Parties & Potions #4 (9 page)

When I dump my schoolbag in my locker on Monday morning, I can’t help feeling uneasy The whole idea of the pop magic quiz is still making me jumpy. I spend the entire morning looking over my shoulder. Will I be zapped away in midsentence? Will I need to be excused from school? Will I need props? A special witch outfit? Witch shoes?

Are
there special witch shoes?

There are golf shoes and tennis shoes. There should probably be witch shoes.

Ruby slippers, maybe?

“You have no idea when she’s going to show up?” I ask Miri that night.

“It’s all good! Sometime this week.”

“But when? During the day? In the evening?”

“It’s all good!”

If I hear one more
It’s all good,
I’m going to zap the expression into a paddle and bop my sister over the head.

Mom tells me not to worry so much. She popped over to Lozacea on Saturday to check it out, and she seemed happy with it.

But me? I remain a bundle of nerves for all of Tuesday and most of Wednesday. It doesn’t help when, about four seconds after the Wednesday lunch bell rings, Wendaline accosts me in front of my locker.

“Rachel, I need to talk to you!”

She’s wearing another long black velvet dress and—oh God—black satin gloves. I sigh and motion for her to follow me out of the caf and into the girls’ bathroom. “What’s wrong?”

She thrusts out her gloved palm. On it is a frog.

“What is that?” I scream.

“It’s a frog.”

“I got that, thanks. But
why
is it here?” Oh, no. “You didn’t turn a teacher into a frog, did you?”

“No! I told you, I’m a white witch. I wouldn’t do that.”
Ribbit.
“Someone put it in my locker.”

Ribbit.

“Someone put a frog in your locker?” I ask disbelievingly “Who would do that?”

“I don’t know!” Her face clouds over. “It could have been that senior girl. The one who always wears one color?”

My heart sinks. “Cassandra?”

“Yeah. We discussed frogs yesterday morning.”

“Wendaline, why in the world would you discuss frogs with Cassandra?”

“I have to pass her locker on the way to bio. On Monday she told me I needed a haircut. Yesterday, she spit at me.”

“No!”

She pets the animal’s head. “I asked her to please leave me alone.”

I groan.

“But then she said if I was really a witch, I’d stop her my-self by turning her into a frog or something. Tell me, why are people so obsessed with witches turning people into frogs?”

I shrug. “So what did you do? Turn her into a frog?” I know that would break my no-magic-at-school rule, but that chick is begging for a frogmorphosis.

“Of course not! I told her I was a white witch.”

Yeah, I’m sure that scared her mono-colored pants off. “And then?”

“I walked away. And now I just found this.”

Ribbit.

“If you want her to leave you alone, you have to learn to blend in.”

She looks down at her hand and sighs. “What do I do?”

“First of all, never tell anyone you’re a witch. And remember: when you walk through those JFK doors, you’re no longer a witch. You’re a totally normal girl. Got it?”

She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it. Then opens it again. “Fine.”

“Good. And we have to do something about your look.” I appraise her outfit.

“Let me guess,” she says. “I need a makeover.”

I take it all in: the over-the-top dress, the over-the-top gloves. “No, my friend.” I put my arm around her shoulder. “You need a make
under.
”

I make plans with Wendaline to spend Sunday shopping. I’d zap her into shape, but after what happened last time, I’m afraid I’ll somehow end up in polka-dot dresses and satin gloves.

By Friday, I’m hoping Matilda, whoever she is, has forgotten all about me and my pop quiz. Sorry, no Samsorta for me this year! I remain on Planet Denial through lunch and right into seventh-period math, when the recycling bin explodes into a pink puff of smoke.

I scream. Of course I do. Then I wonder, Why is no one else screaming?

I look around the room and discover that no one
can
scream. They’re frozen. Like at camp, when the counselor calls “Freeze!” and everyone has to stay in the same position, and the first person who moves cleans the table.

When the cloud of pink clears, I spot a woman in the recycling bin, straightening her dress. She waves to me. “Hi, Rachel!”

“Matilda?”

“Yes, that’s me. Are you ready for your test?”

Is she kidding? She doesn’t appear to be. She appears to be stepping out of the recycling bin. I push back my chair and stand up. “Right now?”

“Why, are you busy?”

I look around at my frozen friends. “I was kind of in the middle of math.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t miss anything. Your teacher will continue where she left off. She won’t know she was paused.”

