“I guess. I could come over after my health class.”
Dr. Wallace is delighted. I can hear it in his voice. He offers to have the school van drive me to his house, located on the drag across the street from the main campus.
“I’ll walk,” I say.
“Very good. Tamara, our live-in helper, will be there if you need anything.”
We say our goodbyes and I hang up shortly after, telling myself that this is a good thing, that if I ever want to see Jacob again—even if it’s only in my dreams—this might be the only way.
When I get back to the table, Tim is munching a chocolate cruller. He’s set one out on a napkin for me as well.
“Is everything okay?” he asks.
I nod, somewhat reluctantly, not exactly sure how I’m feeling. I take a seat beside him.
“Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?” he asks.
I shrug. “Don’t worry about it. There’s just a lot going on for me right now.” I pull out my Sociology text.
“I think I know what it is.”
I bite my bottom lip and look at him, knowing that he doesn’t know—that he couldn’t possibly—but not wanting to go into it either.
“It’s about your boyfriend. Amber told me. I’m really sorry, Stacey. I can’t imagine . . . ”
“What did she say?”
“That you guys were in love—the real thing.”
I nod and look away, fighting the urge to get all emotional in front of him. “She also must have told you that he’s not around anymore.”
Tim nods. “Don’t worry about it. It’s totally cool; we can just hang out . . . no strings.” He slides my cruller closer toward me.
“You’re really nice, you know that?”
“It’s easy being nice to you.” He smiles.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Why do you even like me?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I mean, I haven’t been the most friendly person to you—to anybody for that matter.”
“I hadn’t really noticed,” he jokes.
“Come on.” I roll my eyes at him. “I mean, I can’t even imagine why you’d want to be in the same room with me, never mind help me study and buy me coffee.”
“Okay, totally serious?”
I nod.
“You know how you just get a feeling about somebody, like you just know that you have to get to know that person better? It’s sort of like that with you. I mean, maybe that sounds cheesy, but I like you. I can’t help it—despite your sour grapes.”
I nod and smile, taking a bite of cruller. Tim pauses a moment to glance at my mouth as I chew. The moment is completely sweet and awkward. I feel my cheeks heat up, my heart thump inside my chest.
Luckily, we have PJ to interrupt us.
“Hey there, sweet thang.” He comes and kisses me on both cheeks.
“Hey,” I say back, almost relieved by his presence.
“And who shall I say is calling?” he asks, gesturing to Tim.
I introduce Tim as my study partner, but PJ totally isn’t buying it. He winks at me, grabbing the cruller from my napkin and inspecting it with a sniff. “Nothing like a long, dark study snack, is there?” He purposefully bites the tip, following up with a couple yummy-good groans. Completely humiliating.
Tim’s pale peach complexion has turned just one shade lighter than five-alarm red.
“So,” PJ continues. “I’m Shady-8ing it again tonight.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“My humble abode, lest we forget. Last night I thought my walls were going to come caving in on me—total earthquake-material.”
“Why don’t you find an off-campus apartment?” I ask him.
“Like it’s so simple, pimple,” he says.
“You need a place to stay?” Tim asks.
“Do I detect a man with connections?”
“My roommate just moved off campus with his girlfriend. I can ask him if there are any units available where he’s renting.”
“Wait,” PJ says. “Did someone take his pretty-boy place at your pad?”
“Not yet,” Tim grimaces.
“Perfectamundo,” PJ says. “When should I move in?”
“It isn’t that easy,” Tim says. “The Resident Life Office probably already has a replacement lined up.”
“Details, schmetails,” PJ says. “I’ll take care of everything. I have my own connections, you see. Now, tell me, where is this cozy nest of ours?”
Tim reluctantly gives up the whereabouts of his on-campus townhouse, reiterating Resident Life’s probable plans for placing someone in there, probably someone on the wait list for a room—someone exactly like PJ.
PJ bids me farewell by chomping down on my cruller, stuffing the entire thing in his mouth. “I’ll see you later, roomie,” PJ says to Tim, between chews. He flashes us the peace sign and heads on his way.
I head back to the dorm after my study session with Tim and notice Sage in the lobby. She sees me too, pausing a moment from her cans of Diet Pepsi and Pringles. She’s sitting at one of the game tables, watching Jeopardy on the widescreen TV.
I wave and she waves back—the perfect opportunity to go and introduce myself. I approach her table and she nods me a hello, tilting her Pringles can in my direction as an offering.
“Thanks,” I say, taking a chip. “I’m Stacey. We live on the same floor, I think.”
“Yeah. I know.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper. “Rumor has it you’re a witch, too.”
“So you do practice Wicca.”
She nods, wisps of her inky dark hair hanging down the sides of her face from her frumpled ponytail. Her eyes are dark, caught between a shade of violet and blue, and she’s got the longest, curliest eyelashes I’ve ever seen—like straight out of a CoverGirl package. She gestures to the seat across from her and I slide myself in, noticing the silver nose ring she’s got threaded through her nostril and the matching silver bracelets that clink when she moves her hands.
