Frogs & French Kisses

by Sarah Mlynowski

  Me: Considering what?

  Tammy: Considering that she’s in love with your new boyfriend!

  I stare at the note and sink into my chair. Two seconds later I lean over to Tammy and whisper, “Why do you think she likes Will?”

  “She kept looking at him. And anytime he talked to her she blushed. I could just tell. Couldn’t you?”

  I shrug. I didn’t notice a thing. My self-centeredness is extraordinary—almost a superpower.

  “Don’t worry,” Tammy says. “He was not looking back. He only has eyes for you.”

  That’s one thing I’m not worried about. At least not for another few weeks, before the spell wears off. I’ll have to remind Miri to extend it to make sure I get to go to prom. I’ll reverse it after that, though. Immediately after. Forcing someone to like you isn’t the nicest thing to do. And Will is such a terrific guy, he deserves to be truly in love.

  When the bell rings, we pile up our books and head out the door. And that’s when I run smack into Raf. And I mean Smack. Into. Raf.

  I guess I wasn’t paying attention or something, because I swing around and my forehead collides with his shoulder, and my copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream and the accompanying notes soar through the air, the covers of my binder spread like a pigeon’s wings. Meanwhile, I fly backward and somehow end up lying on my back, my hair all over the dirty floor, wishing I could zap myself to another country. Canada, maybe?

  Raf is suddenly on his knees, by my side, hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asks, his forehead wrinkling into adorable little folds. I look deep into his speckled eyes and feel like I’m being submerged in a warm bubbly bath.

  My heart sinks. And not because of my pounding forehead. Unrequited love hurts.

  “Rachel?” his yummy lips say. They’re red and plump and juicy and . . . “Rachel?” he asks again.

  “Hi, Raf.”

  “Hi, Rachel. Did I hurt you?”

  “Yes,” I say. My heart has been torn into thousands of shards that will no longer fit together. “I mean, no, I’m fine. All good.”

  He places his hand under my elbow and gently helps me back to my feet. He then lets go of my arm, picks up my binder, and hands it to me. “I think this is yours,” he says, and then, after giving my elbow and heart a final squeeze, he disappears out of my life and down the hallway.

  “The heart-reversal spell is broken,” I tell Miri, pushing open her door.

  “What?” She’s at her desk reading A2 and doesn’t look up.

  “I tried to use it. I feel sick to my stomach every time I see Raf. I can’t deal. So I tried spraying myself but all it did was mess up my hair. Why didn’t it work?”

  “The spell is only a one-broomer. It’s not advanced enough for selfsummie.”

  I know what a one-broomer is, but self-what? “I have no idea what you just said.”

  “Selfsummie is when you’re trying to trick yourself with an emotion spell. And it won’t work unless the spell is at least a four-broomer.”

  “So what can I do? Nothing?” The pain must end.

  She hesitates. “We could try an anti-love spell. That’s a five-broomer. Should achieve selfsummie.”

  Perfect. “Give it to me.”

  “You sound like a junkie.”

  I flop backward onto her bed. “I’m serious. Can you make me one?”

  She puts down her pencil and tilts back her chair. “Do you—”

  “Don’t do that. You’re making me nervous,” I interrupt.

  She tilts her chair back farther just to annoy me. “I’ll give you a spell if you want. I know the perfect one.”

  Excellent. I’ll no longer feel the pain. Raf who? “I need it now.”

  Her chair still diagonal, she flips through the pages. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. Why not?”

  “Are you sure you want to wipe out your feelings?”

  “I feel crappy, so yes.”

  “Don’t you remember all the stuff Mom told us about experiencing the good and bad in life?”

  “This is the same Mom who magically bleached her hair blond on Saturday?”

  Miri makes a sour face. “She said it way before she dyed her hair, when she still had perspective. She said experiencing the bad makes you stronger.”

  I flex my bicep. “I’m plenty strong.”

  She tilts even closer to the floor. “Bad things make you a more interesting person. More profound.”