Paused, huh? Cool! I didn’t know we could pause time. I could pause time when I’m not done with an essay test question! I could pause time on my next birthday so it lasts even longer! I could pause time when I’m lip-locked with Raf, and then experiment with different kissing positions. I need to get myself some of that pink stuff. “I’ve never seen anyone pause time before.”

“And you never will. It’s impossible. I just paused the people in the room.” She pulls on her earlobe. “Listen.”

I hear the honks of the cabbies outside, as well as the sounds of the students on the other side of the wall. “Got it.” So it won’t work on essay questions or birthdays, but it would still work on kissing.

Matilda rolls up her dress sleeves. “This won’t take long. I just need to make sure you qualify.”

My heart speeds up. “Does anyone ever not qualify?” What if I don’t qualify? What if I don’t really have magical powers? What if everything that’s happened in the last four months has been a figment of my imagination? What if I’m completely insane?

Do insane people know they’re insane?

Do paused people know they’re being paused?

Probably no on both. Omigod. Have I ever been paused?

She nods gravely. “You wouldn’t be the first around here. Now, let’s see. I usually try to use ingredients from around the room. Hmm.” She scans the class. “I see chalk. Rulers. Calculators. Maybe your teacher has an apple. Don’t kids bring their teachers apples?”

I shrug. “This is New York.” Then I wonder who didn’t qualify. Someone in this classroom? Someone at JFK? Miri? She better qualify.

Matilda opens Ms. Barnes’s desk drawer and rummages through it.

“What are you doing?” I blurt out. “You can’t go through her drawer!” Uh-oh. I’m for sure getting witch detention for insubordination. I wonder what witch detention is. There are so many options! They could lock you in a dungeon, or zap you over to Kenya. They could trap you in the Civil War if they wanted to.

Would I get a hoop dress?

Matilda chuckles. “A witch with a conscience,” she says. “Impressive. How about this, then?” She snaps her fingers, and the entire contents of Ms. Barnes’s private drawer are now on display on top of her desk. “Now we’re not going through her drawer.”

Creative way of solving the problem. I think I’ll shut up now.

“Let’s see … we have a packet of crackers, a Twix bar.… We can work with this. Rachel, please turn to page seven hundred and fifty-three in your copy of your spell book.”

I stall. “You mean
The Authorized and Absolute Reference Handbook to Astonishing Spells, Astounding Potions, and History of Witchcraft Since the Beginning of Time
?”

Matilda raises an eyebrow. “That would be the one.”

“Here?”

“Of course here.”

Oopsies. “I didn’t bring it to school.”

She clucks her tongue. “Even on test day?”

“I didn’t know it was test day.” I’ve been waiting all week for test day! “Should I zap it here?”

“No, I shall write out the spell.” She zaps the board, and the equation I was in the middle of copying disappears. She lifts her finger and magically inscribes on the board (in what I hope is chalk and not permanent white marker):

½ piece of colored chalk

1 piece of chocolate

1 cup

Place chocolate in cup. Crush chalk and sprinkle on top of chocolate while chanting:

I reread the spell and peek at the clock. The period is going to end in about two minutes. What if I don’t finish in time? What if the kids in next period rush in and see Pauseapalooza?

“Take your time,” Matilda says.

Not!

I hurry to the desk and pick up a piece of green chalk, Ms. Barnes’s chocolate bar (sorry, Ms. B! I’ll get you a new one—promise!), and her coffee mug. I dump her coffee into the garbage can and carry all three elements back to my desk. I unwrap the chocolate, drop it into the mug. Time to crush the chalk. Need something hard. Calculator? I pick up my calculator, stand the chalk up, and attempt to grind it into my desk. Not bad. Once done, I slide the chalk into my palm and then recite the spell while sprinkling the chalk into the cup.

The room gets cold and the ingredients contract, swirl, and begin to expand. Kabam! A small chocolate cupcake materializes on my desk. On it, in tiny green frosting, is writ-ten
See you on Saturday!

Wahoo!

Matilda claps. “Congratulations, Rachel. I’m looking forward to teaching you this fall.” With that, she steps back into the recycling bin, tosses the pink powder into the air, and immediately disappears.

I guess that’s it. Well done, me!

Everyone in the room un-pauses. Including Ms. Barnes, who now looks thoroughly perplexed. Because instead of a math equation on the board, there is a baking spell. Not to mention that the contents of her drawer are on top of her desk, on display. Minus one chocolate bar.

“What…,” she begins.

I focus on the board and think:

As if people aren’t confused enough, a gush of cold air storms through the room and the spell disappears from the board.

