I sat down across from her and pulled out the first tangled bundle of chains. Georgia clicked away on the computer, occasionally huffing in frustration or cocking her head in fascination while I used the sharp point of a safety pin to create a small window of separation between the two tangled chains.
“I think maybe we need to investigate other options,” she said.
I looked up. “What do you mean?”
“Well, obviously getting Quinton back under hypnosis no longer seems like it’s going to happen.”
I sighed. “But what else can we do? It said if unbroken, a hypnotic suggestion can be lifelong. LIFELONG!” I was beyond trying to camouflage my panic.
“Right, but listen, I have an idea. In Midsummer’s Night Dream, the fairy puts a love spell on Lysander to make him fall in love with Helena, right?”
“Right,” I said, uncertain where she was going.
“Well, essentially you used hypnosis to put a love spell on Quinton.”
Hmmm. “Okay, so?”
“So rather than focusing on undoing the hypnosis, maybe we need to explore how to undo the love spell.”
Interesting. “A love spell? Is there really such a thing?”
Georgia nodded and smiled. “Oh, there is. And look, I think I might have found our answer.”
“What?” I scooted to her side of the table and peered at the screen. “ ‘Head Cleaners’?” The page was an eerie shade of plum purple, with sparkling yellow stars twinkling all over the site. In the upper right corner was a candle with the flame’s pixels twitching. “What kind of website is this?” I asked suspiciously.
She clicked on a link. “Look, it says she’s the number one–rated spell caster for authenticity and honesty and glorious results. Glorious results, Willow!”
I leaned in over her shoulder while she read out loud.
“It claims she can formulate a cleansing drink to reverse any spell gone wrong.”
“I don’t know,” I said, leery. “This seems so . . . weird.”
“Well”—Georgia threw her hands up in the air—“what other options do we have?”
I looked up at the dangling wires of the fire alarm and recalled the suspicious look in my mother’s eyes. The clock was ticking. Quinton was spiraling. It wouldn’t take much longer before Mom figured out what I had done. And if she did . . . “Okay.” I turned to Georgia. “How does this Head Cleaner thing work? How do you get the cleansing drink or whatever you called it?”
“Well . . .” Georgia puckered her mouth. “It’s forty bucks to get a custom-built potion.”
I thought about the maxed-out credit card. “I can’t use my mom’s credit card for this,” I said. “She’ll figure it out. But I have cash saved that my grandparents send me for my birthday every year . . .”
Georgia thought for a moment. “I have an emergency credit card my mom gave me that I’ve never used. I could just be on the lookout for when the new statement comes in the mail and grab it before my mom sees it.”
“I could give you the cash right now,” I offered.
“Deal.” She dug into her wallet and plugged the numbers into the computer.
Instantly an online chat box appeared and a prompt asked: Tell me exactly what kind of cleansing potion you require.
So I typed in a thorough description of the problem. A little hourglass appeared on the screen, telling me whoever was on the other side was hopefully thinking long and hard about my predicament. Finally the response appeared.
To restore balance and harmony you must concoct the following recipe. Heat it over an open flame and recite the following passage. Then let the person with the altered mind drink this potion, and within twenty-four hours, Karma Cleansing Potion will reestablish proper order.
“O-kay.” Georgia clapped her hands together. “Let’s see, we need oil and water and salt. . . .” She started rummaging through the cabinets.
I stared at the words. It seemed crazy. A wacky anti-love potion, seriously? But at least it was a plan, and I had run out of any other options. So I read it and joined Georgia in the preparation. “Do you think we should wait and do this tomorrow? Mom’s yoga class ends in, like, twenty minutes.”
Georgia looked at the clock. “It’s up to you. Do you want Quinton’s love spell to linger any longer?”
I clenched my jaw and grabbed the laptop. “What else do we need? A sprig of cherry blossoms for new beginnings,” I read. “Cherry blossoms?”
“Hmmm,” Georgia thought, sitting on top of the counter as she pulled things off a shelf. “Well, all the cherry trees bloom in the spring. Maybe just pull some leaves from a cherry tree?”
