Bras & Broomsticks (7 page)

“Are you going to say the entire name every time?” I yawn. “It’s putting me to sleep.”

“What should I call it?” she asks.
“Authorized and
Absolute?”

“A-squared. That sounds cooler.” I gaze at the cover. “Where did that book come from, anyway? Is there an Amazon.witch?”

“Noooo,” she enunciates. “Mom put a spell on hers to produce one for the next generation. But I like the new name. A-squared.”

“Let me see it.”

“I’m reading.” Miri lets out an amazed giggle. “It even updated the language to be appropriate for a young, twenty-first-century witch.”

“Fine. It’s not like I care.” Yeah, right. I spent all day attempting to kick-start my magical powers, whenever my thoughts weren’t otherwise occupied with my Spring Fling obsession.

Like when I willed my combination lock to revolve itself.

Believe me, if it had worked, I would not be on this train.

And then later, when I spotted Raf in the cafeteria line, spooning mashed potatoes onto his plate, and I willed him to park that cute butt of his beside me.

He sat next to stuck-up Melissa Davis. She already stole my best friend; did she have to hijack Raf, too?

“So,” I say. “How was school? Put any spells on your teachers?”

“Noooo. First of all, I don’t know how to use any of the spells, and second, for the hundredth time, I’m not doing any magic until I’ve finished my training.”

Blah, blah, blah. If I were her, I would have made dear old Liss choke on her celery sticks. “What a waste. You could bet I’d use my powers if I had any.”

“Maybe that’s why you don’t.”

Look what witch has already become a diva. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Miri leans back in her seat, holding her ticket. “Mom says that some people get them when they’re ready for them. Maybe you’re not ready.”

“Excuse me, Miss Maturity.” I push her book and magazine out of her hands, and they tumble into the aisle.

She rolls her eyes. Does she think
she’s
the older sister?

I bet she used her powers to make me do that just to illustrate my immaturity.

“You up?” I ask Miri.

My father has enough money to build a pool and sauna in his new house, but not enough for Miri and me to have our own rooms. STB decorated ours in yellow. She thought it was cute. I feel like I’m drowning in a lemon meringue pie.

“No.”

I throw a sunflower-shaped pillow at her. “If I were a witch, I would never sleep. I would zap myself permaawake and spend the night flying around.”

She sighs. “Maybe I’ll zap myself asleep so I can stop staring at the ceiling.”

“Hey, there’s a full moon. You want to borrow STB’s Swiffer for a quick spin around town?” I giggle.

“Ha-ha.”

“Can you fly?”

I see the outline of her head shaking in the dark. “No.”

“So you’ve tried?” I say, psyched to have found her out.

“Mom told me that flying is a myth.”

“And you believe her?” I tsk-tsk. “You can bring lobsters back to life, make yourself invisible when playing hide-and-seek, but you can’t fly?”

She sits up and her eyes glow in the dark. Not in a creepy way, but because it’s dark in here and she’s always had really white eyeballs. She can do tricks with her eyes, too, such as crossing them, and making both eyeballs look outward. Mom hates when she does that, and is always warning her that one day they’ll stay like that and she’ll have only herself to blame.

“I don’t get how I did that lobster thing,” Miri confides. “And I didn’t make myself invisible. I projected my thoughts on you.”

“Does that mean I have a weak mind?”

“Maybe.”

“Shut up.”

She throws the sunflower pillow back at me. “I don’t think you’re weak minded.”

I feel creepy crawlies up my spine. “Do you make
suggestions
to me a lot?” Fantastic. My own mother and sister constantly control my thoughts, without my even realizing it. How do I know what I’m really thinking and what they’re telling me to think?

Is Miri telling me what to think right now?

“I’m not telling you what to think.”

“Omigod! You’re reading my thoughts! Stop it!”

“I can’t read your thoughts, moron. You’re slamming your palm into your forehead.”

I pause in mid-slam. Oops. “I’m on to you, young lady.”

STB calls Miri young lady. Miri once called her old lady in retort, but that didn’t go over well.

“I don’t know what I can or can’t do,” Miri admits. “I have to start my training. And study the spells. And I’ve decided not to tell Dad. At least for now, until my training is complete. So don’t mention anything, okay?”

“Of course not,” I say, distracted. I wonder if I can use one of these spells to make Liss roll around naked in poison ivy. “Will the spells work if I say them, too?”

“I don’t think so. Mom says it’s not the spells themselves that work. They need to be performed by a witch.”

That is so unfair. Witches get everything. Ruby slippers, talking cats, flying brooms, their own TV shows.

I have an idea. “Stand on the bed.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

She kicks off her covers and stands up on her bed.

“Now jump off,” I say.

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

She swings her arms back and jumps. She lands with a thud on the floor.

Maybe I
do
have the power of suggestion. Or maybe I’m just a big sister whose little sister listens to almost everything she says.

Miri massages her right ankle. “Ouch. What was that for?”

“I wanted to see if you could fly.”

“I told you I couldn’t! I’m not Peter Pan.”

