The XYZs of Being Wicked

by Lara Chapman

  It takes a full minute before Jo opens the door. And when she does, I’m speechless. Her hair is in perfect curls around her face, and her bangs are pulled back with a pretty rhinestone clip. Her face turns red when we gawk at her, openmouthed.

  “Quit staring, weirdos.” She walks away from the door, and we follow her inside, unable to take our eyes off her. She’s wearing jeans and a green shirt with puffy see-through sleeves.

  “Jo,” Ivy says. “You look freaking awesome!”

  Jo gives us a weak eye roll, but you can tell she’s pleased. I bet Jo’s life back home was a lot like mine, where the less you stood out, the less you got picked on, where blending into the walls was a good thing.

  “How’d you get your hair so curly?” I ask. “It’s almost as curly as Ivy’s.”

  Dru pops out of the bathroom in a perky bright red sundress. “With this,” she says, holding up a curling iron.

  “Where and how did you get that? Did you sneak it in?”

  “Welllllll . . . ,” she says, looking at Jo before saying anything else.

  “Well, what?” Ivy asks.

  “It’s my gift,” Dru says.

  “What’s your gift? Hairstyling?”

  Dru slaps me playfully on my shoulder. “No, dummy. I have the gift of conjuration.”

  “Say what?” Ivy asks.

  “Conjuration,” Dru repeats. “It means I can make things appear. We needed a curling iron, and bibbity-bobbity-boo, here it is.”

  “No way!” Ivy’s wide eyes are looking at the curling iron, then back at Dru, then back at the curling iron. “Do it again.”

  “I’m not a circus act,” Dru says. But the smile on her face shows how happy she is. And I’m happy for her. Conjuration is a very cool gift.

  Jo’s face lights up. “Conjure up some lip gloss.”

  Dru shakes her head. “We aren’t allowed to wear lip gloss.”

  “Make it clear,” I say. “That way we can say it’s ChapStick.”

  Dru thinks about it briefly, then shrugs. “What could it hurt?”

  She closes her eyes and whispers words I can’t hear. There’s a crackling in the air that feels like static electricity, then bam! Lip gloss is in her hand.

  “Omigosh! That’s so flipping cool!” I say, practically screaming. “You’re so lucky!”

  Dru laughs and passes the lip gloss to me. “Your wish is my command.”

  “Let’s go,” I say. “We’re supposed to be in the lobby in two minutes.”

  Ivy stops at the door before opening it. “I really wish we had a camera. This is going to be a great night.”

  For the first time since the social was announced, I actually believe her.

  Twenty-Two

  We stand in front of Dowling around a tree that almost completely hides the building. The lazy branches stretch across the lawn, extending from one side of the Dowling driveway to the other. I stand with other well-dressed Seekers inside the safety of those branches. There’s something magical, and totally creepy, about standing in a circle under the thick canopy of foliage, the tree’s leaves rustling despite the still air.

  The headmistress stands in the center of our circle, a black velvet cape draped over her head and brushing the grass. She holds a long white candle in her hand, its flame our only light. As it flickers, it feels like every leaf has a set of eyes, watching us beneath this tree.

  “Girls, before you head out, there is a special travel spell that I hope will help you on your journey.”

  In the clear and commanding voice that defines our headmistress, she speaks.

  “Seekers, may you be blessed.

  May all good things come to you,

  may nothing whatsoever harm you,

  may your heart be light,

  may your travels be safe,

  may your health be good,

  may your mind be sound,

  may your friendships sustain you,

  may you be blessed in every way,

  and may you return home safely.”

  Home.

  I never thought I’d call Dowling home, but I guess that’s what it has become. How many other girls have stood beneath this tree’s branches? Hundreds? Thousands? Dannabelle stood here. So did my great-great-grandmother. And I suddenly feel the sisterhood the headmistress was talking about. It’s about more than just me. It’s about the girls who’ve been here before and the girls who have yet to come, and being connected to all of them.

  I reach for the amulet and remember I’ve left it in my room. I should’ve brought it. Even if it meant wearing something hideous, I should have found a way to hide it.

