Anyway, except for the acquiring of the batteries, the transport spell is easy. You think of the place you’re heading to; hold two lithium batteries together, positive and negative charges facing each other; say the spell; and go.
After I finish getting dressed (jeans, my back-to-school top, and my summer sandals that I haven’t seen in at least two weeks—hello, sandals!), we say good-bye to Mom and grab our copies of A2. Miri scoops up her batteries, I take the address, and we’re ready!
Almost ready.
“What are you doing?” Miri asks me, annoyed.
“Just texting Raf.”
“Hurry!” She crouches to the carpet.
See you at 7:30! Rachel. He finally showed me how to punctuate and I am now a texting machine. The queen of texting. The master of my technology. The—
“Rachel! Get on! This position isn’t comfy!”
I hit Send. “Done. Hey, do you want to give me the batteries? I don’t mind playing pony.”
She springs up, I crouch, and she hops on. I pick up the batteries, one in each hand; make two fists; twine my thumbs together; and say:
“Transport me to the place inside my mind.
The power of my fists shall ye bind.”
I picture the address, 122 East Granger, and a jolt of electricity runs through my body, like I just stuck my finger in a socket. My body begins to feel weightless, like I’m an astronaut in a spaceship, and my skin feels hot and dry, like it’s being blow-dried by a thousand hair dryers all set on high. Instead of our beige living room couch and wood floor, there’re a kaleidoscope of dots and swirls of blue, red, and yellow. Eventually, the wind stops, the colors settle into a flat desert yard and a wide blue sky, and my feet touch—
Ouch!
—the tip of a baby prickly pear cactus. About a hundred pins insert themselves into my right heel. Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Why am I stepping on cactus needles? I look down to see one sandaled foot and one bare foot standing on a row of cactuses. Cacti? Either way, it hurts!
“Get off, get off, get off!” I shout at Miri. “You’re making it worse!”
She hops off my back and steps away.
I peel my foot from the cactus. I am a human porcupine. Ow. I begin picking out the offending needles. Ow, ow, ow. This had better be the last one…. Ow!
Now. Where’s my shoe? “I lost a sandal!”
“Where?”
“If I knew where it was, it wouldn’t be lost, would it?” I hop away from the attack plant and look around. We’re about ten yards away from a small white stucco cottage.
“I mean, is it in Arizona?”
“It could have fallen off on the way.” It could be any-where from Chicago to Topeka.
“So what do you want to do?”
“Find it,” I whine.
“We can zap up a multiplying spell for the one you still have. Hold on. Let me find it. I think it’s on page seven hundred and two.”
Ow. Ow. Ow. I hop over to her. “My foot hurts too much. I can’t think!” I pluck out one of the needles. And another. And another.
“Weird,” she says. “I could have sworn it was here. But there’s a heat spell on page seven hundred and two instead! Where is that multiplying spell? I’m so confused!”
“Miri, can’t you just make something up?” Ow. Ow, ow, ow.
“You know I prefer to use the spells in the book,” she says haughtily. “They’re far sturdier.”
Gimme a break. “You know what would make me sturdier? A second shoe. Just do it, please!”
“All right, hold on. I’ll try.”
She takes a deep breath, bends on one knee, touches my sandal, and says:
“Missing shoe,
Give me two!”
Poof! A second sandal blossoms on the ground.
“Yay, Miri! Way to go! I’m so proud of you.”
She preens. “Thank you. I thought it was pretty clever.”
I slip my foot inside, but something feels wrong. My toes are sticking out the other side. What’s up with that? Oh. She copied the original sandal. Both shoes are made for my left foot.
“Does it fit?” she asks.
“Yup! All good,” I say quickly. No reason to undermine her confidence. There must be a spell to right the right. Right? I’ll fix it later in the bathroom. I hook her arm through mine. “Shall we?”
We start toward the cottage. “It looks so plain,” she says as we approach the one-story nondescript white building.
“What did you expect? Sparkles?”
She giggles. “Something like that.”
When we reach the door, I say, “There’s no doorbell. I guess I’ll knock.”
