Crush Control (32 page)

I picked up the instruction manual tucked inside and began to read.

“Peppermint oil,” Georgia said, sniffing one of the vials.

“Wait a minute,” I said, pointing at the print. “We can't do this.”

“Why not?” Georgia continued to press the tongs in and out with fascination.

Oompa came over and sniffed the end of the tongs. He whimpered loudly, then turned and waddled off toward my room.

“Because,” I said, “it says using this hematite stone dipped in the banishment potion and applied with the application tool will
literally push the problematic person out of your life.
”

“That's good!” Georgia insisted, still playing with the tongs.

‘Listen!” I looked back at the paper. “ ‘Sometimes the person will find him- or herself accepting a job out of state or moving out of the country. In rare circumstances' ”—I raised my voice—“ ‘the person winds up in
jail
, but this only happens in cases where the person is dangerous.'” I tossed the paper down. “This is
crazy
, Georgia! Silver Rain and banishment spells. What are we doing?! I can't risk Quinton going to
jail
—I've messed up his life enough already!”

Georgia put the tongs down. “Well, how are we going to reverse the love spell, then?”

I thought about asking my mom for help. She had done hypnotism for nine years. She would know what to do. I felt a sting of tears. But she would be so upset with me. “Maybe we can just wait it out,” I suggested. “Maybe if I just pull myself away from him a little each day . . .”

There was a knock at the door. Georgia and I eyed each other with delirium. We ran around wild-eyed, flinging the vials and stones and tongs back into the box. The person knocked again.

“Coming!” I called as Georgia threw a
People
magazine on top of the return address marked
Spiritual Assistance from Silver Rain.

I opened the door and saw Quinton standing there.

“Hi!” he said.

“Oh, hi,” I said, startled. “What are you doing here?”

Oompa came running from the bedroom at the sound of Quinton's voice. But when he saw the large box of banishment tools still sitting on the table, he sniffed, growled at the box, and turned away, running off back to my room.

Quinton pointed to the large red canoe strapped to the top of his car. “I've done some research,” he said. “There's a lake up in the north Georgia mountains where one cove is filled with ducks.”

I stared at him like he was a lunatic.
Why is he talking about ducks?

“I've rented this canoe, and I'm going to drive us up to that lake so we can paddle through hundreds of ducks and re-create the love scene between Allie and Noah from
The Notebook.
Remember? Our first date, the first movie we ever watched together?”

“Quinton,” I said in a slow, calm voice like, I was talking someone off a ledge, “why are you here with a canoe, talking about ducks and the north Georgia mountains when it's 4 p.m. and you're supposed to be at football practice?”

He just kept on smiling. “Because this is more important. You are more important.” His eyes were glassy and dazed.

“NO. NO, I'M NOT!” I stated emphatically. “You're going to mess up your chances for the football scholarship. I can't be responsible for that!”

“You know, I've been thinking,” Quinton said calmly. “We haven't discussed after graduation. I need to know where you plan on going to school so I can tailor my applications.”

“No, no, no!” I grabbed his shirt. “Look at me! Your future does
not
revolve around me!”

“Your eyes,” he mused. “They're so mesmerizing.”

“Oh, for Pete's sake.” I let go of his shirt, thwarted. “I can't go up to the mountains today,” I said. “I've got things to do.”

He smiled. “No problem. Rain check?”

I forced a smile. “Okay.” I turned and walked back inside. “Open that box,” I said to Georgia. “Desperate times require desperate measures.”

All night I fidgeted on the couch, waiting for Mom to go to sleep. I crossed and uncrossed my legs.

“Oh look,” Mom said, flipping through the channels. “
The Notebook
is on.”

“No! Turn it off!” I said a little too sharply.

Mom looked over at me. “Is everything okay? You're acting strange.”

“I just, um, I'm tired of this movie. I just saw it last month with Quinton in the park, remember?”

“Right,” she said slowly, still looking at me inquisitively. “Is everything all right between you and Quinton? I haven't heard you talk about him lately.”

I slumped back into the couch.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“Oh, I don't know. I think maybe he likes me a little more than I like him.”

Mom nodded understandingly. “Feeling smothered?”

I nodded. “Like I can't breathe. Like this stupid locket he gave me is fifty pounds and dragging me down.”

Mom reached behind my neck and unclasped the necklace. She placed it on the end table next to her mug.

It felt so great to talk to her, like old times. I just wished I could have been honest with her.

Mom put her arm around me. “I think it's time for you to cut ties,” she suggested. “Move on to greener pastures.”

I sighed.
If only it were that easy.

Mom squeezed my arm in sympathy, then got up and went to her bedroom. I waited quietly by her door until her breathing turned slow and rhythmic; then I whipped out my phone and texted Georgia.
It's GO time.

I met her on the front porch and we snuck back inside the house, where we mixed fifteen drops each of pine oil, peppermint oil, rosemary oil, and olive oil from the small brown vials into a cup. We dropped the two flat stones into the mixture, careful not to splash ourselves with the banishment potion, as the instructions said the oils were very potent. Then I used the clear plastic gloves provided to lift each stone from the mixture and adhere them to the pronged ends of the long tool. I removed the gloves and scrubbed my hands.

Georgia pulled out two pairs of black yoga pants and two black hoodies. I climbed into them then slipped on the black cap she handed me. I felt like a cat burglar.

“Isn't wool a little warm for October?” I whispered.

“We need to camouflage.”

I nodded and tucked the ends of my blonde hair up under the cap.