  Before I can run back to the room and get it, Ivy grabs my hand and drags me to the chartered bus, talking nonstop about boys and dancing and boys, boys, boys! We haven’t even left Dowling, and Ivy’s already obsessed with the boys we haven’t met yet.

  The last two girls to walk onto the bus are Kendall and Zena. My entire body stiffens in frustration when I see what they’re wearing. Compared to the rest of the girls on the bus, Kendall and Zena look like they’re headed to a Hollywood movie opening, not a dance for sixth graders.

  Zena is dressed in a black dress covered in sequins. She’s wearing heels, and her normally curly hair is beautifully straightened.

  Kendall’s emerald-green dress sits off her shoulders, and the fabric falls softly over her arms. Her blond hair virtually blinds me with its shininess.

  The pair walks with cool sophistication to empty seats behind me and Ivy. You can practically see every girl’s shoulders sag as Zena and Kendall pass them, their own confidence deflated by the sight of the two. Even I shrink a little as they pass me, and I don’t care about impressing the boys at the dance.

  “There goes our chance to impress anyone at Riley,” Ivy mutters.

  I shake my head. “Don’t give it a second thought. The boys won’t be able to ignore you. I mean, seriously. Have you seen your hair?”

  Ivy leans back in her seat, a small smile on her face, but the spark in her eyes is gone. We ride in silence, watching the world pass by. It feels odd to be outside the Dowling walls after spending so many weeks there. I almost forgot there is life outside the black iron gates.

  It isn’t until the bus slows and turns into the Riley driveway that Ivy begins talking nervously.

  “I hope they play good music. Not a bunch of old stuff. And I hope there’s just the right amount of slow songs. Not too many, but a few would be nice. Think they’ll have snacks? I’m hungry.”

  When we step off the bus, she stops talking and admires the building in front of us. Riley is much bigger than Dowling, standing twelve or thirteen stories high with dark red brick, and windows trimmed with black shutters.

  The boys wait to greet us, stretched in long lines on either side of the door. A dorm mom I don’t know snaps her fingers, and we follow her instinctively. I wish Miss A was here, but she left town for the weekend, leaving another dorm mom to escort us. Miss A always knows how to make everyone comfortable. We walk awkwardly to the door, sneaking sideways glances at the boys, either too afraid or too embarrassed to make actual eye contact. Most of the girls are the picture of excitement, but all I feel is a sense of dread. This is going to be the longest two hours of my life.

  Once inside we’re ushered to a room elaborately decorated for tonight’s event. The almost-black wood that lines the walls is lit by a ton of candles, and white streamers drape across the ceiling. I try to ignore the obvious fire hazard and just enjoy the beauty of the room. Like the Gathering Circle at Dowling, it’s the kind of room that commands your respect.

  One of my favorite Maroon 5 songs pumps through the speakers, and Ivy half-walks, half-dances her way to the snack table. Pizza, cheese, and crackers fill a long table, and delicious sodas are shoved in tubs of ice. I totally thought there would be better snacks. I mean, come on. We’re witches. Despite the lame spread, my mouth waters at the thought of drinking a Dr Pepper, and I get in line with Ivy to grab o
ne.

  The boys enter the room, and the sounds of happy girl voices fall silent. Following their own adult leader, the boys join us at the snack table and ask if they can help us. Their politeness is awkward, and no one really responds. We just smile, grab our food and drinks, and race to the nearest table.

  When the boys fail to ask anyone to dance after three songs, some of the girls decide to dance with each other. Kendall and Zena don’t, of course. They already have a circle of adoring fans. Ivy nudges me with her elbow. “Don’t look now, but there’s a guy staring at you.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m sure he’s looking at someone else.”

  Dru shakes her head. “No, she’s telling the truth. He’s standing at Kendall’s table, and she’s talking to him, but he’s staring at you.”

  I laugh out loud. “Riiiiiiight.” I’ve spent my entire life in Kendall’s shadow. That isn’t about to change now.

