Bewitched (3 page)

“Can’t you set it on fire with your mind?”

“Sadly, no.” She shoves a drawer closed and opens another one.

“Won’t we set off the smoke alarm?” I sniff the herb. “Or get busted for smoking weed in our room? Maybe we should open the window.”

“Good idea.” She pushes up the bottom of our window.

“Great. Now the whole quad will think we’re potheads.”
 

“Stop your complaining. That’s the whole reason we’re doing this to remove the dark cloud of negativity surrounding you.” She holds up a book of matches. “Ready?”

“No. I’m not looking forward to smelling like a Thanksgiving turkey for the rest of the night.”

“You can shower before we go to the party.”
 

It’s Saturday night and that means bad beer in a Solo cup.

“Another party? Haven’t we tortured ourselves enough this semester?” I scoot further back on my rumpled bed to rest my back against the wall.

“Yes, another one. School has barely started. You need to snap out of your dating funk. Find a cute guy. Make out in the corner. Let him touch your boobs. Maybe grab his ass.”

“Reminds me of all of sophomore year. Yet, strange guy ass sounds delightful.” I scrunch up my nose. “Can we go right this minute?”

“Enough with the sarcasm. Shut up and hold still.” Sam lights the sage, and then blows on the flame to let it smolder.
 

I cough and wave my hand in front of my face. “Now what?”

“Stand up.”

I shoot her a look, but stand while she waves the sage around me. The smoke stings my eyes, so I close them.
 

“Think good thoughts. Or maybe conjure up your perfect guy. That’ll help.”

I remember the love spell package in my bag. Sarah said true love comes when you least expect it, so does that mean I shouldn’t focus on it to make it happen? Or should I conjure up my perfect guy? All of this magic stuff is confusing.
 

Inhaling a deep breath and coughing again, I try to list all of the things I want in a guy.

Smart.

Funny.

Chivalrous.
 

What? Mr. Darcy is hot.

Great, now I’m thinking about Colin Firth and he’s like my dad’s age. So wrong. Okay, Madison, focus.

Sam mutters something under her breath and spins me around to do my backside.
 

Where was I? Right
…

Cute, but not a narcissist. A guy who doesn’t think he’s God’s gift to females, but gorgeous in his own way.

Am I superficial? Do I care?

Kind.
 

Kind to animals, too. Always a good sign.

I inhale, and cough again.

Fit, but not a jock or super gym rat guy. Maybe a lacrosse or soccer player. Or a rower. Do we even have a crew team here?
 

More of a lone wolf than part of a pack—aka frat—but not a loner with no friends because he’s too weird and anti-social to have friends.
 

Mysterious.
 

Gasping, I open my eyes. “I have a crush on Andrew Wildes.” I realize I described him perfectly. Well, not the athletic part. Maybe he hates cats. Or kittens. He has to have some flaws. Like a girlfriend.
 

“You do?”

Crap. I’d said it out loud.

“The weird guy from your sem class?”

“He’s not weird, just not super normal.”

Sam rolls her eyes and walks over to our sink to extinguish the sage. “You’re cleansed.”

“I don’t feel any different.” I sniff my ponytail. “I do smell different, though.”

“It might take a while to—”

Four quick, loud knocks interrupt her.
 

Our eyes meet.
 

“Who is it?” I mouth at her.
 

She lifts her shoulders and mouths she has no idea. “Yeah?” she asks, stepping closer to the door, but not opening it.

“Can you open the door?” a familiar male voice asks.

I jump on my bed and grab my pillow, waving it around the room, hoping to clear any remaining smoke.
 

Sam opens the door and Andrew Wildes stands on our threshold in all of his dark, brooding glory. I am on my bed waving a pink floral pillow around my head like a crazy person. Embarrassed, I quickly hop to the floor and throw the pillow behind me.

“Sorry to bother you, but I was passing by and smelled smoke.” His eyes flash to mine. “Hi, Madison.”

“Hi, Andrew.” I give him an embarrassed wave.

Sam grins at me and then plasters on her best innocent expression to face him. “You did? How strange. Maybe we were making microwave popcorn and burned it.”

“Maybe?” Andrew’s focus sweeps over our room and lands on mine again. “No microwave.”

“Oh. Right. Funny that.” She giggles.

