“I’m really sorry.” She pats me on the shoulder. “Don’t be disappointed. I’m sure he’ll ask you to the next dance.” Her face brightens. “I have an idea. Why don’t you ask your dad if you can bring a date?”
Poor clueless Tammy. First of all, there is no way I would make Raf suffer through the wedding, aka the horror show. It’s one thing for Tammy to be there as a friend, but a boy I’m trying to get to like me? No chance. And second, and more important, there is no way whatsoever that I would allow Raf to see me in that hideous pinkflamingo monstrosity. “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” I say. As if. The bell rings, and I add, “We should get to homeroom.”
We’re heading upstairs when I spot Raf charging through the hallway, his coat still on. He perks up when he sees me, and motions for me to hold on. After shoving his stuff into his locker and taking out his books, he walks over to us. “Hey, girls.”
“Hey.” Sometimes my lack of creativity kills me. Why do I sound like such a robot around boys like Raf?
“Hi, Raf,” Tammy says, grinning.
He smiles, and I notice he has a dimple in his left cheek. How adorable! How amazing that I notice something new and spectacular every time I see him. “Hurrying off to win another math competition?” he asks me.
He’s teasing me! How adorable is that? “I’m not giving up till I come in first,” I say.
He laughs and drums his pen against his notebook. “You tell me who the loser who beat you is, and I’ll take care of him.” The second bell rings. “Got to get to class. See you later, Rachel.”
I exhale. I watch him disappear down the hall (what an adorable butt! It’s barely even there!), and then Tammy and I hike the stairs two at a time.
“You two are so cute together,” Tammy gushes. “So what’s the story? Are you, like, a thing now?”
“I don’t think so. We’ve only been out once.” Kind of. And he didn’t even kiss me. After the concert, he walked me home (Because it was a date? Because he didn’t want me getting kidnapped/followed? Because he was dying to spend those few more precious moments alone with me? Who can say?), and when we reached my front door, I thought, This is it, he’s going to kiss me, he’s just going to dive into it and why oh why did I not pop the piece of spearmint gum that was sitting in my pocket the whole night into my mouth? Is it supposed to do its job from inside my jacket? And he leaned in . . . and patted me on the shoulder. On the shoulder. Is there something wrong with my lips? I knew they were too small—he keeps missing them entirely. Maybe Spring Fling will be the big night. I’m definitely investing in new lip liner. Anyway, I think it’s time to fill Tammy in on Saturday night, which is when he popped the question. I’ll just have to leave out the details that led up to it. “I have so much to fill you in on.”
“Seems like it. Do you want to do something after school today?”
What day is today? Oh, yeah. Monday. Since my amazing quasi date with Raf, my mind’s been in a haze. “Can’t. Sorry. I have rehearsal.”
“Oh. Right,” she says, and looks down at her shoes.
I feel like a jerk for continuously ditching her. She’s never been anything but a good friend. “Why don’t we do something on Wednesday?”
She half smiles. “Yeah? No rehearsal?”
“Nope. We have Wednesdays off. London has Pilates. It’ll be great. You’ll come over. We’ll watch a movie. Maybe convince my mom to order Chinese.”
“Sounds great,” she says, and gives me the okay sign. We find two seats by the left wall in homeroom, and I tell her about my quasi date.
“Did you see what Janice Cooper was wearing today?” Stephy asks after school at practice.
Doree bursts out laughing. “Yeah, stirrups. From, like, the eighties. How funny is that? She’s in one of my classes. I swear, just seeing what she’ll show up in every day keeps me from falling asleep.”
The rest of the girls in the cast laugh. We’re sitting on benches in the cafeteria, taking a ten-minute break. We’ve been working on our all-girls dance for the last hour. My bum muscles are killing me from all the shaking. Jewel and I have an awesome duet where we strut down the catwalk together and then both do the body wave. I love the body wave. I become the body wave.
“Her hair is from the eighties too,” Melissa says. “I think she might actually crimp it.”
