Parties & Potions

by Sarah Mlynowski

  That’s when Wendaline does it. When she passes Cassandra’s locker, she picks up the discarded wrapper, offers it to her, and says, “You dropped this.”

  N00000000000000000000 !

  Clearly, Wendaline is a masochist.

  Cassandra stares at Wendaline as if she has three heads, four eyes, and a tail. Or as if she’s wearing her cloak and sit-ting on a broomstick.

  I’m afraid to move. It’s like I’m paused.

  “Why, thank you, Wendaline,” Cassandra says snidely, drawing out her name so that it sounds ridiculous. She rips the wrapper out of Wendaline’s hand.

  “You’re welcome,” she says, smiling self-consciously, and continues walking.

  Cassandra smoothly stops Wendaline after a step. “Your hair is so long,” she says, patting Wendaline’s as if Wendaline were a child, “It’s like it’s never been cut. How very unusual.”

  Her friends snicker, and the entire posse travels down the hall like a school of sharks.

  Wendaline crosses the hall toward us. “See? She’s not so bad.”

  That’s when I see it—a wad of chewed gum lodged in her hair.

  Tammy and I gasp.

  Wendaline asks, “What now?”

  Another sticky situation, courtesy of Wendaline.

  How Do You Say Party in French?

  Bonjour! Vive la France! “We’re here! We’re here!”

  Paris. The land of romance. Of fashion. Of cheese.

  It’s ten o’clock in Paris, six hours later and much darker than it is at home. It also smells different. Better. Perfume-y. New York smells like egg rolls and dryer sheets.

  Imagine if instead of lavender or garden spring, you could buy scents like Paris and New York. Maybe I should become a professional perfumer.

  “Look how big it is!” Miri exclaims, gazing up at the Eiffel Tower. She slides off my back. “Both your shoes still on this time?”

  I drop the batteries into my silver clutch (aka my magically altered schoolbag). “Yup! You?”

  “Yup. Let’s go!” She teeters ahead in my mom’s shoes, not used to walking in heels.

  “I think that’s a bouncer,” I whisper, motioning to a woman in a black cloak in front of the door. “We’re on the guest list, right?”

  Miri nods. “I hope. I heard that they enchant the whole place so notches and norlocks can’t even see the party. How cool is that?”

  “But what if some tourist tries to crash?”

  “The bouncer tells him it’s closed for a private party.”

  “But what about the person who runs the Eiffel Tower? Someone has to know what’s going on!”

  Miri shrugs. “Maybe they just pause him or something.”

  “Votre nomi” the bouncer asks.

  “I’m Miri Weinstein,” my sister says.

  The bouncer studies her list. “I ’ave you.” She turns to me. “And you are Rachel?”

  “Uh, oui.” Magic bouncers are the best bouncers ever. Not that I’ve ever been to anything that’s required a non-magical bouncer before. But still, she seems very effective.

  “Give me your ’ands,” she barks.

  Huh? “You need a hand? Do you need us to help you with something?” Maybe she’s not as good as I thought.

  “Your ’ands.” She takes my hand and stamps the back of it with a hologram of the Eiffel Tower. She stamps Miri’s next.

  “Touch!” she instructs.

  Miri and I look at each other, shrug, and then simultaneously touch our stamps. Vroom! We’re vaulted to a restaurant at the top of the tower. After landing, I reach out for something to steady my trembling body, and accidentally yank the edge of a black tablecloth. Uh-oh. I watch the glasses on top of said tablecloth all tip over in slow motion. I slam my eyes shut and wait for the sound of breaking glass.

  Instead, I hear “You sure know how to make an entrance.”

  I open my eyes to see Wendaline wiggling her fingers. Glasses magically upright themselves.

  “Thanks,” I say gratefully.

  She smiles. “It’s all good.”

  At least we didn’t disrupt anyone’s dinner. No one is sit-ting at the table. All the guests (I’m guessing about a hundred) are dancing to a live band.