  “In that case I must be the most interesting person alive.” But maybe she’s right. Maybe zapping away my unrequited crush will make me bland and boring. Who cares? I’ll be happy instead. “Let’s do it!” I scream, and Miri’s slanted chair suddenly sails backward and she crashes to the floor. She makes a surprised squeak.

  “Told you. You okay?”

  She nods and I lunge for the phone, which just started ringing. Maybe it’s Raf calling to tell me he’s still in love with me, and I won’t need the anti-love spell at all.

  “Aloha, Rachel!”

  “Daddy! You’re back!” My father has finally returned to the mainland. “How was it?”

  “Rad. The kaukau was ono. That means the food was delicious. And the surfing was primo. The . . .” I space out a bit, thinking about Raf. I hear a muffle, and I realize a few seconds too late that he might have just said, “My babe new wife, Jennifer, wants to say aloha.”

  Groan. The truth is during the wedding process I realized that she wasn’t as bad as I made her out to be. But does that mean we have to be phone pals now? And what’s up with the Hawaiian-surfer-speak? They didn’t actually surf, did they?

  “Aloha!” she chirps.

  “Hi, Jennifer. Did you go surfing?”

  “Oh yeah. You had to see me rippin’ it up.” She continues to tell me about how they “scored some great rides” and really “hung loose.” Eventually she offers to e-mail me her “bodacious” pictures and tells me she’s “stoked” to see us this weekend, then asks to talk to Miri.

  Miri scowls as I hand her the phone and then rolls her eyes, then rolls her eyes some more. Meanwhile, I wonder about the merits of subjecting myself to an anti-love spell. Or any spell, for that matter. Miri’s track record hasn’t been impeccable. There were cows in my gym.

  Miri finally hangs up, groaning. “She’s e-mailing us pictures! I just finished cleaning out my in-box from all their wedding crap.”

  “Let’s talk about the ingredients,” I say.

  “You’ll need to get a black candle, Dead Sea salts, sunflowers, and a lock of Raf’s hair. And then any feelings you have left for Raf will be gone. At least temporarily.”

  Groan. How on earth will I get Raf’s hair? But do I really want all my feelings for him zapped into la-la land? “What if I decide I want to grow up to be a writer? Or a painter? Will I still be able to draw on this pain?”

  She sits back down in her chair. “What are you rambling about? I thought you wanted to be an astronaut.”

  Right. I did say that. Or a pilot on an astro-tourism jetliner, because according to 60 Minutes, that’s so going to be the next big thing. Astronaut. Painter, personal shopper. All sound demanding. Whatever doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right? I decide I really don’t want anything unnatural tinkering with my feelings. I mean, let’s be honest. My sister isn’t all that experienced. What if the spell backfires, and instead of falling out of love, I fall into a well or something? “Forget the anti-love spell. I’ll deal. Keeping it real, you know?” And anyway, I’m really way too lazy to try to locate all those ingredients.

  She shrugs and flips the page. “If you say so. I bet the real reason is that you’re too lazy to get the ingredients. Can I get back to saving the whales now?”

  How did she know?

  The rest of the week flies by in a surprising haze of happiness. Will drops by my locker after every class and always gives me a quick kiss on the lips. He slides I-Love-You notes into my textbooks. Afternoons are spent hanging out at the A-list in-spot. L
unches are spent with the soc in the lounge. On Tuesday, we order pizza, which is delivered right to our room! How fun is that? On Wednesday, I catch Bosh rubbing Tammy’s shoulders. On Thursday, I notice the way Kat blushes whenever Will pays her any attention. But the weird thing is she’s nice to me. And not super-over-the-top-nice-but-secretly-bitchy nice. She lends me her purple pen when mine runs out of ink. Laughs at my jokes. Genuinely nice. If I were her, I would hate me.

  Even though London Zeal is back at the top of the A-list, she seems to have forgotten her hatred of me, or at least, she is no longer exacting her revenge. Because of my new girlfriend-of-Will status, I have been forgiven and approved by the freshman, sophomore, junior, and senior A-lists, and therefore by the entire school. Everyone, that is, except Raf.

  These days, when he passes me, I don’t even get the half smile. Raf is not impressed.