I know they’re sounding horrible, but I don’t think they mean to. Gossiping is their way of letting off steam. In any case, I’m in too good a mood to let anything upset me. I’m going to Spring Fling! I’m going to Spring Fling!
Kind of. I still have to deal with the annoying little issue of my father’s wedding, as Tammy so generously pointed out.
I dig inside my schoolbag to find the candy bar I bought at the supermarket. As my dance-mates continue cutting into every girl who isn’t here, I tear open the wrapper. “Anyone want some?” I ask, and take a bite.
They all stare at me, eyes wide, jaws dropped, apparently completely dumbfounded.
Should I have offered them some before I took a bite? It’s not a big deal. I can break off a piece from the other end.
“You’re going to eat that?” Melissa asks.
Oh, come on, not her, too. “Why? Because of the South American thing?”
They all continue to stare at me. “In less than a month you have to dance in front of the entire school,” Melissa says. “Do you know how many calories are in that?”
“Two hundred and seventy-two,” Doree pipes up. Suck-up.
“Eleven grams of fat,” Melissa adds.
Stephy scoots closer to us. “Thirty grams of carbs.”
I’m about to wrap it up and hide it in my bag when Jewel says, “Who cares? If she’s hungry, let her eat it.”
Thank you, Jewel! I take a second (and a mite smaller) bite.
“Easy for you to say, Jewel,” Melissa argues. “Not everyone is born with your body and your metabolism.” She eyes my thighs.
I think I’ve lost my appetite. I stuff the candy bar back into my bag.
London strides into the room and we all scurry off the benches and back to our assigned spots, five freshmen on the right, five sophomores on the left. Today she’s wearing green. Why is she entitled to make a fashion statement, but Janice just gets laughed at? Personally, I think Janice looked cool in a retro sort of way, but London reminds me of an M&M. (Or maybe my brain is stuck on chocolate.)
“Ready to finish up, girls?” London asks, and we all nod. Not that we have a choice. London’s questions are always orders incognito. “Excellent,” she says. “We’re almost done. We’ll wrap it up on Saturday. Then, on Sunday, I want to hold a full-cast rehearsal. So why don’t we meet this Saturday afternoon at two? Just for an hour.”
Uh-oh. I raise my hand.
“You don’t have to raise your hand, Rachel. This isn’t class. I won’t give you a detention.”
Melissa snickers, and my cheeks heat up. Is it possible they found out about my detention? Is it loserish to get a detention? I thought it would give me a rebel edge. Or maybe they don’t even know and I’m making a crisis out of a spelling mistake.
I lower my hand and feel mildly ridiculous. “I can’t make practice this weekend. I’ll be at my dad’s on Long Island.”
“That’s so cute,” London says. “You still do the weekend at your dad’s thing?”
Still? I didn’t realize it was something you grew out of. “I kind of have to go.”
London sighs. “Rachel, the show is in three weeks. And you’ve only been with us for one. When we accepted you at this late date, I warned you that you would have to devote all your time to the cause, and now you’re backing out of your end of the deal. Is that fair, Rachel?”
Why is she talking to me as if I’m seven? All eyes are on me. I have a sinking feeling that maybe Laura Jenkins didn’t drop out of the show, that maybe she was booted out. Please tell me that London’s not going to freak out. I think I might cry if she freaks out.
“I-I-” W-why am I st-s
t-stuttering? “I have to be on Long Island.”
There’s no way Miri will cast the truth spell on STB without me. If I miss this weekend at my dad’s, we’ll have to wait two more weeks. That’ll leave just one week before the wedding. What if the spell doesn’t work? Would we have time to concoct something else?
“What if, instead of meeting on Saturday, we meet on Sunday before the big rehearsal?” I offer. “I’ll take a morning train back into the city. That way we all have our Saturday free.”
Jewel and some of the sophomores nod.
“I’d prefer to meet on Saturday,” Melissa quips.
I’d prefer she shut up.
London considers my proposal. “All right. Maybe I’ll spend Saturday talking to the designers. Anyone want to tag along?”
Doree, of course, raises her hand.
