Frogs & French Kisses

by Sarah Mlynowski

  “At least he acts like a parent,” I mumble, squeezing Miri’s hand. “More than you, anyway. Do you know that Miri is failing school?”

  Miri takes back her arm and scowls at me.

  My mom leans over to Miri while magically lighting her cigarette. “Honey, I guess that’s your way of getting back at me for my dating—”

  “It has nothing to do with your dating!” I say. “Miri has also gone crazy. I’m living with two loons!” And with that, I storm out of the kitchen and into my room. I don’t leave until I hear the front door slam two hours later. Guess my mother has another date. Miri’s door is closed, so I make myself a grilled cheese (I’m all egg-rolled out), do my math homework, and get into bed.

  What am I going to do? My mother and sister are going crazy, and there’s no way we’re going to make enough money at the auction to save the prom. If we don’t make enough, my boyfriend’s reputation and savings account are officially ruined. And—sob—if there is a prom, I don’t even have a dress.

  I blink back tears and try to fall asleep.

  A difficult feat when my lullaby is a thunderous rendition of The Sound of Music’s “The Lonely Goatherd.”

  14

  License to Thrill

  Aaron is back. Now that he’s healthy, and around, Tammy can no longer spend her entire day with Bosh.

  “Just dump him!” I beg her during bio.

  “I can’t!” she says miserably. “He’s very fragile. Did you see him? He’s so pale and skinny.”

  She’s right; I spotted him before homeroom and he looked pretty waifish. “But prom is in one week! And you don’t even like him anymore!”

  “I know, I know, but I can’t do it. It’s just prom. Bosh understands.”

  Again with the just prom? What an oxymoron.

  When I get home from school, I find Miri right back in the center of her disaster, dressed in a tank top and earmuffs. She must have done a Cali-Antarctica combo. I decide to forget about our fight. “How was your day?”

  No answer. Apparently, she’s decided not to forget.

  “Hel-lo? What are you doing?”

  “I’m not talking to you. You called me a loon.”

  Because you’ve been acting like one? “I’m sorry. But I want you to do your homework. And study for your tests.”

  “What, now you’re my mother?”

  “Well, someone’s got to be.” I sit down next to her. “Do you have any tests coming up that I should know about?”

  “No.”

  I tickle under her arms. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Get off. Stop it,” she says, laughing. “Fine, I have a math test tomorrow. Happy?”

  “Yes. Did you study?”

  “I will, as soon as I finish doing this global—”

  “Enough saving the world,” I say sharply. “For tonight, anyway. Right after dinner, we’re working on equations and inequalities.”

  She sighs. “We’re on our own for dinner again. Mom has another date. She zapped us up a pizza, but it looks a little rubbery.”

  “Surprise, surprise.”

  She leans back, smiling. “But I’ll let you help me. You owe me anyway.”

  “What for?”

  “Do you hear anything?”

  I listen intently. “No. Should I?”

  “Yes. The sound of silence. I did the five-broomer reversal spell to get rid of your TV. So it’s gone.”

  I throw my arms around her neck. “Awesome! You figured it out! Thank you! I only slept for five minutes last night.”

  “No kidding. I heard every toss, turn, and sigh,” Miri says. “Rachel, the spell-reversal charm was so cool. I had to buy a clear crystal and bury it in a tub of salt for an hour. Then I put it on a silver chain and wore it around my neck while I circled the TV backward. And finally, the TV disappeared.” She snaps her fingers. “Just like that.”

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” But panic creeps back in. “What am I going to bring for the auction? I have nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zip.”

  Maybe we could try one of the football TVs. At least that wouldn’t be a musical. Although I’d have to listen to annoying sportscasters all night.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll find a new spell so you can make a TV. I just need some time.”

  “We don’t have time! We’re going to Dad’s tomorrow and the auction is on Monday! We need to get cracking.”

  “I don’t really need to study for math anyway,” she says, looking relieved.

  I remember her D-. “I think you do. Math tonight, the spell tomorrow.” Sigh. What’s another day? It’s not like we’re cutting it close or anything.

