Parties & Potions

by Sarah Mlynowski

  “You both look beautiful,” Mom says, blinking back tears.

  Miri’s dress is a sheath with an empire waist and capped sleeves. Mine is a strapless ball gown. Adriana also made us matching light fitted jackets in case it’s cold, as well as matching pointy witches’ hats.

  “Why?” I ask. “Mom, you weren’t wearing a hat in your pics.”

  “You need it for the ceremony,” Mom tells us. “Trust me.”

  “Your boyfriends won’t be able to take their eyes off you!” Adriana says, clasping her hand to her heart.

  Ouch. I study my purple-pink self in the mirror.

  Sure, I want Raf to be unable to take his eyes off me … but am I ready to let him see me? The real me? Or do I want to keep padding the truth?

  Speaking of padding … “Can I get bra inserts built into the dress?”

  “Absolutely,” Adriana says, snapping her fingers.

  Immediately, I have extra cleavage.

  “Whoa,” Miri says.

  “You don’t need it, Rachel,” Mom says, shaking her head.

  I think about her words. Do I need the padding? Not the boob padding—obviously I need that. I mean the truth padding. With Raf.

  I want Raf to know the real me. I want him to love the real me.

  Adam was right. I need to be with someone who knows what I’m going through. But that doesn’t mean I have to be with Adam.

  It means I have to tell Raf the truth.

  The Name Game

  The fashion show list is posted on Monday morning.

  Not only is Raf’s name on it, but so is Melissa’s. And Jewel’s. Yippee. I get to spend the next four months imagining Raf dancing and grinding with my ex-best friend and my nemesis.

  This would annoy me more if I weren’t too busy obsessing over a bigger issue: I’m going to tell Raf my secret!

  How? I don’t know. When? I don’t know that, either. But I think I should tell my dad first. Family should know first, right? Also, telling my dad will definitely be less scary than telling Raf. After all, unlike my dad, Raf could always break up with me.

  Not that I think he’s going to. Definitely not. He’s a sweetheart.

  But he could.

  Anyway, since my Sam is in exactly three weeks and one day, I figure I have three weeks to spill the magic beans. I should probably give him at least one day’s warning. He’ll want to get me a corsage.

  Of course I’m going to bring him to the Sam. The best part of telling him the truth is that I get to bring him as my date! Hey, if Viv can do it, so can I!

  And why should Melissa and Jewel be the only ones who get to dance and grind with him? They should not.

  “I wish you had tried out,” Raf tells me after school, draping his arm around my shoulders. Raf is off to his first of many after-school fashion show meetings.

  “We’ll be dancing together soon enough,” I say with a secret smile.

  “At the Halloween dance, you mean.”

  “Uh-huh. At the dance.” Dances. Both of them.

  I realized that happy fact when I got back from Italy. Even though it was dark when we left Milan, it was still mid-day in New York. Which reminded me that, yes, the Sam-sorta might start at seven p.m., but that’s Romanian time. It’ll definitely be over by eight p.m. in New York, which is when the school dance starts.

  So technically, I could have gotten away with not telling Raf anything.

  Too late! I’ve already decided. It’s time for him to know. And now we get to go to two dances! Yay to the power of two!

  “Are you going to dress up?” I ask.

  “Sure. Why not? We could dress up together if you want.”

  Aw, that would be so cute! A joint costume with my boyfriend! Talk about publicly declaring your relationship. “Really? You’d want to do that?” He blushes. “Why not? What could we be? James Bond and a Bond girl?”

  “I am so not dressing up as a Bond girl.”

  “You’d make a gorgeous Bond girl,” he says, smiling. “Best one yet.”

  He is so sweet. “I love you,” I say, kissing him softly.

  “I love you too,” he says. He loves me! And soon he’s going to love the real me!

  Maybe I should just tell him. Right now. Everything. No one else is in the hallway.

  It’s not that big a deal. He won’t even care. So I’m a witch. Big whoop. It’s a quirk. Lots of people have quirks. He does. He puts mustard on everything. That’s a quirk. He talks to the television. Do I like him less because of these things? No, I like him because of his quirks.