  “You look great!” I tell her. And she does. She’s in a dark black gown beaded with shimmering black pearls. “Your hair is perfect!” Her hair has been styled into a short bob. After the gum trauma, we called Este’s salon and begged them to squeeze Wendaline in that afternoon. She definitely doesn’t look like Rapunzel anymore, that’s for sure. More like Snow White. Plus, I convinced her to get rid of the black nail polish and paint her nails baby pink.

  We’re standing right beside the crowded dance floor. Everyone is in formal wear. The adults are in dark suits and long dresses. The teens are also all dressed up. The girls are wearing tea-length dresses, and the boys are wearing suits.

  “Where do we put our gift?” Miri asks her.

  Wendaline walks us to a pile of presents near the bar. We wondered what to get. What do you buy for a guy who can zap up anything? Wendaline told us it’s traditional to bring jars of rare spices to a Sim. So the guy can make up new spells maybe? We weren’t sure what to spend, so we went to a fancy rare-spice store called Penzeys and bought him an eight-jar bakers’ assortment gift box. We attached a card thanking him for having us. I hope he doesn’t stare at the “from Rachel & Miri Weinstein,” then turn to his family and say … “Who?” Or “Qui?”

  “My mom is motioning to me,” Wendaline says with a sigh. “She wants to introduce me to all her Charmori friends. I’ll be back soon….”

  “Do I look okay?” Miri asks self-consciously when it’s just the two of us.

  “Still amazing,” I say for the fifth time. Her green dress looks gorgeous. And she did a great job with the eye shadow. We only went through a half bottle of makeup remover.

  I look pretty good too, if I must say so myself. Miri insisted I change the color of my prom dress from green to silver, because her dress is green and she didn’t want us to look like twins. Of course, I wanted to look like twins (fun!), but she was strongly against it. I tried to turn my dress heliotrope, but the shade I came up with made me look like a grape. I hope the Samsorta cosmetologists know what they’re doing.

  I straightened my hair too, and it’s extra-glam.

  “I hope Praw’s coming,” Miri says.

  After all this effort, he’d better be. “Didn’t he tell you he was?”

  “Yeah, but what if he doesn’t? And I got all dressed up and he’s not even here!” She turns white. “I see him! He’s here! He’s dancing! Don’t look!”

  I look.

  Praw is indeed on the dance floor, boogying it up and looking extra-adorable and freckly in a dark gray suit.

  “I told you not to look!” Miri cries. She nibbles at her fingers. “What if I freeze up again?”

  “Calm down,” I say in my most soothing voice. I pull her fingers away from her mouth. I should have gotten her a manicure after the makeup lesson. “What are you so nervous about? You’ve been Mywitchbooking with him all week. You’ll have plenty to talk about.”

  “Mywitchbooking isn’t the same as talking in person. Help! What do I do?”

  “Eye contact. Smile. And relax,” I instruct.

  Just then, Praw spots us, smiles, and comes over. “You’re here!”

  “Yup,” Miri says, looking at the ground. “Hey.”

  “Hi, Praw,” I say. I poke Miri in the side. “Eye contact,” I whisper.

  She looks up.

  “Y’all look nice,” he says, but keeps his eyes on Miri.

  Aw.

  “You look very nice too,” I say.

  He blushes. “How was your French quiz?” he asks Miri.

  “Not bad,” she says. “How was your Spanish one?”

  “Not awful.”

  Silence.

  More silence. Uh-oh. Miri gives me a desperate look, so I jump in. “Have you ever been to Paris
before?” I ask him.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I was here last Sunday for brunch with my parents. I mean, my mom and stepdad. My parents are divorced. Did I tell you that already?” He turns red.

  He’s babbling! Talking to Miri is making him nervous! How cute! I squeeze Miri’s arm.

  “Oh,” Miri says, picking at her fingers. “Cool. Not cool ’cause your parents are divorced. Cool because …” She drifts off and looks helplessly back to the floor.

  Because mine are too? She is really struggling here. Should I cause a distraction? Pull on another tablecloth?

  “Praw,” Miri says decisively, “let’s dance.”

  Omigod! Miri! I did not see that coming! But… way to go! Now she doesn’t have to talk at all. But she does have to make it to the dance floor. She teeters in her heels, and I worry she is going to do a face dive, but Praw takes her hand and steadies her. Aw.