Tammy points to my desk. No, to the cupcake on my desk. Whoops. “Want some?” I offer. She shakes her head, clearly confused. I shrug and then I gobble it up. Yum. What can I say? Must get rid of the evidence.

“So,” I say, dropping my knapsack on the kitchen floor after school. “Did you pass? Did she show up during social studies? Did she use the pink pausing dust?”

Miri is slumped in a chair, her socked feet up on the table. “She showed up during lunch! She froze the entire cafeteria for fifteen minutes!”

“No way!”

“Way. When she unfroze them, the bell rang and no one understood what happened to their lunch period.” She giggles. “It was super-awesome!”

“Super-awesome?” I repeat with a laugh.

“Yes! Admit it: you’re excited.”

“I’m not admitting anything,” I say, sitting down beside her. “I’m reserving judgment till tomorrow.”

She rolls her eyes. “Speaking of tomorrow, I don’t want to be late. Class starts at one, so let’s plan on being there for twelve-thirty We’ll transport, of course, since it’s in Arizona. I’d like to leave at twelve, ’kay?”

“ ’Kay,” I say, bopping in my chair. Okay, fine, I’m a little excited. Maybe class will be fun. It might even be awesome. Or super-awesome.

“I hope we can take notes!” Miri says, eyes dreamy.

Or supergeeky

Welcome to the Witch World

Miri cracks open the bathroom door. “I told you I wanted to leave at noon! If you wanted to straighten your hair, you shouldn’t have slept in!”

“I’m ready, I’m ready,” I say, unplugging my Chi, aka the world’s best hair straightener. “What are you wearing to this thing?” I open the door wide. Miri is in jeans and a T-shirt. “Isn’t Arizona hot?” I ask. “Should we wear shorts?”

“I get cold when I travel,” she says. “Do you want to go together or separately?”

“Together,” I say. “My batteries are dead.”

“Your batteries are
always
dead. What is so hard about getting new ones? They sell them everywhere. They have them at the pharmacy down the block.”

“I know, I know. I’ve been meaning to go.”

“You just went yesterday. You bought gum.”

“Right. I can never remember to get all the things I need when I’m there.”

“Why don’t you keep a list like a normal person?”

“Why are you so obsessed with lists?” My sister types them up and pins them to the bulletin board above her bed-room desk.
Homework Assignments for the Month! Things I Need at the Drugstore! Reasons I’m a Geek!

Anyway, except for the acquiring of the batteries, the transport spell is easy. You think of the place you’re heading to; hold two lithium batteries together, positive and negative charges facing each other; say the spell; and go.

After I finish getting dressed (jeans, my back-to-school top, and my summer sandals that I haven’t seen in at least two weeks—hello, sandals!), we say good-bye to Mom and grab our copies of
A
²
. Miri scoops up her batteries, I take the address, and we’re ready!

Almost ready.

“What are you doing?” Miri asks me, annoyed.

“Just texting Raf.”

“Hurry!” She crouches to the carpet.

See you at 7:30! Rachel. He finally showed me how to punctuate and I am now a texting machine. The queen of texting. The master of my technology. The—

“Rachel! Get on! This position isn’t comfy!”

I hit Send. “Done. Hey, do you want to give me the batteries? I don’t mind playing pony.”

She springs up, I crouch, and she hops on. I pick up the batteries, one in each hand; make two fists; twine my thumbs together; and say:

I picture the address, 122 East Granger, and a jolt of electricity runs through my body, like I just stuck my finger in a socket. My body begins to feel weightless, like I’m an astronaut in a spaceship, and my skin feels hot and dry, like it’s being blow-dried by a thousand hair dryers all set on high. Instead of our beige living room couch and wood floor, there’re a kaleidoscope of dots and swirls of blue, red, and yellow. Eventually, the wind stops, the colors settle into a flat desert yard and a wide blue sky, and my feet touch—

Ouch!

—the tip of a baby prickly pear cactus. About a hundred pins insert themselves into my right heel. Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Why am I stepping on cactus needles? I look down to see one sandaled foot and one bare foot standing on a row of cactuses. Cacti? Either way, it hurts!

“Get off, get off, get off!” I shout at Miri. “You’re making it worse!”

She hops off my back and steps away.

I peel my foot from the cactus. I am a human porcupine. Ow. I begin picking out the offending needles. Ow, ow, ow. This had better be the last one…. Ow!

Now. Where’s my shoe? “I lost a sandal!”