I shrugged. “I guess that’ll work.” I walked outside to the end of our driveway and reached up to pull some drying leaves off the branches from our cherry tree. When I went back inside the house, Georgia was holding a large chili pot in the air.
“Do you think this constitutes a ‘suitably large vessel’?” she asked.
“Looks good to me.”
She measured out the water, oil, vinegar, and salt and added a pinch of thyme.
I crinkled the yellow and orange leaves into the pot; then we placed it on the stove. I turned the gas flame on and waited until the mixture came to a boil. I held my hand over the pot and read off the computer in a deep, solemn voice. “Fire warm, fire bright, fire glows in the night.”
Georgia giggled.
I hushed her and continued. “Fire shines like the sun. Now the transformation has BEGUN!”
The front door swung open with a whoosh and Georgia and I screamed. “AAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!”
“AAAAHHHHHH!” Mom shrieked in return, clutching her hand to her chest. She stared at us. “What are you doing?”
“Science experiment,” Georgia answered quickly. “Look.” She turned to me, all serious. “The leaves did disintegrate under a certain amount of heat.”
“Right, right!” I reached over to the computer and clicked it shut inconspicuously. “So, um, here, let’s pour the um, scientific evidence into this Nalgene bottle to um, bring to school tomorrow.”
“Right,” Georgia said, carefully pouring the potion from the chili pot into a Nalgene bottle “Just be careful,” she said slowly, “not to mix this up with Quinton’s Gatorade bottle at lunch because who knows what would happen if he drank it.”
“Hmm,” Mom said. “I don’t ever remember doing science labs at home,” she mused, grabbing a Ding Dong from the basket. “But maybe that’s because I missed most of my chemistry labs. I was too busy making out with Tommy DeVito behind the art building!” She chuckled then slipped off into her room.
Georgia handed me the plastic bottle. “Guard this with your life.”
We nodded in unison both of us hoping for a good outcome.
The next day I wrestled Quinton’s blue Gatorade from his backpack while he was busy unloading his football uniform from the trunk of the car. I poured out half of the blue liquid and added our cleansing potion. I shook it vigorously then returned it to his backpack.
At lunch, when he sat down at our table, he had a cup of ice water on his tray along with his pizza. My stomach got all twisted with anxiety. The potion needed to be consumed within twenty-four hours or it supposedly lost its magic. If he waited until football practice, it might be too late. I glanced down at his backpack. Quinton took a bite of his pizza. Mia asked me something, but I didn’t hear her, I was too distracted, willing Quinton to get his Gatorade.
Then suddenly he reached down, pulled out the blue bottle, and placed it next to his tray. I sighed relief.
“Are you okay?” Mia asked me. “You’re acting kind of . . . strange.”
“Oh, I’m fine. Good,” I said as I dropped my banana. “Ooops.”
Quinton squinted at me. “You’re kind of jumpy.” He reached for his cup of water.
In desperation, I shot my arm out and knocked the whole cup out of his hand. “Oh, shoot,” I said. “Sorry, sorry,” I said as ice landed in his lap. I grabbed
some napkins and just sort of tossed them into his lap. “No sense in getting X-rated, ha-ha-ha,” I blabbered.
Mia screwed up her face. “Did you drink too much caffeine or something?”
“Yeah, maybe,” I lied. I sat back down and tapped my toe nervously.
When Quinton had dried himself off, he took another bite of pizza but didn’t reach for the Gatorade. So I crafted a quick distraction.
“Look!” I pointed. “Sadie cut her hair into a pixie!” Everyone at the table turned and I swiftly sprinkled some salt onto Quinton’s pizza.
“That’s not Sadie,” Jake said. “It’s Mr. Robertson.”
“Oh gosh, really? My mistake.” I innocently took a bite of my turkey sandwich.
Quinton took a bite of his pizza. His mouth puckered and he reached for his Gatorade. He chugged half of the bottle in one giant gulp.