  “I found a transformer spell,” Miri whispers on the train to Long Island. “You basically change something into something else of the same family.”

  “Huh?”

  “Like a radio into a big TV.”

  I heave a sigh of relief. “Sounds perfect.”

  “So what do you want to zap? A TV again?”

  “I guess. And then, if it works, we’ll use the multiplying spell to make a whole bunch. We need to raise fourteen thousand dollars, remember?”

  When we get off the train, we can’t find my dad’s car. “Where is he?” I wonder aloud. And that’s when I spot Jennifer in the driver’s seat of a brand-new Mercedes-Benz convertible. It’s slinky. It’s silver. And Jennifer is honking like a deranged woman, smiling and waving. Guess she’s feeling better. Funny how a brand-spanking-new car can do that. “Hi, girls,” she sings. “A present from your dad. You like?”

  I like.

  “Shotgun!” Miri screams. She climbs into the front, and I slide into the small backseat. It smells yummy, like a hundred new leather purses. The seats feel soft, like the skin on the inside of my arm.

  Jennifer reverses and pulls onto the road. And even though the wind has a field day on my hair, blowing it every which way, making me look like a singer in an eighties cover band, I don’t care.

  Because I have a new plan. Who needs a TV? We’re going to zap up a car.

  “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Priscilla! Happy birthday to you!”

  Prissy takes a big breath and blows out all seven candles (one for good luck) perched on her chocolate cake. “Do you want to know what I wished for? I wished not to have any more sisters or any brothers. Do you think it’ll come true?”

  Jennifer and my dad squirm in their dining room table seats. “We hope not,” Dad says.

  All I want is for this dinner to be over already. Miri and I have lots to do tonight.

  Jennifer smiles across the table. “Do you want your birthday present now?”

  Prissy claps excitedly. “Yes! What did I get? A Princess Barbie castle? Is that what you got me? Please, please, please, please. Where is it?”

  “Here it is!” Jennifer says, and hands Prissy a fancy envelope with a pink bow in the corner.

  What on earth is that? A restraining order?

  Prissy shakes it and then rips it open. She pulls out a photograph. “Huh?” she says, staring at it. “What is it?”

  The photo is of some kids canoeing. Across the sky in bubble letters, it says Wood Lake.

  Excuse me?

  “For your birthday, we signed you up for two weeks at sleepaway camp! It’s a very special place for girls and boys. You’re going to get to sleep in a bunk and play all day!”

  Prissy looks confused.

  “What about visiting Daddy?”

  Jennifer smiles. “You’ll get to spend a few weeks with him in L.A. this summer. But first, camp!”

  “Are you going to be there too?”

  Jennifer shakes her head. “I won’t, but your sisters will! We signed Miri and Rachel up too! And they’re going for the whole summer!”

  “What?” Camp? Hello? Raf and Will’s camp?

  My father walks over and kisses me and Miri on our heads. “I remember how much you two always wanted to go to sleepaway, so I figured this would be the per
fect birthday gift for all of you.”

  “But my b-birthday isn’t until December,” Miri stutters.

  “And mine’s not until August,” I protest.

  “It’s an early present. Surprise!” Someone wants Prissy out of the house. Badly.

  “But I never wanted to go to camp. Club Med! That’s where I wanted to go.” On the other hand . . . moonlit sailboat trips and campfires with Raf? I mean Will. Moonlit sailboat trips and campfires with Will. My boyfriend. Raf . . . and Will?

  My dad looks momentarily confused. “Oh. Well, you should have told me that before we paid in full. And wasn’t it you who suggested the idea to Jennifer? Anyway, I promise, you’ll love it there! Even your mom thought this was a good idea.”

  What? I bet that’s what she wanted to talk to us about but was too busy to remember. My back stiffens. I guess she wants us out of the house too.

  Dad lifts his wineglass. “You three are going to have the best summer ever!” He takes a big gulp and starts cutting the cake. “Small piece or big piece?” he asks me.

