Parties & Potions

by Sarah Mlynowski

  “Rachel? You still there?”

  “Yeah! Sorry! What was I saying? I forget.”

  I ace my French test on Monday morning. Quelle surprise. I checked the spell book, and apparently I can speak every language in the world for the next few months! I’m for sure going to get an A in French this semester. Wahoo! I wonder if I can speak computer languages too. I bet if I took C + +, I could get an A+ +.

  At lunch, Raf and I sit together eating burnt mac and cheese.

  “How’s your mouth feeling?” he asks.

  “You mean because of the mac and cheese?”

  “No.” He laughs. “Because of your trip to the dentist. You were there on Saturday?”

  Riiiiight. The dentist really wasn’t my best lie. Do I want him thinking about my bacteria-riddled mouth when he’s kissing me? No, I do not. But what else am I supposed to tell him?

  The truth?

  Right.

  He’d either think I was crazy, or he would run screaming. Most people would. Look at how everyone reacted to Wendaline—and they all thought she was kidding!

  No one wants to date a freak.

  “So, are we hanging out after school?” I ask.

  He looks at me strangely. “You just totally zoned out and didn’t answer my question. The dentist?”

  “Oh! All good.” I wave my hand to change the subject. “Back to plans. What do you wanna do?”

  He rips open a packet of mustard and squeezes it onto his food. “A bunch of people are heading to Washington Square Park. We could go.”

  “What are you doing?” I ask, gesturing to his food.

  “Adding mustard.”

  “To mac and cheese?”

  He grins.

  “That is so disgusting! Condiments do not go on mac and cheese. Ketchup, maybe, but even that is kind of gross.”

  I’m teasing him, but for some reason, seeing him eat this, this weird mustard and mac and cheese concoction fills me with hope. Why? Because it’s weird. Raf does weird things too! Just like me! He talks to the TV, doesn’t he? I don’t like him any less because he has quirks, do I? Definitely not! I like him even more!

  Maybe he would like me more if he found out my one little quirk?

  “Wanna try?” he asks. “You know you want a taste.” He spears a noodle with his fork and waves it at me. “Pretend it’s an airplane.”

  I open up and he scoops it inside. See, Raf? I am open to new things. The “new thing” almost makes me gag.

  “Not bad,” I lie, washing it down with a gulp of juice.

  “I’m happy to share the rest of my mustard,” he says, waving his leftover packet.

  “Give it to me, baby,” I say with a wink.

  Wendaline approaches our table. “Hi, Rachel. Hi, Raf.”

  “Hi,” I say. Didn’t I rule against her sitting with me? At least she looks almost normal now in her new jeans.

  I too am sporting a new outfit today—my new black jeans and sweater. Yeah, I know I was supposed to leave them at my dad’s, but come on! That would have been a huge fashion waste.

  “I have a question,” she says, sitting down.

  “Shoot,” Raf says.

  “Why is Cassandra popular if no one likes her?”

  Raf laughs.

  “No, I’m serious,” she says. “Doesn’t popular mean well-liked?”

  “No,” I say. “It means people want to hang out with you. It means you get invited to lots of parties.”

  “But why would anyone want her at a party if she’s mean?”

  She’s got me. I look at Raf and shrug. “I don’t know. But they do.”

  “She’s popular right now because she has power,” Raf says. “Fashion show tryouts are after school on Thursday, and she decides who makes it.”

  My heart sinks at the mention of the fashion show. I’ve seen the posters around school, but I’ve been pretending I haven’t. Because if Raf tries out for the show, he’s going to make it. Not only was he in it last year, he was amazing. He is a great dancer, he’s super-cute, and everyone loves being around him. He’s definitely getting in. Of course, I’d rather he not get in, since fashion show rehearsals take up a ton of time—time he’ll be spending with Melissa, who I’m sure will also make the show.

  Perhaps I should give him an antidancing spell? Maybe I could make him hear one song when another is playing so his rhythm is off?

  No! What a terrible thing to think! I love him and want him to be happy! Of course, I could always test it out on Melissa….

  “So once that’s over, she’ll stop being popular?” Wenda-line asks.

