastic manicure tray. I snatched it from the floor, made sure the lid was tight.
Winter White
. I placed the bottle back in its little round slot, noticing an empty space labeled
Sensuous Skin
.

I eyed Bianca’s hobo bag, convinced the voodoo doll was inside, along with Lenni’s flesh-toned polish. I walked to the door, closed it and double-checked the latch. The bag was beside the dresser. I inhaled the strong aroma of leather while closing my fingers around the drawstring. With a deep breath, I bit my lip…and released the string. I couldn’t do it.

Dread filled my heart like wet cement. I had to go downstairs and at least try to talk to Bianca. I walked to the door, hiccups edging. I reached for the knob as Bianca jerked through the doorway, nearly toppling me over. She grabbed her bag and swept out.

I stepped over the threshold after her, wishing I knew what to say.

She stopped at the staircase, hair whipping as she turned to glare at me over her shoulder. “
Sansesco
mamblado dandalo
,” she chanted. Her green eyes rolled up, showing only whites.

Incense filled my nostrils. I coughed, struggling to breathe.

Bianca vanished.

CHAPTER THREE

The hiccups were relentless. I thought they’d never end. Lenni doctored me with countless spoonfuls of sugar and glasses of water—which I drank upside down, hanging from her bed. Nothing worked.

“Knock-knock,” Lenni’s father said loudly, pulling the door open.

“Daddy!” Lenni hugged him until he gasped for breath.

“You’re killing me, princess. Where’s your mother?” He spied the pizza boxes and helped himself to a cold slice of pepperoni.

“Last we knew, she was soaking in the tub.”

“Probably sound asleep with a face full of avocado by now,” he said. “How’d the dumplings turn out?”

I hiccupped.

“Guess I already know the answer.” He held up his pizza slice and chuckled. “Molly, tell your dad we missed him on the course today.” He ruffled my hair as if I was a small boy instead of a teenaged girl.

“I’ll take these down with me.” He gathered the half-empty pizza boxes with one hand, still munching the slice of pepperoni. “I gave Bianca a ride home. I wasn’t comfortable letting her walk through Old Town alone, especially at dusk.”

“Thanks, Daddy. That makes me feel better.” Lenni grasped her chest. “She had some…difficulties and couldn’t stay.”

“Old Town?” I asked.

“That’s what everyone calls the neighborhood Bianca lives in. It’s full of ancient houses, most of them abandoned and tagged with graffiti. The trees are tall and shadowy, and the roads are crumbly and filled with potholes. It’s really dark too, hardly any street lights in that part of town. Most of the bulbs have been smashed.” Lenni frowned as she described the area.

“Old Town is where Redbend originated in the nineteen twenties. Those houses used to be the finest in the county, where bankers and lawyers lived,” Mr. Flemming said.

“Thanks for the history lesson, Daddio.” Lenni slapped his back. “I think you should go now.” She placed her hands on his elbows, turning him.

“I can tell when I’m not wanted.” He pecked her cheek.

“Love you, Daddy. Goodnight.” She smiled and closed the door.

“So what do you want to do now?” She pulled the elastic from her ponytail and fluffed her hair.

I looked at the purple clock on her wall. “Watch a movie?”

“That depends. Can you make it past midnight without falling asleep?”

“Seriously? You pull open my eyelids every time I shut them. Besides, I don’t think I’ll be sleepy for a long time.” The image of Bianca speaking that strange language and then vanishing caused my arm hairs to stand on end. Had I imagined the whole thing? Maybe Mrs. Flemming’s medication had caused me to hallucinate.

“What kind of movie are you up for?” Lenni asked, scrolling through the menu on her computer.

“A funny one.”

“Comedy it is.” We spread her sheets on the floor and turned off the lights. Lenni laughed herself to sleep.

* * *

“Get up, sleepyhead.” Lenni tickled my ribs.

“Knock it off, it’s late,” I mumbled. I’d fallen asleep a full hour after she had.

“True, but not like you think.” She poked my tummy, Pillsbury Doughboy-style and giggled.

“I’ll get up early tomorrow, I promise.” I pulled the sheet over my head and rolled.

“One in the afternoon is too late to get up early.”

“What?” I sat up, blinking. “I can’t believe I slept so long.” I rubbed the back of my neck. Everything ached.

“Don’t feel bad, I woke up at noon.” Lenni smoothed on raspberry lip balm. Her damp hair smelled fresh and clean. I ran a hand through mine, wincing at the tangles.

“Let’s have leftover pizza for breakfast then download some music.” She dragged me by the wrists and pushed me toward the door.

“Wait, let me grab my stuff. I have to change and brush my teeth.” I picked up my bag. “Be down in a minute.” I slid on my yellow flip-flops and padded to the bathroom.

“Okay. I’ll be in the kitchen microwaving our pizza.” She scooped up her laptop on the way out.

I entered Lenni’s bathroom and dropped the bag to the floor. Thoughts of Bianca rumbled through my brain like thunder, as I washed my face, brushed my teeth and changed into clean clothes.
Sansesco
mamblado dandalo.
What language was that,
Witchinese
?

“Let’s go to the living room.” Lenni thrust a pizza-filled plate into my right hand and a glass of cola into my left. I followed her into the huge room. She flopped onto the overstuffed sofa and crossed her bare feet on the coffee table. “Where’s your mp3 player?”

After hours of downloading music, scrolling through social media and watching music videos, I stood to stretch my legs.

