Bewitching

by Alex Flinn

  Ooookay. Kendra often did that, talking about historical figures as if they were real people. Last week, in American history, she told a long story about General Lafayette that even our teacher had never heard. It occurred to me that it would be fun to hang out with Kendra. She was interesting, and I could be myself around her. But I knew I couldn’t be friends with her and Lisette’s group too.

  “It is really romantic.” The violins hit a still-higher note, so high I pulled the earbuds away. “This music is sort of creepy, though.”

  “Oh, that’s because this is the part where Hector dreamed he had murdered Harriet. Then he died, and a coven of witches was dancing on his grave.”

  Before I could think of an appropriate response, Miss Hakes said, “We’re going to start auditions for the solo in Laudate Dominum.” She kept talking. I couldn’t really concentrate. I slipped Kendra’s iPod back to her.

  “You’re trying out?” she whispered.

  “I guess so.”

  “You’ll definitely get it.”

  We started warm-ups. I hadn’t eaten lunch, so as not to mess up my throat. I felt a little light-headed now, but I was going to get this. I’d been in choir since fourth grade and never had a solo. But now I was a big-deal eighth grader. Also, I’d been practicing constantly. Saturday, Lisette had walked into my room and commented how great I sounded. I checked out the competition. Two girls trying out were seventh graders, and Celia Ramirez, who went off-pitch on high notes. I had it.

  When it was time for tryouts, Miss Hakes chose one of the seventh graders first. She had a nice voice. I could afford to be charitable because I knew Miss Hakes wouldn’t give such a big solo to a seventh grader. She believed in paying your dues.

  When it was my turn, I stepped up and tried not to look at any individual faces. A few girls reached into their purses, texting. Good. If they weren’t paying attention, they weren’t waiting for me to mess up. I met Lisette’s eyes. She smiled and nodded like a good sister. The music started. I took three deep breaths, then began.

  Laudate Dominum omnes gentes

  Laudate eum omnes populi

  I did everything right. I remembered to breathe. I remembered to over pronounce my consonants, like Miss Hakes had said, and when I hit the high note on “manet” (which Miss Hakes said meant “endures”), I noticed even some of the texters looked up and nodded. I remembered to crescendo and decrescendo at the conclusion.

  And there was applause. Not just, I told myself, polite claps, but a little more, like they really did think I was good. I looked up at Lisette, but she stared at her hands. Kendra, however, gave me a thumbs-up, and when I sat, she said, “You go, girl.”

  “Anyone else?” Miss Hakes said.

  I knew there was no one. There had been four hands. We’d all gone, and I was the best. I got a giddy, smiley feeling all the way up from the pit of my stomach, like I got when I knew I aced a test. I had done it. I was going to get this.

  “Oh, okay, one more,” Miss Hakes was saying.

  I followed Miss Hakes’s eyes to the seat behind me, where Lisette was standing.

  Lisette? She’d been here, like, a week. She couldn’t even know the solo!

  Except from listening to it on my iPod, I realized, and hearing me practice.

  Relax. She probably can’t sing.

  Who was I kidding? She was perfect at everything, even ornithology.

  Now, she stood in front of the room, calm and serene, as I hadn’t been. The music started. Then, her voice.

  After I’d finished, I’d been sure I’d sung as well as any eighth-grade girl could.

  Lisette sang as well as those people on TV who are supposed to be teenagers but are really twenty-five-year-old Broadway stars. The song was a prayer, and Lisette’s voice floated to the heavens. If she breathed, I couldn’t hear it. If she thought about what she was doing, it didn’t show. Her expression was angelic, and when she finished, no one applauded. They were too mesmerized.

  Then the room erupted with clapping.

  “That was…,” Miss Hakes stammered. “That was incredible.”

  “I totally understand if you don’t want to give it to someone new,” Lisette was saying. “It’s only fair for people to pay their dues. I had solos at my old school, so I know how it is.”

  But Lisette and I and everyone else knew she was going to get that solo. I knew it, and I hated her, hated her for having more talent, for being more beautiful, and mostly, for not staying in Lantana where she belonged. And I hated her for making me hate her too.

