Kelly McClymer-Salem Witch 02 Competition's A Witch (8 page)

“Peanut butter with a Hershey’s Kiss center? Wow. It’s your lucky day.” I led Angelo back toward the kitchen. Leaving Tobias behind meant starting another countdown, but I had proved I could handle it without giving Angelo a clue there was magic happening under his nose.

“You have my favorite cookies?” he asked, surprised.

“We do.” Well, technically, we would by the time I opened the cookie tin. Little did he know he was going to get exactly the cookies he wanted just because he asked. For one second, I totally got why my mom had liked dating a mortal guy. Marrying him? That, not so much. But I long ago gave up trying to understand why my highly mismatched parents had stayed married way longer than most of my friends’ 100 percent certified mortal parents.

We were halfway through the house with time to spare when the Dorklock popped in and asked, “What are you doing?”

Angelo turned and blinked, as if he wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

I said, quickly so as to pass right by the whole appearing-
from-nowhere thing, “I’m getting Angelo some cookies. He’s been taking care of the yard work that you usually do, twerp.”

Tobias had paled a little when he saw Angelo. I guess he really didn’t know what was going on around him when he was playing one of those idiotic games. Apparently, though, he actually had the sense not to pop away or do anything else magical now that he saw Angelo was in the house. “I want some cookies too.”

“Fine.” It was fine to have the Dorklock around too, I realized. As long as Tobias was with us, Angelo could stay in the kitchen with me forever.

We went into the kitchen and I poured out milk the mortal way for the three of us. Then I opened the tin I had just filled with Angelo’s favorite peanut butter cookies.

I let Angelo have first choice. He took two and said, “These look great. Did you make them yourself?”

“I did.” Which, technically, wasn’t a lie. I
had
made them. There was no need to tell him
how
.

Dorklock, as usual, couldn’t just sit there and shove cookies into his mouth while Angelo and I talked and pretended he wasn’t there. “I’d rather have chocolate chip.”

I wiggled my eyebrows at him to remind him that we had a mortal in the house. “Well, peanut butter is what I have.”

He shrugged. “Okay.” He started to summon a plate, but I quickly walked over and grabbed one out of the cabinet before Angelo could see.

I handed him the plate with my best big-sister scowl. He hurriedly scooped half a dozen cookies onto his plate, then turned to Angelo. “Want to play a video game?”

“Tobias—” He was always trying to get someone to play his games with him. But to poach Angelo? I couldn’t believe he thought I’d let him.

Angelo held up his hand to stop me from scolding Tobias. “I have to finish the yard now. Maybe some other time.” He turned his head to smile at me—a smile that, besides making me feel like the only girl on the planet, also said he knew what a pain little brothers could be.

“Okay.” Dorklock shrugged again and then popped out of the kitchen without a second thought. Fortunately, Angelo had been looking at me, so he didn’t see him disappear. Although when he looked back and noticed Tobias was gone, he said, “He moves fast.”

“Don’t all thirteen-year-old boys?” I started my countdown again, annoyed at my brother for so many reasons, I couldn’t even begin to list them.

“Maybe. But if he’s that fast, he should probably go out for the track team when he hits high school.”

Right. Track team. Sure. “Good idea.”

Just then, Mom came down the back kitchen stairs carrying a box that looked like she’d unearthed it from the attic after years of neglect. I suspected that was true, because our resident housekeeping ghost was walking
beside her, her hands fluttering beside her as if she wished she could help carry it.

Going into polite young man mode, Angelo put down his glass of milk and sprinted over to Mom. “Here, Mrs. S. Let me get that for you.”

Mom smiled and relinquished the box to him, which gave me an eyeful of rippling muscle. Apparently the box was heavy.

“Thank you, Angelo,” Mom said. “You can put that down in the dining room, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing. I have to get back to the yard work, anyway.”

“I saw you working—you’ve done a great job. I can see why your mother is so proud of you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. S.” Angelo deposited the box on the dining room table, where Mom pointed. “Pru was just letting me have some of her delicious peanut butter cookies. She’s a great cook.”

