by Geof Johnson
“No.” Fred took a deep breath and exhaled between tightened lips. “You see, here’s my problem. I so want Jamie to be happy, but I can’t help but tell him what to do half the time, which he doesn’t like, so then he’s not happy.” She sighed and stared at her feet. “And I have to fight that all the time.” She looked at Melanie. “But I’m working on it. My mom says I’m getting better.”
“I don’t think you’re bossy. I just think you have a strong personality.”
“That’s a nice way of saying bossy.”
“Don’t let it bother you. Everybody has problems.”
“Right. Like you do, with your perfect face and your perfect hair and your cheerleader friends, and —”
“Fred, I don’t have very many friends. That’s my problem.” She shook her head slowly. “It’s hard for me to make friends, and I don’t know why.” Her eyebrows drew down. “Am I such a bad person?”
Huh? It took Fred a moment to collect her wits. “No, you’re a really nice person. I…I thought you had lots of friends. What about all the other cheerleaders?”
“Most of them are kinda shallow. Well, Tanisha’s not, but she has her own little circle of friends. And the other kids in my classes won’t hardly talk to me.”
“That’s because they’re too intimidated by your looks. You’re in all advanced classes, and I know from experience that a lot of those girls are nerdy and they probably think you don’t want to have anything to do with them.”
“That’s not true! If they’d only give me a chance, I’d —”
“They can’t help it. It’s a self-esteem problem.”
Melanie opened her mouth as if she were going to say more about it, but didn’t. She sighed instead and looked across the street at Jamie’s house. “I don’t have any friends that are boys.”
“That’s because most of them are too scared to talk to you.”
“And the ones that do are jerks, like that guy Logan.”
“Is Michael a jerk?”
“No, he’s normal, like Jamie.”
“There’s nobody like Jamie.”
Melanie chuckled. “Or you.” She glanced up and said, “My mom’s here. Give me a hug before I go.” She stood and picked up her bags, but paused for a moment. “Fred, I’m glad you’re my friend now.”
“Me, too, Melanie.”
“Do you think there’s a chance Jamie will be my friend, too?”
“Oh yeah, especially if I tell him to.” They giggled together, and Fred said, “You know that’s a joke, right?”
Melanie winked at her and went to her mother’s car.
* * *
Jamie heard his name in the crowded hall and turned to see Bryce slam his locker and hurry toward him, weaving his way through passing students as he came.
“I heard about the big talent show,” Bryce said when he reached him. “Sorry you didn’t win.”
Jamie shrugged. “The competition was fierce.”
“Yeah, but that’s cool that Fred and Rollie won. When are the regionals?”
“Late December. They’re in Atlanta.”
“We should get a group of kids together and go. That’d be fun.” They strolled through the mob. “Hey, did you get a call from the coach at Duke?”
“Was I supposed to?”
“You didn’t get a call this weekend?”
Jamie shook his head, and Bryce’s face hardened. “I shoulda’ known something was up,” he said.
Jamie stopped in the middle of the hall. “What are you talking about?”
Bryce pressed his lips into a thin line and looked away for a moment. “The assistant cross country coach at Duke called me yesterday and said he had a spot on the team they were looking to fill next year. He said he heard about my times and wanted to know about my grades and stuff.”
“So what’s wrong with that?”
“You’re times are as good as mine, and your grades are probably a little better. Why would he call me and not you?”
“He coulda called and I missed it. I was busy all weekend.”
Bryce shook his head. “He would’ve left a message.” He rubbed one hand hard across his face and scowled. “I think my dad’s working behind my back. I think he called them and made some kind of deal. He wants me to go to Duke real bad so I can major in pre-med like he did.”
“So?”
Bryce threw his hands out. “I don’t want his help. I want to do it my way. Why do you think I’m bustin’ my butt every day at practice?”
Jamie shrugged. “Don’t let it bother you, Buddy. Season’s not over yet. We’re runnin’ at West Henderson this Saturday, and we could set the course record.”
“I thought Manny had it.”
