Frogs & French Kisses

by Sarah Mlynowski

  Maybe I have a fever. I am feeling pretty headachy. I could have at least 101, maybe 102. My throat isn’t sore but I’m burning up. Might have to be hospitalized. Maybe the kids at school will feel guilty about bad-mouthing someone who’s sick and send me flowers and one of those life-size cards that everyone signs in different colors. In fact, they’ll probably realize that my horrendous fashion show performance was a result of this sickness, and I’ll be forgiven, because you can’t be mad at someone who’s sick. A-list, here I come! Plus I’ll have a superhot doctor nursing me to health. Yes!

  I hurry to the bathroom, park myself on the edge of the bathtub, and shove the thermometer under my tongue.

  “Oh, give it up. You’re perfectly healthy,” Miri says, barging in and flipping on the faucet.

  “ ’et ot!” I mumble, which translates to “get out” in non-thermometer-speak. “I’m thick. Pwobably contaios.”

  She applies toothpaste to her brush. “Suck it up and go to school. You’ll be fine.”

  I will not be fine. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and gasp. My chin has completely crusted over and seems worse than ever. It looks like a beard. Isn’t this all Miri’s fault to begin with? Losing my dancing skills, bruising my chin . . . I’m about to tell her where to get off but decide to try to calm myself down instead. I shouldn’t be getting so emotional when I’m deathly ill.

  The thermometer beeps and reads . . . 98.2?

  What? That’s impossible. How could I not have a fever? I’m perfectly healthy. How can this be? Hmm, isn’t normal body temperature 98.6? Perhaps there’s a dangerous medical condition that causes your temperature to drop. Maybe by noon it’ll be down to ninety, by this afternoon eighty, and by this evening I’ll be a frozen Popsicle, unable to move without my fingers snapping off like ice-capped branches.

  Miri grabs the traitorous thermometer from my hands. “You’re fine. Go get dressed.”

  Speaking of ice, maybe it’s snowing outside. Then the school will call a snow day and I’ll get to stay home. I sprint back to my room and hurl open the window blinds.

  Sunny. A beautiful sunny day. Shouldn’t the weather know that it’s supposed to reflect my mood?

  “Mom!” I holler. “Can I stay home today? Pleeeeeease?”

  “No!” she yells back through the walls.

  I flop onto my unmade bed and pull the covers over my head. “But I’m going to be a social outcast! And I have a beard!”

  “I told you, if you’re mature enough to use magic, you should be mature enough to face the consequences. Besides, you can’t hide away forever.”

  Not forever. Just until my classmates graduate. So I’ll be a few years older than the others when I finally go back. At least my body will have caught up to them. Hopefully. Even my own little sister has me beat in that department, with her B-cup breasts. How unfair is that? “But I look like a man!”

  I can hear her laughing. Ha-ha. “It’s not that bad, Rachel. Get ready for school.”

  Get ready for social mortification is more like it.

  If I make my steps really small, I’ll be late. Because I don’t have a note, I’ll get expelled. And then I’ll never have to go to school again! Although then I won’t get into college. I’ll never get a good job and the only place that will hire me will be McDonald’s and all I’ll eat will be Big Macs and fries and one day my neighbor will find a five-hundred-pound me unable to squeeze through the front door of my cat-infested apartment.

  I make my steps slightly bigger. And tighten my puffy black coat. The bright sun deceptively makes the weather look warm when it’s actually even colder than yesterday.

  As I approach the last few blocks before school, something seems off. Like a silent Times Square. A crowd of students have gathered outside the building. Jeez. Are they all waiting for me so they can mock me? Am I so famous?

  “This rules, man,” a passing senior says. “I’m going back to bed.”

  I’d like to go back to bed. I’d like to go back to middle school. I sprint toward the mob and try to eavesdrop on a cluster of sophomores to hear what’s going on.

  “. . . cows in there. How funny is that? It was so the senior prank,” one of them says.

  Cows?

  “Best prank ever,” someone else comments. “How did they do it? Get fifty cows into the school gym without anyone seeing?”

  Fifty cows?

  The words and noise around me swirl, like I’m on a merry-go-round.

