Witcha'be Page 3

  “I dare you to hug Molly.”

  My face grew hot. “That’s not a good idea.”

  Bianca shot behind me, locked my elbows to my sides.

  I stiffened, heart hammering.

  She squeezed sharply, driving the air from my lungs.

  “Dare accomplished.” She moved back to her space on the floor.

  “Thank you, Bianca.” Lenni smiled. “I’m proud of the two of you.”

  I sucked air through my nose and breathed out through my mouth, struggling to keep the hiccups at bay.

  Bianca’s claw-like nails clinked on the glass as she twirled the bottle.

  “Truth,” I said. “Ask away. Hope you don’t die of boredom.”

  “Molly, who is your very most bestest friend in the whole entire world?” The grin on Bianca’s face looked out of place, like the Big Bad Wolf before he gobbled Grandmother.

  I chewed the inside of my cheek. If I answered truthfully, admitting Lenni was the best friend I’d ever had, Bianca might go ballistic. If I named someone from my old school, Lenni would be crushed. The air thickened. Lenni shifted positions.

  “We’re waiting,” Bianca whispered, her eyes sliding down my stubbly legs to the chipped polish on my toes. She curled her lip.

  “I would have to say…Lenni.”

  Mrs. Flemming’s footsteps sounded on the stairs. “Pizza’s here.” She tapped the door lightly, her foot in mid-air when Lenni opened it. “I got two. One pepperoni, the other divided—half sausage, half cheese. I know you like plain cheese, Bianca.”

  “Wanna join us, Mom?” Lenni asked, opening the top box.

  “Not tonight. I have a brand new bottle of pink grapefruit-scented bubble bath to try out. Have fun.”

  Lenni frowned at her fingernail. “Darn! I chipped my polish and can’t touch it up. A few days ago I lost the bottle.” She sank to the floor and opened the other box. Bianca took a slice of cheese pizza. I wondered how she could be hungry after that plateful of dumplings. Running around all hours of the night planting voodoo dolls must be a real calorie burn.

  Bianca picked at the pizza, consuming the slice, layer by layer, as she stared at me, licking her fingers between bites.

  Lenni finished and stretched her legs. “Now I want something sweet.”

  I swallowed my last bite and pulled my bag by the strap. “Mom baked cookies this morning and sent some with me.” I fished into the side pocket, retrieving the pummeled baggie.

  “Yay! Yummy.” Lenni snatched the baggie, yanked it open and grabbed a cookie. She offered one to Bianca, who snarled.

  “Come on, Bianca, they look good.” She held the cookies to Bianca’s face.

  “No.”

  “Fine.” Lenni sighed then took a bite, perking up. “Hey, I’m not finished playing truth or dare. And I want to spin this time.”

  “It’s Molly’s turn,” Bianca reminded her.

  “I pass. Go ahead, Lenni.”

  She smiled and gave the bottle a hard twist. “Bianca.”

  “Get on with it,” Bianca rolled her eyes.

  “Truth or dare?”

  “Dare. Of course.”

  “I dare you to eat one of Molly’s delicious cookies.” She wagged the baggie.

  “No.” Bianca glared at Lenni.

  “Don’t make me do the chicken dance.” Lenni pulled to her knees, hands on her hips, elbows flapping.

  “You’re so obnoxious,” Bianca grumbled, yanking a crumbling cookie from the bag. “What kind is it?”

  “Oatmeal raisin,” I answered.

  “Are you sure?” She held the cookie up, examining it, a disgusted look on her face.

  “Positive,” I said, irritated. “I’ve watched my mom make them hundreds of times.”

  Bianca locked eyes with me and took a bite.

  “I want the recipe,” Lenni mumbled around a mouthful. “What’s in them?”

  I closed my eyes and pictured Mom filling her silver mixing bowl. “Oatmeal, raisins, butter, sugar, brown sugar, vanilla…” I opened my eyes, trying to remember the rest. “Flour, baking soda, salt—”

  “Eww, salt, in cookies?” Lenni interrupted, grimacing.

  “Mom says it heightens the flavor of the other ingredients.”

  “I taste something familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it,” Lenni said, polishing off her second cookie. “No cheating, Bianca. You have to eat the entire thing.”

  Bianca shoved in the rest of the cookie and swallowed hard. “Happy?” she growled.

