Parties & Potions

by Sarah Mlynowski

  Fine, they probably wouldn’t send me to the gallows per se, since New York doesn’t have the death penalty.

  But they could still do bad stuff! I’ve seen high school mobs and they’re usually evil.

  Case in point:

  The next day, Tammy and I are on our way to chemistry when we spot Wendaline.

  “Hey, Wendaline,” we both say.

  Unfortunately, our greeting is followed by “Weeeeendaliiiine. Weeeeeennnnndaliiiine. Weeeeeennnnndaliiiine.”

  It sounds like the wailing of a ghost, but as far as I know, JFK is not haunted. Instead, it’s Cassandra and her posse chanting my friend’s name.

  Her cheeks bright red, Wendaline is staring at Cassandra. She tugs a lock of her short hair behind her ear and then fidgets with the shirt I bought with her.

  “Weeeeeennnnndaliiiine.… Weeeeeennnnndaliiiine…. Weeeeeennnnndaliiiine.”

  “Why are they doing this to her?” Tammy asks, fists clenched around her notebook. “I’m going to tell them to stop.”

  I grab hold of her arm. “Don’t.” I don’t want Cassandra going after Tammy, too! I’ve been the target of the A-list, and it’s no fun. “She can handle it.”

  “What kind of a name is Wendaline, anyway?” Cassandra says. “Sounds made up to me. Just like your story about being a witch, Weeeendaliiiine.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Tammy mutters.

  I keep shaking my head. I want to tell Cassandra off too, but I can’t. I just can’t. I can’t be too obvious! I can’t have everyone staring at me.

  “Do you know what they used to do to witches?” Cassandra continues. “They used to throw them in the ocean to see if they would use magic to float. Maybe we should take you for a swim in the Hudson?”

  I think I’m going to be sick. It’s The Crucible come to life!

  “That’s it.” Tammy slips out of my grasp and storms across the hall to Cassandra. “You better shut up,” she orders.

  Cassandra laughs. “Or what?”

  “Or I’ll report you to Mrs. Konch for threatening the life of a student.”

  “Oh, really?” Cassandra says, crossing her arms. Her curls stick out at jagged angles like weapons. She’s like Medusa.

  Now Tammy crosses her arms. “Really. Then you’ll get expelled.”

  What is Tammy doing? She’s going to get herself thrown into the Hudson. And that’s a polluted pool of water that even she wouldn’t want to explore. I press my back against a locker and try to be invisible. Not really invisible, obviously, ’cause that would really be giving myself away. Or not. I’m confusing myself.

  “And why would anyone believe you?” Cassandra snaps.

  Tammy juts out her chin. “Who do you think they’re going to believe? A sophomore with a 4.0 GPA or an ob-noxious fashion show poseur?”

  Ouch.

  Cassandra narrows her eyes. “You better watch yourself.”

  “You don’t scare me,” Tammy says, grabbing Wenda-line’s arm and leading my flabbergasted friend into the bath-room.

  The chant begins again immediately: “Weeeeeennnnndaliiiine. Weeeeeennnnndaliiiine. Weeeeeennnnndaliiiine.”

  I keep my head down and hurry into the bathroom behind them. I had no idea Tammy was so strong. Wow. I’m both incredibly impressed and incredibly terrified. Tammy and Wendaline are both holding on to the sinks.

  “Are you crazy?” I ask Tammy. “Now you’re on her hit list too!”

  “I’m not afraid of her,” Tammy says, but the trembling of her legs gives her away. She turns to Wendaline. “You okay?”

  A wide-eyed Wendaline nods.

  “I need to sit down,” Tammy says breathlessly “Coming, Rachel?”

  “You go ahead,” I say “I’ll be two secs.”

  Wendaline moves to follow her out the door but I hold her back.

  “You have to stay out of Cassandra’s way,” I tell her. “Or we’re all going to find frogs in our lockers. Is that what you want?”

  “Of course not!” Wendaline cries. “I’m trying. What else can I do?”

  “From now on, we stay away from her locker,” I order. “Got it?”