  “Probably not,” he admits.

  “But she’s such a bully!” Wendaline says.

  I tense. “What did she do to you today?”

  She crosses her arms. “It’s the way she says my name. It drives me nuts. She draws it out like it’s an insult.”

  “Tell her to back off,” Raf says.

  “No!” I say, giving Raf a warning look. “Just ignore her.”

  “I don’t get these people,” she mutters. “I’ll see you later.” She wanders off.

  “So,” I say to Raf, playing with my food. “Are you going to try out for the fashion show this year?”

  “Not exactly,” he says.

  “Oh, good,” I say, relieved.

  “No, I’m not trying out because I don’t have to. Cassandra said I don’t need to try out. I’m automatically in.”

  “Oh. So you want to be in the show.”

  “Well … I’m not sure. I’m not dying to do it again, especially if you won’t be in it. But see, here’s where it gets complicated. For some reason she really wants me to be in it—”

  “Because you’re an amazing dancer,” I say.

  He blushes. “I don’t know about that. But she said that I was good last year and that she wants experienced sophomores in the show. And she said that if I did it, Kosa Coats could outfit the all-guys number.”

  Last year, half the guys in school showed up in the Hugo Boss bomber jacket one of the A-list guys had worn in the show. “Great way to get your stuff noticed. Could you use one of your own designs?”

  “If I wanted to, I guess. If they were good enough. What do you think? Should I do it?”

  No! “Yes.”

  He nods. “You could do it too.”

  “No way,” I say quickly.

  He takes another bite of his concoction. “Why not? We had fun last year.”

  “We had a great time practicing. The show was a disaster.”

  “So this time the show will be great.”

  “No thanks,” I say. “I’m over it.” Even if I wanted to be in the show, it’s not like I have the time. I mash up my mustard mac and cheese.

  I have too much on my plate.

  That afternoon, on the way from English class, Tammy is talking about The Crucible, our next reading assignment, and I’m trying to change the subject. I haven’t read it yet, but Mr. Johnson said it was about the Salem witch trials.

  I can’t think of anything I want to do less than discuss the Salem witch trials in English class. Seriously. I’d rather have my eye poked out with a broomstick bristle. So I try to bring the conversation back to Animal Farm. Good old Animal Farm.

  “I forgot Animal Farm at my mom’s,” I tell Tammy. “Ib dul brink io mysine!”

  She looks at me strangely. “What did you just say?”

  “Ib dul brink io mysine.” Wait. That didn’t sound right. I was trying to say “I had to stay up all night finishing it.”

  “What is ib dul brink io mysine?” she asks.

  “lntis ghero tu jiggernaur?” That was supposed to be “Why can’t you understand me?”

  “Rachel, are you speaking pig Latin or something?”

  “Dortyu!” Ah! That was supposed to be “Sorry.” I can’t speak English! What just happened? I think I’m speaking … Brixta? How did that happen? What do I do now?

  She peers into my face. “You’re not choking on some-th
ing, are you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Are you sure? Say something.”

  “Guity oj.” I’m fine. This is not good. I point to my throat and lift a finger, trying to motion that I’ll be right back, and then I hurry to the bathroom. Inside, I thump my chest and try to cough up the Brixta.

  I turn to a random girl washing her hands beside me. Maybe I should see if it worked, and try to say hello. I take a deep breath and then say, “Ho!”

  Her eyes slit, and she mutters a not-so-nice word under her breath. (Clue: it rhymes with witch.)

  Ho? Ho is how you say hi in Brixta? I can’t go around school telling random people ho! Argh! What is wrong with me? I need Wendaline. I hurry through the hall, near the freshman row of lockers, hoping to spot her. Why is it that the one time I’m looking for her is the one time I can’t find her? I try her cell, but no answer. Last time she Appeared when I called her. Appear, Wendaline. Appear!

  I see Tammy across the hall, her forehead creased with worry. I wave. What do I do? I can’t go to class like this, can I?

  I turn to escape down the stairs, but I spot Raf on his way up. I definitely can’t talk to him like this!

  Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to math I go.