  “Yep.” Lenni smiled.

  “Peanut butter,” I said, remembering the forgotten ingredient.

  Lenni’s gaze flicked to Bianca.

  “Peanut butter?” Bianca narrowed her eyes.

  “The thing I couldn’t remember was peanut butter. My mom always adds a little to the cookie dough. She says it helps the texture.”

  Bianca screeched like a terrified animal.

  I flinched, my gaze jerking between Bianca and Lenni.

  “Did you tell her?” Bianca’s voice was a breathy squeak.

  “She doesn’t know. Please, don’t be mad,” Lenni pleaded.

  “I’m going to be sick—don’t follow me.” Bianca sprung from the room.

  Lenni melted into the floor.

  I rose and shut the door, shrinking inside. “Please tell me Bianca isn’t allergic to peanuts.” I’d heard terrible stories about people who’d suffered, and sometimes died, from peanut allergies.

  “She isn’t.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” My shoulders relaxed a little. I lowered to the floor and crisscrossed my legs.

  “She has an issue with peanut butter. She can’t help it.”

  “What kind of issue?”

  “Just drop it, Molly. Please.”

  Annoyed, I picked at her. “Let me guess, witches can’t eat peanut butter because it gums up their powers?”

  “Stop. There’s a reason.” Lenni rested her chin on her fists. I resented the way she took up for Bianca.

  “A witch that runs screaming from peanut butter.” I gave a hollow chuckle. “I’m definitely not threatened by her anymore. It would be different if she was allergic, but what kind of wimp can’t handle a little PB without puking? I mean, should we call 911?”

  Lenni gasped, her eyes wide, color draining from her face.

  I whirled.

  Bianca stood behind me in the doorway, nostrils flared, black eyeliner smudged. “The door doesn’t always fasten, remember?” Red lipstick feathered around her mouth.

  “Molly doesn’t know about Sam,” Lenni whispered.

  Bianca stepped into the room, pulled the door closed and jiggled the knob, forcing the latch. She lowered to the floor, brought her knees to her chest and laced her fingers around them. “Do you have any idea what anaphylaxis is?” She formed the words slowly.

  I shook my head.

  “I learned that word when I was six. The same year I stopped eating peanut butter.”

  I glared at Lenni. She’d said Bianca wasn’t allergic to peanuts.

  Bianca unlaced her fingers and reached into the low neckline of her top. She pulled out an oval-shaped locket, black on a silver chain, and popped it open with her thumbnail. She held up a small picture. “This is Sam.” A little boy with strawberry-blond hair smiled—his ivory skin and green eyes unmistakably familiar. “My baby brother.”

  “He’s cute,” I said, my mouth dry.

  “He’s dead. Died at age two from a severe allergic reaction. Anaphylaxis, the doctors called it. I was six, and had a hard time pronouncing it back then. They said he was in a lot of pain, but never cried.” She stroked the picture then snapped the locket shut and tucked it under her top. “Sam is dead because he ate his very first peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” She’d closed herself up with the locket. “Would you like to guess who made that sandwich for him, Molly?”

  “You?” I asked quietly.

  “Good guess. Do you still find my reaction to eating peanut but
ter funny?”

  I felt heavy. “Bianca, I’m sor—”

  “No!” She exploded from the room, banging the door against the wall.

  Lenni chased her, their footfalls echoing down the staircase in unison.

  I picked up the bottle, poked in the fake flowers, and then set the bouquet on Lenni’s desk. A container of nail polish tumbled from its niche in the plastic manicure tray. I snatched it from the floor, made sure the lid was tight. Winter White. I placed the bottle back in its little round slot, noticing an empty space labeled Sensuous Skin.

  I eyed Bianca’s hobo bag, convinced the voodoo doll was inside, along with Lenni’s flesh-toned polish. I walked to the door, closed it and double-checked the latch. The bag was beside the dresser. I inhaled the strong aroma of leather while closing my fingers around the drawstring. With a deep breath, I bit my lip…and released the string. I couldn’t do it.

  Dread filled my heart like wet cement. I had to go downstairs and at least try to talk to Bianca. I walked to the door, hiccups edging. I reached for the knob as Bianca jerked through the doorway, nearly toppling me over. She grabbed her bag and swept out.

  I stepped over the threshold after her, wishing I knew what to say.