  I can’t believe my mother would okay this without even mentioning it to us. But you know what? I don’t even have time to properly worry about this. My plate is that full. Although it could use a piece of cake. “Big, please.”

  “Do you have everything?” I whisper.

  “I hope so,” Miri says. “We’re so going to get caught,” she adds.

  “No, we’re not! Think positively.”

  If anyone on my dad’s street opens their blinds, we will definitely be spotted. Somehow I think two girls flying on a tricycle might attract attention, even though it’s three a.m. on Sunday.

  “Ready?” Miri asks.

  “Yup.” Before I know it, we’re airborne.

  “I can’t believe they’re forcing us to go to Wood Lake,” Miri says as we pass over a neighbor’s roof. “How am I supposed to save the world if I’m at camp?”

  Tell me about it. “I don’t understand where we’re supposed to go to the bathroom. Are they outside the tents? Are we supposed to pee in the bushes?” Grossness overwhelms me, as does guiltiness. I was planning on stopping Will’s love spell after prom, but now I’ll have no choice but to extend it through the summer, will I? How much would it suck to be stuck at camp with two ex-boyfriends? And anyway, dating Will has been fun. And it’s not like Raf wants to get back together with me anytime soon.

  “What I can’t believe is that Dad asked Mom, and she allowed it,” Miri says.

  “She probably just wants us out of the way so she can date twenty-four seven.”

  “No kidding. Okay, no more talking; I need to concentrate.”

  Our new plan is slightly adventurous, if I do say so myself. We’ve decided to zap up a new Mercedes with the transformer spell. This way we won’t need to worry about controlling the multiplying spell. So that’s why we’re on my tricycle (which I handed down to Miri, which she handed down to Prissy), which we’ve discovered flies just as well as a broom. That is a good thing, because we couldn’t find a single broom in the house—Jennifer is far too glam—so instead we would have had to use her high-tech vacuum cleaner, which weighs at least a hundred pounds.

  We’re flying all the way to JFK. The school, not the airport, although we will pass the airport. I hope they don’t pick us up on their radar. We don’t want to get arrested for breaking the no-fly zone. We tried to use the transport spell, obviously, but for some reason it refused to move the tricycle with us (perhaps it has a weight maximum?), which is an integral part of our plan, so we had to use the more primal technique of flying. It’s not the most comfortable for me, I’ll admit, since I’m squashed in front of Miri between the handlebars and the seat. E.T. made it look much more fun. Anyway, we’re wearing all black in an attempt at camouflage. (Not that the canary yellow bike will give us away or anything.) Once we get to JFK, we’re using an open-door spell to get inside. The spell totally works. We tested it before dinner on the garage. It’s made of oil and—wait for it— sesame seeds. The spell actually includes the phrase open sesame. I’m not kidding.

  After dinner, we tested the transformer spell. How? We made me a prom dress. A beautiful, long, emerald green silk gown. We borrowed/stole one of Prissy’s Barbie outfits and transformed it into a perfect prom dress. And the best part of the spell is that it works immediately: the cloth stretched itself into a size four and grew taffeta right before our eyes. The dress fit me perfectly. If I were ever in another fashion show (which no one would ever let me do), I would want to wear this.

  This plan might actually work. The lights of the Queensboro Bridge are twinkling below us; the full moon is glowing overhead. The wind in my face is warm, the helmet itch is minimal (Miri packs these babies wherever we go), I have the best prom dress ever. . . . I think I might be happy. I know I complain a lot, but the truth is, I’m one of the luckiest girls in the world. I live in an amazing city, I have two (plus one) parents who love me, and I have a younger sister who not only adores me but is also a witch. I do well in school, and I have a boyfriend and a fantastic best friend. So I have to spend the summer as a mosquito snack. I’ll deal. At least Miri will be with me.

  Suddenly, the tricycle swoops a few feet, and my stomach shoots into my throat. But then we stabilize.

  Did I mention I’m happy I have my health?