No answer.
“Miri, we’re not going to be the only ones at these les-sons, are we?”
“I hope not,” she says. “The whole point is to meet new people. Maybe this just isn’t the right place. Look.” Miri points to a window on the left. The shades are drawn, but it looks dark inside. “I bet you took us to the wrong address.”
“Oh, sure, assume I’m the one who screwed up. Maybe you wrote down the wrong address.”
She cocks her head. “It’s a little more likely that you messed up, isn’t it? Don’t deny that I’m the superior witch.”
Puh-lease! I kick up my second left shoe. “Oh yeah, Ms. Superior? Do I look like I have two left feet?”
She flushes. “Well, I have seen you dance.”
“Hello there,” says a low voice behind us. A male voice.
We spin around to see a boy. He’s on the small side— maybe five foot five—is thin, and has light brown messed-up hair. He’s wearing faded jeans and a green untucked shirt.
And he’s cute.
“Do you live here?” Miri asks. “Because if you do, we’re in the wrong place. ’Cause you shouldn’t be here. I mean—”
What is she saying? That girl has got to learn how to talk with boys! “Not that there’s anything wrong with you,” I say. “Or with where you live….” I look at Miri. I’m not doing much better.
He breaks into a smile. “Judging from the lithium batteries you’re holding, I’m thinking you’re in the right place.” He opens his hands and reveals two batteries. “Transportation spell, right?”
Omigod! He’s a boy witch. A cute boy witch. I’m talking to a cute boy witch.
“You’re a warlock?” Miri asks him. “That is so cool! We’ve never met any warlocks our own age before.”
“How old are you guys?” he asks, stepping closer.
Oh, look at his blue eyes. Big blue eyes that crinkle when he smiles!
“I’m twelve and Rachel’s fourteen,” Miri says. “I mean thirteen. I mean, I’m thirteen, and Rachel’s—”
“Fifteen,” I interject. “I just turned fifteen on Thursday.”
He gives me a crinkle-eyed smile. “Happy birthday, Rachel.”
He knows my name! How does he know my name? He is an all-knowing warlock! Oh, wait, Miri just said it. “Thank you.” Now we’re just smiling at each other. This is weird. Must stop!
“I’m Adam.” He puts out his hand.
Adorable! We’re going to shake hands. I stick out my hand and we shake. I don’t expect his hand to be so … warm. “This is my sister, Miri.”
Now they shake. There’s a whole lot of shaking going on. Is he still smiling at me? He is! I look down at my identical shoes.
“Nice to meet you,” he says. “You’ve never been here before, have you?”
“We’re newbies,” I say.
“Where are you from?”
“New York,” Miri says.
“New York City,” I clarify. He should know that we are city girls, and therefore super-cool. “You?”
“Salt Lake City.” Oh! He’s a city boy too! He’s also super-cool!
Do cool people know they’re cool? Or does wanting to be cool automatically make you uncool?
“So, Adam, what are you doing here?” Miri asks. “Isn’t this the place for Samsorta lessons?”
&n
bsp; “I’m studying for my Simsorta,” he says.
“Your what?” I ask.
“Studying for my Simsorta,” he repeats.
“No, I heard. I’m just wondering what a—”
“Can we continue this conversation inside?” Miri interrupts, fidgeting. “I don’t want to be late.”
“Miri,” I say, “we’re not late. We’re here.”
“Isn’t Samsorta class at one?” Adam asks.
“Yeah,” Miri says. “And it’s already a quarter to.”
Adam taps his watch. “It’s only a quarter to ten. There’s a three-hour time difference.”
Miri’s eyes widen. “I forgot that part.”
I laugh. “Good work, Mir.”
“I’ll show you guys around, then,” he says. “Should we go in?”
“I tried knocking,” I say. “But no one answered.”
“Did you try umretto?” Adam asks.
I don’t know what to do with that sentence. “Is it raining?”
He laughs. “Not umbrella. Umretto. It means ‘open’ in Brixta. It’s the secret code.”
