Parties & Potions

by Sarah Mlynowski

  Tammy would feel right at home, but I think I’ll keep my nose blocked.

  I frantically look for pepper, which I find, and then brown sugar, which I find too. It helps that I can currently read Chinese. But my luck runs out at baby powder. There is no baby powder in this kitchen. And why would there be? Who has baby powder in their kitchen?

  Now what?

  Argh! I need to call Miri.

  I flip open my phone and pray that it works. It does. I do not even want to think about how much this call is going to cost. I dial my sister’s phone, complete with country code. She answers on the fifth ring. “Hi, Rachel! You would not believe how cool this is…. What? Yeah, I know! Rachel, hold on a sec!”

  “No, Miri!” I yell, but instead of listening to me and my problems, she’s saying to Corey or whomever, “Funnel cake? I’d love one, thanks so much!”

  “Miri, there is no time for funnel cake at a time like this!”

  “I had to send him off so I could tell you the news! Guess what!” she chirps. “I asked Corey to be my date for the Sam-sorta! And he said yes!”

  Oh, excellent. Now not only am I about to miss my boyfriend’s father’s party, but my sister has a date and I don’t.

  Absolutely perfect.

  “Great, Miri, I’m happy for you, but—”

  “He’s so excited. He’s going to zap up a tux! He asked me what kind of corsage I want but I’m not really sure. He still hasn’t kissed me, though. Do you think I should kiss him? Or should I—”

  “Miri! Stop talking! I need help!”

  She pauses. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m stuck in China!”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m in China!”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to see the Great Wall. Why do you think? The go spell messed up!”

  “Really? That’s strange. It works perfectly for me.”

  “Terrific. I’m so happy for you. Can we get back to me now, since I’m the one stranded on the other side of the world?”

  “Maybe it’s not the go spell that’s the problem. Maybe it’s your mouli.”

  “I don’t even know what you just said.”

  “Don’t you pay attention in class? Mouii? Hello? It means your truthfulness.”

  “Yeah, thanks, I speak Brixta too. But what does that have to do with me?”

  “You’re insisting on disguising your true self from Dad and Raf, so your magic is getting funky.”

  Why is everyone so obsessed with my truthfulness? Honestly, it’s getting annoying. “But I’m always disguising my true self! And my magic usually works!”

  “Well, your magic has always been funky. But maybe magic can sense that you’re feeling guilty…. I don’t know. I think it depends how many of your m’s are blocked and how hard the spells are.”

  Terrific. “So what do I do?”

  “See if you can find a broom?”

  “Not funny,” I say, close to tears. “It would take me a month to get home.”

  “Don’t cry, Rachel.”

  “I’m going to if I don’t figure out how to get out of here!”

  “Where are you, again?”

  Is she purposely being annoying? “I told you! Stuck! At a restaurant in China!”

  “Which one?”

  “What’s the difference?” I yell. “Just help me!”

  “I’m trying to, but I need to know where you are!”

  “Why?” I scream.

  “So I can come get you!” she screams back.

  Oh. “The Kim Shing. In China.”

  She hangs up. A few seconds later she Appears beside me, tight-lipped.

  “Thanks,” I squeak.

  “Whatever,” she grumbles, tossing the go spell into the air.

  “Through space we flow.

  To our apartment in New York City—”

  “Actually, Mir, I’m kind of in a hurry. Would you mind dropping me off at the Kim Shing in Midtown?”

  “Fine,” she says, giving me a dirty look. “But you’re so taking a cab home.”

  That’s the Way the Fortune Cookie Crumbles

  I hurry into the restaurant and find the Kosravis’ table.

  “I am so, so sorry.” I am forty-five minutes late. I am the worst girlfriend ever. “I had transportation issues.”

  Raf leaps up to greet me. “Don’t worry about it. Have a seat.”