  Wendaline throws up her hands. “But how am I sup-posed to do that without Appearing—or disappearing—in school? You told me not to do that!”

  “No magic! Just take the back stairs up to bio and away from her evil lair. Can you do that?”

  She nods.

  “And there’s one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “Your name is too witchy-sounding. Cassandra is right. From now on, tell everyone”—I take a deep breath—“to call you Wendy.”

  Her shoulders hunch, deflated. “Wendy,” she echoes.

  I nod. Maybe that will help. They can’t make fun of a nice, normal name like Wendy, can they?

  Adam was right. You have to keep your witch world and your school world separate. It’s too dangerous otherwise.

  Although he also said I should be dating a warlock. Was he right about that, too?

  No. He can’t be! How can I date a warlock when there’s a norlock I’m crazy about?

  I open the bathroom door and peer out to make sure the coast is clear.

  Wendaline—I mean, Wendy—follows me down the hall. I swallow the lump in my throat and hope I’m leading her in the right direction. Symbolically, I mean. (I do know my way around school, you know. I’ve only gotten lost that one time.)

  Receiving my first Sim invitation that night cheers me up.

  The package arrives right before bed. It Appears smack in the center of our living room. It’s a big red box wrapped in a black bow. In silver glitter it says For Rachel and Miri Weinstein.

  “Mom, is that from you?” I yell.

  “Is what from me?” she calls out from her bedroom.

  Guess not. I tap it twice to see if it explodes. Nope. Prob-ably not a bomb, then. “Miri, come look. We got some-thing.”

  Inside the box stands a shining two-foot-tall gold Oscar statue.

  “Um … did you secretly try out for the school play or something?” I ask.

  Zap! Suddenly, the box disappears and out rolls a red carpet. Except instead of rolling straight, it spells out cursive letters on our living room floor.

  Please join me

  When I becme Simsorta

  Friday, the thirteenth of October

  At seven-thirty in the evening

  In the Kodak Theatre

  6801 Hollywood Boulevard

  Los Angeles, California

  Michael Davis

  “That’s where they hold the Academy Awards!” I say

  “Cool,” Miri says. “I can’t wait. Who are we with that weekend?”

  “Dad,” I say.

  She plays with her fingers. “Maybe it’s a good opportunity to tell him.”

  “No,” I say forcefully. “Why are you so obsessed with telling Dad? Mom never told him.”

  “But she told Lex,” Miri says. “And anyway, not telling Dad was different. She didn’t want to be a witch then. We’re making witchcraft part of our lives. Why should we hide who we are?”

  “We can’t go around telling everyone what we are! Not everyone is going to think it’s hunky-dory that we’re witches, okay? Some people are going to find it weird. Some people are going to find it scary. Some people might even try to send us to the gallows!”

  Miri rolls her eyes. “You’re being insanely paranoid.”

  I jab my finger into her chest. “You read The Crucible, then talk to me about being paranoid.”

  “We don’t live in 1692,” she says, waving her hand in the air. “It’s the twenty-first century! Anyway, our father is not going to send us off to be hanged.”

  “Obviously not, but I still don’t think it’s a good idea. He’ll have to tell Jennifer and they could get freaked out, or be afraid of us.”

  “Well, we have to tell him something,” she insists.

  “No, we don’t,” I say. “It’s called for seven-thirty, which is ten-thir
ty our time. We’ll just tell him we’re going to bed early and sneak out.”

  She sighs. “I would rather just tell him the truth.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t,” I snap. I have enough on my mind without having to worry about telling Dad—Adam and Raf and almost being exposed at school. I shake my head and then try to change the subject. “So, where are all your witch friends tonight?”

  She frowns. “Everyone was invited to some guy’s Sim-sorta at the Bellagio in Vegas.”

  “Someone from Lozacea?”

  “Yeah. But no one we’re friends with. I mean, I’m Mywitchbook friends with him, but that’s it.”

  “Wanna crash it?” I ask.

  “No, I want to be invited.” She sighs and sits down in the middle of the red writing. “Do you think we’ll still be invited to Adam’s, or are we both on the outs?”