“No. He didn’t run there last year. It was a home meet, remember? The record’s not that fast, I checked. We can get it.”
“If we do, let’s finish together. No one-two this time.”
“Okay. We’ll be co-record holders. Then you’ll probably hear from a college coach of two.”
Fred signed the last autograph at Angela’s Dance Studio, Room B, and looked at the clock. “Okay,” she said. “It’s six-fifteen. Time to go.”
“Not yet,” Mathew’s mom said. “We want a group picture.”
“Okay.” But I really want to go home!
Mathew’s mom herded her son and the seven leotard-clad girls — a new student had joined that day — and positioned them in front of Fred, who leaned over and smiled as the flashes went off. The room was crowded with all of the parents in there with them, chattering excitedly about Fred’s accomplishment on Saturday.
“That’s perfect,” Mathew’s mother said, checking the picture on her cell phone.
“Lemme see, lemme see,” the kids squealed, crowding around her.
Fred shook her head. It’s hard to believe I was ever like that. Oh! That reminds me. “Kids,” she announced, “I’ll have something for you when you come on Saturday. It’s a picture of me at my first recital, the same one you’ll be doing. I have my reindeer antlers on and my little red foam nose.” She touched her face and giggled. “You kids are gonna look so adorable in those.” She clapped her hands. “Now everybody scoot. Tomorrow’s a school day, and you need your rest.”
But nobody went anywhere until they hugged her goodbye. This is almost as good as winning the talent contest, she thought as the last girl squeezed Fred, her sweet little face buried in Fred’s waist. Maybe even better.
Chapter 14
Rita hummed along with the oldies’ song on the radio as their 1980 Ford LTD hurtled down Highway 90.
“I think you just missed the turnoff.” Cassandra pointed over her left shoulder.
“No I didn’t,” Rita said, right hand on the steering wheel and the other holding a lit cigarette next to the partly open window.
Cassandra held up a piece of paper and waved it at Rita. “Directions say left on Trudeau, just past the cemetery. That was the cemetery back there, and that road was probably Trudeau. We’ll end up in New Orleans if you don’t turn around.”
“Didn’t see a road sign.” Rita took one last drag off of her cigarette and pushed it out of the window.
“Turn around, Rita,” Cassandra said firmly.
“You want to drive?”
“Hell no. Just turn the damn car around.”
Rita yanked on the steering wheel and the car spun hard on the asphalt, tires squealing their complaint at the violent misdirection. The car now pointed west in the east-bound lane.
“Rita, you do know this a divided highway.”
“So it is.” She turned the car around and steered it to toward the closest cut-through. A passing car blasted a long, angry honk, the sound of the horn fading and lowering in pitch as Rita made an obscene gesture at it.
“Touchy, aren’t they?” Cassandra pointed at a drab concrete block building. A dingy wooden sign that said “Esso" was nailed to a telephone pole out front, and a dog lay under the dented aluminum awning that hung over
the front door. “We can stop and get directions at this little gas station. I gotta tinkle anyway. Momma Sue probably doesn’t have indoor plumbing yet.”
Rita pulled the car into the dirt parking lot and said, “She’s always had indoor plumbing. She’s just particular about who she lets use it.” She shoved the gear shift into park. “Ask the clerk if that road back there’s the one we want. And hurry, will you? You don’t have to fix your makeup.”
Cassandra grabbed her purse from the front seat. “I might. You never know.” She slammed the door and went inside while Rita sat in the car, checking channels on the radio. She didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes later, Cassandra came out of the store and slid back into the passenger seat.
“That was quick,” Rita said.
Cassandra made a face. “Their bathroom is nasty. I was scared to sit all the way down on the seat. Didn’t have a mirror either.” She pulled her compact out of her purse and inspected her makeup.
“Well, is that the road back there or not?”
“Yep. Head back the way we came.”
Rita steered the car onto the highway and gunned the engine, the sudden G-force pushing them back into their seats. The little metal charm that hung from the rearview mirror swayed, and Cassandra reached up and grabbed it with one hand to make it stop. “Think this little thing is still working?”