  I look around the room for someone to talk to. Adam, where are you? The dance floor is too crowded to make people out. Hmm. I could stand here alone like a wallflower or … I head outside to see the view. Pretty! The lights of the city shimmer.

  “Don’t you want to dance?” I hear a voice be-hind me.

  I smile when I see Adam. He looks very handsome in his suit. “There you are.”

  “Looking for me, huh?”

  I flush. I don’t want him getting the wrong idea! “I … well…”

  “I’m teasing you,” he says. “You clean up nice.”

  “Why, thank you. So do you.”

  He motions inside. “Wanna dance?”

  Would Raf care if I danced with Adam? As a friend, of course. “I would,” I say, “but I’m the world’s worst dancer.”

  “I’m not exactly Dancing with the Stars material either,” he says.

  “There’s a dancing spell, you know.”

  “I haven’t tried it. You?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I say. “You do not want to hear that story.”

  “I think I do,” he says, his eyes crinkling.

  “Okay, you asked for it.” I put my hands on my hips. “My school had a fashion show and I really, really wanted to be in it.” Then I giggle. “I can’t believe I’m telling this ridiculous story.” I’ve never had anyone to tell it to. Or really I’ve never had anyone I could tell it to.

  “Let me guess,” he says. “You were the star.”

  “Not quite,” I say, giggling again. “See, my mom reversed the spell one minute before the show.”

  “No!”

  “Yes. I was a disaster. Actually, I beheaded the faux Eiffel Tower.”

  He presses his index finger against my lips. “Shhh, don’t say that too loud here. It might get you tossed off.”

  A boy is touching me. Touching my lips. A boy who is not Raf is touching my lips.

  I take a step back, away, and grip the railing behind me. I don’t think Raf would want another boy touching my lips. I don’t think I want another boy touching my lips. “I better hold on tight, then.” I giggle again, this time out of uneasiness. “Um, what about you?” I ask, anxious to keep this light. “Ever done any crazy spells?”

  He holds on to the railing beside me. “When I first got my powers, I wanted to be on the football team.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Exactly! So I found a strong-arm spell and then tried out for quarterback.”

  “Did it work?”

  “I shot the ball about a thousand yards.” He does a slow-motion impression of himself throwing the ball, which includes funny facial expressions. “They thought I was bionic.”

  “So you made the team,” I say, laughing.

  “Yup. Starting quarterback.”

  “Congrats!”

  “Not so much. I had strength, but no aim. My first throw, I accidentally hit the coach. Broke his nose.” He does a slow-motion impression of the coach grabbing his face.

  I wince and then laugh. Adam gets what I’m going through. He gets my pain. He gets me.

  The band finishes its song and a crowd of people come out for air.

  Karin, Viv, Michael, and the triplets join us, and then Wendaline and her friends from Charm School, Imogen (who’s English) and Ann (who’s Scottish), come out and once again we’re a group.

  “Hey, have you tried the go spell?” Karin asks me.

  “No,” I say. “Should I?”

  “It’s the best,” Glamour Triplet says.

  The rest of the group murmurs their agreement.

  “That’s the spell you used to go to Hawaii, right?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” Michael says. “It’s made from brown sugar and baby powder and some other stuff, too.”

  “Do you want me to write it out for you?” Karin asks.

  “Sure,” I say. “Thanks.”

  She zaps up paper and a pen and magically maneuvers the latter to write out a spell.

  “We have extra mix,” Preppy Triplet says. “I can give you some if you want to try it home tonight.”

  “Thanks!” How awesome are my new witch friends? So awesome! “Did one of you make it up? Do you share spells?” Do they all get together and trade them like recipes?

  “It appeared in the spell book last week,” Adam says.

  “Spells appear in the book?”

  “Every so often,” Viv says.

  “Haven’t you noticed?” Karin asks.

  “Oh, yeah, for sure,” I say, biting my lip. Not.

  “You so never noticed,” Adam says, teasing. “That’s why the page numbers get messed up. People add content. That’s how they stay current.”