  “Raf, I have to tell you something.” I rush the words out of my mouth before I can change my mind.

  He leans against the wall. “What?”

  “I—I—” Why can’t I talk properly? Why is my mouth so dry?

  Stick to the plan, my little voice yells. You had a plan! Dad first, then Raf!

  Right. I had a plan.

  “Yes?” Raf says.

  “I think,” I say slowly, “you should wear all yellow. I’ll wear all red, and we’ll go as mustard and ketchup.”

  He responds with another kiss.

  A soft, beautiful kiss.

  “Raf,” I hear. “Are you coming?”

  He pulls away, and I see Melissa waiting at the end of the hallway. She has a smirk on her face, and I can almost hear her saying “Ha.”

  Just to show her who’s boss, I murmur, “One more,” and then pull him back in for another fat juicy kiss.

  Ha-ha.

  On Friday night, after fake getting ready for bed, we wait for my dad and Jennifer to turn in, get dressed in our party out-fits for Michael’s Sim (I wear another altered version of my prom dress; Miri wears her Bloomie’s dress in another color), stuff pillows under our covers, and use the battery spell to go to L.A.

  I’m done with the go spell, thank you very much.

  When we arrive, we greet everyone in their finery, then stop by the place card table and pick up our names. I see Adam’s card is still there. He’s at our table—table six. Is it going to be awkward? Is he going to ignore me? I really wish we could be friends. I miss having him as my friend. We follow the group into the auditorium to find a seat for the ceremony Miri tries to sit with Corey, but he shakes his head.

  “All the guys have to sit behind the girls.”

  “Why?” I wonder.

  He shrugs. “Tradition. The foremothers felt men distracted women, so they decided to keep men out of their line of focus. Also, since men are usually taller, this way the women can see better. We’re at the same table for dinner, though.” He smiles. “I checked.”

  “Oh good,” Miri says, but then she blushes.

  We’re sitting next to Karin and the rest of our Samsorta girlfriends behind Michael’s female relatives. As his date, Glamour Triplet is sitting in the front row.

  “I’m so excited to see how it works,” Miri whispers to me.

  I take a quick peek around to see if I can locate Adam. The lights go off just as I spot him four rows back.

  Once the stage lights go on, the ceremony begins. Michael’s mother asks him if he wants to join the circle of magic, like in ours. Since there’s no actual circle (it’s only him), he has to walk around the stage three times. Since this stage is so big—hello, the Oscars are held here—this takes a while. Afterward, Michael’s mom cuts off a piece of his hair. It’s hard to see how much hair from where I’m sitting, but his was already pretty short, so it couldn’t have been that much. I hope she didn’t give him a bald patch. I really have to review the hair-cutting bit with Mom. And Este.

  Michael’s mom carries his hair to the large clay cauldron in the center of the stage. Next, Michael says the light spell in Brixta to set his candle aflame.

  He closes his eyes and chants:

  “Isy boliy donu

  Ritui lock fisu

  Coriuty fonu

  Corunty promu binty bu

  “Um …”

  I haven’t learned the spell yet, but I’m pre
tty sure “um” is not part of it.

  “He’s nervous,” Miri whispers.

  “No kidding.” I can see the sweat dripping down his forehead. Poor Michael!

  We wait. Miri squeezes my hand.

  Michael wipes his brow and then continues.

  “Gurty bu

  Nomadico veramamu.”

  He finishes, but his candle does not go on.

  A murmur goes through the crowd.

  Uh-oh. “What now?” I whisper.

  “He has to start over,” Miri says.

  Michael shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and tries again:

  “Isy boliy donu

  Ritui lock fisu …”

  Miri mouths the words along with him.

  “How do you know this already?” I ask. “Aren’t we learning it in tomorrow’s class?” We have three more lessons left, and tomorrow is supposed to be dedicated to learning this very spell.

  “I wanted to get a head start,” she whispers back. “I don’t want this”—she motions to Michael—“to happen to me.”

