Parties & Potions #4 (16 page)

“I know, huh?” She sighs. “Let’s talk about something else. Tell me about your weekend.”

I wish I could tell her about the Eiffel Tower, or about class in Arizona, or about my fake den, or about becoming multilingual. I wish I could tell her about everything. My heart skips a beat. Could I? She loves magic stuff! She wouldn’t think I was a freak. She plays with sharks! She won’t be afriad of me!

Maybe I
could
tell her. Maybe I should. She’s my BFF. Isn’t that what a BFF is for? To be your friend no matter what?

Although … well, Jewel was my BFF too, wasn’t she? And look how well that turned out.

What if Tammy went the way of Jewel? What if she too is more of a BFFN—Best Friend For Now?

I could always tell her and then give her a forgetting spell if we stopped being friends. No, that won’t work. Spells on people only last a few months. If I gave her something to forget the truth, it would rub off. I would have to keep giving it to her again and again and again….

“Rachel? You still there?”

“Yeah! Sorry! What was I saying? I forget.”

I ace my French test on Monday morning.
Quelle surprise.
I checked the spell book, and apparently I can speak every language in the world for the next few months! I’m for sure going to get an A in French this semester. Wahoo! I wonder if I can speak computer languages too. I bet if I took C + +, I could get an A+ +.

At lunch, Raf and I sit together eating burnt mac and cheese.

“How’s your mouth feeling?” he asks.

“You mean because of the mac and cheese?”

“No.” He laughs. “Because of your trip to the dentist. You were there on Saturday?”

Riiiiight.
The dentist really wasn’t my best lie. Do I want him thinking about my bacteria-riddled mouth when he’s kissing me? No, I do not. But what else am I supposed to tell him?

The truth?

Right.

He’d either think I was crazy, or he would run screaming. Most people would. Look at how everyone reacted to Wendaline—and they all thought she was kidding!

No one wants to date a freak.

“So, are we hanging out after school?” I ask.

He looks at me strangely. “You just totally zoned out and didn’t answer my question. The dentist?”

“Oh! All good.” I wave my hand to change the subject. “Back to plans. What do you wanna do?”

He rips open a packet of mustard and squeezes it onto his food. “A bunch of people are heading to Washington Square Park. We could go.”

“What are you doing?” I ask, gesturing to his food.

“Adding mustard.”

“To mac and cheese?”

He grins.

“That is so disgusting! Condiments do not go on mac and cheese. Ketchup, maybe, but even that is kind of gross.”

I’m teasing him, but for some reason, seeing him eat this, this weird mustard and mac and cheese concoction fills me with hope. Why? Because it’s weird. Raf does weird things too! Just like me! He talks to the TV, doesn’t he? I don’t like him any less because he has quirks, do I? Definitely not! I like him even more!

Maybe he would like me more if he found out my one little quirk?

“Wanna try?” he asks. “You know you want a taste.” He spears a noodle with his fork and waves it at me. “Pretend it’s an airplane.”

I open up and he scoops it inside. See, Raf? I am open to new things. The “new thing” almost makes me gag.

“Not bad,” I lie, washing it down with a gulp of juice.

“I’m happy to share the rest of my mustard,” he says, waving his leftover packet.

“Give it to me, baby,” I say with a wink.

Wendaline approaches our table. “Hi, Rachel. Hi, Raf.”

“Hi,” I say. Didn’t I rule against her sitting with me? At least she looks almost normal now in her new jeans.

I too am sporting a new outfit today—my new black jeans and sweater. Yeah, I know I was supposed to leave them at my dad’s, but come on! That would have been a huge fashion waste.

“I have a question,” she says, sitting down.

“Shoot,” Raf says.

“Why is Cassandra popular if no one likes her?”

Raf laughs.

“No, I’m serious,” she says. “Doesn’t
popular
mean
well-liked
?”

“No,” I say. “It means people want to hang out with you. It means you get invited to lots of parties.”

“But why would anyone want her at a party if she’s mean?”

She’s got me. I look at Raf and shrug. “I don’t know. But they do.”

“She’s popular right now because she has power,” Raf says. “Fashion show tryouts are after school on Thursday, and she decides who makes it.”

My heart sinks at the mention of the fashion show. I’ve seen the posters around school, but I’ve been pretending I haven’t. Because if Raf tries out for the show, he’s going to make it. Not only was he in it last year, he was amazing. He is a great dancer, he’s super-cute, and everyone loves being around him. He’s definitely getting in. Of course, I’d rather he not get in, since fashion show rehearsals take up a ton of time—time he’ll be spending with Melissa, who I’m sure will also make the show.

Perhaps I should give him an antidancing spell? Maybe I could make him hear one song when another is playing so his rhythm is off?

No! What a terrible thing to think! I love him and want him to be happy! Of course, I could always test it out on Melissa….

“So once that’s over, she’ll stop being popular?” Wenda-line asks.

“Probably not,” he admits.

“But she’s such a bully!” Wendaline says.