  What’s his problem now? He doesn’t like me, so no one else can like me either? Why are boys so annoying?

  On Friday, Tammy and I are sitting in bio when someone knocks on the door. I see Will through the window and I feel warm all over. Special. Chosen. Strange. I used to feel that way only around Raf. Is it possible that I’m starting to like Will, too? To really like him? Is it possible to like two boys at once? Two brothers?

  “Come in, Mr. Kosravi,” Mr. Frederick says.

  The cool thing is that no matter which one I marry, I’ll be Mrs. Kosravi. If I change my name, which I don’t think I’ll do. I can’t just give up my identity! I see Will’s face and block the argument out of my mind. (I guess it isn’t something I have to decide on immediately.) He whispers something to Mr. Frederick, who nods and then looks up. “Ms. Weinstein and Ms. Wise, please go with Mr. Kosravi. You’re excused for the rest of class.”

  Wahoo! Tammy squeezes my hand as we excitedly follow Will out the door, passing Doree’s envious, longing gaze. I’m sure nothing is really wrong. How awesome is Will? Pretending something’s wrong just to get us out of bio!

  “Thanks!” I say, kissing his cheek. He smells good.

  “That was awesome,” Tammy says. “It was soooo boring in there.”

  Will shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. I need your help. We’re having an emergency soc meeting. The prom is on the verge of being canceled.”

  10

  How I Ruined the World

  “Tell us what happened,” Bosh says, shaking his head, his hand gently resting . . . on Tammy’s knee? Whoa.

  Tammy turns white and then bright red, and then she smiles, then frowns, then slowly shuffles out of Bosh’s reach.

  Meanwhile, Will paces the room, his arms waving over his head. “The gym won’t be ready in time.”

  My stomach feels like I just swallowed a balloon filled with sand.

  “Even once the repairs are complete,” Will says, “the floors will be too fragile for the first month to have students dance on them. Same goes for the cafeteria. I’d like to kill the people who pulled that cow prank.”

  La, la, la.

  River groans. “Can’t we rent a place?”

  Will shakes his head. “That’s the second problem. Since Konch is convinced that the cows were a senior prank, she wants to cancel prom until someone confesses.”

  “What?” we all scream. I may throw up on the floor.

  “I convinced her not to. So instead, she’s making us fork over the money the fashion show raised for the prom to help with repair costs.”

  “What?” Bosh screams. “Dude, how can we afford prom if we do that?”

  Will continues. “She recommended we start by canceling the band and the photographer. And possibly the rented tables.”

  “But where does she expect us to eat?” River asks indignantly. “On the floor?”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Will says sarcastically. “She suggested canceling the dinner, too. But then she remembered that we already gave the caterer a deposit with the money from advance ticket sales. What are we going to do? The prom is supposed to be in three weeks. But at the moment all we have guaranteed is the meal. And not even the entire meal. The deposit was only seven grand, which means it will cover appetizers and maybe half of the stale chicken plates.”

  “That sucks, dude,” Bosh says. “We can’t party in the street. Let’s just rent a space and listen to a CD or something.”

  “We need a band,” River argues. “I can listen to CDs at home.”

  Will shakes his head in disgust. “Ah, man, I’m going to be the soc president responsible for the lamest prom ever.”

  “We should just cancel it,” River says.

  No way! Then Will will be the president responsible for canceling prom! “Hold on. What’s the total cost of prom?” I ask.

  Will sighs. “It’s supposed to be twenty-seven thousand five hundred dollars. Which covered everything. And it worked out perfectly before the cows, because we had almost ten grand from the fashion show, we had a free space, and the prom tickets were fifty dollars a person. And since we’re expecting about three hundred and fifty ticket sales, it worked out to . . . well, it worked out.”

  “You absolutely cannot cancel prom,” says Kat, tapping her purple pen. (How does she never lose that pen? I lose about one per day.) “We’ll just have to come up with the money. Let’s raise ticket prices.”

  “If you raise ticket prices too high,” River says, “people might not want to spend the dough. If anything, you may have to give them a rebate if you don’t even have a band. Or dessert.”