Oh, thank God.
He ran his tongue over his teeth, then reached into his mouth and pulled out what looked like a bit of leaf. “What the . . . ?” He stared at it.
Cherry blossoms, I thought, please do your magic.
All day, Georgia and I sat on pins and needles wondering if and when we would notice a change.
But late that night, Georgia called and said she’d just heard a song dedication on Star 94, the local Atlanta station. This song is for my beautiful love goddess, Willow Grey, the DJ announced, then spun some sappy love song.
The next morning when Quinton picked me up he handed me an envelope. Inside was a white sheet of paper with individual letters from magazines and newspapers cut out and taped onto the paper to spell out: I will always treat you like the most special girlfriend in the world. Love, Quinton. When I looked up at him, he had that look in his eyes again—that wild, possessed look. It was starting to really scare me.
I showed the note to Georgia in English class and we both agreed with a huge wave of disappointment that the cleansing spell had obviously not worked. We needed to find another option. And fast.
Georgia reassured me not to fear. The re-hypnosis had gone down in flames. The cleansing potion was a washout. But she had a new plan. I crossed my fingers and thought, Third time’s the charm.
26
“Voodoo?” I asked, frowning. “Are you serious?”
“I think it could work,” Georgia said, and opened the browser on my computer to the website.
Voodoo is the most powerful means a person has to control their situation and make their life better, the description read. Well, I had to admit I liked how that sounded.
We needed to order two dolls—one that would represent me and one that would represent Quinton. Georgia used her secret credit card and placed the order. In the meantime, I needed to collect a sample of Quinton’s DNA. The website suggested a sample of hair, snipped directly from the head, as it seemed to work better than samples obtained from a hairbrush.
So the next morning, I stashed a pair of scissors in my purse. On the ride to school I kept my hand pressed inside my bag, ready to grab the scissors and snip, but I decided not to do it while he drove. Last time I startled him, we’d had a fire. We couldn’t risk an accident.
“You’re quiet this morning,” Quinton said, stroking my knee.
“Just tired, I guess.” My hands were sweating. Where should I cut so he won’t feel it? So it’s inconspicuous? Just behind the ear?
“Jake told me that Mia told him she saw the nominations for Homecoming Court, and guess what, baby? We’re both on the list.” He smiled at me.
“Oh wow,” I said. I wondered if after Quinton’s love spell vanished and we broke up, my sudden popularity would dwindle as well. Probably. But, truthfully, I didn’t care anymore. Because I didn’t want popularity and attention if it came at the price of permanently altering someone’s life.
We got out of the car and walked toward Quinton’s locker. I lingered by his side. He looked down at me and smiled a dopey grin. I reached up and ran my fingers through his disheveled hair. My heart rate accelerated. With my other hand I gripped the scissors from my purse. Slowly I sneaked them behind his ear. I sectioned some hair between my two fingers and snipped. Got it! I almost yelped with glee!
Quinton ruffled the back of his ear like he had an itch, and I eased the hair clipping into my pocket. Score!
“Miss Grey!” A cold, reprimanding voice silenced the hallway.
I spun around. It was Mr. Robertson, the calculus teacher.
“Scissors are not allowed outside the classroom.”
“Um, ah, I just had a loose string here hanging from my sleeve. I was going to, you know, snip it off.”
“Oh!” he gasped. “Those are not even school-approved safety scissors. Those look like kitchen shears! They are strictly forbidden on school grounds!”
“What?” I caught my breath.
“You need to come with me,” he said, pointing down the hallway.
“Mr. Robertson, come on,” Quinton said, but his charms were useless.
“Right now!” Mr. Robertson barked.
I scampered over and followed him down the long hallway. My heart raced. My throat closed up. Was I going to the principal’s office?
Mr. Robertson went inside to talk to Principal Bigham, leaving me to sit on the hard-cushioned bench outside. My eyes burned. My life was a mess. A complete mess! And just when things couldn’t get any worse, who should turn the corner and walk right toward me but Max.