  She stopped at the staircase, hair whipping as she turned to glare at me over her shoulder. “Sansesco mamblado dandalo,” she chanted. Her green eyes rolled up, showing only whites.

  Incense filled my nostrils. I coughed, struggling to breathe.

  Bianca vanished.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The hiccups were relentless. I thought they’d never end. Lenni doctored me with countless spoonfuls of sugar and glasses of water—which I drank upside down, hanging from her bed. Nothing worked.

  “Knock-knock,” Lenni’s father said loudly, pulling the door open.

  “Daddy!” Lenni hugged him until he gasped for breath.

  “You’re killing me, princess. Where’s your mother?” He spied the pizza boxes and helped himself to a cold slice of pepperoni.

  “Last we knew, she was soaking in the tub.”

  “Probably sound asleep with a face full of avocado by now,” he said. “How’d the dumplings turn out?”

  I hiccupped.

  “Guess I already know the answer.” He held up his pizza slice and chuckled. “Molly, tell your dad we missed him on the course today.” He ruffled my hair as if I was a small boy instead of a teenaged girl.

  “I’ll take these down with me.” He gathered the half-empty pizza boxes with one hand, still munching the slice of pepperoni. “I gave Bianca a ride home. I wasn’t comfortable letting her walk through Old Town alone, especially at dusk.”

  “Thanks, Daddy. That makes me feel better.” Lenni grasped her chest. “She had some…difficulties and couldn’t stay.”

  “Old Town?” I asked.

  “That’s what everyone calls the neighborhood Bianca lives in. It’s full of ancient houses, most of them abandoned and tagged with graffiti. The trees are tall and shadowy, and the roads are crumbly and filled with potholes. It’s really dark too, hardly any street lights in that part of town. Most of the bulbs have been smashed.” Lenni frowned as she described the area.

  “Old Town is where Redbend originated in the nineteen twenties. Those houses used to be the finest in the county, where bankers and lawyers lived,” Mr. Flemming said.

  “Thanks for the history lesson, Daddio.” Lenni slapped his back. “I think you should go now.” She placed her hands on his elbows, turning him.

  “I can tell when I’m not wanted.” He pecked her cheek.

  “Love you, Daddy. Goodnight.” She smiled and closed the door.

  “So what do you want to do now?” She pulled the elastic from her ponytail and fluffed her hair.

  I looked at the purple clock on her wall. “Watch a movie?”

  “That depends. Can you make it past midnight without falling asleep?”

  “Seriously? You pull open my eyelids every time I shut them. Besides, I don’t think I’ll be sleepy for a long time.” The image of Bianca speaking that strange language and then vanishing caused my arm hairs to stand on end. Had I imagined the whole thing? Maybe Mrs. Flemming’s medication had caused me to hallucinate.

  “What kind of movie are you up for?” Lenni asked, scrolling through the menu on her computer.

  “A funny one.”

  “Comedy it is.” We spread her sheets on the floor and turned off the lights. Lenni laughed herself to sleep.

  * * *

  “Get up, sleepyhead.” Lenni tickled my ribs.

  “Knock it off, it’s late,” I mumbled. I’d fallen asleep a full hour after she had.

  “True, but not like you think.” She poked my tummy, Pillsbury Doughboy-style and giggled.

  “I’ll get up early tomorrow, I promise.” I pulled the sheet over my head and rolled.

  “One in the afternoon is too late to get up early.”

  “What?” I sat up, blinking. “I can’t believe I slept so long.” I rubbed the back of my neck. Everything ached.

  “Don’t feel bad, I woke up at noon.” Lenni smoothed on raspberry lip balm. Her damp hair smelled fresh and clean. I ran a hand through mine, wincing at the tangles.

  “Let’s have leftover pizza for breakfast then download some music.” She dragged me by the wrists and pushed me toward the door.

  “Wait, let me grab my stuff. I have to change and brush my teeth.” I picked up my bag. “Be down in a minute.” I slid on my yellow flip-flops and padded to the bathroom.

  “Okay. I’ll be in the kitchen microwaving our pizza.” She scooped up her laptop on the way out.

  I entered Lenni’s bathroom and dropped the bag to the floor. Thoughts of Bianca rumbled through my brain like thunder, as I washed my face, brushed my teeth and changed into clean clothes. Sansesco mamblado dandalo. What language was that, Witchinese?