“Where?”

“If I knew where it was, it wouldn’t be lost, would it?” I hop away from the attack plant and look around. We’re about ten yards away from a small white stucco cottage.

“I mean, is it in Arizona?”

“It could have fallen off on the way.” It could be any-where from Chicago to Topeka.

“So what do you want to do?”

“Find it,” I whine.

“We can zap up a multiplying spell for the one you still have. Hold on. Let me find it. I think it’s on page seven hundred and two.”

Ow. Ow. Ow. I hop over to her. “My foot hurts too much. I can’t think!” I pluck out one of the needles. And another. And another.

“Weird,” she says. “I could have sworn it was here. But there’s a heat spell on page seven hundred and two instead! Where is that multiplying spell? I’m so confused!”

“Miri, can’t you just make something up?” Ow. Ow, ow, ow.

“You know I prefer to use the spells in the book,” she says haughtily. “They’re far sturdier.”

Gimme a break. “You know what would make me sturdier? A second shoe. Just do it, please!”

“All right, hold on. I’ll try.”

She takes a deep breath, bends on one knee, touches my sandal, and says:

Poof!
A second sandal blossoms on the ground.

“Yay, Miri! Way to go! I’m so proud of you.”

She preens. “Thank you. I thought it was pretty clever.”

I slip my foot inside, but something feels wrong. My toes are sticking out the other side. What’s up with that? Oh. She copied the original sandal. Both shoes are made for my left foot.

“Does it fit?” she asks.

“Yup! All good,” I say quickly. No reason to undermine her confidence. There must be a spell to right the right. Right? I’ll fix it later in the bathroom. I hook her arm through mine. “Shall we?”

We start toward the cottage. “It looks so plain,” she says as we approach the one-story nondescript white building.

“What did you expect? Sparkles?”

She giggles. “Something like that.”

When we reach the door, I say, “There’s no doorbell. I guess I’ll knock.”

No answer.

“Miri, we’re not going to be the only ones at these les-sons, are we?”

“I hope not,” she says. “The whole point is to meet new people. Maybe this just isn’t the right place. Look.” Miri points to a window on the left. The shades are drawn, but it looks dark inside. “I bet you took us to the wrong address.”

“Oh, sure, assume I’m the one who screwed up. Maybe you wrote down the wrong address.”

She cocks her head. “It’s a little more likely that you messed up, isn’t it? Don’t deny that I’m the superior witch.”

Puh-lease! I kick up my second left shoe. “Oh yeah, Ms. Superior? Do I look like I have two left feet?”

She flushes. “Well, I have seen you dance.”

“Hello there,” says a low voice behind us. A male voice.

We spin around to see a boy. He’s on the small side— maybe five foot five—is thin, and has light brown messed-up hair. He’s wearing faded jeans and a green untucked shirt.

And he’s cute.

“Do you live here?” Miri asks. “Because if you do, we’re in the wrong place. ’Cause you shouldn’t be here. I mean—”

What is she saying? That girl has got to learn how to talk with boys! “Not that there’s anything wrong with you,” I say. “Or with where you live….” I look at Miri. I’m not doing much better.

He breaks into a smile. “Judging from the lithium batteries you’re holding, I’m thinking you’re in the right place.” He opens his hands and reveals two batteries. “Transportation spell, right?”

Omigod! He’s a
boy
witch. A
cute
boy witch. I’m
talking
to a cute boy witch.

“You’re a warlock?” Miri asks him. “That is so cool! We’ve never met any warlocks our own age before.”

“How old are you guys?” he asks, stepping closer.

Oh, look at his blue eyes. Big blue eyes that crinkle when he smiles!

“I’m twelve and Rachel’s fourteen,” Miri says. “I mean thirteen. I mean, I’m thirteen, and Rachel’s—”

“Fifteen,” I interject. “I just turned fifteen on Thursday.”

He gives me a crinkle-eyed smile. “Happy birthday, Rachel.”

He knows my name! How does he know my name? He is an all-knowing warlock! Oh, wait, Miri just said it. “Thank you.” Now we’re just smiling at each other. This is weird. Must stop!

“I’m Adam.” He puts out his hand.

Adorable! We’re going to shake hands. I stick out my hand and we shake. I don’t expect his hand to be so … warm. “This is my sister, Miri.”

Now they shake. There’s a whole lot of shaking going on. Is he still smiling at me? He is! I look down at my identical shoes.

“Nice to meet you,” he says. “You’ve never been here before, have you?”