“How long have you been practicing?” I ask, curious to hear someone else’s experience. Aside from Jacob and my grandmother, I’ve never really met anyone else who practices Wicca.
Sage shrugs. “On and off for about a year.”
“Are you a solitary witch?”
“A what?”
“I mean, where do you learn? Do you study with a group? Or on your own?”
More shrugging. “I just learn as I go. There are lots of New Age shops where I live. Have you checked out the Karmic Cauldron downtown?”
I shake my head.
“You should. It’s this really cool shop with lots of candles and incense and stuff.”
I nod, wondering if browsing in stores has been the primary source of her Wiccan education.
“Where did you learn?” she asks.
I tell her about watching my grandmother practice folk magic when I was younger, hovering over her in the garden and at her side in the kitchen when she’d whip up things like peppermint tea syrup for an upset stomach and jasmine incense for prophetic dreams.
“Cool,” she says, leaning back in her seat and gazing up toward the TV screen. She smirks at something one of the contestants says and then focuses back on me. “I suppose you’ve heard some stuff about me.”
I nod, somewhat reluctantly.
“It isn’t true. At least not all of it.”
I nod, almost relieved that she’s bringing it up.
“Like the cemetery story,” she says. “I mean, yeah, I got arrested, but it was only for breaking in, and I only took a couple of the flowers from one of the baskets, not the whole bunch. I was using them for a spell. I wanted
to find out how the lady died.”
“Did you know her?”
Sage shakes her head and lets out a laugh. “That was the whole point—to test myself. I wanted to see if I could find out how she died through one of my spells and then look her name up online to see if I was right.”
I feel my face scrunch, somewhat appalled by her logic, by her obvious ignorance of a religion that she tries so hard to appear a part of.
“I also didn’t cast a spell on that Sam guy,” she continues. “The boy flunked out because he was a stoner, not because I put a hex on him that made him go stupid. Not that I wouldn’t have liked to have put a hex on him—that guy was a total jerk.”
“You really don’t know much about Wicca, do you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you don’t even know what you’re talking about. Don’t you know about the rule of three?”
“What?” She’s looking at me, mouth hanging open, like I’m speaking another language.
“Why do you call yourself a witch if you obviously know nothing about it?”
“Whatever,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“I have to go.” I get up from the table, completely disappointed by Sage and her warped idea of witchcraft.
When I get up to the room, Amber and Janie are there. They’re sorting through heaps of dirty laundry piled high on their beds, Amber sporting a pair of cow-print footie pajamas and Janie in a nightgown with smiling fruit patterned all over it.
“We won the scavenger hunt!” Janie cheers.
“Huh?” I ask, still trying to get over Sage.
“Free washing and drying for a whole week,” she explains. “Isn’t that the greatest?” She holds out a celebratory bag of popped microwave popcorn to me. Her name is in huge black letters down the side.
“No, thanks,” I say, wondering what she’s even talking about—what scavenger hunt? “I’m full of cruller.”
“Kinky,” Amber says, arching her eyebrows. “Was it yummy?”
“Tim and I studied,” I tell her.
“Figures.” She rolls her eyes and gives me the middle finger, a pair of leopard-print undies dangling from the tip. “Check it out. No swelling. Who knew mayo and eggs could work such wonders?”
“PJ,” I say. “I think mayo’s one of his aphrodisiacs. Maybe you two have more in common than you think.”
“PJ is such a cuteable,” Janie says, folding up a pair of her bright pink pants.
“A whatable?” Amber asks.
“He’s super cute,” Janie clarifies. “I don’t know why you don’t snatch him up.”
“Are we talking about the same boy here?” Amber asks.
“He obviously really likes you,” I say. “I mean, to come all this way . . . ”
“That was his decision,” Amber says. “Plus, since when do you want me and PJ together?”
“It’s your business,” I say. “But if you seriously do like the boy, what are you waiting for? Life’s too short.”
“She’s not even mentioning the latest,” Janie says, gesturing to a giant pink gift bag sitting on the floor by Amber’s feet. “PJ dropped it off here earlier.”
“What is it?” I ask.
Amber opens it, pulling forth a Hello Kitty lunch box wrapped in pink and aqua tissue paper. “He said it was to replace the scratched-up one I’ve been using since high school.”
“And don’t forget to mention what’s inside,” Janie sings.
Amber pops the lunch box open and a bunch of strawberry-flavored taffy sticks and temporary tattoos fall out.
“That is so completely sweet,” I say.
Amber smiles and shrugs—a telltale sign that she knows it’s true.
While she and Janie resume their laundry detail, I gather up some spell supplies for my jaunt outside. It’s well after ten, but I really want to do a spell tonight while the moon is still waxing, and I need to honor the roommate rules we’ve hammered out—or else I might end up having to Shady-8-Motel-it right along with PJ.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Amber asks, pausing from her pile of leopard prints.
“Out for a spell,” I say. “Literally.” I gesture to my basketful of spell supplies.