He takes a step into the room and crosses his arms. “It smells like a roasted chicken in here.”

I laugh, but stop myself mid-ha.
 

“Are you a narc?” she asks.

“No, but I am an RA.”

“In this dorm?” I ask. I’ve never seen him in the building.

“I’m in Emerson.”

“So your powers don’t work here?” Sam jokes.

His focus flicks to hers for a second before returning to me. “My powers work everywhere. Unlike illegal microwaves, cigarettes and other smoking, I’m not sure there are any rules banning sage smudging.” He steps to the sink and picks up the singed bundle of sage.

“If you knew it was sage, why did you ask?” Sam asks.

“Just checking to be sure you knew.” He spins the bundle between his long fingers before placing it back on the small counter. “Who was the smudger and who was the smudgee?”
 

Apparently my brain has lost the ability to form words while Andrew stares at me, because I stand here mute.

“I smudged Madison.” Sam confesses, shoving me in front of her.
 

His deep brown eyes sweep over me, settling on a spot on my cheek. I realize he isn’t wearing his glasses, and his long lashes brush his cheek when he blinks. I’ve never noticed before how long they are. Ridiculously long. Ridiculously unfair. Andrew is the kind of guy you wouldn’t look twice at, until you do, and realize how handsome he is beyond the glasses and brooding.

“Looks like you got a little close.” When he touches my cheek, I feel the heat of his fingertip ignite a trail of fire beneath my skin. He holds his finger in front of my eyes where I see a dark smear of charcoal.
 

I brush my skin, hoping to remove any further smudges. Embarrassment heats my face. My recently admitted crush is standing in my room while I sport face-paint and smell like Thanksgiving dinner. Obviously, the smudging isn’t working to clear my mojo.

His hand lifts as if he wants to touch my cheek again. I hold my breath and brace for impact. Instead, he subtly shakes his head and stuffs his hand in the pocket of his black hoodie.

“Sorry to barge in. Lots of students are curious about witchcraft. Allison, on the first floor, almost set her comforter on fire with an enchanted candle.” He scoffs. “Probably best to avoid open flames in the dorms.”
 

His eyes never leave mine as he speaks. I feel like I am being studied and categorized, but I’m not sure if the verdict is positive or more along the lines of
stupid college girls and witchcraft
. He’s impossible to read.

While Andrew and I stare at each other, Sam clears her throat. “What are you doing tonight, Andrew?”

Without breaking our bubble, he says, “Not really sure. I was headed upstairs when I smelled the smoke. To see a friend.”
 

Girl friend or guy friend?

“You know Tate? The RA on the third floor?” he asks.

Sam and I nod. Everyone knows Tate Winthrop. Even if he wasn’t a gazillionth generation Winthrop, everyone would still know him. There aren’t many six-foot-something white guys with dreadlocks down their back on our little college campus. Sam’s had a crush on Tate since the beginning of last year. He’s a pretty big reason why we still live in a double room as juniors. I can’t imagine Tate and Andrew being friends. Andrew seems too quiet, and more than a little uptight.
 

A glimmer of a plan twinkles in Sam’s eyes. “You and Tate should come to the party on Elm Court tonight. Unless RAs aren’t allowed to go to off campus parties.”

“We can if there isn’t alcohol. Or if everyone there is over twenty-one, it’s not a problem.” He smiles at Sam. “Are you legal?” he asks me.

“She is. We both are.” Sam is lying. My birthday isn’t until late November; hers is in January.
 

It would be easy for him to bust us by asking for IDs, but he doesn’t.

“Okay, maybe I’ll see you there. No more smudging, ladies.” He doesn’t make a move to leave. Instead, we stand awkwardly in silence. At least I’m awkward. Sam looks delighted at her newfound connection to Tate.

Torn between wanting him to get out of my room and throwing him down on my bed, I once again become mute. I’m so charming it’s amazing I’m single.

“Okay,” I manage to say, finally. Parrots have more interesting contributions to conversations. “I’ll be in a corner with a Solo cup.”

“Bring Tate!” Sam calls out as the door shuts behind him.

Yep. Awkward.

Four

If Andrew bothered to show up at the party tonight, he’d find me in a corner with a bottle of cider. So shocking, I doubt he’d recognize me without the red cup.