Wednesday morning I’m running into school, late as usual, still in my coat, when an all-in-brown London blocks my path. “Today,” she barks. “After school. Emergency opening practice.”
I seem to remember having some sort of plan for after school. Pizza? Chinese? What was it? “I might have plans today. . . . Isn’t it our day off?”
London wrinkles her nose, as if she’s tasting something vile, such as mac and cheese with ketchup (Miri does this. Is that really necessary? Does ketchup need to go on everything?), then plants her hands on her hips. “I will not have my opening be a mess. My opening is going to be perfect. Do you understand? Perfect. And Pilates is canceled. You’d think the instructor could have waited until after the fashion show to give birth, wouldn’t you?”
Tammy! I have plans with Tammy. “But—”
“No buts, Rachel. If you’re going to bail on every practice, then you’re not going to be in my show.”
Bail on every practice? I’m leaving my dad’s early so I can be at practice. Doesn’t that count for something? “Okay. Fine.”
She nods. “Three o’clock, sharp.”
As soon as she slinks away, I run to my locker. Tammy is closing hers. “Hey, Tammy,” I say, out of breath, “save me a seat in class, will ya? I’ll be there in two secs.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll wait for you.” She leans against the locker. “Guess what I rented yesterday? The widescreen edition DVD of Star Wars. Fun, huh? And I brought the microwave popcorn that you love. The kind with extra extra extra butter.”
My mouth waters. Then I think of that candy bar, and that makes me think of the show. “Tammy, I’m so sorry but London is forcing me to go to rehearsal after school.”
Her smile withers like a plant that’s been shoved into a closet. “Again?”
I pile the books I need onto the floor and snap my lock closed. “Yeah.”
“Can’t you not go?”
“Trust me, I tried.”
“Whatever,” she says, and storms off.
What just happened? I can’t believe she did that. This is so not my fault. What am I supposed to do? I can’t not go to rehearsal. Why does Tammy have to be such a drama queen?
I pick up my books and hurry to homeroom.
Tammy is sitting by the door, next to Annie, with no saved seat for me.
Humph. I’m about to take a seat by my lonesome when Doree gestures to me from the front row. Well, thank you, Doree. I’d rather sit with her anyway. At least she won’t lay on the guilt.
“Hey, sexy,” she says. She’s tearing out pictures of hairstyles from a magazine. “So is it true? Raf asked you to Spring Fling?”
This is more like it. Fun, girly conversation. “Yup. How’d you know?”
“Justin told me last night on the phone! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me earlier. Do you guys want to go together? We could rent a limo. Did you buy an outfit yet? I’m trying to decide what to do with my hair. How are you doing your makeup?”
Definitely more like it. “I don’t know. You?”
I feel Tammy’s eyes on me, but I don’t turn around. She can share her extra-extra-extra-buttered popcorn with Annie instead.
16
STB UNWITTINGLY SWEAR TO TELL THE TRUTH, THE WHOLE TRUTH, AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH
“So you’re leaving Sunday morning?” Miri asks. It’s Friday night, and we’re lying like two sardines in our shared room on Long Island. Miri wants to talk, but I’m exhausted after a hell week of rehearsals. I had practice every day at lunch and after school. The only number I’m in that still needs work is the freshman dance. Even though Melissa is choreographing it, I’m looking forward to it, because I’ll get to dance with Raf again.
I do feel a teensy bit guilty for leaving my dad’s early on Sunday, but really, it’s my only option. If I don’t, I’ll get kicked out of the show. I’m already annoyed that I’m missing a huge party at Sean Washington’s apartment tonight. Everyone is going to be there. Everyone except me. At least this time my absence isn’t because I wasn’t invited. “Why don’t you leave early with me?” I offer.
“Nah,” she says, raising her recently Band-Aided fingers to the ceiling so she can stare at them with disgust. “I want to monitor the spell and make sure this is it. I mean really it.”