  Embarrassed but grateful to get off my feet (my legs are a bit wobbly from all the transporting), I sit between Raf and Kat at the circular table. Next to Kat is Will; next to him is Mitch (the oldest Kosravi brother); next to him is Janice (his new girlfriend); next to her is Mrs. Kosravi (or Isabel, but she has never told me to call her that); and next to her is Mr. Kosravi. (It’s Don! Sure, now I remember.) The three Kosravi boys all have the same sexy dark hair, dark eyes, and lean athletic bodies. Mitch’s hair is the longest and his face the most angular. Will’s hair is the shortest and he’s the tallest. Raf has the widest smile and is definitely the cutest, if you want my opinion. The three of them look just like their dad, minus the graying at the temples.

  Speaking of temples, all the go spelling gave me a nasty headache.

  There are already plates of fried wontons, dumplings, and egg rolls in the center of the table. Understandably, they got tired of waiting for me and already ordered. I hope they got General Tso.

  “Everything all right?” Kat asks, plucking a grain of rice from my hair.

  Excellent. Rice leftovers. “I’m fine,” I mutter. “You look great.” She’s wearing a red sweater dress that shows off her porcelain skin and glossy straight black hair.

  “Thanks,” she says with a big genuine smile. She’s always smiling, which is understandable. Not only is she student council president, but after years of crushing on Will Kosravi, he’s finally her one and only. She also isn’t living a secret life. As far as I know.

  After saying hello to everyone, I sink back into my seat. Since everyone else is already eating, I serve myself an egg roll.

  “I ordered you General Tso,” Raf whispers to me. “I know it’s your favorite.”

  What a sweetie.

  “Kat was just telling us about the Fall Ball she’s planning for JFK,” Will says.

  “I can’t wait,” I say. “When is it going to be?” For the last year my number one wish has been to go to a school social with Raf, and maybe now it will happen. It won’t be the Samsorta, but it’ll be something.

  “Halloween.”

  I spit up the water.

  “Rachel, are you all right?” Raf asks, rubbing my back.

  Cough, cough. I wipe my chin with my napkin. “Went down the wrong pipe.” How could that happen to me? How could that happen to me again?

  “So you’re going to have a Halloween theme?” Raf asks her.

  Kat smiles. “Won’t that be fun? We’ll decorate the gym like a haunted house. And you guys have to dress up.”

  “We’ll be there,” Raf says.

  I furiously cut into my egg roll. Last year, my dad’s wed-ding was on the same night as the Spring Fling and I had to lie to Raf and then miss the dance. I can’t believe I have to go through that again.

  Maybe this time I should be a good girlfriend and skip the Samsorta.

  No.

  I can’t miss the Sam. Not because my mother and sister would be mad, but because I don’t want to miss it. I’m ex-cited about it. About the invites, about the candle spell, about the whole shebang. When did that happen?

  No, I’m going to have to lie to Raf.

  Again.

  Unless, well, if Zach knows the truth … why can’t Raf?

  No. Yes. No.

  Maybe?

  “Time to get up, girls! Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

  It’s the next morning, and my mother is standing in the hallway, knocking on both our doors simultaneously

  Is she insane? I peer at my alarm clock. It’s five-thirty I’ve been asleep for less than five hours! There were mucho
Raf-kisses after dinner! I cover my face with my pillow. “Is the apartment on fire?”

  “No, dearies! But it’s our special day! It’s Sunday!”

  “Barely Sunday,” I grumble.

  “Why does our special day have to start so early?” Miri calls out.

  “We have a two o’clock appointment!”

  “Where?” Miri asks.

  “I’ll give you a hint … it’s right next to the Duomo di Milano!” Mom exclaims.

  Miri gasps. “Really?”

  “DUMBO?” I say, not moving. What is that? Oh, I think it’s an area of Brooklyn. “Why do we have to get up so early to go to Brooklyn? It’s not that far.”

  “She said the Duomo,” Miri calls out. “It’s a gothic cathedral in Milan. Fantastic! I can practice my Italian. I heard that if you practice a language while you’re under the Babel spell, it might seep in.”

  “We’re going all the way to Italy to see a cathedral?” I yell. “St. Patrick’s Cathedral is on Fifth Avenue and we’ve never been inside that one.”

  My mom swings my door open. “Let’s go, let’s go.”

  “But you don’t use the traveling spell!” I remind her.