  “You noticed that, huh?” I sit down beside her and rest my head on her stomach. “He tried to kiss me on the chairlift.”

  She groans. “How come your non-boyfriend knows to try to kiss you on the chairlift, and my maybe-boyfriend doesn’t?”

  “Because Adam is sixteen, and Corey is only fourteen. Guys get more suave with age.”

  She giggles. “So what did you do?”

  “I pulled away! What else could I do?” I pause. “I told him I have a boyfriend.”

  “Do you like him, though? Adam, I mean.”

  I try to unravel the way I feel before answering. “I do. He gets me. But Raf makes my heart beat a little faster. You know?”

  “Oh, I know,” she says. “Corey does both of those.”

  Show-off.

  Dateless in Lozacea

  The next morning in Samsorta class, safely in the back row and away from Fizguin’s spraying-and-saying, the girls are all buzzing about Samsorta dates.

  “Are you bringing Praw?” Karin whispers to my sister.

  Miri turns bright red but continues taking notes. “Maybe. I haven’t asked him yet. Who are you going with?”

  “My boyfriend, Harvey. He already had his Sim last year.”

  Great. Everyone has a date but me.

  “Are you going with someone too?” I ask Viv.

  She nods. “Zach. My boyfriend.”

  “Has he already had his Sim?” I ask.

  “No. He’s a norlock.”

  My jaw just about hits the desk. “He is? Seriously?”

  She stares me down. “Yo, you have a problem with that?”

  “What? No! I just didn’t know you could bring a norlock to the Sam!” My heart races.

  “Of course. You can bring whoever you want.”

  I poke Miri. “Did you hear that? Viv is taking her boy-friend! Her norlock boyfriend!”

  “Yeah, I heard.”

  “Do you think I could take Raf?”

  “You could. But you’d probably have to brief him on the whole witch thing first. Otherwise a couple hundred people in cloaks casting spells in a Romanian cemetery might con-fuse him.”

  I turn back to Viv. “Does Zach know that you’re a witch?” I whisper.

  “Obviously,” she says, combing her fingers through her bangs.

  “Do a lot of people know? I mean, the people at your school?”

  “Yes. I’m not ashamed of who I am.”

  “I’m not either! I thought… well, I thought people kept their worlds separate, you know?”

  She adjusts her glasses. “I don’t. I’m me. Take me or leave me.”

  “And no one thinks you’re weird?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t really care what other people think.”

  Right. There’s the problem.

  I do.

  “Through space I flow.

  To Kim Shing in New York

  I shall go!”

  Zap!

  Class is done, and it’s time for me to join Raf and his family for his father’s birthday dinner.

  I appear in the bathroom.

  I try to pick the go spell from my hair to save it. I wonder if I can reuse the spell. Probably not. I am really low on it. I probably have enough for only one more trip.

  Miri was not happy when I told her I would not be ac-companying her and the gang to Epcot to watch the fire-works. “You know I can’t,” I said. “I have that dinner with Raf’s family.” It wasn’t like I wanted to go, although I am ex-cited about the Chinese food. Yum. My favorite is General Tso. Since it’s family style, can I suggest what I want, or should I just be polite and eat whatever they order? Please, please, please let them order General Tso.

  At least Miri convinced Mom to let her go to Epcot without me. She used the “it’s not a date, it’s just a bunch of friends hanging out” line.

  Adam didn’t seem to care that I wasn’t going. In fact, he didn’t even say hello. He’s obviously avoiding me.

  I push open the door.

  The scents of friend onion and spices waft through the main dining room. I peer at various tables but don’t see the Kosravi crew anywhere. Maybe I’m early?

  I approach the maître d’. “I’m here with the Kosravi party,” I say in my most grown-up voice. “Am I the first to arrive?”

  He peers into his book. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have a Kosravi reservation. Might it be listed under another name?”

  “Um …” Maybe Raf’s dad’s first name? It’s… I know his name! I do! When you’re crazy about a boy, you remember every minute detail about him, including the color of his favorite pair of socks: soft brown. To match his gorgeous eyes. Now, why can’t I remember his dad’s name? I’m just nervous. It’s something with a D. Doug … David … Dorian … “It’s a party of eight. At seven-thirty?”

