Bras & Broomsticks (4 page)

Miri’s eyes are wide, but she doesn’t look like I do, which is scared stiff. The hairs on my arms are standing up like cactus needles.

My mother is a witch.

My
mother
is a witch. My mother is a
witch
.

My mother is a witch.

And my vegetarian, socially inept little sister is one too.

3

ANYTHING MY HEART DESI

“I didn’t mean to scare you like that,” my mother says, looking sheepish. “My magic is a bit rusty. I was trying to make a heart.”

My intestines start playing street hockey and my throat constricts like a broken straw. I feel nauseous and I can’t breathe properly and my legs start trembling. How can this be?

No one speaks. The only sound is my mother inhaling on her cigarette.

I sit back down on the edge of her bed in case my legs give out.

“Someone say something.” My mother reaches under her comforter and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, then lights a fresh one. I watch the smoke slither across the ceiling.

Miri peers over the edge of the bed again. “The sneakers
are
really cool. Do you like them, Rachel? I can’t believe it worked! Those are the ones you wanted, right?”

My mind is blank. “What?”

“The sneakers. I wanted to put you in a good mood. You know, for when you found out that I’m a witch and you aren’t.”

She what? And I’m way too busy having a heart attack to be in a good mood. “What about . . . is it . . . are you . . . are you going to get warts all over your face?” is all I can manage.

My sister’s hands fly to her chin.

“She most certainly won’t,” my mother says tartly. “Nothing is going to change. Our noses won’t grow and our hair won’t turn to black straw. Those are myths.”

My sister’s eyes widen again, and her long lashes touch the base of her eyebrows. “Does Dad know?”

My mother shakes her head. “I never told him. I decided in college that I didn’t want to be a practicing witch. When I met your father, I was embarrassed that I was different.” She crosses her arms. “I chose to repress the parts of me he wouldn’t understand.”

“An excellent basis for a marriage,” I say. “No wonder you’re divorced.” Omigod. Omigod. My sister is a witch. My mother is a witch. It’s impossible.

It’s true.

Omigod. Wait a sec. “What do you mean you didn’t want to be a practicing witch?”

“I preferred, and still do, not to use magic in my life. I excommunicated myself from the witchcraft community.”

Suddenly, the impact of this entire conversation hits me as if I’ve just been whacked with a broomstick. “But . . . why not?” Is she crazy? She can have anything she wants.
I
can have anything I want. Zit-proof skin! A flying carpet! No hair on my upper lip!

“Magic isn’t all ruby slippers and castles,” my mom says sternly, as if she’s reading me a warning label. “There are consequences to every spell. And as I told you, I wanted you girls to grow up having normal childhoods.”

Of course I’m not listening. Instead, my mind is whirring. Seven-day weekends! School? So yesterday. Knowledge will be automatically downloaded into our brains!

But . . . where would we meet boys?

“What was your childhood like?” Miri asks my mom, interrupting my happy fantasy.

She sighs and looks down at the comforter. “Different. Difficult. One day I’ll tell you everything, I promise.”

A time machine to see what our parents were like in high school! So we can make fun of their clothes!

Miri’s face scrunches up. “So I shouldn’t tell Dad? Did your father know?”

We never met our mother’s parents. They both died before we were born. “He knew,” my mom says. “My mother told him. But he didn’t deal with it well.” She bites her thumbnail. “You’ll have to make the decision about whether to tell your father. It’s your choice.”

My mouth feels sandpapery. “Can one of you poof me up a glass of fruit punch?” This witch thing is going to make my life
a lot
easier.

My mother shakes the burning part of her cigarette at me. “No way. This is exactly what I was talking about. Laziness is no excuse for magic. Trust me,” she says, and gets a constipated look on her face. “I’ve seen the consequences, and I don’t recommend Miri use magic to do homework. Or to ace tests. Or to get fancy clothes or toys.”

What toys? Am I seven? Did I ask for the deluxe Barbie Corvette?

Although I wouldn’t
mind
if my mother or sister poofed up a
real
Corvette. A red one. Convertible. And a driver’s license. “What consequences? What’s the big deal?”

“We don’t need to talk about everything tonight,” my mom tells us. “But am I being clear, girls? Miri is not allowed to use her spells for trivial matters.”

I’m so confused. “What
is
Miri allowed to use her powers for?”

My mother stubs out her cigarette. “Every witch has to decide what’s right for her. Including Miri. That’s why I’m training her; so she’ll be able to make an informed decision. I’ve chosen not to use my powers. Some witches take advantage of them for personal gain. Others use them to illuminate a path, and show people the way to goodness. A witch could try to make the world a better place by putting suggestions in people’s minds to end various wars. The problem with that is that sometimes a spell meant for good ends up causing unintentional disastrous consequences. One witch I knew once tried to end an African heat wave and ended up causing an ice storm in Kansas City. After Miri’s training is complete, she’ll have to decide for herself whether or not she wants to pursue her witchdom. And if she does, I’m hoping she’ll take the altruistic route. Carefully, of course.”

