The Popularity Spell

by Toni Gallagher

  “This crazy brother of mine who lives in New Orleans, he’s into spirits and voodoo and all that stuff. He even sent Cleo a voodoo doll for her birthday! Of course she knows it’s not real. Right, Cleo?”

  I nod. I’ve got to change the subject! So I turn to Terri and ask, “So, what did you bring me?”

  Dad says, “Rude.” And I wasn’t even trying that time!

  Terri doesn’t seem to care, though. “I actually brought it for all of us,” she says, walking toward our kitchen table. “It’s a game we could play.”

  I usually like the games we play in Focus!, but I just sit back and wait for her to impress me. She shows me the box. It’s a game called Pig Mania.

  In my mind I see Madison making a pig face with her pinkie finger and her friends oinking and snorting.

  “I don’t like pigs,” I say. “Pigs are dirty and smelly and from Ohio, and that’s not cool.”

  “Cleo,” Dad says. “Remember what you and I talked about?”

  Dad and I talk about a lot of things all the time, but I guess he means I’m supposed to be nice to her. Ugh.

  “Actually, pigs are very clean animals,” Terri says, “and these ones are little and plastic and pretty cute.” She pulls out a cup that says “Pig Sty” on it, and rolls out two tiny pigs.

  They are pretty cute, but I’m going to keep that to myself.

  Terri explains that the object of the game is to roll the pigs to score the most points. I don’t understand and I say so, but Dad tells me to keep listening. She shows us how the little pigs can land in different positions, and the weirder the position, the more points you get. So if one lands on its nose, it’s called a Snouter and you get ten points. On its feet it’s a Hoofer—five points. On its nose and ear it’s a Leaning Jowler, and that’s fifteen points. The hard part of the game is deciding to stop rolling, because if one pig lands on its left side and the other one lands on its right, you “Pig Out” and lose all your points from that roll.

  “Sounds kind of dumb,” I say, though I actually think it could be fun.

  “What could possibly be dumb about rolling pigs and scoring points? It’s the most brilliant idea in the world!” Dad jokes, shaking the cup with the pigs. “Come on, Cleo, we don’t want to play alone!”

  “Okay, I guess. One game.”

  Terri rolls first and she only scores ten points before she pigs out. She groans and hands the cup to Dad. He rolls twenty, decides to keep the points, and passes the pigs to me. Unlike Terri and Dad, I am an awesome roller. I rack up forty points without pigging out, and Terri says she’s never seen anything like it. I get up to sixty-five points and I only need one hundred total to win. Dad tells me to think about stopping, but I can’t.

  A few rolls later, it happens. I pig out! All my hard work is now worth nothing. I scream. Terri screams…and then says the bad word I said in Recreational Wellness! I look at her in shock.

  “Dad, did you hear that?”

  “I couldn’t help it,” she says, laughing. “Sorry.”

  Even though I just lost a lot of points, I’m kind of laughing too because Terri takes this pig game seriously enough to say a bad word.

  We keep playing. Dad makes me add up everyone’s points, which is annoying but not as terrible as doing math problems because at least there’s possible winning involved.

  I learn to not be so greedy and try to stop rolling when I get to twenty points or so. With a couple more rolls, I win the game. As I’m cheering and dancing around the kitchen, Terri says that it’s beginner’s luck.

  “No, it’s not,” I tell her. “I won fair and square.”

  “She’s kidding, Cleo,” Dad says. Then he tells me it’s time for bed. I groan, but I start to go. Slowly. I mean, Terri’s not great, but neither is bedtime.

  “Hey,” Dad says. “Why don’t you show Terri your room before you hit the sack?”

  “Do I have to?” I ask. One fun game with pigs is not going to change the way I feel about Dad’s girlfriend.

  “Yes, you have to.” Dad turns to Terri and adds, “Cleo’s got some really good artwork you might like.”

  Since I have no choice, I let Terri follow me to my room. She notices Marty and Millie in their terrarium but turns her eyes away to the drawings and paintings and things pinned on my bulletin board.

  “Who’s this?” Terri asks, pointing at the picture of my mom in her blue floppy hat.