  As Lisette returned to her seat, she grabbed my hand. “I hope you get it,” she whispered.

  I squeezed her hand back, hard.

  So, of course, the next day Miss Hakes announced that Lisette had the solo. I was the understudy.

  Everyone clapped when Miss Hakes announced it, except Kendra, who said, “Man, that stinks. I thought you had it.”

  I shrugged. “Lisette’s just better.” I knew it was true. I glanced back. Lisette wasn’t even smiling. In fact, her blue eyes glistened with tears. What was up with that?

  After class, I tried to avoid her, but she ran after me. “Emma, wait!”

  I stopped. Couldn’t she just let me go? “What?”

  “Nothing just … we usually walk to class together.”

  Was she so clueless she had no idea I was upset with her? “Sure.” I adjusted my backpack. “Congratulations on the solo.”

  “Oh, thanks. I wish we could both have gotten it.”

  “No big deal. The better singer won.”

  “That’s sweet of you.” We were almost out the door of our class when she put her hand on my shoulder to stop me. “I had a solo in chorus at my old school, but my mom couldn’t come to the concert. She was doing chemo then, and she was always sick and throwing up, but she told me to go anyway.”

  Her voice broke, and her eyes were tearing up again. This must have been what she was thinking of in class.

  “Emma,” she said, “do you believe that people who are … gone can look down on us? Like, do you think my mom’s watching me now?”

  I didn’t know what to say. Finally, I nodded. I felt terrible for wanting the solo now.

  “I hope so.” She was crying harder. “The first thing I wanted to do, when I got the solo, was text my mom and tell her about it. I do that, sometimes, text her old number. Do you think they have cell phones in heaven?”

  Oh, God. People were trying to shove past us all around, looking at us like we were nuts, but I put my arms around Lisette. “It’s okay. I’m sure she knows about it.”

  Which only made her cry harder.

  “And you’re not mad at me, are you, for getting the solo you wanted?”

  “Of course not.” I patted her hair. “How could I be mad at you? We’re sisters.”

  10

  In school, Lisette was really fitting in. It amazed me that I’d been here for three years and yet I didn’t know as many people as Lisette had met in a week. I could say people gravitated to her because she was so pretty. It was more than that, though. Lisette really tried to get to know everyone. If someone was cynical (and I wasn’t, despite having been raised by my mother), they could say she went in like someone in an online role-playing game where the object is world domination. First, she went for the easy targets, the adoring sixth graders, elves in her army. Maybe I was one of them. They were always offering her gum or an extra pencil or just staring. Next were the boys, her unicorns and cyclopses. They were all in love with her, and when Lisette mentioned in language arts class Tuesday that she was planning on attending the Key Club meeting at lunch that day, the club had such an unexpected swell in membership that they’d had to move to the auditorium.

  Finally, she won over the dragons and gorgons, the eighth-grade popular girls, the ones who’d see her as competition. If she wasn’t French-braiding Jacqueline Ortiz’s hair before school, she was teaching Jordyn Pryor how to make friendship bracelets after. She always complimented peo
ple’s new outfits. Everyone adored her, but I was the only one who was her sister.

  The cool thing about Lisette’s popularity was, it made me fit in too. I liked it. Like, I was going to the school’s annual hoedown. I’d never gone before, mostly because I’d had no one to go with.

  It was almost Halloween, and fall was in the air. Well, as much as it could be, considering we were in Miami, and it was eighty degrees out. Still, the scent of Bath and Body Works’ caramel apple room spray filled the bathrooms at school, and on the morning announcements, they talked about the hoedown, which had games, hayrides, a pumpkin patch, and even a way to throw your friends in jail.

  “Should we wear costumes?” I asked Lisette when she finished high-fiving a girl who’d gotten an A on a math quiz. “Like Western wear? I could get my mom to take us to Party City.”

  Lisette shook her head. “Tayloe says only little kids do that. Just wear something cute, like the sundress we bought last week.”

  But the next day, when I went out to Tayloe’s mom’s car, she, Courtney, and Midori were all wearing matching denim minis, plaid skirts, and boots. “Lisette will be out in a sec.”