“Don’t know. Hadn’t been pulled over in awhile. It did last time, though. Didn’t get a ticket.” She reached up and tapped it with one finger. “Must still have some magic in it.”
“Let’s not test it now, Rita.” She leaned over and glanced at the speedometer. “Keep it under eighty, will ya’?” She gestured at the highway. “We’re almost there, anyway. Slow down or you’ll miss it again.”
Rita tapped the brake pedal and turned onto the ragged little road. “There’s the road sign.” She nodded to her left at an aluminum pole bent nearly to the ground. “Says ‘Trudeau Road’. Looks like somebody ran it over.”
They passed a cluster of mailboxes, some with they’re flaps hanging open like metal tongues, awaiting their next meal of letters and bills. Behind them was a yellow dead-end sign, riddled with small dents and holes. Somebody’s been using that for target practice, Rita thought idly. Scrubby trees bordered both sides of the road, stretching as far as she could see. The asphalt was broken in places, large tufts of grass growing in the cracks.
Cassandra snapped her gum. “Man, this place is ugly.”
“Gets better, closer to Momma Sue’s.”
“I know, I been there, remember? Long time ago.”
They drove past a rusted mobile home set on blocks, a sheet of plywood covering one window. Junk cluttered what passed for a yard. An old washing machine, discarded tires, rotting cardboard boxes, and assorted trash sprouted from the weeds. A solitary rope swing with a wooden plank for a seat hung from a tree.
“Wouldn’t you love to grow up there?” Cassandra said, shaking her head as they drove by.
It wasn’t long before the asphalt ended and they continued on the bumpy dirt road that followed, passing a couple of ramshackle houses as they went. Cassandra rolled down her window and spit out her gum. “I wonder what our new witch is gonna be like.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a fresh stick of spearmint. “She’ll be younger, right?”
“Let’s hope so.”
“Wonder what her specialty’s gonna be?”
“You mean talent, Cass. Specialties are for doctors.”
“Okay, talent. I wonder, though. Like, you’ve always been really good at persuasion and stuff. You know what charms to use, or potions, to get people to do just about anything you want, seems like.”
“Not everything.” She picked up her pack of cigarettes from the seat and pulled one out, placing it between her deep-red lips and leaning over to accept the light from Cassandra. Rita took a puff, exhaled and said, “But I can get folks to do enough, seems like.”
“I know. And I’ve always been the best healer. Best at selling our stuff, too. But I hope our new girl doesn’t have the same talent as one of us ’cause it would probably be better to have something different.”
“Izzy told me about a girl she knew back in the old days who everybody called a Shadow Witch.” Rita blew a stream of smoke out of the side of her mouth toward the window. “She could talk to people anywhere, as long as she was in a shadow and the other person was, too. Didn’t matter how far apart they were. Hundreds of miles, even. She could eavesdrop, too. Anybody talking in a shadow, she could hear what they were saying.”
“How’d she sort out who was doing the talking? Musta been zillions of people yappin’ at once.”
Rita shrugged and flicked her ashes out of the window. “Hope our new girl is good with plants. Our little herb garden is looking poorly since Isabelle died.”
“That was definitely one of her talents. She could grow anything.”
“Makes it hard to do a good potion if the herbs you’re working with are all sickly looking.”
“Like ours.” Cassandra snapped her gum and propped her feet up on the dashboard. Her toenails were a vicious red that matched her fingernails and lipstick. “This is a lot farther than I remember. Momma Sue must live almost to the river.”
“No. She’s near the lake, if you want to call it that. It’s more like a swamp.”
The scrubby trees gradually gave way to ancient live oaks that lined the dusty road, massive and sprawling, gnarled giants holding their arms overhead to form a tunnel of shade. Spanish moss hung from them like gray tattered clothing. The road rolled off steeply at the shoulders, and stagnant pools of water could be seen back in the woods.
“Damn.” Cassandra frowned. “Skeeters are probably bad here, and I forgot my bug-repellent bracelet.”