I tense. “What did she do to you today?”

She crosses her arms. “It’s the way she says my name. It drives me nuts. She draws it out like it’s an insult.”

“Tell her to back off,” Raf says.

“No!” I say, giving Raf a warning look. “Just ignore her.”

“I don’t get these people,” she mutters. “I’ll see you later.” She wanders off.

“So,” I say to Raf, playing with my food. “Are you going to try out for the fashion show this year?”

“Not exactly,” he says.

“Oh, good,” I say, relieved.

“No, I’m not trying out because I don’t have to. Cassandra said I don’t need to try out. I’m automatically in.”

“Oh. So you
want
to be in the show.”

“Well … I’m not sure. I’m not dying to do it again, especially if you won’t be in it. But see, here’s where it gets complicated. For some reason she really wants me to be in it—”

“Because you’re an amazing dancer,” I say.

He blushes. “I don’t know about that. But she said that I was good last year and that she wants experienced sophomores in the show. And she said that if I did it, Kosa Coats could outfit the all-guys number.”

Last year, half the guys in school showed up in the Hugo Boss bomber jacket one of the A-list guys had worn in the show. “Great way to get your stuff noticed. Could you use one of your own designs?”

“If I wanted to, I guess. If they were good enough. What do you think? Should I do it?”

No! “Yes.”

He nods. “You could do it too.”

“No way,” I say quickly.

He takes another bite of his concoction. “Why not? We had fun last year.”

“We had a great time practicing. The show was a disaster.”

“So this time the show will be great.”

“No thanks,” I say. “I’m over it.” Even if I wanted to be in the show, it’s not like I have the time. I mash up my mustard mac and cheese.

I have too much on my plate.

That afternoon, on the way from English class, Tammy is talking about
The Crucible,
our next reading assignment, and I’m trying to change the subject. I haven’t read it yet, but Mr. Johnson said it was about the Salem witch trials.

I can’t think of anything I want to do less than discuss the Salem witch trials in English class. Seriously. I’d rather have my eye poked out with a broomstick bristle. So I try to bring the conversation back to
Animal Farm.
Good old
Animal Farm.

“I forgot
Animal Farm
at my mom’s,” I tell Tammy.
“Ib dul brink io mysine!”

She looks at me strangely. “What did you just say?”

“Ib dul brink io mysine.”
Wait. That didn’t sound right. I was trying to say “I had to stay up all night finishing it.”

“What is
ib dul brink io mysine
?” she asks.

“lntis ghero tu jiggernaur?”
That was supposed to be “Why can’t you understand me?”

“Rachel, are you speaking pig Latin or something?”

“Dortyu!”
Ah! That was supposed to be “Sorry.” I can’t speak English! What just happened? I think I’m speaking … Brixta? How did that happen? What do I do now?

She peers into my face. “You’re not choking on some-thing, are you?”

I shake my head.

“Are you sure? Say something.”

“Guity oj.”
I’m fine. This is not good. I point to my throat and lift a finger, trying to motion that I’ll be right back, and then I hurry to the bathroom. Inside, I thump my chest and try to cough up the Brixta.

I turn to a random girl washing her hands beside me. Maybe I should see if it worked, and try to say hello. I take a deep breath and then say,
“Ho!”

Her eyes slit, and she mutters a not-so-nice word under her breath. (Clue: it rhymes with witch.)

Ho? Ho
is how you say
hi
in Brixta? I can’t go around school telling random people
ho!
Argh! What is wrong with me? I need Wendaline. I hurry through the hall, near the freshman row of lockers, hoping to spot her. Why is it that the one time I’m looking for her is the one time I can’t find her? I try her cell, but no answer. Last time she Appeared when I called her. Appear, Wendaline. Appear!

I see Tammy across the hall, her forehead creased with worry. I wave. What do I do? I can’t go to class like this, can I?

I turn to escape down the stairs, but I spot Raf on his way up. I definitely can’t talk to him like this!

Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to math I go.

I avoid speaking for the rest of the afternoon by claiming laryngitis. Not claiming, exactly, since I can’t speak, but by pointing to my throat and nodding emphatically when Tammy asks, “Is it laryngitis?”

Unfortunately, my writing skills have also been compromised, so every time Tammy passes me a note, I have to respond with a doodle.

I zap myself home between classes to look at
A
²
but I can’t figure it out. I need help! I finally find Wendaline by stalking her locker after the final bell. She shows up with her two new friends. I look up at her sheepishly.
“Jeffle.”

“What’s wrong?”

“To froma,”
I say, taking her arm and leading her back to the bathroom. In private.

I spend way too much time in bathrooms. Perhaps Wendaline can whip up a Narnia for us at school so we can have a more comfortable place to chat?

The stalls look empty, so I say,
“Hot jeou sofy, ki frot kirt doozy,”
which means “For some reason, I can’t speak English.”

She looks into my eyes. “Since when?”

“Umpa ooble.”
After lunch.