  “Let’s go to the living room.” Lenni thrust a pizza-filled plate into my right hand and a glass of cola into my left. I followed her into the huge room. She flopped onto the overstuffed sofa and crossed her bare feet on the coffee table. “Where’s your mp3 player?”

  After hours of downloading music, scrolling through social media and watching music videos, I stood to stretch my legs.

  “Molly, your parents are on their way home. Do you want a lift?” Mrs. Flemming came into the room carrying a platter of suspicious-looking fortune cookies, telephone under her chin.

  “No, that’s okay Mrs. Flem-Pam. I’ll walk.” I glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. “It’s still a couple hours until dark.”

  Pam held the plate out to me as she spoke into the phone. “Madeline, she was an absolute angel. Alright then. Glad you and Joel had a good time. Bye.” She set the phone on the table.

  I tried to crack open my cookie. It bent instead. I pulled out the little strip of paper.

  “I wrote the fortunes with vegetable-based ink. They’re perfectly safe,” she assured me.

  I read aloud, “That witch is your destiny.” I dropped the fortune and watched numbly as it fluttered to the polished floor.

  “Silly girl, you didn’t unfold it. You missed the first half.” Mrs. Flemming stooped gracefully, opened the creased paper and read aloud, “Purpose in your heart that witch is your destiny. Oops, looks like I spelled which wrong,” she chuckled. “Spelling never was my best subject. Isn’t the fortune nice, though? I have a whole book of little quotes. I think that one means decide your own destiny.” She smiled and handed the paper back to me.

  “Read yours, Lenni,” she urged.

  “Friends with shared pasts share futures.” Lenni frowned. “I don’t get it.”

  “It means nothing will stop her,” I said, the evil witches from every children’s story I’d ever heard crowding into my head at once.

  “Who? What are you talking about?” Lenni and her mother creased their brows. The blonde leading the blonde.

  “Lenni’s fortune means friends who share a past are
loyal to each other.” The words weighed heavy on my tongue and heart. “I’m going upstairs to get my stuff. Thanks for having me.” I tossed the cookie into my mouth, making it all the way to Lenni’s bathroom before spitting it out. I suffered a twinge of guilt as Pam’s homemade treat swirled down the toilet.

  I gathered my things then said goodbye to Lenni at the foot of the stairs. She walked me to the door.

  “See you tomorrow. I’m sorry about what happened with Bianca. I only wanted all of us to be friends.”

  “It’s okay. I know you meant well. But I don’t think the friendship-thing is going to happen for Bianca and me. We’re too different. The only thing we have in common is you.” I hugged her, sensing the disappointment inside her.

  “Walk over in the morning. Mom will give us a ride to school,” Lenni said, and then closed the door.

  The evening breeze felt good on my face. I turned the corner, bag bumping rhythmically against my thigh. A stone church with a tall steeple stood in the center of the next block. Music drifted through the doors. Smiling women in fancy hats strode into the building along with slack-jawed teenagers in shredded jeans. A man in overalls held the door for a little girl in a frilly pink dress.

  “Well, hello, Molly.” Mrs. Piper, my creative writing teacher, smiled, her polished lips shining.

  “Hi, Mrs. Piper.” I returned her smile.

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Home. I stayed at a friend’s house last night.”

  “Sounds like fun. Was it a slumber party?” She seemed genuinely interested.

  “Not really a slumber party, just Lenni, and me. Bianca stopped by for a while.”

  Her smile faltered. “Bianca Ravenwood?”

  “Lenni’s a mutual friend,” I said.

  “I knew Bianca when she was a little girl. Her father played the piano here, many years ago.” Mrs. Piper found her smile again.

  “Is where you go to church?” I asked.

  She gazed at the large building, affection lighting her eyes. “Yes. Would you like to join my husband and me?”

  I looked down at my rumpled t-shirt, shorts, and hairy legs. “I’m really not dressed. Plus, my mom and dad are expecting me home.”

  “What you wear isn’t important,” Mrs. Piper said, not giving my clothing a second glance. “You are welcome anytime, and in any outfit.” She squeezed my arm gently. A nice looking African American man in a dark-gray suit lifted his hand in a wave. I assumed he was Mr. Piper.