“Ah. Of course.” Mom gave me a look and then opened the drawer that Dad put money into for things like the newspaper boy and the odd fund-raising effort that came by. She took out a twenty and handed it to Angelo. “Thank you again for your work. And please tell your mother that we enjoyed her casserole very much. Did she get the dish I left by your door?”

“Yes.” Angelo looked toward the front door, obviously eager to get back to work and avoid the undercurrent of tension he no doubt felt from my mother.

I could tell she wanted to tell him we didn’t need him working in our yard. But she didn’t. Just like she didn’t yell at me for bringing a mortal into the house without warning. Not in front of the mortals. I was very glad she hadn’t seen Tobias doing his popping thing while Angelo was in the room.

We headed back out, past the Dorklock playing his dorky video games. It was the one mortal thing he hadn’t given up in favor of magic.

Angelo looked puzzled. “I thought you only had peanut butter cookies.”

“What?” And then I noticed the big plate of chocolate chip cookies sitting next to my clueless little brother. Great. “Mom must have made some without telling me,” I improvised. “Would you like a few?”

He stared at me with a “something isn’t quite right here” frown for a second, then said, “No thanks. The peanut butter ones you made were perfect.”

“Thanks.”

As he started down the steps back to work, he stopped and turned to say, “I hope you find a reason to like Salem, Pru.”

Oh, yeah. I’d found a reason. Too bad he was mortal and on the new-and-improved “Do Not Date” list along with losers, gang members, Crips, Bloods, and skinheads.

As soon as the door closed, I found myself back in the kitchen—Mom’s magic, not mine. Tobias was there too. Mom looked at us both with that “How did I ever think I
could leave you alone?” look. “We need to talk about letting mortals in the house.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Tobias squirmed. I guess he was trying to pop out and Mom was blocking it. Which would have been kewl to watch if I hadn’t known my turn to burn was coming next.

“How about popping in and out of the room while Angelo was here?” I wasn’t going down alone on this one. After all, I’d been careful of the rules and hadn’t done any visible magic.

“I’m not the one who invited him in!” the Dorklock protested.

“Hush.” Mom stood up and circled the kitchen like a nervous lioness. “We should have a signal. Something to tell us all that there’s a mortal in the house.”

“I know,” Tobias offered. “We could have one of those air horn blasts. He waved his hand and demonstrated. Mom and I covered our ears.

Mom shook her head. “Hardly. I don’t want you going deaf.”

Just then, Dad came in. He gave Mom a kiss and dropped his briefcase on the kitchen counter. He was smiling, but as soon as he realized he’d stepped into a problem, his smile faded away. “What’s the matter?”

Dorklock, the ever-sensitive, blurted, “We’re trying to decide what the warning sign should be for when there’s a mortal in the house.”

Dad’s smile came back—the fake, advertising-hotshot smile. “Why do you need a warning sign?”

Mom sighed and stopped pacing. “Pru invited Angelo in for cookies to thank him for raking the yard.”

“Oh.” He shrugged. “Simple enough.” He turned to me. “Pru, don’t invite Angelo into the house again.”

“Daaad! How rude do I have to be?” It was one thing to put Angelo off-limits as boyfriend material. But I didn’t want him to think I was stuck-up. What if I got the hang of this witch thing and I could go out with a mortal boy “ in the future? Waaay in the future?

Mom shook her head. “I wish it were that simple. But Pru is right, we can’t appear to be unfriendly. We learned that lesson in Beverly Hills. The neighbors watch unfriendly people even more closely than friendly ones. And Angelo’s mother is not one to be frozen out—even politely.”

“Then why don’t you whip up a mortal warning charm?” Dad said.

“That’s what we were just talking about,” Tobias said. “Make one that sounds like an air horn.”

“Wind chimes,” I said.

“Okay.” Mom didn’t look any less worried.

“Great.” Dad kissed her again. “Problem solved.” He grabbed his briefcase and headed for his office.

