She bites her lip. “My calls totaled three minutes.”
“Wanna call me again now? I’m happy to chat. This train ride is totally boring.”
Finally, she cracks a small smile.
“Miri,” I say. “Your phone is going to ring off the hook beginning next week. That’s why we’re doing this Samsorta thing, right? So you can make friends!”
She looks into her lap. “It’s not just about making friends…. Do you think I’ll ever have a boyfriend?”
Omigod! Miri is asking me about boys! Abracazam! “Do you have a crush I should know about? Tell me absolutely everything!”
She turns bright red. “There’s nothing to tell. It’s not like there’s anyone at school who likes me.”
“Then they’re stupid. Next! Or, we could always spike their drinks! We’ll put a love potion in their water bottles. Huh, huh?” I wiggle my eyebrows extra-suggestively. “I know how much you love love potions. Or maybe we’ll make you that love perfume that Mom used last year. Then you’ll have a gazillion dates just like she did. Or we can—”
“I changed my mind,” she says, interrupting.
“You want to try the love potion?” I ask.
“No.” She hands my cell back. “I want you to call Raf again and stop harassing me.”
When we arrive, Prissy, Dad, and a pregnant Jennifer are waiting at the station.
Not that she looks pregnant. She’s only a couple of months in. But I can tell, I swear. Probably because she keeps rubbing her belly.
“You’re here!” Prissy screams, jumping up and down like she’s on a trampoline. “We’ve been waiting and I’m hungry and—”
“Hi, kids!” My dad throws his arms around us. “I missed you!”
“We just saw you two weeks ago,” Miri says, giggling.
I pat the bald spot on his head. My special way of saying hello.
“Two weeks is too long to go without my girls,” he says, and we pile into the car.
“How are you feeling?” I ask Jennifer.
She opens her window. “Oh, I’m fine. I have a little morning sickness, but it’s not terrible.”
“Is it a girl, Mommy?” Prissy asks.
She groans. “I told you, honey, I don’t know.”
“I want a girl.”
“I know, honey, but it’s not up to me.”
“I don’t want a boy. No brothers. No.”
A brother, huh? Maybe he could help me under-stand boys better. Not right away, obviously. But in a few years.
Hopefully before I turn twenty-seven and get married.
The next two days go by at a broken broom’s pace.
My dad and Jennifer got me a … bike.
“Oh!” This is not a laptop. Not that I really expected a lap-top. They are super-expensive. But so are bikes! And I need a laptop. I don’t need a bike. I don’t even like biking that much. But I don’t want to hurt their feelings, so I try to feign enthusiasm. “Great! Thanks!” Why would they get me a bike?
“I know how much you used to love riding,” my dad says. “I thought you could take it out around here. I used to take you everywhere….” He lets his voice trail off, remembering. “Miri, we can get you one for Hanukkah if you want. So you guys can go together.”
Oh, sure, she gets a choice? Maybe she can get a new laptop and I’ll trade her. I’m sounding ungrateful, aren’t I? It’s just that I haven’t ridden a bike in a million years. (Be-sides when we flew our old canary bike into the city to magically turn it into a car. But that wasn’t pleasure riding.) Doesn’t my dad know me better than that?
Anyway. A new bike. Yay
Instead of biking, I spend the weekend worrying about the upcoming magic pop quiz. When will it be? What if my dad is involved? What if they turn him into a frog and I have to reverse the spell? Surprise! You’re a frog! Surprise! Your daughter’s a witch! Yikes.
I also teach myself how to text on my cell. I find the letters a bit confusing, but if the rest of the world can do it, so can I.
But why can’t I figure out how to make spaces or punctuation?
I also spend a lot of time thinking about what Raf said about us being “real.” Are we real? How can we be real when he doesn’t know my secret?
Should he know the real me?
Can I tell him the truth? After all, he did kind of tell me he loves me. Or at least, he used the word love in connection with me. That counts, right?
Almost. Fine, maybe he’s not ready for the truth now, but maybe one day?
