Witcha'be (7 page)

* * *

I inhaled one last lungful of fresh air and climbed the porch steps as Boo trailed behind, sniffing the railing. The walk seemed to have done both of us some good. I stopped in front of porch witch, still trying to place what was different. The sun angled onto her, illuminating her red hair.

Red hair?

That was it! The witch’s jet-black hair had turned red. I ran inside, jerking Boo’s leash.

“Mom! Mom!”

“What on earth, Molly?” She jogged into the room, wiping her hands on her jeans.

“Come here, hurry.” I pulled her through the front door. “Can’t you see?” I asked, staring at the witch’s flaming hair.

“Why don’t you tell me what I’m supposed to be looking for?” Her eyebrows pinched.

“Her hair. Look at her hair.” I picked up a handful of warm, auburn strands.

“Huh. Isn’t that something?” Mom held a section in the sunlight. “The sun must have turned it red,” she said, as if finding the perfect explanation.

“The sun? How?”

“My hair turns red in the summertime, too, and some people turn blond. The statue’s never been exposed to sunlight. It was stowed away in some dark storage building.” She tilted her head, looked the witch over. “I kind of like it,” she said patting my arm, and then traipsed back into the house.

I didn’t like it. Not at all. I traced the strands up to the black, pointed hat. My heart raced as I removed it to examine the hair underneath, where no sunlight could reach. My stomach clenched. The hair beneath the hat flamed every bit as red as the hair streaming below. I almost called Mom back to the porch, but decided not to. She’d only make another excuse. I jammed the hat on the witch’s head, pushing down as far as it would go.

* * *

I kicked my flip-flops to the floor, bunched a pillow under my head, and pondered taking a long soak before turning in. Maybe a relaxing bubble bath would coax some creative stories from my subconscious. I rolled off the bed and pulled a faded purple tank top from the dresser. As I searched for yoga pants, an insecticide commercial came on my TV. Close ups of dying grasshoppers as large as Bianca’s drawing filled the screen. Their eye-bulging, femur-popping bodies writhed as I retreated to the hall.

I closed myself in the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and then poured a generous serving of honeysuckle bubble bath into the tub. The setting sun filtered through the small window, giving the room a soft, amber glow. I decided not to turn on the light. After testing the temperature with my foot, I sank into the sweetly-scented foam and placed a rolled towel behind my neck. The water rose, tickling my ears. I turned off the stream with my toes.

I yawned and closed my heavy lids, throwing them open as grasshoppers limped through my mind. I tried to focus on Mrs. Piper’s dream journal project, imagining the characters my classmates might conjure up.

Kit’s would undoubtedly be the most annoying. Would Amy still be shy in her dreams? My mind spun an endless cast of heroes and villains, the scenes playing like a movie on the dark bed sheet I’d pinned over the mermaids.

I slid the towel from beneath my neck and dropped it to the floor. With a deep breath, I plunged my head underwater then pulled up and wrung out my hair. Blindly, I groped beside the tub for the towel and dragged the soft terrycloth across my face. Something pricked my cheek. I winced and opened my eyes. A blackish thorn pierced the white fabric. I pulled it.

It pulled back.

The towel churned in my hand. I dropped it and shot to my feet. Grasshoppers, hundreds of them, burst from the cloth, sticking to my skin and hair, and plopping in the bathwater!

Clawing my face, I shrieked and leapt from the tub, the infested shower curtain snatching at my flesh. I fell, dropping on a swarm of large insects. Rigid carcasses crushed under my skin as I rolled on the tile. Grasshoppers flew from my hair, wings fanned my face as I stood then slipped, crunching more beneath me. Oozing bodies writhed and squirmed. A metallic taste filled my mouth.

I dragged myself to the bathtub, struggling to pull up. Grasshoppers overflowed the tub, grabbing my fingers, legs popping as they twisted and crawled over one another. Screams rushed up my throat. I pressed my lips together, afraid bugs would spring into my mouth.

The dry crackle of insects rose to a roar. My gaze snapped to the navy sheet. Blood froze in my veins as I watched Bianca’s grasshopper drawing fill the fabric like a movie projection. Her signature swirled beneath the bulging insect. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks.

The gigantic grasshopper twitched its powerful leg. I scuttled back, bare feet slipping across the floor. The smaller bugs became insignificant in the growing shadow of the monster eying me from the wall. It cocked its enormous head and turned fully toward me. Shrieks tore from my throat as it flexed pincer-like mandibles, aligned its massive body, and pointed its antennae to the corner where I crouched.