  I avoid speaking for the rest of the afternoon by claiming laryngitis. Not claiming, exactly, since I can’t speak, but by pointing to my throat and nodding emphatically when Tammy asks, “Is it laryngitis?”

  Unfortunately, my writing skills have also been compromised, so every time Tammy passes me a note, I have to respond with a doodle.

  I zap myself home between classes to look at A2 but I can’t figure it out. I need help! I finally find Wendaline by stalking her locker after the final bell. She shows up with her two new friends. I look up at her sheepishly. “Jeffle.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “To froma,” I say, taking her arm and leading her back to the bathroom. In private.

  I spend way too much time in bathrooms. Perhaps Wendaline can whip up a Narnia for us at school so we can have a more comfortable place to chat?

  The stalls look empty, so I say, “Hot jeou sofy, ki frot kirt doozy,” which means “For some reason, I can’t speak English.”

  She looks into my eyes. “Since when?”

  “Umpa ooble.” After lunch.

  “Did you eat anything funky? Besides the mac and cheese, I mean. That stuff is gross. This is why it’s better to learn languages the old-fashioned way. Fewer complications.”

  “Ki biz com hindo ut ficci. Diut! Kaf fir bitard bi ry. Dout sak vu tre ry?” The mustard! Raf’s mustard!

  “I don’t see why any of those would affect the Babel potion.” She plays with the tip of her short hair. “I’m wondering if it’s something else. A witch is supposed to speak from the heart, you know? And language is a tool to speak from the heart, to communicate what’s inside. If you hide what’s inside, the language gets tangled up, and if you’re tangled, your words are tangled, especially if it has something to do with your magic. Following?”

  I shake my head.

  “You need to be honest and true!”

  I slap my palm against my forehead. “Ahhh!” Apparently, “ahhh” is the same in Brixta as in English. “ig bin Ig dkhy nor!” I’m as honest as I can be!

  She looks at me dubiously. “Are you?”

  “Yes! I’m not telling anyone anything,” I huff in Brixta. “Do you know how to fix me?”

  “I may be able to whip something up if you come by after school. I’m hoping to be a potionist one day, you know.”

  Why am I not surprised? “Bur that yitten Raf.” But I have plans with Raf. “Isht ik faten igo?” What am I supposed to tell him?

  “The truth?”

  Not! I’ll take the non-potentially-life-altering fix, thanks. “Kip kifel, fo tribe,” I tell her, miming the act of writing for her. I’ll speak, you write.

  She zaps up a pen and paper. Normally, I would chastise her for using magic in school, but I think we’re beyond that at this point. She translates my Brixta as follows:

  Dear Raf, Emergency tooth issue! Have

  to go back to the dentist. So sorry! I’ll call you later! Let’s hang out tomorrow after school instead!!!

  I instruct her to use lots of exclamation points.

  “How should I sign it?” she asks.

  Argh! There is no time to make such a potentially relationship-altering decision right now. XO? Hugs & wishes? Not. Love? He wrote love; I can write love, right?

  But that was on a birthday card and this is at school! A school note should not show as much affection as a birthday card. A school note gets tossed; a birthday card gets saved. Luv, maybe?

  Yes. Luv

  I somehow manage to find the Brixta words to explain to Wendaline the difference between love and luv.

  “Are you going to give it to him?” she asks.

  “Ooga!” I say, which means no. Which makes me laugh. Ooga? That’s supposed to be musical? Maybe for a band of gorillas.

  I tell Wendaline—in Brixta—to slip it into Raf’s locker, and off we go.

  Rocks Ahead

  “Oh, good, Rachel, you’re finally home,” Mom says later that afternoon. She and Miri are sitting at the kitchen table, a stack of papers in front of them. “Where were you?”

  “Communication difficulties,” I say.

  Miri raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

  “Nothing that olive oil and a chopped onion couldn’t cure,” I say with a sigh. Wendaline reversed the effect, and now I’m back to being multilingual. “But I wouldn’t get too close to me if I were you. I’m kind of smelly. What are you doing?”

  “Our Samsorta invitation list!” Miri squeals.