I text him Saturday night.
Me: Howstheparty
Raf: Boring without you. Today was more interesting.
Me: aturdads
Raf: Yeah. I designed a jacket.
I want to write !!!! but I don’t know how, so I call him instead. “You what?”
He laughs. “I don’t know, I was playing around with the sketches and one of the designers saw it and liked it.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Is that weird?”
“No! That’s insanely cool.”
How is it that Raf knows how to make a jacket, and I can barely figure out how to make an exclamation point?
When I dump my schoolbag in my locker on Monday morning, I can’t help feeling uneasy The whole idea of the pop magic quiz is still making me jumpy. I spend the entire morning looking over my shoulder. Will I be zapped away in midsentence? Will I need to be excused from school? Will I need props? A special witch outfit? Witch shoes?
Are there special witch shoes?
There are golf shoes and tennis shoes. There should probably be witch shoes.
Ruby slippers, maybe?
“You have no idea when she’s going to show up?” I ask Miri that night.
“It’s all good! Sometime this week.”
“But when? During the day? In the evening?”
“It’s all good!”
If I hear one more It’s all good, I’m going to zap the expression into a paddle and bop my sister over the head.
Mom tells me not to worry so much. She popped over to Lozacea on Saturday to check it out, and she seemed happy with it.
But me? I remain a bundle of nerves for all of Tuesday and most of Wednesday. It doesn’t help when, about four seconds after the Wednesday lunch bell rings, Wendaline accosts me in front of my locker.
“Rachel, I need to talk to you!”
She’s wearing another long black velvet dress and—oh God—black satin gloves. I sigh and motion for her to follow me out of the caf and into the girls’ bathroom. “What’s wrong?”
She thrusts out her gloved palm. On it is a frog.
“What is that?” I scream.
“It’s a frog.”
“I got that, thanks. But why is it here?” Oh, no. “You didn’t turn a teacher into a frog, did you?”
“No! I told you, I’m a white witch. I wouldn’t do that.” Ribbit. “Someone put it in my locker.”
Ribbit.
“Someone put a frog in your locker?” I ask disbelievingly “Who would do that?”
“I don’t know!” Her face clouds over. “It could have been that senior girl. The one who always wears one color?”
My heart sinks. “Cassandra?”
“Yeah. We discussed frogs yesterday morning.”
“Wendaline, why in the world would you discuss frogs with Cassandra?”
“I have to pass her locker on the way to bio. On Monday she told me I needed a haircut. Yesterday, she spit at me.”
“No!”
She pets the animal’s head. “I asked her to please leave me alone.”
I groan.
“But then she said if I was really a witch, I’d stop her my-self by turning her into a frog or something. Tell me, why are people so obsessed with witches turning people into frogs?”
I shrug. “So what did you do? Turn her into a frog?” I know that would break my no-magic-at-school rule, but that chick is begging for a frogmorphosis.
“Of course not! I told her I w
as a white witch.”
Yeah, I’m sure that scared her mono-colored pants off. “And then?”
“I walked away. And now I just found this.”
Ribbit.
“If you want her to leave you alone, you have to learn to blend in.”
She looks down at her hand and sighs. “What do I do?”
“First of all, never tell anyone you’re a witch. And remember: when you walk through those JFK doors, you’re no longer a witch. You’re a totally normal girl. Got it?”
She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it. Then opens it again. “Fine.”
“Good. And we have to do something about your look.” I appraise her outfit.
“Let me guess,” she says. “I need a makeover.”
I take it all in: the over-the-top dress, the over-the-top gloves. “No, my friend.” I put my arm around her shoulder. “You need a makeunder.”
I make plans with Wendaline to spend Sunday shopping. I’d zap her into shape, but after what happened last time, I’m afraid I’ll somehow end up in polka-dot dresses and satin gloves.
By Friday, I’m hoping Matilda, whoever she is, has forgotten all about me and my pop quiz. Sorry, no Samsorta for me this year! I remain on Planet Denial through lunch and right into seventh-period math, when the recycling bin explodes into a pink puff of smoke.