We loaded everything into Georgia's dad's truck and drove through the dark night toward Quinton's house.

“We can't park in front of his house,” I hissed.

“But the ladder?” Georgia whined. “What are we going to do, carry it a mile?”

I bit my lip and looked around. “Just go a little bit down the road.”

She drove three houses down and parked.

We got out. I stuffed the pronged banishment tool into the kangaroo pocket of my hoodie. We quietly shut the truck doors and tiptoed around to the back and extracted the large metal ladder from the flatbed.

“You take the front. I'll take the back,” I instructed.

We heaved the ladder off the flatbed, gripping each end between our hands. It really wasn't too heavy, just cumbersome. We darted between Quinton's house and the neighboring brick colonial, whacking off the tips of a boxwood shrub with the swaying ladder.

“Sorry,” Georgia called quietly.

We turned toward the back of the house and I pointed up to the window at the far left of the second story. We set the ladder down into the grass.

“Okay.” Georgia lifted one end of the silver ladder and I grabbed the other side and we hoisted the opposite end up into the air until it crashed against the brick house with a whack.

“Ssshhh!” Georgia and I yelled at the ladder.

Something bolted from the shrub beside us.

“Ahhh!” I screamed as a squirrel scurried over my foot and climbed the young, spindly tree next to the house.

We swung our heads back and forth in search of Quinton's family, neighbors, or local policemen, whom we were certain heard the racket. When no one appeared with handcuffs, I pulled the black wool cap further down on my forehead and Georgia copied me. She held the bottom of the ladder as I climbed the rungs slowly, sweating as the top ends scraped loudly against the brick with each movement I made.

Georgia began to climb up the ladder behind me, until we were both near the top, ready to enter the house.

I stood there on the top rung and wondered how it had gotten to this point. A week ago I was crying because I was sent to the principal's office and now here I was breaking and entering—a felony. Or at the very least, a misdemeanor. I couldn't believe the turn my life was taking. The whole situation seemed like my hair: The more I tried to fix it, the more of a mess it became. But what could I do? Hair was just hair, but this was Quinton's mind. And my life. I had to repair the damage I'd done.

To my relief, I saw that the window was open. Keeping one hand on the ladder, I used my other hand to jimmy the screen up. It required more force than I expected, and I heaved with one big push. The screen screeched up and a huge puff of yellow pollen dust shot out from the window ledge and hit me in the face. I immediately coughed and spluttered.

“Ssshh!” Georgia said, and I clamped my fist over my mouth, but my chest kept convulsing.

Inside, Quinton tossed in his bed.

I ducked down, hitting Georgia in the head with my butt. “Sorry,” I gasped between coughs. Finally, I caught my breath and my hacking died down. I looked down at Georgia. “Ready?”

I swung my leg over the windowsill and crawled inside Quinton's bedroom. It was dark inside, just the neon glow from his digital alarm clock lighting the space. Suddenly a burst of fear shot through me.
I can't do this! What if I get caught? How would I explain myself?
I squinted over at his desk and noticed that his stacks of college applications, once so neatly organized, had fallen to the floor. Instead, covering the desk was a sheet of heavy-duty art paper, a palette of watercolor paints, and a paintbrush. I leaned closer and saw that the paper was covered in black lines and numbers—like a paint-by-number set. As I focused my eyes, I realized with horror that the image was me. I put my hand to my mouth. He had sent a photo of me to some company that had created a paint-by-number canvas in my image.

This had to stop. I turned back to Georgia with renewed courage. I pulled the banishment tool from the pocket of my hoodie, and crept quietly over toward his bed.

He looked so peaceful sleeping on his side with his knees pulled up and his hand draped over the top of his plaid bedspread. His perfectly bowed lips were parted just a sliver and his golden brown hair, shimmering in the light of the full moon, was rumpled and cascading over his forehead. He really was beautiful. I glanced around his room—so neat and tidy, all his trophies dusted and arranged according to size.
He is such a great guy,
I thought. He was the perfect boyfriend—for a short time. Before everything went so horribly wrong. And maybe he would have been in real life, too—if I hadn't hypnotized him to be something he wasn't.
It's not fair what I've done to him. I need to fix it. To undo my mistakes.

I pressed on the tool, opening the ends of the tongs with the flat stones, and held it up to his head. I opened them more so the space was wide enough to place each stone on his temples like the diagram demonstrated.

Georgia started to giggle. “Sorry!” she whispered. “It just looks funny. Like you're giving him electric shock therapy.”

“Hand me the metal stick,” I whispered.

Georgia reached into her pocket and produced the long, thin metal probe.

I held the tongs with my left hand, making sure to keep the stones on his temples, and used my right hand to bang the metal stick against the handle of the tongs. The entire tool began to vibrate, making a soft humming noise like a tuning fork.

Quinton bolted up in bed like he'd been struck by lightning.

Georgia and I hit the floor like we were bowling pins knocked down. We wormed our way under Quinton's bed as he jumped out of his covers, searching around his room all disoriented.

“Who's there?” he asked manically.

“Oooh, he sleeps with no shirt on,” Georgia whispered. “Look at those pecs!”

“Hush!” I elbowed her.

Quinton walked over to the open window and stuck his head out.

As he turned around, Georgia and I both saw the banishment tool lying in the middle of the carpet. He was walking right toward it. He was going to trip right over it! Georgia reached up and pulled off her wool cap. She angled back her arm as best she could in the confined space under his bed and whipped the cap across the floor. It flew out from under the bed, skidded across the carpet, and landed on the opposite side of the room.