  Huh? “But we have no one to invite!”

  Miri points to a list of about thirty names. “Not true! Mom has a ton of family who would all be insulted if they didn’t get invitations.”

  I glance at the names. Regina and Stephen Kelp. Moira Dalven. Jan and Josh Morgenstein. Who are these people? “Mom, this is crazy. You excommunicated yourself from the witchcraft community. You haven’t spoken to any of these people in at least twenty years. I’ve never even heard of them.”

  Mom shrugs. “They’re extended family. If we’re going to do this, we have to do this properly.”

  “Why? I thought you didn’t even want to do this!”

  “Rachel,” Miri says, “it’s a great opportunity for us to be more in touch with our roots.”

  “I guess.” I spot Liana and Sasha Graff on the list and my fists clench. “Why are you inviting them?”

  “I have to. Sasha’s my sister,” Mom says.

  “Your evil sister! And anyway, Liana didn’t invite us to hers.”

  “Maybe, but two wrongs don’t make a right. Besides, we weren’t speaking then.”

  “But you’re barely speaking now!”

  “Rachel, please don’t be difficult.”

  “Why not? My life is difficult! I have to go to school for six days a week instead of five and I smell like onion!”

  She looks me in the eye. “Don’t act like I didn’t warn you that having a Samsorta was a major undertaking.”

  Humph. I hate I-told-you-so’s. I mean, if she had some-thing important to say, then she should have told me how important it was before! Er. Anyway. “I’m going to do my homework.”

  “Okay, but sit here for a second,” Mom says. “Miri was right: the Samsorta is a great opportunity for the three of us to spend some quality family time together.”

  I knew that this Samsorta was going to be trouble. I be-grudgingly pull up a chair.

  “Oh, and don’t make any plans for tomorrow after school,” Mom adds.

  “Too late,” I say. “I have plans with Raf.” Kind of. Pro-posed plans, at least.

  “Cancel them!” Miri exclaims. “We’re going to Georgina’s Paperie!”

  “What’s that?”

  “You mean ‘who,’ ” Mom says. “She’s the stationer. I’v
e heard she’s all the rage. And the best part is that she’s here in New York. We were lucky to get an appointment. This is her busiest time, you know.”

  “You heard? Who did you hear from?” The only person she talks to is Lex. “You didn’t join Mywitchbook too, did you?” She has a profile before I do? Hello, that’s so embarrassing.

  “No, dear, I finally started reading the newsletter.” She shuffles the papers in front of her. “We need you, Rachel. You have a good eye.”

  Flattery will get you everywhere. “Fine, I’ll be there.” Not sure why we can’t just zap up invites, but maybe it’s like a haircut. Sometimes you gotta trust a professional.

  “Also, don’t make plans for Sunday morning,” she says. “I have a special surprise for you two.”

  I perk up. “What is it?”

  “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

  After fifteen minutes of bonding time, I’m allowed to go to my room to start my homework and call Raf. Big surprise—I decide to call Raf first.

  “How’s your tooth?” he asks. “Is your mouth still frozen?”

  “Yes,” I say, then realize I should make my mouth sound frozen. “Ya.” How do I make it sound frozen? I stick my finger between my lips so it doesn’t close all the way.

  “So, are we on for tomorrow?”

  “Oh, uh … umorrow’s no ’ood—” Ouch! I just bit my finger. Forget it. I am not going to make it through this whole conversation with a fake speech impediment. I’m just going to speak normally and hope he doesn’t notice. It’s not like he’d think I’d make up a cavity. Who does that? “I forgot I promised Miri I’d help her with something.” Not a terrible excuse. Vague and less gross than getting cavities filled. No frozen mouth necessary. I jiggle my bitten finger till it stops stinging.

  “I can help too, if you want,” he says. “I don’t mind.”

  “Oh! Thanks! That’s so sweet of you … but it’s a girl thing.”

  “Oh, okay.” Pause.

  “So what else is up?” I ask.

  “Um, on Saturday, my parents wanted to invite you for dinner. It’s my dad’s birthday, and he wants to take all of us out.”