“We’re newbies,” I say.

“Where are you from?”

“New York,” Miri says.

“New York City,” I clarify. He should know that we are city girls, and therefore super-cool. “You?”

“Salt Lake City.” Oh! He’s a city boy too! He’s also super-cool!

Do cool people know they’re cool? Or does wanting to be cool automatically make you uncool?

“So, Adam, what are you doing here?” Miri asks. “Isn’t this the place for Samsorta lessons?”

“I’m studying for my Simsorta,” he says.

“Your what?” I ask.

“Studying for my Simsorta,” he repeats.

“No, I heard. I’m just wondering what a—”

“Can we continue this conversation inside?” Miri interrupts, fidgeting. “I don’t want to be late.”

“Miri,” I say, “we’re not late. We’re here.”

“Isn’t Samsorta class at one?” Adam asks.

“Yeah,” Miri says. “And it’s already a quarter to.”

Adam taps his watch. “It’s only a quarter to ten. There’s a three-hour time difference.”

Miri’s eyes widen. “I forgot that part.”

I laugh. “Good work, Mir.”

“I’ll show you guys around, then,” he says. “Should we go in?”

“I tried knocking,” I say. “But no one answered.”

“Did you try
umretto
?” Adam asks.

I don’t know what to do with that sentence. “Is it raining?”

He laughs. “Not umbrella.
Umretto.
It means ‘open’ in Brixta. It’s the secret code.”

Guess Matilda was too busy pausing to give us the password.

“Watch.” He approaches the door, knocks three times, and says,
“Umretto!”
The door creaks ajar. He opens it the rest of the way.

Miri and I gasp. What looks like a small cottage from the outside is gigantic inside. It’s the size of my school. We follow Adam through the doorway, down two steps, and into the atrium. Even though we couldn’t see in from outside, from inside we can see out. The walls and ceiling are all windows. Blue is everywhere. It feels like we’re suspended in the desert. Wow. I take a deep breath. It smells like cinnamon incense. Around me, I hear sounds of wind chimes. Wind chimes and …

Teens. Teen witches and warlocks. Boys laughing! Girls gossiping!

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Miri whispers.

Boys and girls flirting on window ledges!

Adam laughs. “Welcome to the LWCC. The Lozacea Witch Community Center.”

Boys and girls floating above window ledges!

Miri squeezes my hand. “Who are all these … these … people?”

“Witches and warlocks.”

“But why are you all here?” she asks. “For lessons?”

“The guys are studying for their Simsortas. And there’s a game room downstairs. And advanced Brixta starts at eleven, so people came for that.”

“Oh, we should take that!” Miri says. “We need to learn some Brixta for the Samsorta.”

“Beginner’s Brixta isn’t till next semester,” Adam says. “I took it last year.”

“But what’s a Simsorta?” I ask.

“You really are newbies,” he says. “A Simsorta is a Sam-sorta. For boys.”

“Aha.”

“Except since we’re not allowed to participate in the group celebration on October thirty-first—”

“Wait,” I say. “Why not?”

He shrugs. “Girls only. Tradition.”

“That sounds kind of sexist,” I say.

“Tell me about it. So since boys can’t be in the main one, it’s become a tradition to do our own stand-alone events on Friday nights throughout the year. Mine is next month, so I’m here to practice.” He smiles. “And to meet cute witch girls.”

My cheeks burn. Am I a cute witch? I think I am!

“Let me show you the caf,” he says, and we follow him through the atrium and into a hallway. “Here it is,” he says, opening another door.

A cluster of small round bar tables is in the center of the room, and four white-and-black-checkered stools surround each one. There are girls and boys at about half the tables, and everyone is eating. But I don’t see where they bought their food. Not a lunch lady in sight.

“Is there a kitchen?” I ask, looking around. “I don’t see any place to get food.”

“Watch,” he says. He sits down on one of the stools, places both hands facedown on the table, and calls out, “Fresh OJ! Cheese and mushroom omelet! French fries! A side of crispy bacon! Ketchup!”

The table rumbles and—
poof!
—his breakfast, as well as a set of cutlery, appears in front of him.

Cool!

“Can I order you guys some breakfast?” he asks us. “It’s all free.”

Miri’s eyes are wide. “I’m good. We ate three hours ago. In New York. When it was really ten o’clock.”

Who cares? I can’t wait to test this baby out. I splay my hands on the smooth surface. “Tall white chocolate mocha decaf latte! With whipped cream! And brown sugar!”