  As we fly high over the city and above the buildings, I peer down at the miniature taxis and people, who look like game pieces on a Monopoly board. And then, before I know it, the ride is over and we’re landing on the home plate of the JFK baseball field. (It’s a miniature field; we’re in Manhattan, after all.) No matter how much fun flying is, it’s always nice to feel the grass under my shoes. By the time I take off my helmet and shake out my hair, Miri is already at the door working her magic.

  I roll the tricycle and meet her at the gym entranceway, just in time to watch her toss the sesame seeds at the door handle and say,

  “Slack to slick,

  Talk to tick,

  Believe and see,

  Open sesame!”

  The door springs open. “Good work!” I say, and happily skip into the building, the tricycle trailing behind. It’s very dark in the hallway. We don’t want to turn on any lights for fear of attracting attention. Why did I take off my helmet? I could really use the night vision.

  “Where should we put it?” Miri wonders out loud.

  “In the auditorium. Follow me.” As I creep through the empty hallway, every sound makes me jump. Being in the school alone at night is super creepy.

  I open the doors to the auditorium and see the rows and rows of seats. Now, where do we put the car? “Let’s do the transformation on the stage,” I say, and climb up the steps and pull back the curtain. It’ll be the grand finale! This is really the best plan I’ve ever had. From the Mercedes Web site, we learned that Jennifer’s car cost sixty thousand dollars. So even if the highest bidder offers only a quarter of the money, fifteen thousand, I save the prom almost single-handedly (with the help of Miri and her magic, of course).

  Miri climbs onto the stage and removes the ingredients from her satchel: sunflower seeds, raisins, flour, and lemon juice. She tosses them into the purple plastic container we borrowed/stole from the house. Once the ingredients are mixed, she says, “Ready? I have to pour it on the tricycle.”

  “Go for it!” How cool is this going to be? She’s going to whip up a Mercedes. And some lucky person is going to buy it and drive the car right out of the— “Wait!”

  She stops in midpour. “What?”

  “How will someone drive the car outside?” I point to the four walls. “There’s no garage door.”

  She places the container back on the creaking stage floor. “Oops. I guess we have to do it outside.”

  “We’d better wish up a car alarm, or the Mercedes will be gone by Monday.”

  A few minutes later we’ve dragged the tricycle and the ingredients back through the hallway and outside and set up the bike in the ou
tfield next to the school gate. Miri then begins to pour, chanting:

  “Transform this being,

  With the cycle of life,

  To become its destiny.

  Like a caterpillar into a butterfly

  (“This is the part I added,” she says, smiling.)

  A Mercedes from this tricycle.”

  Her lips purse, the air gets cold, and I take a giant step backward so I won’t get run over. Good-bye, sweet bike! You served me, Miri, and Prissy well. We had a fantastic time together in Central Park. But now you’re being turned into your destiny. Or at least something that could get a higher price at the auction.

  Nothing happens for the first few seconds, but then my front tire expands, like gum being blown into a bubble. When it’s fattened to car-tire size, it suddenly splits in two and separates. With an earth-shattering squeak, the metal frame of the bike starts expanding into the body of a car. Cool! The small triangular seat transforms into five seats of plush black leather, and the handles grow into a steering wheel. As the interior completes itself, the car’s exterior grows upward in liquid form and then hardens into finished, shiny steel.

  Thirty seconds later, a complete canary yellow Mercedes roadster convertible is assembled in front of us. “It worked! It worked, it worked, it worked!” I can’t stop myself from jumping up and down.

  Miri jumps up and down with me, equally amazed. Wow. A prom dress is one thing, but this is a car. My baby sister just built the world’s coolest car from practically birdseed. The hood glistens in the moonlight, and I give the side mirror a pat.

  “Let’s make sure it works before we get too excited,” Miri says with caution. “I don’t want this to be another fiasco.”

  She’s right. We’ve had a lot of fiascos lately. I’m barely able to contain my excitement. I hop toward the front seat. “I’m driving!” I’ve always wanted to say that. “But you can have shotgun,” I add.

  I jump over the side window, like they did in the fifties. Ouch. They must have made the cars shorter in the fifties. Yes! The keys are lying on the seat. Magic is so clever.