Sam covers up her disappointment about Tate’s no-show by chatting up every guy there who isn’t mashing his body or lips against a girl. Or guy. An endless parade of toads marches over to my corner with her encouragement. Not actual toads. Or frogs. Although one of them has buggy eyes and smells like a pond, so he might be a real toad in disguise. My grandmother’s words of dating wisdom come to mind.
 

“You have to kiss a lot of toads to find your Prince Charming.”

This from a woman who met and married a boy at seventeen. How many toads could she have kissed in western Massachusetts? Her town didn’t even have a stop sign.

Most of the toad-guys have names beginning with E: Ethan, Eli and Ev are followed by Eddie and Edgar, who doesn’t appreciate being asked if he is named for Poe.
 

Over loud music, Poe sounds a lot like poo. Apparently.

No Prince Charming to rescue me tonight. I’d be better off back in our room, studying.

I finish my cider and look for Sam. I locate her in the kitchen talking to a short, skinny guy, who enthusiastically tells her all about his ninja costume for Halloween.
 

“I’m working on the suction cups for the hands and feet.”

“Suction cups?” Sam fakes interest.

“For climbing buildings.” He doesn’t say “duh”, but it’s implied.

“Oh, right. Look, it’s Madison!” She hugs me and whispers, “Help me.”

By the time we break apart, Ninja Boy has moved on to sharing his ninja plans with the girl to his left.

“Let’s go,” I beg.

“They might still show.”

“It’s almost one o’clock. They’re not coming. And neither is Prince Charming.”

“Were you expecting him tonight? Halloween is a couple weeks away. It’s too early for men in tights.”

I laugh. “Not by much. A few more weeks and this town will be covered with them.”

She groans. “I wish you were joking.”

New Orleans has Mardi Gras; Salem has Halloween—a month-long party downtown with every sexy version of a normal costume possible. Last year we saw nine women dressed as the sexy version of the Supreme Court, including Ruth Bader Ginsberg in hot pants.
 

“Me too,” I agree.

“We need to start planning our costumes.” She tugs me out of the kitchen and down the narrow hall where a partial parade of toads are lined up with their beers, waiting for the bathroom. At least they appear to be housebroken.

Sam continues plotting out her costume as we walk home. The night has turned cold and I wish I wore a coat instead of a sweater.
 

“Shouldn’t you be picking out robes for a coven gathering in the woods or something? I don’t think Wiccans approve of sexy cat costumes.”

“I’m multi-denominational when it comes to Halloween.”

“No candy at coven gatherings?”

She chuckles. “Busted. And zero cute guys.”

“No guy witches?”

“There are some, but most of them are ancient and smell of patchouli.”

We both stick out our tongues.
 

“Maybe instead of Prince Charming, we’ll meet a handsome monster, wicked cool Phantom of the Opera, or smoking hot Beast.” She sighs.

“Stalkers and kidnappers? Are you sure you didn’t watch princess movies?” I ask.

“You have no sense of romance, Maddy. Zero. You’re too young to be so cynical. And too pretty.”

I snort.

“Stop doing that.”

“What?”

“Dismissing every compliment you’re given. You’re gorgeous. Like a totally hot Audrey Hepburn.”

“Meaning flat chested and pointy?"
 

“No, petite and gamine. With the way he couldn’t take his eyes off you earlier, I think Andrew approved.”

It’s my turn to sigh. “I doubt it. He didn’t even show at the party.”

“He and Tate probably had other plans. Like playing Dungeons & Dragons. Or Magic.” She giggles. “Can you imagine?”

I can. The thought of gorgeous guys being into role playing games is both ridiculous and kind of hot, depending on the role play.

“You don’t think they have girlfriends, do you? Or boyfriends? I’ve never seen Tate with anyone, but that doesn’t really mean anything.” Her uncertainty raises her voice to an unfamiliar, girly whine.

“That would suck if they did.”

“Tate’s totally dreamy. He’s like a modern day philosopher. Did you know he rides a skateboard?”

“Nothing says wicked smart philosopher like an old school long board.” I nudge her with my elbow. “You have it bad.”

She sighs again and nods. “I don’t know why, but it’s so bad it’s good. We might need to crash his Halloween party this year and charm him.”