Today’s pickup from the train was identical to the last one. Once again, STB pulled a Jekyll and Hyde. When Dad jovially took us to the car, STB was syrupy sweet. I told them I had to leave early on Sunday, and she said it was nice that I was involved in school activities. But the second he shut the car door to pick up the Chinese food (after her show-offy “Honey, don’t forget my chopsticks!”), she whipped her head around and glared at me. “Did you forget about our fitting appointment on Sunday?”
I withered into my seat.
“Now I’ll have to reschedule. Oh well. And Miri, how are your fingers? Any better?”
Miri crossed her arms and shoved her fists under her armpits. Not her most attractive position.
“The wedding is in three weeks,” STB reminded us, as if we needed reminding. “Here comes your father. Bet he forgot my chopsticks.”
What I don’t understand is why she doesn’t just buy chopsticks. Then again, there’s not much about her that I do understand. I mean, why does she even want to marry my father? She obviously doesn’t like his kids.
Dad got into the car, deposited the food in STB’s lap, and started driving.
“Did you remember my chopsticks?” she asked.
He slammed his hand against his forehead. “Oops. Should I turn around and go back?”
“Oh, don’t worry, sweetie. It’s not worth it.”
What is up with STB’s two faces? She’s like Frosted Mini-Wheats. Sweet on one side, crusty on the other. “I can’t wait to hit her with the truth spell,” I say to Miri, who is now making shadow puppets with her bandaged fingers. I close my eyes and flip onto my stomach. “He’ll soon see what a horrible woman she is, and that’ll be the end of those fake oh, sweetie’s! So when do we put our plan into action?”
“In about an hour.”
Ping. My eyes spring open. “What? I’m asleep here.”
“You’re not asleep. You’re talking.”
“I’m almost asleep.”
“The spell needs to be done at midnight,” she says. Her eyes are glowing in the dark.
“That abraca-sucks.”
“That’s what the book says. We have to do it then, or it won’t work tomorrow when we give it to STB.”
I pull the covers over my head. “Do you really need my help? Didn’t you say this one has no complicated fractions?”
Something heavy hits my feet. I think she just threw her pillow at me. “I still need you!” she says. “You’re the Cosmic Witness.”
Whatever. “I’m taking an hour’s nap,” I say in my most annoyed voice, and let my heavy eyelids close. “Wake me when it’s time.”
The next thing I feel is her shaking me. “It’s time.”
Groan. “There’s no way that was an hour.” I watch her open the blinds and move the glass of water she poured earlier to the windowsill.
She pulls the bor
rowed beaker, a handful of mint leaves, and two almonds from her knapsack, then proceeds to crush the nuts on a paper towel with a spoon. That done, she puts all these ingredients into the beaker, then goes back to the window. “At least it’s not cloudy outside. The spell won’t work if we can’t see the moon.” She clears her throat and whispers:
Honesty is clear at the midnight hour.
Let STB—
She slaps her hand against her forehead. “I meant Jennifer. I don’t know if I can use an acronym. I’ll have to start over.”
Double groan.
She scratches her head as though in thought. “But since we call her STB, maybe I should refer to her that way in the spell.” One of the Band-Aids comes off in her hair and dangles there, as if a spring has come loose from her brain. “But what if the spell gets confused because we don’t call her Jennifer? Why don’t I say She Who Drinks the Spell instead?”
“Sounds good,” I mumble. Who cares? I want to go back to sleep.
Miri clears her throat again.
“It’s clear already!”
She scrunches up her face and purses her lips in concentration.
Honesty is clear at the midnight hour.
Let She Who Drinks the Spell show her
true colors.
This I command as I stand in the
moonlight,
Let her words ring right and true.
Despite being under the covers, I feel the rush of cold. She shakes the beaker, plugs it with its stopper, and lays it on the floor beside her bed.
Was that the spell? That couldn’t have been the spell. “That didn’t even rhyme,” I say.
“Not all spells have to rhyme.”
“I kind of like them better when they do. And that would have been so easy to rhyme, too. Whoever wrote it was just being lazy. All you had to do was switch right and true.” Raf’s poetry skills must be rubbing off on me.
“Yeah, what about hour and colors?”
Bras & Broomsticks Page 15