“It’s in my purse. I picked it up from the coffee table before we left.”
“Thanks, Rita. You’re always looking out for me.”
“You’d do the same for me if you weren’t such a scatterbrain.”
“I’m not a scatterbrain, I’m a creative thinker.”
Rita looked at Cassandra and lowered her eyebrows. “Since when did you create something?”
“I said thinker, not doer.” She snapped her gum again. “Doin’ requires work.”
They both snickered and drove the last couple of miles in silence.
“That must be it up ahead,” Cassandra said. The road ended in a shady clearing. A rambling, one-story wooden house with a rusted tin roof squatted on stacks of concrete blocks. It looked like it had been painted white at one time, but that color was no more than a suggestion now as weathered wood showed through everywhere. The roof sagged forlornly over the porch that stretched across the front.
A battered and dusty pickup truck sat next to a tumbled-down shed. Little arrangements of sticks and feathers and such, looking like insane dream catchers, hung from nearby trees. Rita and Cassandra parked and stepped out of the car. Rita pointed to one of the hanging structures and said, “Momma Sue’s hexes.”
“You think she knows we’re coming?” Cassandra asked, a worried look on her face.
“Of course. We wouldn’t a’ been able to get this far if she didn’t want us to.”
A wooden plank walkway led up to the porch. Rita stepped on it and pointed to a board. “Watch your step. That one’s rotten. You could break your ankle.” She looked over her shoulder at Cassandra, who followed. “And why’d you have to wear heels?”
“Always do, Rita. You know that. A girl’s gotta look her best.”
“Yeah? Well, if you get hurt, I’m not carrying you to the car.”
“You’ve done it before.” She stumbled and put her arms out to regain her balance. “Dammit. You jinxed me. Caught my heel in a crack.”
“What I really like about you, Cass, is that you always do your own stunts.” Cassandra flipped Rita the middle finger and Rita laughed.
Rita reached the porch and said, “I haven’t carried you in years. Last time, you
were probably twenty-five pounds lighter.”
“It’s just water weight. I weigh the same as I always have.”
Right, Rita smirked to herself. And I’m the Queen of England.
The porch had two unpainted wooden rockers on it, and the back side was lined with benches made of rough-hewn wood, covered with unidentifiable knick knacks and potted plants.
Cassandra pointed at the benches. “What do suppose that stuff is?”
“Who knows? Could be more of Momma Sue’s voodoo stuff or it could be junk.”
Cassandra sniffed. “It all looks like junk.”
Rita reached to knock on the front door, but it creaked open on its own. She shook her head and said, “I hate it when she does that.”
“She’s showin’ off.”
“She don’t have to. It’s just a little reminder of who’s in charge here.”
They stepped inside and closed the door behind them. The front room was narrow, only a few steps across, and full of shelves and more junk. A few potted plants trailed vines that partially hid the books and things behind them.
The door to the next room was open. They walked in and found Momma Sue, sitting at one end, next to a window in a low cushioned chair — the only chair, that Rita could see. She was a wiry, leather-skinned woman with thick, wavy gray hair held back in a multi-colored scarf. She wore a loose, bright yellow cotton top and a skirt that didn’t match, except in the loudness of its many colors. She had a necklace of large wooden beads hung around her neck and gold hoop earrings in each earlobe. She was barefoot.
“Hello, girls,” she said in a raspy voice. “Sassy Cassie and Rita Red. Though I see you got some gray showin’ at the roots, Rita.” She chuckled and Rita bit her tongue.
The old woman waved one hand in a vague gesture. “Sit down. Make yourselves comfortable.”
Rita scanned the room for something suitable to sit on and finally settled for the floor, which was covered by a straw mat that smelled of mildew. Cassandra sat beside her, wincing and wrinkling her nose as she folded her legs beneath her.
Rita frowned inwardly. Momma Sue probably had chairs in here before we came. She wants to put us in our place. I’m pretty sure she won’t offer us tea and cookies.