  “You don’t know everything about me, missy.” She gives me one of her big freakish winks.

  She does have two weekends free from us a month. I always assumed Mom spent her spare time watching TV, but now I wonder if she spends it gallivanting around Europe. She is a travel agent. She probably gets great hotel deals.

  “What do I need to take?” I ask, throwing off my covers.

  “Your camera,” she says, and then gives me a sly smile. “And a pair of heels.”

  “Are we going to a party?” I ask. Maybe the Duomo won’t be a total write-off.

  “No,” she says, “dress shopping. Our appointment is with the world’s best Samsorta designer. She made my dress thirty years ago, and now she’s going to make yours.”

  Fantastico!

  An hour later, we knock on an ornate door in the Quadrilatero d’Oro, which is the shopping district.

  There are tons of people everywhere. Very attractive, well-dressed people. I’ve always thought that Manhattanites were the most stylish people in the world, but these guys look like they’re part of a fashion magazine spread. They are all six feet tall, chiseled, and wearing extremely pointy-toed shoes and humongous sunglasses.

  Sigh. Due to the insanely early departure hour, I left my sunglasses somewhere on my floor. (In their case, of course. Hopefully.) Miri offered to do a temporary duplica-tion spell on hers (a permanent one would be stealing, but a temporary one would be more like borrowing), but I shushed her. I’m hoping to get Mom to buy me one of the gorgeous pairs we keep passing in the windows, and she’s not going to if I’m already wearing sunglasses, is she? I can use new ones, anyway Mine have been kind of wobbly ever since I transformed them back from ski goggles. Unfortunately, Mom doesn’t seem interested in doing any shopping except Samsorta dress shopping. She won’t even let us buy heels here. Too expensive. She wants us to use the ones we brought to figure out the dress length, and said it’s cheaper just to buy shoes on Eighth Street in New York.

  For some reason, she’s carrying a huge shopping bag she brought from home, but she won’t show us what’s inside it. Returning something she bought during one of her secret trips, perhaps?

  “Ciao!” says Adriana, the dressmaker, an older woman with thick red lips and heavily lined eyes. Wow. The entire room is swathed with shimmery material. Reams of silk, satin, and lace are draped, making me feel like I’ve just entered an Arabian tent.

  Miri says, “Ciao,” which means hello.

  My mom says, “Salve,” which also means hello.

  I say, “Buon giorno,” which means good day and also hello. Italians sure have a lot of ways of saying hello. They must talk to more people than we do.

  Adriana looks my mom over. “You look very familiar,” she says in Italian. “Have I dressed you before?”

  My mom looks at her blankly. “I didn’t take the language potion today and I don’t really speak Italian!”

  “Of course,” she says. She repeats her last comment in English.

  My mom nods. “You made my Samsorta dress thirty years ago. My name is—”

  “Carolanga Graff! I remember every woman I dress. You haven’t been back in a long time. I just saw your sister a few months ago.”

  My mom clears her throat. “I’ve been busy.”

  Adriana nods. “So, what can I do for you today?”

  My mom puts her arms around our shoulders. “My daughters are having their Samsortas.”

  “How wonderful!” Adriana exclaims. “Both of them together? What a blessing! Did you bring your Samsorta dress?”

  “I did,” she says, opening her shopping bag.

  Aha.

  “You brought your old dress?” Miri asks. “Does that mean one of us gets to wear it? Can it be me? Can it?”

  Adriana laughs. “You will both get to wear it,” she says, carefully removing the heliotrope satin dress from the bag, which I recognize from her Sam album.

  “Are we going as Siamese twins?” I ask.

  “No,” my mom says with a shake of her head. “Adriana will split the material into two and then tailor a dress to fit each of you. It’s traditional that a mother passes her dress on to her daughter. My mother passed her dress on to me and my sister.”

  Miri’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “But the material from one dress won’t be enough for two.”

  My mom smiles. “Adriana has her ways.”

  Adriana examines the dress. “I will expand the material. I will make you both beautiful gowns.” She bends her nose into the dress and sniffs. “And I will get rid of that terrible bleach smell. Where did you store this? Under a sink?”