I scream. Of course I do. Then I wonder, Why is no one else screaming?
I look around the room and discover that no one can scream. They’re frozen. Like at camp, when the counselor calls “Freeze!” and everyone has to stay in the same position, and the first person who moves cleans the table.
When the cloud of pink clears, I spot a woman in the recycling bin, straightening her dress. She waves to me. “Hi, Rachel!”
“Matilda?”
“Yes, that’s me. Are you ready for your test?”
Is she kidding? She doesn’t appear to be. She appears to be stepping out of the recycling bin. I push back my chair and stand up. “Right now?”
“Why, are you busy?”
I look around at my frozen friends. “I was kind of in the middle of math.”
“Don’t worry. You won’t miss anything. Your teacher will continue where she left off. She won’t know she was paused.”
Paused, huh? Cool! I didn’t know we could pause time. I could pause time when I’m not done with an essay test question! I could pause time on my next birthday so it lasts even longer! I could pause time when I’m lip-locked with Raf, and then experiment with different kissing positions. I need to get myself some of that pink stuff. “I’ve never seen anyone pause time before.”
“And you never will. It’s impossible. I just paused the people in the room.” She pulls on her earlobe. “Listen.”
I hear the honks of the cabbies outside, as well as the sounds of the students on the other side of the wall. “Got it.” So it won’t work on essay questions or birthdays, but it would still work on kissing.
Matilda rolls up her dress sleeves. “This won’t take long. I just need to make sure you qualify.”
My heart speeds up. “Does anyone ever not qualify?” What if I don’t qualify? What if I don’t really have magical powers? What if everything that’s happened in the last four months has been a figment of my imagination? What if I’m completely insane?
Do insane people know they’re insane?
Do paused people know they’re being paused?
Probably no on both. Omigod. Have I ever been paused?
She nods gravely. “You wouldn’t be the first around here. Now, let’s see. I usually try to use ingredients from around the room. Hmm.” She scans the class. “I see chalk. Rulers. Calculators. Maybe your teacher has an apple. Don’t kids bring their teachers apples?”
I shrug. “This is New York.” Then I wonder who didn’t qualify. Someone in this classroom? Someone at JFK? Miri? She better qualify.
Matilda opens Ms. Barnes’s desk drawer and rummages through it.
“What are you doing?” I blurt out. “You can’t go through her drawer!” Uh-oh. I’m for sure getting witch detention for insubordination. I wonder what witch detention is. There are so many options! They could lock you in a dungeon, or zap you over to Kenya. They could trap you in the Civil War if they wanted to.
Would I get a hoop dress?
Matilda chuckles. “A witch with a conscience,” she says. “Impressive. How about this, then?” She snaps her fingers, and the entire contents of Ms. Barnes’s private drawer are now on display on top of her desk. “Now we’re not going through her drawer.”
Creative way of solving the problem. I think I’ll shut up now.
“Let’s see … we have a packet of crackers, a Twix bar.… We can work with this. Rachel, please turn to page seven hundred and fifty-three in your copy of your spell book.”
I stall. “You mean The Authorized and Absolute Reference Handbook to Astonishing Spells, Astounding Potions, and History of Witchcraft Since the Beginning of Time?”
Matilda raises an eyebrow. “That would be the one.”
“Here?”
“Of course here.”
Oopsies. “I didn’t bring it to school.”
She clucks her tongue. “Even on test day?”
“I didn’t know it was test day.” I’ve been waiting all week for test day! “Should I zap it here?”
“No, I shall write out the spell.” She zaps the board, and the equation I was in the middle of copying disappears. She lifts her finger and magically inscribes on the board (in what I hope is chalk and not permanent white marker):
½ piece of colored chalk
1 piece of chocolate
1 cup
Place chocolate in cup. Crush chalk and sprinkle on top of chocolate while chanting:
You shall bake
A chocolate cake.
Make it hasty,
Colorful, and tasty.