Oh, God, please, no. Help me! Don’t let it jump.

I pressed my eyes into the crook of my elbow and curled into a tight ball. I sensed the giant’s stare, braced for searing pain. Any moment, tremendous barbed legs would saw into my thin, exposed skin. The snap of the beast’s joints filled my ears, followed by the beat of its wings.

The room went dark.

The beating grew louder, frantic.

“Molly! Open this door.” Mom sounded desperate.

“I’m going to take the door off the hinges if you don’t answer,” Dad threatened.

Boo barked and clawed at the door. Dad told him to get away.

Suddenly, I was back in the bathtub. My teeth chattered. I curled in the freezing water, shaking uncontrollably. I just needed to sleep then I would be okay.

“I’m taking it off.” Tools clattered outside the bathroom. I jolted as a hammer pounded. The thought of my father seeing me naked yielded enough force to drive me stumbling from the tub.

“I’m alright,” I slurred.

More pounding. They hadn’t heard me.

“Joel, break it down!”

“I’m okay! Let me get dressed.”

The hammering stopped.

“Oh, thank goodness. Unlock the door.” Mom’s voice broke.

I staggered to the light switch, hesitated at what might be looming.

“Now!” Mom would have a heart attack at this rate.

I turned on the light. No grasshoppers. I pulled a fresh towel from under the vanity, dried my goose-pimpled skin, and pulled on the top and yoga pants.

“I’m sorry. I dozed off in the tub for a few minutes.”

Mom grabbed me as I opened the door, rubbing her hands over my frigid arms. “You have hypothermia! Sleeping in the bathtub—do you realize you could have died? If Boo hadn’t started barking, I hate to think what would’ve happened. Maybe I should take you to the emergency room. How do you feel? How long were y—”

“Stop.” Dad gently put his arm around Mom’s waist and moved her back into the hallway. “She is going to be fine.” He stepped in and took my hand, examining my fingertips. “She’s standing, her fingers and toes aren’t blue, and her lips are nice and pink. A glass of warm milk, followed by a good night’s rest, and she’ll be brand new in the morning.” Dad released Mom and gathered his tools.

She looked at me.

“He’s right. Warm milk and bed sounds wonderful.” I managed a weak smile.

Dad rose with his toolbox, placed a hand on the small of Mom’s back, and led her toward the stairs.

“Don’t be too long, Sleeping Beauty,” he called.

“Be right down. Sorry I scared you.” I scooped my clothes from the floor and tossed them in the hamper.

“Ouch!” I plucked the tack from my foot and wiped away a dot of blood.

The sheet dipped, exposing one green eye.

Hic!

CHAPTER SIX

The alarm in my head overpowered the buzzing clock. How would I make it through the week, let alone the rest of my life? I slapped at the snooze button, knocking my phone and dream journal to the floor.

The journal was blank. I hadn’t written a single line about the grasshopper nightmare. It seemed too soon, like the tasteless rehashing of a traumatic event.

My phone vibrated, alerting me I had a text message.

Don’t walk over today, we are picking u up. XOXO.

Guilt kicked my conscience. I wasn’t proud of brushing Lenni off yesterday after school, but hated being trapped in this weird friendship triangle. It didn’t make sense for Bianca to consider me a threat. Lenni was obviously crazy about her.

I stared at the blank journal page, knowing I had to write something.
GRASSHOPPERS ARE GROSS
, I wrote in bold, capital letters across the first line.
I do not get the hiccups when I’m dreaming
, I wrote on the last.

I trudged downstairs to find Pam and Lenni in the driveway.

“Bye, Mom!”

“Bye, honey.” Mom shuffled down the hall, trying not to slosh coffee from her Wizard of Oz mug. “Have a good day.” She waved to Mrs. Flemming through the screen door.

“Love you.” I gave her a peck, leaving lip gloss on her cheek.

“I love you too, Molly Lou.”

I jogged to the car, sticking my tongue out at porch witch on the way by.

The radio blared inside the vehicle. Lenni flailed in the backseat. I slid in next to her. “
You know it, don’t blow it, just throw it
!” She threw a rock-fist as Dizzy screamed her latest release.