Guess Matilda was too busy pausing to give us the password.
“Watch.” He approaches the door, knocks three times, and says, “Umretto!” The door creaks ajar. He opens it the rest of the way.
Miri and I gasp. What looks like a small cottage from the outside is gigantic inside. It’s the size of my school. We follow Adam through the doorway, down two steps, and into the atrium. Even though we couldn’t see in from outside, from inside we can see out. The walls and ceiling are all windows. Blue is everywhere. It feels like we’re suspended in the desert. Wow. I take a deep breath. It smells like cinnamon incense. Around me, I hear sounds of wind chimes. Wind chimes and …
Teens. Teen witches and warlocks. Boys laughing! Girls gossiping!
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Miri whispers.
Boys and girls flirting on window ledges!
Adam laughs. “Welcome to the LWCC. The Lozacea Witch Community Center.”
Boys and girls floating above window ledges!
Miri squeezes my hand. “Who are all these … these … people?”
“Witches and warlocks.”
“But why are you all here?” she asks. “For lessons?”
“The guys are studying for their Simsortas. And there’s a game room downstairs. And advanced Brixta starts at eleven, so people came for that.”
“Oh, we should take that!” Miri says. “We need to learn some Brixta for the Samsorta.”
“Beginner’s Brixta isn’t till next semester,” Adam says. “I took it last year.”
“But what’s a Simsorta?” I ask.
“You really are newbies,” he says. “A Simsorta is a Sam-sorta. For boys.”
“Aha.”
“Except since we’re not allowed to participate in the group celebration on October thirty-first—”
“Wait,” I say. “Why not?”
He shrugs. “Girls only. Tradition.”
“That sounds kind of sexist,” I say.
“Tell me about it. So since boys can’t be in the main one, it’s become a tradition to do our own stand-alone events on Friday nights throughout the year. Mine is next month, so I’m here to practice.” He smiles. “And to meet cute witch girls.”
My cheeks burn. Am I a cute witch? I think I am!
“Let me show you the caf,” he says, and we follow him through the atrium and into a hallway. “Here it is,” he says, opening another door.
A cluster of small round bar tables is in the center of the room, and four white-and-black-checkered stools surround each one. There are girls and boys at about half the tables, and everyone is eating. But I don’t see where they bought their food. Not a lunch lady in sight.
“Is there a kitchen?” I ask, looking around. “I don’t see any place to get food.”
“Watch,” he says. He sits down on one of the stools, places both hands facedown on the table, and calls out, “Fresh OJ! Cheese and mushroom omelet! French fries! A side of crispy bacon! Ketchup!”
The table rumbles and—poof!—his breakfast, as well as a set of cutlery, appears in front of him.
Cool!
“Can I order you guys some breakfast?” he asks us. “It’s all free.”
Miri’s eyes are wide. “I’m good. We ate three hours ago. In New York. When it was really ten o’clock.”
Who cares? I can’t wait to test this baby out. I splay my hands on the smooth surface. “Tall white chocolate mocha decaf latte! With whipped cream! And brown sugar!”
Poof!
“Yay!” I squeal, dipping my finger in puffy cream. “It worked! What else can I do?” I place my hands back in their positions. Something fun! Something crazy! “Cotton candy!” Poof! Omigod, it’s on a cone! How did it know I like it that way? “This is the coolest trick ever! How does it work?”
“Who knows?” Adam says, eating a forkful of egg. “The founders of this place thought of everything.”
“No kidding. So tell me more about these Simsortas. Are they also in Transylvania?”
“Romania,” Miri says.
“Whatever.” I take a big sip of my drink. Ouch! Hot! Need something cold! Water! No—frozen yogurt. I place both hands on the table. “Pinkberry!” Poof! Abracazam. My favorite frozen yogurt appears right in front of me. I ingest a spoonful. Yum.
Adam is watching me, clearly amused. “You’re a riot,” he says.
I take another spoonful of yogurt. “I aim to entertain. But back to the Simsortas. Where are they held?”
“They’re everywhere. Mine is going to be at the Golden Gate Bridge.”