  What is she doing looking at my mom? “That’s my mom, and she’s the only mom I’ll ever have,” I snap at her. “That picture’s going to be up there forever.”

  “It should be,” Terri says. “She’s pretty. You two have the same smile.”

  Terri’s right about that of course.

  “What’s this?” she asks, pointing at one of my new Pandaroo masterpieces.

  I like talking about my drawings, but this time I do it in my unfriendliest voice. “He’s one of the characters I created for my animation career. He travels through the galaxy and shoots rainbows out of his butt.”

  “It almost looks like the rainbow is the energy that’s propelling him through space,” she says. That’s kind of a cool idea, but I keep that thought to myself.

  “I’m working on some animation with him on the computer,” I say.

  “Oh, can I see?” she asks, acting all interested when I’m sure she’d much rather be with Dad drinking wine and making smoochy noises.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I only just started so I’m not very good at it yet.”

  “Hey, if it’s anything like your drawings, it’ll be great!”

  “O…kay.” I drag myself to my desk, sit down with a thump, and click around on my computer. “But all he’s doing is moving across the screen and he’s real jumpy….”

  When I turn around, Terri is looking at the other things in my room. She picks up one of my robots and rolls her hands across the wheels under its feet. She squeezes a monster doll and it makes a growling noise. “That’s spooky-looking. What is that?” she asks.

  She’s walking toward my dresser!

  “Is that the doll your uncle sent you?”

  She’s heading for the voodoo doll!

  In my head, I immediately hear the voice of Uncle Arnie: “No others shall touch the doll until the spell has come to fruition…no others…no others…”

  “No others” means Terri!

  Her hand is reaching out to touch the doll, just like she touched all the other things in my room without asking.

  “Don’t touch it!” I yell. I jump out of my chair and grab the doll from the top of my dresser before she can get to it. “This is a very special and precious gift from my uncle, and it’s not meant for anyone’s hands except mine and Sam’s!”

  Terri seems surprised. “Sorry, I didn’t know. It looked cool.”

  “It is cool,” I snap. “I told Dad you shouldn’t come in my room and I was right!”

  “Okay,” she says, heading toward the hallway. “Well, thanks for playing Pig Mania with us.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  “Good night.” Terri closes the door behind her.

  I can feel my heart punching the inside of my chest as I put the doll in its box and slide it under my bed where random people can’t see and touch it. I change into my pajamas and lie down on my bed without getting under the covers. I stare at the ceiling because I’m not tired enough to close my eyes. Dad and Terri are talking in the kitchen, but I can’t make out any real words. Then I hear footsteps coming toward my door.

  “Cleo, are you all right?” Dad asks. “Do you want me to tuck you in?”

  “No. You go talk with Terri.”

  “Do you want me to come in so we can talk?”

  “No,” I say, though I have plenty I’d like to tell him—like that Terri should go home, and soon. I’d like to say that I didn’t want to clean my room for her, I didn’t want to play a game with her, and she could have ruined the very important hex Samantha and I put so much work into. But I definitely
can’t tell him that one.

  “You’re sure you don’t want a good-night kiss?” Dad asks from the other side of the door.

  “No,” I say. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Okay. Love you.”

  I don’t feel like saying “I love you” back tonight. So I just say, “Good night.”

  I fall asleep mad, but I wake up early—earlier than my alarm even—feeling just fine. Who cares about Terri when today Sam and I might become popular?

  Unlike a normal morning, when Dad has to yell at me two or three times before I’ll pull my comforter off my head, today I jump out of bed and get dressed, say “good morning” to Marty and Millie, and then go make toast for my morning peanut butter and jelly sandwich. When I throw my knife into the sink and it makes a loud clang, Dad yells from his bedroom, “Cleo, what are you doing?”

  “Making breakfast!” I shout back. “Want some?”

  I don’t hear his answer, but a few minutes later he slowly walks into the kitchen in his underwear and a T-shirt, with his hair messed up and thick glasses on. “Don’t make us late, Dad,” I warn him.