  Close enough.

  Adriana measures our waists, busts (My sister still has a bigger bust than me. I don’t want to talk about it), hips, and hollow-to-hem, which in tailor terms means the length of the dress.

  When she’s done, Adriana says, “Now you must pick out styles.” She claps twice and two pieces of red silk separate like the Red Sea and a catwalk jets out like a plank on a pi-rate ship. A girl sashays out the door. She’s wearing a nude strapless corset. She has wavy brown hair and is about my age, my height…

  Omigod! “She’s me!” I scream.

  “A hologram of you,” Adriana clarifies. She claps again, and a Miri model prances out, also in a corset.

  “Kind of creepy,” Miri mutters.

  Creepy? Are you kidding me? This is the coolest thing ever. Now that I’m looking more closely, I realize that Model Me is see-through. Too bad. I was thinking that with Model Me by my side, I could finally be in two places at once. Like in Samsorta class and hanging with Raf. Although if I sent Model Me out with Raf and he put the moves on her, he’d end up kissing air.

  Adriana calls out, “Model one, capped sleeves, scooped neck, mermaid bodice, empire waist, pearl embroidery. Model two, strapless ball gown with extra crinoline under the skirt!”

  Zap!

  The Rachel model is wearing a heliotrope dress with capped sleeves, a scooped neck, a mermaid bodice, and an empire waist. The Miri model is wearing the strapless ball gown, also heliotrope. They both twirl.

  Adriana motions to the models. “You tell me what you like, what you don’t like, they change. Good?”

  Great. “Can I see it in A-line?”

  Adriana claps. “Model one, A-line!”

  Zap! The top of my dress stays the same, but the bottom expands. I start to feel giddy, like I’ve eaten too much cotton candy. “Can I see it in a ball gown?”

  Zap!

  “Can I see mine with less puff?” Miri asks.

  Zap!

  “Can she come home with me?” I ask.

  Adriana laughs.

  After we pick out our favorite styles, we let Adriana work her magic while we go to the Duomo and then for gelato. We sit at a tiny round table
at an outdoor café right on Via della Spiga across from a ginormous Prada store. I make a big show out of squinting so maybe my mom will want to buy me the pair of big white sunglasses in the window.

  “Girls,” my mom says, licking her cappuccino-flavored cone, “the invitations are going to be ready today.”

  “Boy, those magic printers are quick,” I say.

  “There’s one name still missing from the list,” she says.

  “Dad’s,” Miri says immediately, taking a bite of her chocolate brownie-flavored ice cream.

  “That’s exactly who I was wondering about,” Mom says.

  “Miri wants to tell him,” I say. “I don’t think we should.”

  Miri shakes her head. “I don’t understand why not. He’s our father and he deserves to know! You can’t keep lying to everyone, Rachel!”

  I flush. “Mom, what do you think? You never told Dad. Should we?”

  Mom presses her chin into her hand. “He’s your father, and if you want him there, he should be there. Or not. I’ll support either decision you make.”

  “Can’t you give us your opinion?” I ask.

  She hesitates. “Becoming a Samsorta doesn’t just mean you have powers; it means taking responsibility for your powers. That said, what I’ve learned in life is that it’s better to be honest with the people you love.”

  “Exactly,” Miri says triumphantly. “Mouii, Rachel, mouli. Didn’t yesterday teach you anything?”

  I take another lick of gelato.

  Maybe she’s right. He is our father. He has to love us no matter what, doesn’t he? I take a deep breath. “If you really think we should tell him, we’ll tell him.”

  Miri cheers. She whips out her cell. “Now?”

  “No!” I say, my heart hammering. “Don’t be crazy. We’ll tell him next weekend. In person.”

  Mom laughs. “Do you have any idea how much a call from Italy to Long Island would cost?”

  Miri raises an eyebrow. “Not as expensive as Rachel’s call from China last night.”

  Mom drops her cone and the gelato spills onto the table. “Excuse me?”

  Great. Now I’m really not getting new sunglasses.

  When we return to Adriana’s we stand on low wooden pedestals, modeling our dresses.