  “. . . doubt any of the seniors were smart enough to pull this off . . .”

  “. . . probably those jerks at Brentwood High . . .”

  “. . . classes are going to be canceled . . .”

  “. . . major property damage . . .”

  “. . . health officials have to decontaminate . . .”

  I feel instantly light-headed, like I just gave blood. They couldn’t be Miri’s cows. The Sammy’s cows? No. Maybe. Did Miri wish them into the school gym? Why would she wish them into my gym? She doesn’t even go to this school. She’s still in middle school.

  Am I partly responsible for the destruction of school property? I feel sick. On the other hand—no school! How sweet and sour. And then I spot Raf.

  My cheeks heat up despite the cold.

  Even though he’s not facing me, I can tell it’s him by his camel leather jacket. It’s his fall/spring jacket, the one he wore when I first spotted him back in September and thought he was cute. For the rest of my life I will think of Raf whenever I see a boy in a camel jacket. Or anything camel colored. Like caramel sauce. Which is just as delicious.

  Raf is not wearing his gloves. He dropped one of them at my apartment the night he came to pick me up (unsuccessfully) for Spring Fling. Since a piece of clothing is the key ingredient in a love spell, of course I asked Miri to whip one up for me. Unfortunately, she’s still scarred from the mess caused by the love spell we put on Dad and isn’t quite eager to get back in the fake-affection saddle just yet. (Small disaster involving us trying to break up my dad and his fiancée’s wedding. Obviously we sorted it out, since they’re currently honeymooning in Hawaii. Long story, but let’s just say our stepmother turned out to be not as bad as we first feared.)

  I hope his hands aren’t cold. I guess, since it’s April, there isn’t much point in buying a new pair. Although he could probably find a fantastic sale.

  Did he see me? Does he hate me? Should I duck or apologize again? You’ve got to make things happen, I remind myself. If I can fly on a broomstick with no seat belt, I can talk to a guy who used to like me.

  First I need to hide my chin. I unroll my turtleneck so that it covers the lower half of my face. Much better. Okay, now I’m going over. In ten. I tap my feet against the ground and count.

  Nine, ten.

  Ten more seconds.

  He’s leaving. My knight-in-camel is disappearing into the horizon like a setting sun. I know I should run after him, but my new shoes are stuck to the ground like lumps of pink clay. I wallow in my own pool of sadness until I’m snapped out of it by the sound of snickering.

  I look to my right and see Jewel Sanchez, Melissa Davis, and Stephy Collins standing in a semicircle, all smirking at me. With their brown, red, and blond hair, they remind me of evil Charlie’s Angels. They are all wearing brand-new trendy back-to-school outfits: tight jeans, designer spring coats, sunglasses perched on freshly highlighted hair. Even though I know that Melissa is the same height as Jewel, five foot six, she seems to tower over Jewel. The ego must add inches the way the camera adds pounds. Jewel’s mahogany curls are clipped to her head in a style that tries to look like she just threw it back, even though from our years of Bee-Bee (Best Buds) status I know it took her at least an hour. Stephy’s long blond pigtails are gone, and her short Tinker Bell do, along with her petite frame, makes her look like she’s seven years old. A malicious seven-year-old, the kind who steals your candy. The three of them and Doree Matson were lucky enough to be London’s chosen freshman four in t
he fashion show. They are therefore super A-list. Unfortunately, if their three pairs of eyes were laser beams, I would have disintegrated by now. I instantly look down at my shoes. I’ll just walk away before they can attack me. Slowly, controlled. One step, two, three. Run, run, run!

  Flump.

  Controlled means not tripping over a bike rack and falling on my elbows, doesn’t it?

  I see a flash of light and I hope I’ve fallen unconscious. I’ll wake up in the hospital, finally living the pitiable loads-of-flowers/life-size-card/hot-doctor scenario. But no such luck. I can hear the trinity of freshman evil cackling. I can’t believe that Jewel, my ex–best friend, is actually laughing at me. Ignoring me is one thing, but laughing? From my spot on the ground, I see my surroundings blurring, mostly because of the prickling at the backs of my eyes.

  Until a familiar hand reaches to help me up.