I wanted to dive under the bench and hide, but it was too late. A huge smile broke across his face. He walked toward me. “Well, if it isn’t Willow Grey,” he joked. “Sent to the principal’s office, eh?”
“It’s not funny,” I said.
“I think it’s pretty funny. What did you do?”
I started doing that awful thing were you can feel your nostrils flaring back and forth, your eyes are blinking, and your throat is convulsing, all because there’s a big pool of tears just waiting for the dam to break.
“Hey,” Max said. “I’m just kidding.”
“Well, so maybe I’m not adventurous anymore, okay?” I sort of screamed at him. “Maybe I’m not like that brave, hilarious girl you grew up with. Maybe sitting here outside the principal’s office scares the crap out of me. Maybe I’ve just been trying really hard to make everyone think I’m fun and dynamic and cool—the life of the party—but really, deep down, I’m just boring. Dull.”
“What are you talking about?” Max asked. He sat down next to me. The warmth of his body enveloped me.
“Maybe it’s all been one big lie,” I said softly.
“Why would you lie to me?” Max asked. And he had that look on his face that he had at the park—serious, honest, maybe even a little bit of longing. Or was that just me looking for it?
“Or is it Quinton you’re lying to?”
I swallowed.
“Because you don’t ever have to lie to me. I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”
As a friend? Or as more? I needed to know. I had to ask. At the park it had seemed like he was telling me to break up with Quinton. Was I misunderstanding him?
“Max,” I said. “I’m—”
The glass door swung open. “Willow Grey,” a voice boomed. It was Principal Bigham. And I had no choice but to leave.
I got off with a warning. And they confiscated the scissors. But I still had Quinton’s hair in my pocket and a newfound inspiration to fix this mess. Not only did I need to undo the love spell to free Quinton from mind control, but yet again I’d gotten the impression that I could have a chance with Max if I wasn’t dating Quinton.
“The voodoo has to work!” I said to Georgia as we sat at my kitchen table and tore open the box that had been FedExed overnight from New Orleans.
“Weird,” Georgia said as she extracted the two voodoo dolls. They were made from two sticks tied into a cross with thick stringy wire—Spanish moss, the paper said—then wrapped in fabric. Two stuffed heads were attached and marked with two buttons as eyes. Georgia looked
over at me. “Do you have the strands of Quinton’s hair?”
I nodded and pulled out the ziplock bag of hair.
Georgia sighed. “He really does have nice hair.”
“Focus!”
She snapped back to the instruction sheet. “ ‘The doll is an energy-focusing tool. It represents the spirit of the specific person you identify.’ ”
I looked at the diagrams. “It says to affix the DNA sample according to the illustrations, but to be careful not to interact with the doll in any way until you’re ready to begin the voodoo.” I used crazy glue to stick Quinton’s hair to the top of one doll’s head. Then I pulled some strands out of my head, and we glued those on the other doll.
“Okay,” I said. “We need to spread this red string from his chest to mine. Then we use the corresponding red-tipped pin to stick the string into each doll’s heart. This represents the current relationship.” We laid the string accordingly and used the pins to adhere each end. “Now I’m supposed to use very sharp scissors to cut the string right in the middle to sever the love.” Shoot. Our scissors were sitting in Principal Bigham’s office.
I went into the kitchen and found a sharp knife. “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe we should go to your house and get some scissors. I mean, I think we should follow the instructions exactly.”
“How will I explain to my mom why we drove all the way there to get scissors? Plus we need to do this before Quinton’s hair strands have been separated from their DNA source for too long. The instructions say that recent connection to the person is vital.”
“Okay,” I said and held the knife above the string. “Should I saw at it? Like a piece of steak?”
“Here, give it to me.” Georgia took the knife and placed it under the string with the blade facing up. In one quick swoop, she sliced the knife through the string. But the rapid movement plucked the pins out of the voodoo dolls and flung them across the room.
“Oh no!” I cried, and raced to pick up the pins. “What do I do? Stick them back in?”
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