Tobias popped away, probably back to his video game. Which left me with Mom. Who still looked very problem-not-solved.
I asked, “Do you want me to look for a mortal warning charm in the spell book?”

She shook her head. “There are plenty of them, Pru. But I’ll have to think up a special one. I hope I can.”

“Why?”

She smiled at me, sadly, like she did when the subject of witch-mortal age differences comes up. “Because I have to find one that will react to all mortals except your father, or we’ll be hearing wind chimes every time he’s in his own house.”

“Oh.” I shrugged. “At least it will be wind chimes, not an air horn.”

Mom laughed a little. “True.” She stopped laughing and made an “I mean it” face. “Angelo is mortal, Pru. You don’t need—”

Frappiola, I hadn’t seen the lecture coming and I wasn’t prepared to listen. “Don’t worry. He just looked thirsty.”

“Right.” Sometimes I forget that Mom was young once too. But she reminded me when she said cheerfully, “If I were a few centuries younger, and not married, I don’t know if I could resist that one.”

“Mom!” Ewww.

She looked at me, one final mom-warning moment. “He’s mortal, Pru, and that makes him dangerous right now. Plus, there’s something about him….” Her voice trailed off. I stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate. “Oh, I don’t know. But don’t make him cookies anymore, okay?”

“No problemo,
Mamacita
,” I lied. “I wouldn’t have time for him, anyway, what with all the studying I have to do for school and getting the team ready for competition.”

For some reason, Mom didn’t call me out on my blatant lie. We both knew there was always time for a guy like Angelo.

I can’t say I wasn’t bummed that he was a “look, don’t touch” kind of neighbor. Six-pack abs are pretty sexy. And that’s one thing you don’t see a lot of in witch world. Witches pop, they don’t pump. But Agatha was watching.

Speaking of the Do Not Date list, and boys as friends in general, there was one boy I needed to keep on my good side. Samuel. Besides the fact that he was smart, he had one of the best Earth Talents in school—not to mention that my parents liked him, which was more positive than negative, in his case. And I was pretty sure I was lucky that he’d stayed my friend when I made the transition from new girl with no seat in the lunchroom to cheerleader with a place at the kewlest table in school.

Don’t get me wrong. Samuel is not a snob. Not even a reverse snob who hates on kewl kids. No, he’s a fringie. Fringies tend to get along with everyone, because that’s the fringie nature. They just don’t get the differences that
everyone else sees. They’re like people who can not only walk through walls but can’t even see the walls. But being friendly isn’t the same thing as being a friend—as anyone raised in Beverly Hills knows beyond any possible doubt.

So far, Samuel had stayed more friend than friendly. There’d been some changes in our relationship since I made the cheerleading squad, but I didn’t want the fundamental fact that we were friends to get lost in the drama of the unfortunately necessary reality that I wasn’t eating lunch with Samuel—and my other fringie friends, Maria and Denise—since I’d made the cheerleading squad. I missed them a little. Not enough to eat with them, but enough to stop by and say hello. Nevermind that Tara and the girls on the squad were watching me for warning signs of impending social suicide.

In typical fringie fashion, the three people who had been willing to let me sit at their table that first week when I was the dreaded “new girl” were welcoming enough, although I could tell they understood the unspoken rules—no sitting down, no Hollywood kiss-kiss-lovelytoseeyou, just hey-howareya-moveon. At least, Maria and Denise did. Samuel was clueless, as always.

“You can have lunch with us, Pru, the cheerleaders’ table won’t collapse without you just this one time.”

A bowl of Samuel’s trademark curry appeared on the table. “Pull up a chair, stranger.” He smiled, and I felt awkward.
I could see that Maria and Denise did too. They were all three authentic fringies, but Maria and Denise, being girls, got that I wasn’t comfortable floating between undefined groups like they were. I wanted to be a kewl kid. I needed to be a kewl kid.

Samuel? He just thought he could eventually convince me I didn’t need to be kewl. As if.

“Sorry to hear Agatha didn’t let you take the test-out option early,” Maria said as she popped away the curry dish that Samuel had pointedly left on the table in front of me.