Hey. Wait a sec. I feel a rush of cold air, and suddenly my pillow is raising my back, as if I’m in the dentist’s chair. Now it’s . . . it’s . . . moving away from under me and floating into the air! It’s smacking me on the chin! On the head! On the shoulders!

Miri’s eyes are closed and her lips are pursed, and she’s attacking me in a magic pillow fight.

I try to grab the top two corners, but they wiggle out of my grasp like a wet bar of soap.

“Stop it!” I howl. Smack. “This is so unfair!” Smack. Now the sunflower pillow is in on it too, slapping my legs.

Pound, pound. Uh-oh. Someone’s at our door.

“Yes?” I say in my most ladylike voice. Smack. Giggle.

Miri’s eyes widen, and the pillows drop lifelessly into my lap. She doesn’t have time to return to bed, and the door opens while she’s splayed across the carpet.

STB is wearing her silk cleavage-exposing bathrobe, and an eye mask is dangling around her neck. “Miri, I’d appreciate it if you got back into bed. Other people are trying to get some sleep.”

“Sorry.”

“You girls will be exhausted for your fitting.” We have dress fitting number 738 tomorrow morning for our horrifically ugly pink powder-puff bridesmaid dresses. STB is batting her eyes furiously, as if looking at us is making them tear. She has gorgeous eyes. They’re wide and warm and a kaleidoscope of blues and greens. The rest of her is okay. I mean, she’s definitely pretty. She has smooth blond hair that rests on her shoulders, creamy perfect skin, and straight, Liquid Paper–white teeth. She’s slim and always dressed in tailored designer blouses and pants. But her eyes are incredible. I bet that’s why my dad fell in love with her.

How can someone with those eyes be so horrible?

Miri snorts. “We’ll certainly need to be well rested to stand there like mannequins.”

I laugh.

STB does not. “Enough with the mouth, young lady. And I wish you would leave those dingy T-shirts at your mother’s and wear the Gap pajamas I bought you. Now please go to sleep.”

The door makes a loud cracking sound as she slams it. We hear a nasal moan from the room next to ours. “Mo-mmmmmmy, the door woke me up.”

We giggle for a few minutes before trying to fall asleep. I’m hoping to return to the dream in which I’m voted the most popular girl in the universe at the school dance.

And that’s when a plan bursts in my brain, like a kernel into popcorn.

Miri just did magic. She is therefore willing to break the rules. All I have to do is give her a worthy reason to do it again.

Our dad’s happiness = worthy reason.

Like me, Miri wishes our father would find his real soul mate and live happily ever after. And the only way to make that happen is to put a spell on him.

We have to act now. If we wait until the end of training, it will be too late.

We must use magic to stop him from marrying STB.

Yes! Yes to the power of three! Yes X yes X yes!

Of course . . . since my calendar will be clear, there’s no reason she can’t whip up a quick potion for something minor . . . like making me the most popular girl at JFK. Jewel will be my Best Bud again and someone will ask me to Spring Fling.

A tiny snore escapes from Miri’s nose.

My nose starts to twitch.

My creativity + Miri’s magic = the end of STB + the A-list for me!

5

GLINDA, THE GOOD WITCH OF LONG ISLAND

Today is the worst Valentine’s Day ever.

“STB doesn’t actually think this is nice, does she?” Miri whines. She’s standing, legs spread a foot apart, as Judy, the middle-aged dressmaker (she’s at least twentyfive), contorts the heinous pastel pink material around Miri’s overdeveloped body.

I shake my head. “Of course not. She
wants
us to look like pink doilies. That way she’s the only one who looks good.” And she will definitely look amazing. She spent ten thousand dollars on her wedding dress. I heard her bragging about it to one of her friends.

Miri looks seriously fed up with being prodded. “I bet Prissy doesn’t have to wear this. Hers is probably adorable.”

“Actually,” Judy says, taking a pin from her mouth and making us realize she is listening to our conversation, “her dress is a miniature version of yours. Your arms are so toned, Miri. You must be an athlete.”

“She’s a brown belt in Tae Kwon Do,” I brag. “She’ll probably be a black belt within a year.” She could be one tomorrow if she wanted to. Wait a minute. With Miri’s help,
I
could be one tomorrow!

Miri squirms. “Why are there rods in the material?”

“It’s boning to shape the dress over your breasts.”

“How can anything shape this getup? It’s so ugly.”

The bells on the door chime and STB and mini-STB glide inside. STB normally stops to get her morning iced coffee en route, but because we were running late, STB dropped us off first and then doubled back to Starbucks. (I was trying to figure out how to use STB’s blue liquid eyeliner and ended up making squiggly lines all around my lids. The removal required multiple washings. Naturally, STB waited until we were in the car and out of my dad’s earshot before she yelled at me for ruining her schedule.)

“How are we in here?” she asks now. She’s asking Judy, not us. She doesn’t care how Miri and I are doing. Since I’m still in my jeans, I’m enjoying myself. The more annoyed Miri gets at STB, the better chance I’ll have that she’ll go for my Making STB Disappear plan.