  “You’re in a good mood, considering how you were acting last night,” he says.

  “Oh yeah.” I’m not sure what to tell him about last night.

  “That’s all you can say? Oh yeah?”

  “She was touching all the stuff in my room,” I try to explain. “Like my monsters and my robots, and she didn’t ask.” I don’t mention the voodoo doll.

  “Well, there are better ways to deal with something like that,” Dad says. “You need to apologize the next time you see her.”

  I don’t know about that, Dad, I’m thinking, but I just nod.

  “She really liked playing the game with you,” he tells me—which means Terri is kind of dumb because I wasn’t that nice to her then either. “I’d like you to give her a chance.”

  “Okay!” I say, impatient. I don’t want to talk; I want to go to school! “Are you ready to go?”

  “Give me a couple of minutes, for Pete’s sake,” he says. “What’s the occasion?”

  I’m sure Dad has no idea about the hex, but I’d better stop being so excited or he’s going to realize something is strange. “Nothing,” I say. “I’ve got a lot to discuss with Samantha. You know, our science projects and stuff.”

  “Well, let me make my coffee and we’ll get going.”

  “Okay, but hurry!” I shove the last piece of PB&J into my mouth and run down the hall to get my backpack and jacket. I go and sit in our car and open my notebook to the stuff I should have read for Focus! class over the weekend.

  Dad finally comes out of the house and drives me to school. When I get to our classroom, I look at Samantha and I know we’re thinking the same things: What’s going to happen to make us popular? What is Madison going to do to embarrass herself? How will it happen? When?

  It’s super hard to concentrate in any of our classes because I can’t stop looking over at Madison. One time she catches me. She doesn’t stick her tongue out because she’s eating her lightly salted kale chips like a perfect princess, but she shoots me a look that everybody knows—the look that says “What do you want, weirdo?” I turn my eyes away, and a second later I hear a cough!

  Sam and I look at each other. Maybe a lightly salted kale chip is getting caught in Madison’s throat and she has to cough it out! Even better, maybe Kevin will have to do the Heimlich and grab her around the stomach and squeeze hard to force it out of her! We tried to learn the Heimlich maneuver at my old school. It was totally embarrassing to practice on each other, and it would be way worse if someone had to use it on you in class for real. Everyone would see the piece of food come flying out of your mouth, and what if it landed on someone and…?

  But Madison’s not coughing anymore.

  At lunch, Sam and I watch carefully as Madison exits the cafeteria line and walks toward her table. She stumbles a tiny bit.

  “Did she trip? Was that a little trip?” I wonder out loud to Sam.

  “If you have to ask, it’s definitely not embarrassing enough to count.” Sam is frowning. She’s disappointed and so am I. If nothing happens to Madison today, we may have to decide that pizza day was a coincidence. But Uncle Arnie said it was real, and I want to believe him. Our popularity hangs in the balance!

  Late in the day, Kevin says it’s time for the Focus! kids to head to our classroom. Scabby Larry jumps out of his chair, like there are hundred-dollar bills waiting for us there. Sam and I, we take our time. We’re in no rush.

  I expect Madison to make a comment about me and Scabby Larry going to Focus! together, but she’s actually standing up too. I guess she needs to go to the bathroom. It would be great if she got stuck in the toilet and they had to call the janitor, and the whole school gathered around and it ended up on the TV news. Now that would be embarrassing!

  When we get to Focus!, there’s the usual noise and activity because kids from all different grades are arriving and settling in. Roberta tells us to take our seats and quiet down because we have a special presentation today.

  “I know it’s difficult to believe that you can achieve your dreams when you’re a kid here in middle school,” says Roberta. “But this is where it begins. If you start accomplishing goals now, you’ll get used to doing it. Then you’ll do it your entire life and be as successful as you want to be! So I would like to introduce you to a middle school student who is exceptionally focused on realizing her dreams. Most of you probably know her. Please welcome Madison Paddington.”