  It had better not happen to me, either. My mouth suddenly feels sandpaper dry. Why did Fizguin waste so many classes teaching us about ethics when she should have been teaching us the way to stave off severe public humiliation?

  Michael recites the whole spell again, but he messes up the last line and it’s a no go.

  “He’s too nervous,” Miri tells me, biting into her pinky nail. “It’s only a one-broomer, but you need to say every word perfectly for it to work.”

  He’s nervous? I’m nervous! What if this happens to me in front of the entire witchcraft world? “What happens if you completely forget it?”

  “The person next to you can whisper it,” Miri says, “but you have to say the whole thing in one fluid motion. That’s why the Samsorta ceremony takes so long. Apparently, last year one girl tried thirty-seven times before she got it right. Can you imagine? So embarrassing.”

  Great. Something else to worry about. I’ll forget it so many times I’ll miss the JFK Fall Ball.

  Miri bites into her thumbnail and I swat her hand. “Don’t you want your nails to be nice for your Sam?”

  She ignores me.

  Thank goodness Michael’s wick bursts into flame after his third try. He smiles with relief.

  “Here comes the wonderment spell,” Miri says, eyes glued to the stage. “Did you hear that Wendaline is the girl they chose to cast the wonderment spell for our Samsorta? She’s kind of like our valedictorian.”

  Witchedictorian? “Really? She didn’t mention it. Is that good?”

  Miri nods. “It’s a huge honor. But it’s practically the world’s hardest spell. It’s six brooms.”

  “There’s no such thing!”

  “There is. It’s the Samsorta wonderment spell. All your m’s have to be working perfectly or it won’t work.”

  I look back at poor Michael. “What if Michael can’t do it?”

  “If you’re just one guy, it’s only two brooms. It’s six when you’re casting the spell for eighty-four young witches. They obviously think Wendaline is really in control of her pillars.”

  She definitely has self-control. If I were her, I would have blasted Cassandra into dust long ago.

  Michael holds his candle on top of the cauldron and chants:

  “Julio vamity

  Cirella bapretty!”

  He sets the cauldron aflame.

  The audience bursts into applause.

  I’m relieved for him, but I still have butterflies in my stomach.

  Probably because I’m excited about telling Dad. Yup. Tomorrow is the big day. We have a plan. Tomorrow night, after Prissy goes to sleep, Miri and I are going to tell Dad we want to watch Star Wars. Jennifer will come up with an excuse not to watch and then it will just be the three of us.

  We’ll tell him then.

  And then once he knows, I’m going to tell Raf.

  Yay!

  I think I’ll invite him over. That way I can make sure we have privacy. Or maybe I should tell him at his place? So he feels comfortable? Although what if Will or someone interrupts us?

  Maybe I should pick a neutral spot like the park.

  We all file out of the auditorium and head into the dining room. Adam is already sitting but plays his cutlery like drumsticks instead of looking at me. I sit next to Karin.

  Once everyone has found their seat, the first song comes on and Michael and Glamour Triplet have their first dance. Everyone oohs and aahs. “They’re pretty good,” I tell Karin.

  “They took a lesson,” Karin tells me.

  “No way! Are we supposed to take lessons for our first Sam dance too?”

  “There’s no point, since there are so many girls. With eighty couples on the floor, no one is paying attention. But when it’s just the two of you …” Her eyes trail back to Glamour Triplet and Michael. “Who are you taking, anyway?”

  “My boyfriend, Raf,” I announce. There, I said it, so it must be true.

  “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” she says. She motions across the table, then whispers, “I thought you and Adam were going to be an item.”

  “I’ve been dating Raf since the summer,” I say. “And I’m going to ask him to be my date next week. First I have to tell him that I’m a witch, though. He’s a norlock. Any suggestions?”

  She bites her lip. “Yeah. Don’t bring him.”

  My heart drops into my stomach. “Why not?”

  She leans in. “It’s frowned upon to invite a norlock date.”

  Now it plummets all the way to my toes.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Well,” Karin says, “you know that men can’t pass the magic gene to their children—it’s only passed through the mother—right?”