  “Hi!” says Tammy. “There you are!”

  I’ve never been happier to see my new best friend’s face. “Thank God,” I say, scrambling to my feet and brushing dirt from my coat. “I missed you! When did you get back?”

  “Last night at eleven.” She wrinkles her nose and gently touches my chin. “That looks like it hurts.”

  “It’s fine, and you look amazing,” I cry, and give her a bear hug. Unlike me, she’s tanned and relaxed looking. “How was it?”

  She drops her backpack to the pavement. “Fantastic. I went shark diving!”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I was in a cage underwater surrounded by great hammerheads! It was so cool.”

  “Is that safe? Why would you want to do that?”

  “The cage totally protects you. And what do you mean, ‘why’? Where else could I see sharks?”

  I motion to Jewel, Melissa, and Stephy with my chin and then roll the turtleneck back up. Those girls are sharks in the sea of high school. “Maybe I should bring a cage to class.”

  Tammy laughs and then steps on tiptoe and scans the yard. “Have you seen Aaron?”

  “No. Have you spoken to him since you’ve been back?”

  “No. And he hasn’t e-mailed me since I left on Sunday. Why? Do you think something is wrong? I know he was going to Mick Lloyd’s party on the night I left for the Gulf of Mexico. I’ll die if he hooked up with someone. You haven’t heard anything, have you?” She immediately rubs the tip of her nose, like she always does when she’s feeling insecure. It’s a little on the large side, and she’s convinced that its size is the reason she never had a boyfriend before Aaron.

  “From who? You’re the only person still speaking to me.” Not getting an e-mail from your boyfriend for eight days doesn’t sound promising. Not that I’d tell her that. There are certain things a best friend must never say. One is “I don’t think he likes you.” Two is “Yes, your nose is big.” But the truth is her nose isn’t why she’s never had a boyfriend. She’s never had a boyfriend because boys are morons. I mean, I’ve never had a real boyfriend, and nothing’s wrong with me, right? Well, except for my extreme slobbiness and weirdo family. And my beard, but that’s new. But in any case, I think it’s bad news he hasn’t been in touch over the break. Especially since after my dad’s wedding they kissed for three hours on her couch, and that was barely eight days ago. “I’m sure he’s just busy,” I say.

  She scowls disbelievingly and then yawns, covering her mouth. “I’m tired.”

  “Probably because of the time zone difference.”

  “It’s only an hour,” she says, and laughs.

  “Students! Hello? Students?” Mrs. Konch, the principal, is shouting into a loudspeaker. She’s short and plump and reminds me of a dinner roll. “Everyone, please vacate the premises! Check your school e-mail tonight for an update!”

  “Insane,” Tammy murmurs. “Do you think the cow rumor is true? Seems unbelievable.” She shrugs and yawns simultaneously.

  “Um . . . yeah. Unbelievable.” I know I should be more worried about the cows, but at the moment I’m more concerned by the laser beam of a glare coming at me from London Zeal. She’s a few feet away, surrounded by her über-glam and shiny fashion show friends. The girls are all made up with their heavy lipstick, short denim skirts, and black knee-high boots, and the guys are wearing their coolio black leather jackets and crumpled jeans. London is all white: white jacket, white leather skirt, and a white two-inch heel on her unbroken foot to match the all-white full-leg cast. She wouldn’t want to break her one-color-per-outfit rule.

  I shouldn’t make fun; the cast on her leg is all my fault, and I feel awful. I timidly approach the crowd. “London, I am so sorry,” I say sincerely. Even though she’s evil, she does not deserve to have a broken leg.

  The group snickers. London shuffles toward me. “Sorry?” she hisses. “You’ll be sorry. Very sorry when I’m done with you.” She jabs her french-manicured nail into my chest and then hobbles back to her friends.

  Having the freshman A-list hating me is one thing. But the senior A-list too?

  I’m doomed.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Tammy says.

  “Let’s. Wanna come over?”