  The classroom door opens and Madison struts in like a celebrity on the red carpet. Everyone in class looks at each other like the Martian king has landed or Pandaroo has jetted in on his trail of rainbows. Why in the world would Madison be here? Maybe she hit Roberta’s car with her bike or killed Roberta’s cat or something and owes her a favor. Otherwise Maddy Paddy would never set foot in the Focus! room.

  Madison stands up straight and proud next to Roberta’s desk as Roberta says, “Madison is here today to share some of the great ways she manages to achieve her goals.”

  Samantha leans over to me and whispers, “My goal is to be mean and nasty to people, and I achieve it every day!” I laugh so loud I can’t help snorting. Everyone looks at me, including Madison.

  Roberta makes a squinty-eyed face at me as she says to everyone, “Please, let’s give our fellow student all our attention.”

  Though none of us want to, we all quiet down. Madison doesn’t look nervous at all to speak in front of the class. “When Roberta was looking for a student to talk to the Focus! class, of course everybody thought of me. I have been an achiever from a very young age. One of my goals is to be the captain of the high school cheerleading squad, so in second grade, I started cheering for the local peewee football team. Unfortunately I fell from the top of a human pyramid. I told the coach that the girls on the bottom row were too small to hold the rest of us, but the coach didn’t listen to me so I didn’t go back the following year. I still plan to try out for high school cheerleading, though!”

  That’s not such an inspirational story.

  “My mother wants me to be famous one day,” Madison continues, “so my parents put me in acting classes on the weekends. I’ve had small roles in community theater shows. It means I hang out with adults a lot of the time and don’t get to spend much time with my friends, but I guess I don’t mind because I’m learning the craft of acting and it will look good on my résumé if my dad ever lets me audition for commercials, which he won’t yet!”

  Hmmm. That story doesn’t sound any better.

  Madison keeps going. “As many of you know, I have won the Friendship Community School penmanship competition almost every year since we learned how to write.”

  Okay, well, I guess that’s pretty cool, if anybody wrote things down on paper anymore. If I didn’t hate—I mean, strongly dislike—Madison so much, I might be happy for her and all her accomplishments. But I’m not.

&
nbsp; “If you want to accomplish your goals, you have to be organized,” Madison is saying. Then, out of nowhere, there’s a sound—like my stomach gurgling when I’m really hungry, or a stretching cat with laryngitis meowing long and loud.

  Everyone kind of looks at each other, like What was that? But no one says anything. Madison continues, saying, “I have goals for each day, each week, even each hour.” Then we hear it.

  FARRRRR­RRRRR­T!

  Sam glances at me. I feel like everything around us has stopped, including Earth turning on its axis.

  I look at Madison carefully. She has a really uncomfortable look on her face. Her eyes are big and she moves just a little bit, like her butt is clenching in her tight jeans.

  This has got to be it! Sam and I look at each other in shock and unbelievable happiness. At least part of our hex is working! Uncle Arnie is right. My dad is wrong. Voodoo is totally real and my life is better already because I’m feeling so happy!

  Madison forces a sick-looking smile and keeps going. “I have a bulletin board at home with cards of things I want to get done. I also put up pictures of things I like and places I want to go someday, which help inspire me….”

  FARRRRR­RRRRR­RT! This one is longer and louder, and it’s even more obvious where it came from. Samantha and I are too shocked to laugh, though everyone else is starting to.

  “Kids, calm down. Let Madison finish her presentation,” Roberta says, but she can’t help herself from making a face because now she’s smelling something really bad like the rest of us are. It’s a cross between a dead skunk on the side of the road and a bologna sandwich that’s been left out on the counter until it’s green around the edges.

  “Roberta, could I…come back another day? I don’t…feel well,” Madison says, as we all hear the next FARRRRR­RRRRR­RRRRT! Now bursts of laughter start popping like firecrackers out of people’s mouths, even if they’re trying to hold it in.

  Madison doesn’t run out the door—she’s too cool for that—but her feet move very quickly and I can tell her body is extremely stressed…especially her butt cheeks. Roberta watches her go, then turns to us, looking confused. I guess she doesn’t know what we should do now that our special presentation has skittered away, leaving nothing behind but a bad smell hanging in the air. I almost feel sorry for her.