  “Seriously?” I ask. I’m going to kill my mother. If she’d kept us any more in the dark, we’d have been wearing blindfolds.

  “Yeah,” she says. “If a warlock marries a notch, their kids don’t get powers. It’s only passed through the mom. Like baldness.”

  “But what does that have to do with me?” I ask. “If I marry Raf, my kids are going to get powers anyway.”

  “True,” Karin says, “but that’s not fair to the warlocks. If we all marry norlocks, who are they going to marry?”

  My head spins. Aren’t we a little young to be talking about getting married? I can’t even get my license. “But… but my mom married a norlock. So did my grandmother. And Viv is bringing her boyfriend and he’s a norlock!”

  “It happens,” she says with a shrug. “But it’s not very WC.”

  I wrinkle my forehead in confusion.

  “Witch Correct,” Karin explains.

  Well, so what? I don’t care! I love Raf and I want him to be my date. If Viv can do it, so can I. Can’t I? Why does everything have to be so difficult?

  If only I liked Adam. My life would be so much easier. If only Adam didn’t hate me.

  Once the first dance is over, the band invites all the guests onto the dance floor. Our whole table gets up to join them. But I stop Adam before he makes a move.

  “Adam, hold on a sec, please?” I move over to the seat beside his. The ice age between us is over.

  “Hey.” He gives me a sheepish smile.

  “We need to talk,” I begin. Since we’re the only people at the table, I launch right in. “I’m really, really sorry I didn’t tell you I had a boyfriend. I should have. I know this sounds lame, but I think you’re a great guy, and I really, really want us to be friends. Do you think we could be friends? Or do you hate me?”

  He cocks his head. “Yes.”

  “Yes, you think we could be friends, or yes, you hate me?”

  His eyes crinkle. “Both.”

  I laugh. “Then we’re friends.”

  “Yes. And I’m sorry for mauling you on the chairlift. Do you hate me?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Good.” He smiles. He picks up the fork and spoon and gently taps them ag
ainst the edge of the table like they’re drumsticks. “So what now, friend?”

  Since the song is a fast one, I say, “We can dance.”

  “Your boyfriend won’t mind if we dance?”

  “Raf wouldn’t mind. He dances with other girls all the time.”

  Adam raises an eyebrow.

  That didn’t sound right. “He’s in the school dance show,” I explain.

  “Oh, so that’s his name, huh? Raf. What’s that short for?”

  “Huh?”

  “Short for. He wasn’t born with the name Raf.” He drums his cutlery against the table again.

  “Of course he was! Wasn’t he?”

  He laughs. “How long have you been going out, again?”

  I playfully punch him in the arm. “Shut up,” I say. “We’ve been together a long time. He’s a great guy. You’d like him.”

  “He’s a great guy, huh? But can he do this?” His eyes twinkle, and he wiggles his fingers and levitates a glass of water.

  I laugh. “No, he can’t.”

  “No? What about this?” He raises the fork.

  “Nope.”

  He lifts the fork so that it’s gently tapping against the glass.

  “No, he can’t do that, either. But I’m going to tell him the truth. About me.”

  “Oh. Well. That is serious.”

  “Yeah. It is.”

  “Well, if he doesn’t react the way you want him to,” he says, putting the glass and the fork gently down on the table, “I’m here for you.”

  “He will,” I say. “But thanks.” I push back my chair. “Wanna join them on the dance floor?”

  “Absolutely.”

  This time we stay at the party until the bitter end. By the time we go home, it’s four a.m. in Long Island. We use the go spell and arrive in the bathroom.

  “Are you getting washed or going straight to bed?” Miri whispers.

  “We’re wearing makeup,” I remind her, lifting my facial cleanser. “Do you want your skin to break out two weeks before your Samsorta?”

  “Nooo. And I was thinking about what you said.” “About what? I say a lot of things.” “About my nails. I’m going to try to stop biting.” “Good for you. Let me know if you need encouragement. I’m happy to swat your hand whenever you want. Or to wrap your fingers in Band-Aids.”