“Mom.” I tut-tut, shaking my head. “Is it fair to make a twelve-year-old feel responsible for world peace?”

My sister smiles serenely. “I understand what Mom means. If I choose to use magic, I can will people to do good deeds at school and stuff. Maybe if a bully is about to beat up a smaller kid, I can mentally
suggest
to him how he would feel if the tables were reversed. And then maybe he won’t be mean.”

I eye Miri warily. She
so
isn’t going to make the most of this. This is a girl who does all her homework
on the
day it’s assigned
. Magic will be wasted on her. Like boobs. She’s not even excited—I’d be bouncing off the floor like a basketball. She’s definitely going to need some sisterly steering. “Hello? Miri, can you get psyched, please? You have
magical powers
.”

She shrugs her small shoulders. “I am excited. But I always suspected something was different about me. Like how Tigger always obeys me, and why no one ever found me during hide-and-seek.”

Tigger always listens to Miri. She says, “Tigger, I’m freezing. Will you bring me a blanket?” and the fat fur ball digs his pointy little teeth into the purple afghan and drags it across the room. And me? Nothing. I can call “Here, Tigger, Tigger” for centuries and that cat won’t even blink. He’ll squat on my biology textbook despite my waving my arms and screaming that I have a test the next day. Does he care? Does he move? No. I assumed cats just didn’t like me. I didn’t realize Miri could communicate with them.

And now that I think about it, I could
never
find her during hide-and-seek. I would cover my eyes, count down from twenty, then look in the traditional places: under the bed, between the coats at the backs of the closets, behind the couch. No Miri. Not even my father could find her. My friends couldn’t. Dave the fireman couldn’t. (Although my mom might have asked him up just to ogle his hotness.) “Where did you hide?”

“In the bathtub. But I would
suggest
to you not to look there, and you wouldn’t. See? I always wondered what was different about me, and now I know. And anyway, I’ve had some time to let the news sink in. Mom and I talked about this all last night and today.”

Excuse me? “You knew this since
yesterday
? Why didn’t anyone tell me?” I heard them talking, but I thought they were discussing pollution or something, not anything
important
.

My mom puts her arm around Miri. “I wanted to see how she felt. And emphasize that she’s not allowed to use any magic at all, until she’s fully trained.”

She said that will take at least a year! Reading my mind (
really
reading my mind?), my mom gives me a serious look. “I didn’t want anyone to tell her otherwise.”

“But . . . you zapped me up new shoes,” I say feebly.

“I did that when you called to ask if you could go for pizza, before I knew the rules,” Miri admits. “I wasn’t sure it would really work. Mom said you were excited that you were invited, and I thought I’d give you something to show off.”

I guess that’s why I didn’t notice them all day. They only appeared on my feet after French class.

“Miri didn’t tell me what she had done,” my mom clarifies. “So when you called back to thank me, I couldn’t have you run around the city in magic shoes. What if they disappeared and left you barefoot in the restaurant, or on your way home? The sidewalks are cold.” Then she shook her head at Miri. “I knew we needed to talk.”

Miri picks up a sneaker and squeezes it like an orange. “Seems fine.”

“Still,” my mom reminds Miri and me for the hundredth time, “no more magic until you’ve finished your training.”

She can remind me five zillion times. There is no chance I’m waiting 365 days to test out Miri’s magic! Obviously, I’ll have to have a word with my sister in private. My stomach grumbles. “So conjuring up cup-cakes from Magnolia Bakery is out, too?” They’re delicious.

“No Magnolia Bakery,” my mother says, exasperated.

“But they don’t deliver!”

Miri is shaking her head in disbelief.

I narrow my eyes. “If she starts
suggesting
to me that we switch rooms, that’s completely unfair. I’m older and I’m entitled to the bigger one.”

My mother and Miri sigh in harmony.

“Good thing Miri is the one with the powers,” my obnoxious mother says.

So now it’s three in the morning, and I can’t fall asleep. I keep flipping my pillow over, trying to find the cold side, but both feel like chairs that have just been sat on.

I prop myself up on my elbows and stare at the pyramid-shaped reading lamp on my night table.

Reading lamp . . . turn on!

Nada.

Reading lamp . . . make it light!
I wiggle my fingers at it.

Stupid lamp.

I know the witch stuff sounds insane, and I wouldn’t blame anyone for not believing me. If it weren’t my own crazy family, I wouldn’t buy it either.

But . . . it
is
my family. And the more it sinks in, the cooler it is. With Miri’s help, I can have movie stars on my speed dial. A Jacuzzi in my closet. A boyfriend. She’ll zap my room clean. (Who needs a robot?) Give me bionic hearing. Poof me up a new wardrobe. The possibilities are endless. Endless!

And I’m not waiting a year. Nice try, Mom. I got Miri to watch the Lord of the Rings trilogy with me four times in a row during my Tolkien phase; surely I can convince her to whip me up a spell or two. Where to begin?

Hmm.