  “Oh, whoops!” Tayloe said. “Didn’t you get the memo?”

  I stared at her. “Memo?”

  “It’s an expression, Emma. There wasn’t an actual memo.” This was Courtney, talking real slow, like I was stupid. Maybe I was. “But we discussed it at dance yesterday, that we’d all wear minis and boots.”

  I nodded. Lisette had tried to talk me into signing up for hip-hop class with them, but I’d taken a year of dance when I was little, and at the end of that year, Miss Janie had explained to Mother that I might want to find another outlet for my talents. “Everyone is good at something. With Emma, it just isn’t dance,” she’d said.

  Now, I looked at Courtney. “But Lisette told me you weren’t…” I stopped. Lisette was finally ready, and as she stepped out the door, I took in her outfit. Denim skirt, True Religion. Plaid skirt and boots, exactly like the others. “You told me no costumes,” I said.

  “Oh, we changed our minds later and decided to wear denim after all.” She climbed across me to the seat behind. “I told you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Sure I did. Last night. Maybe you had your earbuds in and didn’t hear me.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll just go change then.”

  Tayloe’s mom tapped on her watch. “Honey, I have to drive Linc to his game. I really can’t wait anymore.”

  “It’s okay,” Tayloe said. “I’m sure a lot of people won’t have Western stuff on.”

  I sat back down. What else could I do?

  Of course, when we got there, every single person had on a Western costume, from the parent volunteers, in designer boots and jewelry from trips out West, to little kids in cowgirl outfits and sheriffs’ badges. I was the only one there not at least wearing jeans.

  I thought about calling Mother, asking her to bring me something. I considered what girls like Courtney or Lisette would do in this situation. They’d act like it didn’t matter. Or like it was intentional and they wanted to stand out.

  So that’s what I did. I started toward the games.

  I saw Kendra, who was wearing a cowgirl outfit that looked about a hundred years old, with a leather skirt, fringe, and even a holster, though that was empty, and a huge ten-gallon hat.

  “Hey, you look just like Annie Oakley,” I said.

  “That’s what I was going for. Did you know she started shooting when she was six?” She scowled. “But they made me check my pistols at the door. You can get in trouble for bringing even a water pistol to school.” She pointed at the empty holsters.

  “Crazy, right?” I said.

  “Emma, are you coming?” Courtney said.

  “You’re with them?” Kendra asked.

  “Um, yeah. They’re friends of my sister’s.”

  Kendra nodded.

  “Come on, Emma,” Courtney called.

  “See you. I really love the outfit.”

  I went to join the others, walking toward the games. They were little kids’ games, like a fishing game where you caught cowboy hats instead of fish.

  “She is sooo weird,” Courtney said when I joined them.

  “Shh.” I noticed Kendra was still behind us, though she’d paused to adjust her hat. “She’ll hear you.”

  “So?” Courtney cast a glance backwards. “She’s obviously begging for attention, so I’ll give it to her.”

  I wanted to say that Kendra was always nice and they shouldn’t just judge people by how they were dressed. I wanted to. But I was already dressed all wrong and, unlike Kendra, I didn’t like drawing attention to myself. I nodded and shut up.

  “Step right up!” the guy behind the baseball toss game said. “Get the ball in the horse’s mouth and win a prize!”

  I recognized his voice and, looking under his cowboy hat, his face. Warner. He had on a blue plaid shirt that matched his eyes, and he looked cute. “Wanna try, li’l missy?” He tipped his hat. Our eyes met, and he smiled. “Hey, it’s Dancing Emma. You going to play?”

  “Oh, I’m not good at sports.” Dad had tried for years to teach me to throw, and my balls always ended up yards short of the target.

  “I’ll try.” Courtney handed Warner her ticket and stepped back, backing right into Kendra. “Do you mind, freak?”

  Kendra’s eyes widened, and I could have sworn I actually saw them flash green, like a cat in headlights. “I’ll give you all the space you want. It won’t help.”

  “Good.” Courtney held out her hand to accept a softball. “Watch an expert, people!”