  “No, we don’t have a party of that size at this time,” he says. “Are you sure you’re at the right location?”

  Oh, no! “Is there more than one?” Raf didn’t tell me there was more than one. He said it was in Midtown!

  “Yes, there are a few. There’s one on South Beverly, and one on Ventura Boulevard.”

  I’ve never heard of those streets. “Where are we now?”

  “On Sunset Boulevard.”

  I’ve heard of Sunset Boulevard. In California. “Uh, isn’t that street, um, in L.A.?”

  He turns up his nose. “West Hollywood, actually.”

  I swallow. Hard. That doesn’t sound good. “I’m in Hollywood?”

  “West Hollywood. West.”

  Did I not specify the city I wanted to go to? I must not have! And the spell took me from Arizona to the nearest Kim Shing restaurant… which is in California. Ah! “I have to go!”

  I hurry back to the bathroom and slam myself in a stall. I reach into my Ziploc and sprinkle the last few bits of go spell crumbs into my palm. This better work, ’cause after this I’m out of go spell.

  “Through space I flow.

  To Kim Shing in New York City

  I shall go!”

  Zap!

  I definitely said “New York City.” One hundred percent. When I open my eyes, I’m in another bathroom stall. A single stall. At least, I think it’s a bathroom stall. There’s a sink, but instead of a toilet, there’s a small porcelain hole in the ground. Maybe the toilet broke and they took it to be fixed? Or … I think I’m in the men’s room!

  Yes, that must be it.

  I open the stall door and peer outside. Maybe I’m in the right place? Please, please, please? The overhead lights are off. The only light in the room is faintly shining through the two windows. But yes, I’m in a restaurant. Except I’m the only person in the restaurant. No staff, no cooks, no anyone. The writing on the wall is in Chinese, which makes sense. It’s supposed to be a Chinese restaurant. But where is everyone?

  Maybe it had to close down for some reason? Mouse problem?

  The clock overhead says eight-twenty-five. Hmm. Either I lost an hour, or I’m really not in the right place. Where could I be that’s an hour ahead?

  Bermuda? Canada? Maybe I’m in a Chinese restaurant there? But how did that happen
? I definitely said New York this time. What could have gone wrong? Something obviously did, ’cause this is not the right time.

  I pull open the blinds. The early-morning sun spears my eyes. I watch people pass by the window. Chinese people.

  The signs are all in Chinese.

  The flag of China is flapping in the wind.

  Am I in a Chinatown? Or …

  Maybe it’s eight a.m., not eight p.m. Maybe that missing toilet was a Chinese squat toilet.

  I reach for my now empty Ziploc. I’m stuck. And not stuck in Chinatown—I’m stuck in China.

  Great. Just great. I drop the blinds and pace the length of the restaurant.

  Think, Rachel, think. Yes, you’re stuck in a Chinese restaurant without go powder, batteries, or your copy of A2.

  And yes, you’re going to be late for dinner with Raf and his family, which will send a terrific impression.

  But don’t panic. You’re a witch! You can find a way out of this mess!

  Maybe I should make up a go home spell. Yes! People are always needing a go home spell. Even Dorothy needed one. Hey, maybe The Wizard of Oz chant would work.

  I close my eyes and click my heels together three times, repeating, “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home….”

  I open my eyes. I’m still in the Chinese restaurant. The Chinese Chinese restaurant.

  Maybe now’s not the time for new spells.

  I should just make another batch of the go spell. Yes! There’s a full kitchen here at my disposal. All I have to do is remember the ingredients. Now, what were they? There was brown sugar. There was … What else was there? I run my fingers close to my scalp. Yes! It’s still there, just like dandruff. Or lice. Yuck. I sniff it and run the texture between my fingers.

  Baby powder. And what are those hard pebbly bits? Oh, right—pepper!

  Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to the kitchen I go. I sneak through the dining room and push open a set of swinging doors. This time I block my nose. Fish! There are fish everywhere! Eels! Salmon. It smells like the seafood section of a grocery store on a hot July day.