“Molly, your parents are on their way home. Do you want a lift?” Mrs. Flemming came into the room carrying a platter of suspicious-looking fortune cookies, telephone under her chin.

“No, that’s okay Mrs. Flem-Pam. I’ll walk.” I glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. “It’s still a couple hours until dark.”

Pam held the plate out to me as she spoke into the phone. “Madeline, she was an absolute angel. Alright then. Glad you and Joel had a good time. Bye.” She set the phone on the table.

I tried to crack open my cookie. It bent instead. I pulled out the little strip of paper.

“I wrote the fortunes with vegetable-based ink. They’re perfectly safe,” she assured me.

I read aloud, “
That witch is your destiny
.” I dropped the fortune and watched numbly as it fluttered to the polished floor.

“Silly girl, you didn’t unfold it. You missed the first half.” Mrs. Flemming stooped gracefully, opened the creased paper and read aloud, “
Purpose in your heart that witch is your destiny.
Oops, looks like I spelled
which
wrong,” she chuckled. “Spelling never was my best subject. Isn’t the fortune nice, though? I have a whole book of little quotes. I think that one means decide your own destiny.” She smiled and handed the paper back to me.

“Read yours, Lenni,” she urged.

“Friends with shared pasts share futures.” Lenni frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“It means nothing will stop her,” I said, the evil witches from every children’s story I’d ever heard crowding into my head at once.

“Who? What are you talking about?” Lenni and her mother creased their brows. The blonde leading the blonde.

“Lenni’s fortune means friends who share a past are loyal to each other.” The words weighed heavy on my tongue and heart. “I’m going upstairs to get my stuff. Thanks for having me.” I tossed the cookie into my mouth, making it all the way to Lenni’s bathroom before spitting it out. I suffered a twinge of guilt as Pam’s homemade treat swirled down the toilet.

I gathered my things then said goodbye to Lenni at the foot of the stairs. She walked me to the door.

“See you tomorrow. I’m sorry about what happened with Bianca. I only wanted all of us to be friends.”

“It’s okay. I know you meant well. But I don’t think the friendship-thing is going to happen for Bianca and me. We’re too different. The only thing we have in common is you.” I hugged her, sensing the disappointment inside her.

“Walk over in the morning. Mom will give us a ride to school,” Lenni said, and then closed the door.

The evening breeze felt good on my face. I turned the corner, bag bumping rhythmically against my thigh. A stone church with a tall steeple stood in the center of the next block. Music drifted through the doors. Smiling women in fancy hats strode into the building along with slack-jawed teenagers in shredded jeans. A man in overalls held the door for a little girl in a frilly pink dress.

“Well, hello, Molly.” Mrs. Piper, my creative writing teacher, smiled, her polished lips shining.

“Hi, Mrs. Piper.” I returned her smile.

“Where are you headed?”

“Home. I stayed at a friend’s house last night.”

“Sounds like fun. Was it a slumber party?” She seemed genuinely interested.

“Not really a slumber party, just Lenni, and me. Bianca stopped by for a while.”

Her smile faltered. “Bianca Ravenwood?”

“Lenni’s a mutual friend,” I said.

“I knew Bianca when she was a little girl. Her father played the piano here, many years ago.” Mrs. Piper found her smile again.

“Is where you go to church?” I asked.

She gazed at the large building, affection lighting her eyes. “Yes. Would you like to join my husband and me?”

I looked down at my rumpled t-shirt, shorts, and hairy legs. “I’m really not dressed. Plus, my mom and dad are expecting me home.”

“What you wear isn’t important,” Mrs. Piper said, not giving my clothing a second glance. “You are welcome anytime, and in any outfit.” She squeezed my arm gently. A nice looking African American man in a dark-gray suit lifted his hand in a wave. I assumed he was Mr. Piper.

“So nice running into you, Molly. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She walked to the church and grasped the man’s hand, pausing to wave goodbye before entering. A kid with a pierced lip held the door open.

At my house, Mom’s green minivan, a.k.a. nerd-mobile, was backed in, and the hatch was open. A witch stood on my front porch. Blinking with disbelief, I stepped up the walk. The witch stared, her finger pointed menacingly toward me. I climbed the steps and stopped in front of her, touching her rigid green face. Mom opened the door and squealed, leaping over the threshold to crush me in a bear hug.

I pulled away. “Mom, seriously? A life-sized Wicked Witch of the West standing on our front porch like some beacon to insanity? What were you thinking?”

“Nice to see you too, Molly.” She brushed past me and jogged down the steps to the van. “Give me a hand.” She leaned into the back, wedging flea market junk into the crooks of her elbows.

I sighed and walked down the steps to join her. She handed me two lamps shaped like watermelon wedges. “For you. They’ll help chase the zombies away.” She squeezed my shoulder. “Plus, they’ll look great in your room.”

I stood in silence, the pink-frosted glass grating my palms. Mom dove back into the van. “Get the door for me?” she asked as she emerged, her arms overloaded.

I lowered the hatch with my elbow and bumped it with my hip. I considered breaking the lamps in the process, but, for Mom’s sake, didn’t.

“I’m sorry we didn’t stop by the Flemmings’ to pick you up. As you can see, we ran out of room,” Mom said as we walked up the porch steps. The lamp cords slapped my calves, threatening to trip me with each step. I managed to open the screen door with two fingers then backed against it, holding it open for Mom. I set the lamps on the coffee table and my bag on the floor.