I reread the spell and peek at the clock. The period is going to end in about two minutes. What if I don’t finish in time? What if the kids in next period rush in and see Pauseapalooza?
“Take your time,” Matilda says.
Not!
I hurry to the desk and pick up a piece of green chalk, Ms. Barnes’s chocolate bar (sorry, Ms. B! I’ll get you a new one—promise!), and her coffee mug. I dump her coffee into the garbage can and carry all three elements back to my desk. I unwrap the chocolate, drop it into the mug. Time to crush the chalk. Need something hard. Calculator? I pick up my calculator, stand the chalk up, and attempt to grind it into my desk. Not bad. Once done, I slide the chalk into my palm and then recite the spell while sprinkling the chalk into the cup.
The room gets cold and the ingredients contract, swirl, and begin to expand. Kabam! A small chocolate cupcake materializes on my desk. On it, in tiny green frosting, is writ-ten See you on Saturday!
Wahoo!
Matilda claps. “Congratulations, Rachel. I’m looking forward to teaching you this fall.” With that, she steps back into the recycling bin, tosses the pink powder into the air, and immediately disappears.
I guess that’s it. Well done, me!
Everyone in the room un-pauses. Including Ms. Barnes, who now looks thoroughly perplexed. Because instead of a math equation on the board, there is a baking spell. Not to mention that the contents of her drawer are on top of her desk, on display. Minus one chocolate bar.
“What…,” she begins.
I focus on the board and think:
The spell looks obscene.
Let the board be wiped clean!
As if people aren’t confused enough, a gush of cold air storms through the room and the spell disappears from the board.
Tammy points to my desk. No, to the cupcake on my desk. Whoops. “Want some?” I offer. She shakes her head, clearly confused. I shrug and then I gobble it up. Yum. What can I say? Must get rid of the evidence.
“So,” I say, dropping my knapsack on the kitchen floor after school. “Did you pass? Did she s
how up during social studies? Did she use the pink pausing dust?”
Miri is slumped in a chair, her socked feet up on the table. “She showed up during lunch! She froze the entire cafeteria for fifteen minutes!”
“No way!”
“Way. When she unfroze them, the bell rang and no one understood what happened to their lunch period.” She giggles. “It was super-awesome!”
“Super-awesome?” I repeat with a laugh.
“Yes! Admit it: you’re excited.”
“I’m not admitting anything,” I say, sitting down beside her. “I’m reserving judgment till tomorrow.”
She rolls her eyes. “Speaking of tomorrow, I don’t want to be late. Class starts at one, so let’s plan on being there for twelve-thirty We’ll transport, of course, since it’s in Arizona. I’d like to leave at twelve, ’kay?”
“ ’Kay,” I say, bopping in my chair. Okay, fine, I’m a little excited. Maybe class will be fun. It might even be awesome. Or super-awesome.
“I hope we can take notes!” Miri says, eyes dreamy.
Or supergeeky
Welcome to the Witch World
Miri cracks open the bathroom door. “I told you I wanted to leave at noon! If you wanted to straighten your hair, you shouldn’t have slept in!”
“I’m ready, I’m ready,” I say, unplugging my Chi, aka the world’s best hair straightener. “What are you wearing to this thing?” I open the door wide. Miri is in jeans and a T-shirt. “Isn’t Arizona hot?” I ask. “Should we wear shorts?”
“I get cold when I travel,” she says. “Do you want to go together or separately?”
“Together,” I say. “My batteries are dead.”
“Your batteries are always dead. What is so hard about getting new ones? They sell them everywhere. They have them at the pharmacy down the block.”
“I know, I know. I’ve been meaning to go.”
“You just went yesterday. You bought gum.”
“Right. I can never remember to get all the things I need when I’m there.”
“Why don’t you keep a list like a normal person?”
“Why are you so obsessed with lists?” My sister types them up and pins them to the bulletin board above her bed-room desk. Homework Assignments for the Month! Things I Need at the Drugstore! Reasons I’m a Geek!
Parties & Potions Page 8