  “Look for yourself,” Jo says, her bright blue eyes shining. Just to shut them up, I turn and look back at Kendall’s table.

  My heart hammers double time when I see him. His light brown hair lies just above his eyebrows, and his eyes are focused on me. Even while Kendall touches his arm and tosses her hair, he looks only at me. I look away self-consciously. “Stalk much?” I mutter.

  “He’s so cute, Hallie,” Ivy says. “Don’t be dense. Smile at him.”

  There’s a part of me that would love nothing more than to steal Kendall’s thunder. But the sane, reasonable part of me knows better. Encouraging this boy with a smile while he’s talking to Kendall would be like poking a rabid dog.

  Dru slaps her hand over her mouth. “Omigosh.”

  “He’s dancing with Kendall?” I ask.

  She shakes her head several times.

  Ivy grabs my arm and squeezes. “He’s coming over here.”

  Jo laughs, watching the scene unfold. “You should see Kendall. If looks could kill . . . well, you’d be a pile of ashes.”

  No, no, no, no, no.

  Please don’t come over here, please don’t come over here.

  My eyes are closed and I’m repeating the words in my head, when I hear him clear his throat.

  Why didn’t he turn around? He’s supposed to do what I think!

  I open my eyes and find every girl at my table staring at the boy, wide-eyed. Up close I can see he’s got light brown eyes, and his smile belongs in a toothpaste commercial. Dressed in jeans and an untucked button-down shirt, he is as close to perfect as I’ve ever seen. He isn’t just the normal cute like Jasper Williams back home. He’s got a great smile and oozes confidence.

  “Hi,” he says, extending his hand. “I’m Cody Ray.”

  I stare at his hand for five long seconds before shaking it. My heart flutters faster than a hummingbird’s wings when I touch him.

  “Hi,” I say, my voice more squeak than anything else. Isn’t he the one who’s supposed to have a squeaky voice?

  “She’s Hallie. Hallie Simon,” Ivy says, jumping in to save me. “I’m Ivy, and this is Dru and Jo.”

  Cody smiles and says hello to them, then turns his attention back to me.

  “Want to dance?” he asks, his face turning just the lightest shade of pink. I can’t say no. He’s too cute to say no to.

  I don’t look at Kendall before I answer him. “Sure.”

  I stand from the table and follow him to the dance floor, grateful the Black Eyed Peas are playing. But just as we reach the floor, the song fades. He looks at me and grins, and I positively melt. I thought going weak in the knees was an overused cliché, but it actually happens.

  When the next song begins, I freeze. It’s not another fast song we can dance to standing three feet from each other. It’s a slow song, something that will require us to actually touch. I look back at my table, at the safety net of my friends, and their insistent expressions tell me to suck it up and dance with him.

  I take another deep breath.

  It’s just a boy. You won’t even see him again until next year’s social. Relax.

  He holds out his hand, and I take it. I’m grateful he doesn’t pull me too close, leaving plenty of room between us. We’re the only two people on the floor, and it’s impossible to ignore every single person in the room watching us.

  “So how do you like Dowling?” he asks.

  He wants to talk?

  I carefully follow his choppy footsteps, praying I don’t step on his feet. Why wasn’t that in tonight’s blessing?

  “It’s good,” I say. “Different than I expected.”

  I wonder if these boys go through the same things we do.

  He laughs. “I know what you mean.”

  I feel my body relax a little, and a rush of questions pop into my head.

  How long have you lived at Riley?

  Do you have gifts like us?

  What’s your family history with witchcraft?

  Why’d you pick me over Kendall?

  I don’t remember all the rules for tonight’s dance, because I didn’t think I’d be doing anything more than sitting and watching. Are we allowed to talk about magic? About our gifts?

  “Are those your roommates?” he asks. “At the table?”

  “No, they’re just my friends. My roommate is Kendall.”

  He looks at me blankly. “Who’s that?”

  My feet stop, and he steps on my toes.

  “Sorry,” he says, face red.

  I focus on my feet, then answer. “Kendall’s the girl you were talking to before you came to my table.”