“Come on, Molly!” Lenni snarled her small nose, her face taking on a cute Easter-Bunnyish appearance, contradicting the heavy-metal, head-banger look she aimed for with the expression.

I joined in, messing up my freshly-blow-dried hair.

“Awww, man. Over already?” Lenni huffed.

The DJ’s voice blasted through the speakers. “Folks, you heard it here first—
Throw It
, debuting at number one from her fifth album,
Dizzy’s
Epidemic
. I have a couple of tickets to give away, if you can go back in time and tell me the title of Dizzy’s third album. Dial 555-R-O-C-K. Be the sixth caller and win two front-row seats in the VIP section of Dizzy’s show.”

“I know it!” I pulled out my phone and dialed frantically, hands shaking.

“Yay! You can do it.” Lenni cheered me on, crossing her fingers as I pressed
send
.

“It’s ringing,” I gasped, heart pounding.
Please, don’t get the hiccups.

“This is 99.9 ROCK FM, I’m Jack Saxton, and
you
are the sixth caller!” His words echoed through the car stereo. Mrs. Flemming and Lenni screamed in unison.

“I can’t believe it,” I whispered.

“Hello, are you there, caller?”

“Speak up.” Lenni nudged me.

“Oh. Yes, I’m here!” I shouted.

“What’s your name?”

“Molly!” I shrieked.

“Ouch! Watch the sound barrier, Molly.” He chuckled.

I lowered my voice. “Sorry.”

“Okay, Molly, here we go. Tell me the name of Dizzy’s third album and win two front-row tickets to Dizzy’s show this Friday night. Does that sound amazing?”

“Yes!” I could manage only one word. My mind turned to silly putty. I focused all of my energy into reciting the name of Dizzy’s third album.

“Fantastic. Are you ready?”

I glanced at Mrs. Flemming and Lenni, numbly aware we were in front of the school. They nodded. Lenni wiggled close and grasped my hand tightly.

“Molly, for two VIP tickets, what was the name of Dizzy’s third album?”

“
Dizzy’s
—” I choked, suddenly realizing the name rolling in my head wasn’t Dizzy’s third album, but her fourth,
Dizzy’s
Outbreak
.

“Are you there? Clock’s ticking.” The DJ broadcasted the sound of a ticking time bomb.

“They all start with the word,
Disease
, right?” Mrs. Flemming asked, her powdered face strained as she tapped her temples.

“Think, Molly, think. Remember your posters,” Lenni whispered.

My collection of Dizzy posters flashed to mind.

One: Dizzy’s Prevention.

Two: Dizzy’s Control.

Three: Dizzy’s…Mutation.

“
Dizzy’s
Mutation
!” I screamed into the phone.

“Yes! You got it!
Dizzy’s
Mutation
is the correct answer. Congratulations, Molly. You’re the winner!” Jack Saxton celebrated my win with kazoos, whistles, and a million other crazy sound effects.

The call went off the air then transferred to a receptionist who took my information. She said the tickets would be waiting for me at the box office on the night of the concert. I could show my school ID to pick them up.

Pam, Lenni, and I squealed and high fived. Lenni kissed her mom goodbye before we slid from the car and ran across the empty campus. Winning the tickets was more than worth the dirty looks and tardy slips we received from Mrs. Butler, the office secretary.

“Bye, Lenni. See you at lunch, maybe sooner.” I hugged her before we separated.

“Molly? Are you taking me with you—to the show?” she called, halfway down the vacant hall.

“Of course. Who else would I take, besides my best friend?” I grinned and threw a rock-fist.

“Yay!” She smiled and skipped away.

I shuffled to the creative writing room and tapped on the door. Mrs. Piper looked radiant in a yellow, ankle-length dress, a matching scarf twisted around her mahogany curls.

“Come in. Good, I see you’ve brought your journal.”

“Not much written inside, though.”

“You’re not alone.”

I handed her my tardy slip and walked to my desk, happy to be in my favorite classroom. Even happier about my win.

“You are certainly joyful this morning,” she said.

“I’d like to tell you why, if that’s okay,” I said, dying to share my incredible news.

“If it’s good enough to make you smile that widely, please do.”

The class looked up from their warm-up assignments.

“I won two VIP tickets to Dizzy’s show in Oklahoma City this Friday night.”

“Lucky,” Kit spewed through a jealous-looking grin. “Can I come?”

“Sorry. I’m taking Lenni.”

“That sucks.” He hunched in his chair.