  Tammy does a final scan around the yard, seemingly searching for Aaron. Then she gives me an okay sign with her right hand. In scuba diving, this can mean anything from are-you-OK to do-your-ears-hurt to yes-I’m-OK to I’mterrific. So sometimes I’m not entirely sure what she means, but at the moment I think she’s saying “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Please vacate the premises!” Principal Konch says again, sounding frantic and angry, as though it’s our fault the cows have invaded our gym.

  As though.

  “The cows are in the gym?” Miri shrieks at six that night, stamping her foot on my carpet.

  “Keep your voice down,” I say. “Mom is watching the news in her room.”

  “How is that possible? Are you sure we did it?”

  “No, but it makes sense. You zap them to safety, they disappear, and this morning there are fifty cows in the school gym. A coincidence? I don’t think so.” She kicks her chair and it teeters on its side. “Careful,” I warn her. Miri’s kicks are like mini weapons. “The spell was more of a moving spell than a safety spell,” I add, nodding. “Although maybe your raw will stupidly thought that the cows were safer in the gym. Who knows?”

  She waves her hands, clearly exasperated. “But . . . but . . . what’s going to happen to them now?”

  “How should I know? You tell me; you’re the one who moved them!”

  She tries to bite her fingers, but I hit her hand away. “They must be our cows,” she says. “But how did they end up at your school? Do you think I was subconsciously trying to get you out of going to class?”

  Aw. “Miri, that’s so sweet! But listen, as much as I appreciate the thought, I think you should just do a spell reversal.”

  “No way,” she says, shaking her head. “First of all, the spell reversal is a five-broomer, and I don’t want to screw this up any more.” Next to every spell in the book are broom icons. One broom means the spell is light and easy; five mean extremely intricate and difficult to cast. “And second, I’m not sending the cows back there. There must be another way. We’ll have to move them somewhere else.”

  “And how are we going to do that?”

  “We’ll go over and zap them.” She nibbles on her finger, then swallows.

  “Did you just eat your skin? That is so vile.” I shake my head in disgust. “And no, we can’t just hop over to the school. I heard police sirens when I was leaving. It’s hardcore there now. Someone will see us.”

  She looks panicked. “Do they know it was us?”

  “Yes, Miri, when they spotted cows in the gym they assumed one of their student’s little sisters had cast a magic spell.”

  She throws her hands over her eyes. “Oh, no!”

  “I was being sarcastic. Of course they don’t know! They think it was a senior prank.”

  She takes a deep breath. “Well, what’s going to happen?”
>
  “I just got an e-mail. School is closed tomorrow and Wednesday but reopening on Thursday. So the good news is I get two more days off. Thanks for your help!”

  The phone rings and I grab it.

  “He has mono!” Tammy says happily. “That’s why he didn’t e-mail! He was too tired to even make it to the computer. Isn’t that great?”

  “Hold on,” I say, and lead Miri out of my room.

  “Can you call her back, please?” Miri cries. “Hello? Important?”

  “Give me two secs. This is a private conversation,” I say, and push my door closed. “Tam, I’m happy that he wasn’t breaking up with you, but aren’t you worried you’re going to get sick?” And then she’ll have to miss school. Some people have all the luck.

  Pause. “I feel fine.”

  I whisper into the phone since Miri’s a little young to hear this. “But it’s the kissing disease. You know? Passed from saliva? And you guys . . . made out.”

  “I’m healthy. And anyway”—now her voice drops to a whisper—“my mom would kill me.” You’d think that having two moms would make Tammy’s household super-liberal, but Tammy doesn’t tell them a thing. “But isn’t that great news?”

  “You fell asleep on my couch today. Watching Casablanca. You love that movie,” I say, more to myself than to her. Sleepiness is one of the signs of mononucleosis.

  “I was tired, Rachel. Diving is exhausting. Especially with sharks.”

  Miri is banging on the door. And Tammy so has mono and is going to desert me at school. “Terrific. I gotta go. Wanna come over again tomorrow and watch Titanic?” She likes anything that won an Oscar. And maybe we can share toothbrushes and I’ll catch mono from her. Awesome.

  We hang up and I let my sister back in. “What are we going to do about the cows? Should we tell Mom?” she asks helplessly.

  “Rachel!” my mom, apparently psychic, screams from her room. “Your school is on TV!”