  “Oh,” he says, a weird look on his face. “You don’t seem like you’d be roommates.”

  “I know. We don’t get to pick until next year.”

  “At least you just have one roommate. We have four boys to a room. Bunk beds. It’s like living at summer camp.”

  I giggle at his description. I suspect his room is much nicer than anything at summer camp. “I’d kill to have more people in our room.”

  “Really?”

  I nod. “Yeah. At least then I’d have someone to talk to.”

  His face cringes. “That bad, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  The song fades, and a fast song blares through the speakers. The dance floor begins crowding with kids, some dancing together, some dancing in groups, some dancing alone.

  Cody and I continue dancing together. I thought I’d be grateful for the loud music so we wouldn’t have to talk, but instead I’m disappointed. He’s easy to talk to, and I know he’ll be a good friend. Assuming I ever see him again.

  Kendall and Zena are on the dance floor all night, dancing with different boys each time. It’s like they’re taste-testing at an ice cream factory. Cody and I dance most of the night, stopping only to eat and drink.

  It seems like minutes, but it must have been two hours, because the lights in the room brighten and the music stops.

  I look around for my friends, who have been dancing with each other. They’re waving at me, walking back to the table for a last swallow of their drinks.

  “Well,” I say. “I had fun.”

  And I did. I can’t believe how much fun I had, actually.

  “Me too,” he says, smiling. “So, I know you can’t really talk at Dowling.”

  I nod, sad that I can’t talk to him anytime I want.

  “But we’ll see each other at the summer solstice celebration.”

  I don’t have a clue what he’s talking about, but I smile anyway. “Sounds great.”

  I look back at my friends, then turn back to Cody. Do we hug? Shake hands? Should I just walk away?

  Before I can think about it too much, he grabs me for a quick hug. My arms stay limp at my sides, and I’m worried I might pass out because I’ve quit breathing.

  “Bye, Hallie,” he says. Butterflies beat inside my stomach as I watch him walk to his waiting friends.

  I prepare myself for the barrage of questions that are coming. But for the next few seconds, before I get to Ivy, I let myself accept th
at boys aren’t so bad after all.

  When I finally crawl into bed an hour later, I’m so tired, I can barely keep my eyes open. Kendall’s bed is still made and she isn’t in the bathroom, but I’m too exhausted to care about where she is or what she’s doing. She did a nice job of glaring at me the entire bus ride home. I didn’t have to look behind me to know it; it was like two torches burning my back.

  When we were working on our research project in history this morning, I saw a glimmer of the old Kendall. The one I knew before third grade. The one who cared about me. That all changed when Cody asked me to dance. But as much as I don’t want Kendall on my bad side any more than normal, I don’t regret dancing with Cody. He was a surprise . . . different than other boys I’ve known. Not once did he make a farting noise or say something gross. He didn’t act like he was better than anyone else, and he was nice to everyone.

  I remember the amulet and reach inside my pillowcase. Relief washes over me when I feel its familiar warmth. I pull it over my head and tuck it inside my pajama shirt.

  I can’t keep the amulet. I know I can’t. But I’m not quite ready to let it go. I don’t know how much power it’s giving me. I only know how it makes me feel. More confident. Less frightened.

  Tonight was almost perfect. The only thing that marred it was Kendall’s resentment.

  If I have the power of mind manipulation, maybe I can change how she feels about me. Maybe I can make her go back to the way she was, to the real Kendall. I think it’ll take more than some sixth-grade spell to change her, but it’s worth a try. Anything is better than living with someone who hates me.

  With my mind focused on Kendall, I say my wish for her.

  “May Kendall’s true spirit be shown from this day forward.

  “May Kendall’s true spirit be shown from this day forward.

  “May Kendall’s true spirit be shown from this day forward.”

  I am too tired to read, too tired to journal. I turn off the light and sleep.

  Twenty-Three

  When my alarm goes off the following morning, I’m barely able to move my arms. I can’t believe I’m actually sore from dancing. Maybe I should spend some of my Personal Growth time exercising.