  I knew she was, in fact, an expert. Courtney had played softball for years, until she decided it was tomboyish and that she preferred shopping. When she threw the first ball, the old Courtney coordination came right back. It soared toward the target, then suddenly swerved wide left, almost hitting Warner. He leaped out of the way.

  “Whoa, pardner. That’s quite a curveball.”

  “Fail!” Kendra yelled.

  “Sorry.” Courtney glared at Kendra. “My hand slipped.”

  But the second ball did exactly the same thing. Warner ducked. “Last one,” he said. “I hope.”

  “Ha, ha, you’re sooo funny. I wasn’t concentrating. Now, everyone quiet.” Courtney looked back at Kendra again. “Do you have to stand there?”

  “It’s a free country. I’m waiting my turn.”

  “Fine. Just be quiet.”

  This time, Courtney took a long time positioning herself, then stared at the target. I could tell she was really mad about missing the first two. Courtney had never been a good loser. She whispered, “Eye on the ball. Follow through.” Then, she let it go.

  The ball soared through the air as if magnetized to its target. It would definitely go in. Then suddenly it looped upward, bounced off the back of the booth, and then directly into Courtney’s nose.

  “Oh!” She clutched it. Then she started screaming at Warner. “How did you do that? This game’s fixed.”

  Warner had been stepping forward, probably to see if she was okay. He backed off. “Are you kidding? It’s a kids’ game. Why would it be fixed?”

  “I don’t know. So the PTA won’t have to give out lame-o prizes.”

  “I know how you could settle it,” Kendra said. “If someone else threw, and they got it in, it would show it wasn’t fixed.”

  “No one could.” Courtney turned to me. “Can you stop gawking and get me some ice?”

  “How about you, Emma?” Kendra said. “Why don’t you try?”

  “Oh, I can’t throw.” I wasn’t particularly excited about displaying my extreme lack of coordination in front of Warner.

  “It’s not hard,” Warner said. “You get three tries. Hey, I tried dancing.”

  “Yes, Emma,” Courtney—who knew how bad I threw—agreed. “You should try. If you miss too, it will prove it’s rigged.”

  I knew my missing would p
rove nothing, but I shrugged. “Sure.” I stepped up to the game and accepted three softballs. Mr. Hunter, the assistant principal, moseyed by in a sheriff’s costume. He had a packet of “warrants” people could purchase for a dollar, to put their friends in jail. He tipped his hat.

  “Just throw it lightly.” Warner stepped around the table so he was standing beside me. He took my arm and demonstrated. His grip was firm, and his hands were warm. His chest pressed against mine as he swung my arm, and I could feel his heartbeat. “Good. That’s the secret.”

  “No coaching,” Courtney said.

  “Courtney, years of lessons couldn’t help me.” I lined up behind the counter and aimed. I wasn’t even really trying, but to my surprise, the ball flew right into the hole.

  “Very good!” Warner patted my shoulder.

  Behind Courtney, Tayloe was clapping. Courtney glared at her, and she stopped. “Lucky shot!” She held her nose. “Try again.”

  I threw the ball, this time without aiming or anything. Again, it went right in.

  “Two for two,” Warner said. “You should try out for softball. One more and you win the big prize.”

  I knew that was the kiss of death. Any time I expected to win, I messed up. So I threw the third ball, expecting an epic fail.

  It went in.

  “Look at you, Emma!” Warner crowed. “Do you want the teddy bear or the Snoopy?”

  “Um…” I couldn’t believe it. “I guess Snoopy. It’s Halloween, right? Great Pumpkin and all.”

  Warner pulled one from a box under the table. “Here you go, Emma.”

  I loved the way he said my name. God, that was so hokey. I took the dog from him. He held on to it an instant longer than necessary, and our fingers touched.

  “Come on.” Courtney yanked my arm so hard I almost dropped Snoopy.

  “One sec,” I told her. I held up Snoopy to Warner. “Thanks. It’s so cute.”

  He smiled. I noticed when he smiled, he had a dimple on the right side but not the left, and it had freckles in it. “Well deserved. Hey, listen, I told my mom I’d work until eight, but after that, um…” He looked down at the box of Snoopys.