  “We can’t raise ticket prices,” Will says, shaking his head in dismay. “We’ve already sold some of them. The price is set.”

  I do the calculations. “So you’re expecting seventeen thousand five hundred dollars in ticket sales. Which means that if we need to reraise the ten thousand from fashion show funds to be able to keep prom as planned, as well as say a few thousand for a location, we’re looking at trying to raise twelve to fifteen thousand dollars.”

  Will nods.

  Kat continues tapping. “We can do it. Let’s find a new location. Then we’ll worry about paying for it. We won’t book it unless we have a way to raise the money, but we’ll come up with it. We have to.”

  Will hesitates. “Are you all sure? We only have three weeks. It’s going to be tough. And exams are coming up—”

  “We can do it, dude,” Bosh says. The rest of us nod.

  “All right.” Will takes a deep breath. “Let’s brainstorm. Jeffrey, can you pass me the licorice?”

  In the corner near the cupboard, Jeffrey looks up from his notebook. He’s like a ghost. Again, I didn’t even notice him. He mutters something to himself, reaches into the stock cupboard, and tosses Will a package.

  “What we need to do,” Kat says, “is find out what clubs or hotels are available.”

  Will smiles gratefully at Kat. I feel a spark of guilt for causing him all this grief. And a tiny spark of jealousy. “Right,” he says. “That makes sense. Let’s make a list, and Rachel and I will check them out over the weekend.”

  Ha! Take that, Kat! Oh, drat. “Oh, um, I’m going to my dad’s,” I admit.

  His face falls. Like, to the floor. “What? You are? I won’t be able to see you all weekend?”

  I shake my head. “It’s only two days. I’ll call you.” Luckily, I already know his number by heart because of Raf. Not that I’ve ever called Raf.

  He pouts for a few more seconds and turns to Kat. “Kat, would you mind coming with me?”

  “Of course not. I’d be happy to.”

  I roll my eyes at Tammy. And I can’t even be mad, because Kat’s so . . . nice.

  “We ruined the prom,” I tell Miri on the train to Long Island. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Uh-huh,” she mumbles, slumped in her seat, reading A2.

  “I’m about to make freshman history by going to the prom with the soc president, and I can’t even go. Can life be any more unfair?”

  “Uh-huh,” she repeats.

  Hmm. “Is there a rhinocer
os on this train?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You’re not paying attention to me!”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I wave my hand in front of her face.

  “What?” she asks, finally looking up.

  “We ruined the prom with the cows. Do you get it?”

  “Yes, I get it, but is that really such a big deal? It’s just a dance. A stupid elitist dance. A dance that you wouldn’t even be going to if not for the love spell,” she says, whispering the last two words. “There are far more important issues you should be worrying about.”

  I know I’m normally a little selfish. But I’m pretty sure Miri should be taking some responsibility for this crisis. Not that I’m one to point fingers, but it was sort of her fault. “What are you doing, anyway?”

  She whips out a notebook. “Worrying about things more important than prom. Like ridding the world of land mines, number three on my list, and of slave trafficking, number four. Fixing the ozone layer, number five. And there was an oil spill this morning off the coast of France. Do you know how many whales are going to die?” She makes an arrow in her notebook. “The oil just got bumped up to number three.”

  I squirm in my seat. “Okay, I’m sorry. Sounds serious.”

  She shakes her head and I notice the heavy circles under her eyes. “Life is serious,” she says, and sighs, then returns to reading, leaving me staring at my hands.

  I could so use a manicure.

  The whole bronzed family is waiting for us at the train station.

  “Aloha!” Jennifer and my dad say.

  I need a pair of sunglasses: my dad’s blue and red flowered shirt is that bright. And, oh, no, Jennifer is wearing a lei. I give their honeymoon glow another week, tops. Then they’ll get back to being as miserable as the rest of us.

  I’m confused. How did Prissy, otherwise known as Priscilla, who was stuck here with Jennifer’s parents on Long Island, get so much color? She quickly clears that up when she says, “Am I pretty? I want to be pretty like Mommy and have brown skin too, so I used self-tanner!”

  “No, you did not,” I say in disbelief. She’s five. Is that legal?