I drop my spoon. “Seriously?” I’ve always wanted to go to San Francisco! Maybe now that I’ve amused him, he’ll in-vite me.
“Yup. Erik Bruney had his at Disney World last night. We could go on any ride we wanted to. I went on Space Mountain like ten times in a row.”
“Wow,” I say.
“They rented out the whole place?” Miri asks. “That must have cost a fortune.”
His eyes crinkle. “They enchanted the whole place. I doubt any money changed hands.”
Miri makes a face. “Doesn’t sound very gray.”
“It wasn’t,” Adam admits. “Hey, do you guys know Amanda Hanes? She’s from Manhattan. She was there.”
Hello, do you know how many people live in New York? Like … well, I don’t know exactly, but it’s a lot. We shake our heads.
“She’s my age,” he says. “Sixteen.”
“Oh! I didn’t realize you were older,” I say. “You’re a junior?”
He nods.
“How come you’re just having your Simsorta now?”
“Boys usually get their powers later than girls do. Do you know Michael Summers?”
“We don’t know anyone,” I say, and get annoyed with my mom. Why did she have to keep us so secluded? We’re never going to win at witch genealogy. We’re, like, the worst players ever.
“We know Wendaline Peaner,” Miri pipes up. “Do you know her?”
“Of course! She was on my summer teen tour last year.”
“Oh! She mentioned going on a teen tour,” I say. “But I thought she was kidding!”
“No, it was real.”
“Where did you guys go?”
“We visited all the Wonders of the World.”
“How long did that take?” Miri asks. “All summer?”
“No, only a few days. We skipped the airplane part, obviously.”
Obviously.
“Wendaline’s going to Charm School, though, right?” Adam asks.
“Yeah,” Miri says sadly. “Our mom studied there too.”
“You’re lucky you were able to convince her to let you come here, then,” he says. “This place is a million times more fun than Charm School.”
“Why’s that?” Miri asks.
“We have Ping-Pong,” he says, “and the coolest caf in the history of the w
orld. And unlike Charm School, we’re coed.”
Yes, that’s certainly an advantage.
“Do you know Praw?” he asks next.
“No,” I say, focusing again on my yogurt. “Is he from New York too?”
“No,” says a new voice. “But I just sat down at the table. Hey, y’all.”
“Hey, Praw,” Adam says. “What up?”
I look away from my snack and at the new boy at our table. He’s younger than Adam, younger than me, maybe thirteen or fourteen. He has sandy red hair and pale white skin and is covered with freckles. He looks just like Archie! No—he looks just like Ron from Harry Potter!
“Hi,” I say. “I’m Rachel. Nice to meet you. This is my sister, Miri.”
“Hey, Rachel,” he says to me, then turns to Miri. “Is it Marie?”
Instead of responding, my sister squeaks.
Praw leans in closer. “Pardon?”
“Eeek,” she squeaks again.
“It’s Miri,” I say for her, and give her my what-is-wrong-with-you look.
“Pretty name,” he says.
A flush of red creeps up Miri’s neck. She looks like she’s having an allergic reaction. Or maybe she’s choking on something? I need to get her a drink. I place my hands back on the table. “Water!” Poof! A stream of water begins sprouting from the center of the table. Uh-oh.
“Stop water!” Adam says. The water stops. “You have to be more specific. I’ve done that a few times too.”
I try again. “Bottle of water!” Poof! It works. I hand my still-flushed sister the bottle of Evian. Fancy! I wonder if I can order extra and take some home.
Miri takes a long sip and gives us a forced grin. She then turns even redder. Redder than Praw’s hair. No, redder than the bottle of ketchup.
“Are you talking Samsorta lessons?” Praw asks her.
She nods very slowly. What is up with her? I know she gets weird around boys, but she doesn’t usually go mute.
“I’m here for Advanced Brixta,” he says.
“Are you having a Simsorta too?” I ask, trying to allevi-ate some of the awkwardness.
“Not till next year. I just got my powers over the summer.”
Parties & Potions Page 9