  “It’s like Wikipedia,” Michael explains.

  “I’ve added a few,” Viv says. She’s wearing a very cool black flapper dress. “I made up the clear skin spell last year.”

  “No way! I used that spell!” I give her a high five. “How do you add spells? I didn’t know you could.”

  “Yo, you know the blank page at the end? Just write it in there. If it works, the book absorbs it.”

  “Cool!” I wonder if it would like my bathtub plug spell. Nah, probably not my best one. But my outfit color-changer definitely deserves its place in the canon.

  When it’s time for dessert, I pile my plate high with freshly baked cookies, fancy French pastries, and fruit. Yum. Now, where to sit? Where’s Miri? I spot her on the dance floor still boogying it up with Praw. Those two have not taken a break all night. How are her feet not killing her? Mine are all blistered and I haven’t even danced. I look down at her feet and realize that she’s shoeless. Aha. Smart girl.

  “Rachel, come sit.” Adam pulls out the chair beside him.

  Isn’t he sweet? I sit down and kick off my heels. I put my plate between us. “Dig in.”

  “Having fun?” he asks, helping himself to a cookie.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Sims are wild and crazy.”

  He leans back in his chair. “You’re gonna have to come to mine, you know.”

  Yes! An invite! “I’d be happy to. How long have you had your powers, again?”

  “Since last September,” he says, reaching for another cookie. “You got them over the summer, yeah?”

  “Yeah. But get this.” I motion him closer and he leans in. “My lucky-duck sister got them four months before I did.”

  “Ouch,” he says. His breath smells like chocolate.

  “Do you have any siblings?”

  “Two younger brothers. I was the first to get powers, though. But both my parents are witches, so I’ve pretty much spent my whole life waiting for them.”

  “At least you knew what to expect. My mom didn’t tell us that we were witches. She was a nonpracticing witch! I knew nothing about”—I wave my arms around the room— “any of this!”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” I say.

  He moves his chair closer to mine. “So you grew up like a notch?”

  “Yeah.” We’re only a few inches apart, and his knee is grazing mine under the table. Is he doing that on pur
pose? No. I’m sure he isn’t. I pull away anyway. “Hey. They don’t know you’re a warlock at school, do they?”

  “No way,” he says. “I keep my lives separate. Magic life, regular life. Witch friends, school friends.”

  “Does everyone do that? Because if it were up to Wendaline, she would have told the entire school about us.”

  He laughs. “I think it depends on the family. And on where you live. New York City is pretty liberal.”

  “I’d rather keep my witchiness a secret. Any tips? I’m a newbie.”

  “It helps to tell your school friends that you have a country house. So they understand why you’re never around on the weekends.”

  “Clever,” I say. “But I’m not sure that my dad would believe that I bought myself a country house.”

  “Your dad doesn’t know? That’s rough.” Our eyes lock. He touches my shoulder.

  I freeze.

  Call it witch’s intuition, but I think now would be the right time to tell him that I have a boyfriend. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. I can just casually introduce it into the conversation.

  Such as “My dad doesn’t know. And neither does my boyfriend.”

  Or “Will you excuse me for a second? I have to call my boyfriend.”

  Or maybe “Did I mention I have a boyfriend?”

  Now.

  Okay, now.

  Now.

  His hand is still on my shoulder. I have to get it off.

  How am I supposed to do that without mentioning I have a boyfriend?

  I glance at my watch. It’s almost six in New York. “Gosh, it’s late!” I blurt out. “I have to go!”

  His hand drops to his lap.

  I push my chair back, slip my shoes back on (ouch), stand up, and pick up my clutch from the table. “I gotta get back to my dad. Have you seen Miri?”

  The band starts playing a slow song.

  He puts his hand back on my shoulder. “One dance before you go.”

  “But—” I have a boyfriend! I should leave. This second.

  But if I leave now, Miri won’t get to have her slow dance with Praw

  Before I realize what’s happening, my right hand is in his, my arm is around his neck, and we’re dancing. I am dancing with someone who’s not Raf. I’m slow dancing with someone who’s not Raf.