“I kind of thought we might have a chat,” she says.
“How about when I get back?”
Amber shrugs and looks away, clearly disappointed.
“I’ll only be a little while,” I tell her. “I’m just going out back. There are lights behind the dorm and it’s quiet back there.”
“What are you going to do?” Janie probes further.
“A spell,” I reiterate, like it’s not clear enough.
“Yeah, but what kind?”
“Nothing bad. No gravestones will be desecrated, I can promise you that.”
Janie doesn’t respond. She just continues to look at me and eye the supplies I’ve got stashed in my basket, including a sugar shaker, a bottle of olive oil, and a green bell pepper I bought at the corner grocery yesterday.
“Be careful out there,” Amber perks up. “You just never know what hotties might be lurking in the bushes. I’d bring some protection if I were you. Want some?” She goes for her night table drawer.
“You’re so disturbed,” I tell her, adding a knitted blanket to my basketful of spell supplies.
I make my way down two flights of stairs and halfway through the dormitory lobby when I spot Tim at the front desk, chatting up the girl who’s working behind it.
“Hey!” Tim shouts when he notices me. “You forgot your notebook.” He waves it midair and I feel my insides bubble up. Maybe it’s because of how cute he looks—his cheeks all red from outside—or maybe it’s because the gesture is so completely sweet, like something Jacob would have done. I just can’t seem to stop it—the smile that’s creeping its way across my lips. I try to bite it down, but it just gets bigger.
“You came all the way over here for that?” I ask, joining him at the front desk.
He nods. “I didn’t know if you might need it . . . if you might be doing more studying tonight.”
“You could have called.”
“I guess you’re right,” he says, his cheeks turning even redder, as though the thought never occurred to him.
“But thank you,” I say, taking the notebook from him.
“Sure.” He smiles at me and nods a few moments, as though searching for something else to say. I glance down at my basketful of spell supplies and look out toward the moon. “Where are you off to?” he asks, finally.
“Sort of a nature project.”
“Seriously?” He eyes the knitted blanket.
“Sort of. I practice Wicca.”
“Cool.”
“Really? You know about Wicca?”
He shrugs. “There’s a few people around here who practice it, I think.” He smiles, his chocolate brown eyes crinkling up. “I should probably let you get going.”
“I guess,” I say, noticing how my heart is beating even faster now, how I can’t stop smiling at him.
And how I don’t want to leave.
I find a spot behind the dorm, under the waxing moon as it approaches first quarter. I clear the area by swiping the snow away and then spread my knitted blanket down. It’s freezing out here, but still, there’s something about being outdoors in the quiet of night, under the moon, that makes me feel at peace.
I lay my spell supplies out over the blanket and collect a bunch of broken twigs from the ground, noticing the smell of pine trees all around me. I pause a moment to look up at the sky, at its plum-purple color and the spattering of stars across it. The waxing moon, almost at fullness, is right above me. I close my eyes, still picturing its brightness, wondering if somehow, somewhere,
Jacob is looking at it, too. A few stray tears roll down my cheeks. I wipe them with my mitten, feeling a dark heaviness in my chest, wondering if the tears are from sadness or the chill.
I remove my mittens and dab my finger with a bit of the olive oil. I consecrate the pepper, rotating it three times in the moon’s light before slicing off the top and pulling out the membranes. Jacob once explained to me that peppers are useful for magic. Not only do their seeds inspire growth but, when emptied, the pepper’s cavity is able to store things.
Once fully consecrated, I place a few of the smaller twigs inside the body of the pepper and sprinkle some sugar on top. The twigs, having broken off from their source, are to symbolize rebirth, while the sugar is a symbol of my love. I add in droplets of olive oil for purity and stir it all up with my finger. “I love you now and I love you then,” I whisper, “and in my dreams we’ll meet again.” I repeat the chant three times, packing the pepper up with snow, hoping I’ll be able to help Porsha.
And that somehow she’ll bring me closer to Jacob.
Using a metal spoon, I dig a hole through the snow and place the pepper inside. I take a deep breath, concentrating on the little girl in my nightmare, confident that she’s Porsha’s mother, in the form of a guardian angel maybe, looking out for her daughter.
I look up at the stars, trying to block out the fears that keep fleeting through my mind—that Jacob might be with Porsha’s mother right now, that he might have seen Tim and me together.
And that he might have sensed what I felt in my heart just now when Tim returned my notebook.
More tears stream down my face. This time I let them, imagining Jacob wiping them away himself by kissing each one. I lean forward slightly on my knees, clasp the crystal cluster rock in my pocket, and close my eyes once more, feeling cold droplets kiss at my cheeks and forehead. A cool tingle lingers across my lips for several seconds.
“Jacob,” I whisper, opening my eyes, noticing that it’s snowing. I look up into the inky black canvas of sky, relishing the sparkling white snowflakes as they fall all around me like glitter. I take it as a sign that Jacob is watching over me, that the universe is trying to assure me that everything will be okay.
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