It’s Sam! And Larry isn’t anywhere nearby!
I can’t think of anything to say. The first semi-intelligent sound I make is “Hmmm?”
“What do you mean?” Madison says. Not brilliant either, but a little better than me.
“I saw you put something in that drink.”
“Oh, that!” says Madison.
“That’s…” I stall for a moment. Then a moment longer. “That’s my dad’s medicine.”
Sam looks at us, suspicious. “What does your dad need medicine for?” Ugh. She needs to know everything all the time.
“His broken heart,” Madison says.
“His heart condition,” I quickly add, since that sounds more realistic. “He doesn’t like the taste of his medicine, so he tells me to trick him.”
Samantha doesn’t look like she’s buying it, but before she can say anything, I change the subject. “I haven’t seen your artwork yet, Sam. What did you do?”
“Oh, I’m not a great artist like you,” she says, a little sarcastically. “I glued a bunch of junk and trash together and made a sculpture. Then I put plastic flowers on top and called it Society. Kevin said it was deep.”
“Sounds cool,” I say, though what it really sounds like is weird.
“It’s over by Madison’s big orange head,” Sam says. “Want to see it?”
Madison and I look at each other and say, “Sure.” We tell Sam we’ll meet her there. After she walks away, I lean in toward Madison. “This is getting complicated.”
She agrees.
“How about I take this punch over to Sam?” I say. “I’ll tell her it’s a different one, not my dad’s. But I won’t give it to her until I see you nearby with Larry.”
“Maybe we should make a drink for him too,” Madison suggests. “To be twice as sure.”
That sounds good to me, so I hand her the dropper. “Guard it with your life.”
As I hurry down one of the aisles of art, I can’t believe how close this is to working! Looking at Sam’s drink, I take big, fast steps—and that’s when I plow into something full force. I look up and see one single punch droplet sail through the atmosphere. If I were drawing a storyboard, I’d make the droplet into a character who changes shape while bound for an enemy target. I follow its path with my eyes until it lands one second later—on Lisa Lee.
It figures.
A small red liquid dot—seriously, it’s like the size of a dime—appears above Lisa Lee’s heart. Even though it’s springtime, she’s wearing a tan coat with something that looks like white wool poking out.
Lisa Lee’s mouth opens in a giant O, but no sound comes out.
“How could you do that?” says another voice. “That is suede!”
Wow! Kylie Mae has spoken. It’s only to defend her queen, but it’s still speaking. I’m kind of impressed.
“The coat?” I ask, not sure what she means.
“Yes!” Lisa Lee sputters, as upset as if I’d thrown motor oil or barf on her. “Suede is the material, duh, and it’s made out of lambskin!”
“Well, that doesn’t sound nice at all for the lambs.”
Kylie Mae steps in front of Lisa Lee, maybe protecting her from me. “Lambskin is very soft,” she insists. “And it’s very expensive to clean!”
“Look, I’m really, really sorry,” I say. “I love your lamb coat and I didn’t mean it any harm. For real. But I’ve got to go.” I rush away, hearing one more comment from Kylie Mae as I go.
“She didn’t even know what suede is! So lame!”
I almost laugh out loud. I’ve finally found the topic that will make Kylie Mae use her vocal cords: suede.
I turn a corner, hoping to find the aisle featuring Ryder Landry’s head and Samantha’s junk-and-flower sculpture of society, but I end up in the aisle of drawings and paintings…including mine.
I’ve been excited to see my storyboards on display, but now it’s barely the third-most important thing on my mind.
Dad and Terri are right there. Standing together. Pointing at the artwork and talking. Looking nice. Looking friendly. Looking…right together.
And here I am, with a cup full of love potion!
Sure, it’s meant for Sam, but Madison has an extra cup for that.
This is fate. This is meant to be. Isn’t that what people always say about love?
I’m going to make this happen while I can.
I run up to them, making sure not to spill the punch. “Dad! You found Terri!”
“Actually, she found me,” he says.
“Cleo, your storyboard is great!” Terri says. That’s nice to hear, especially from a professional in the graphic arts business, so I take a look. Pandaroo seems right at home on display in an art gallery (even one in a school gym), and usually I’d be much more proud and thrilled to see him and my other characters, but right now I’ve got to focus.
“Hey, I have some punch. Want some?” I ask them both.
They look at each other. Dad asks if Terri wants it. She says, “No, not right now.” So I hold it out to Dad. He shrugs and takes it.
I stare at him—probably a little like a weirdo—as he lifts the cup toward his lips.
Then he stops and nods toward my storyboard. “Cleo, how long did you work on this?” he asks. “You never even showed it to me.”
“A long time. I don’t know. We can talk about it later,” I say impatiently, staring at the drink so passionately that if my eyes were lasers, they’d drill holes in the cup and the punch would spill all over him. Drink, Dad! Drink, drink, drink!
“It’s so fun and action-packed. I like it.” He raises his cup again. His mouth opens slightly…to speak more words. “Your classmates really worked hard too.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure they all did.” Who cares, Dad? Aren’t you thirsty? Why are you boring Terri with all this talk of my artwork when the two of you could already be falling back in love?
“I really think you could have a career in this.” Dad gestures at my storyboard with the cup of punch. Why isn’t he drinking it?
“I’m really proud of you,” he says…and finally, finally takes a sip. Yes!
He has an uncertain expression for a second but doesn’t mention anything about the taste.
I know time doesn’t really stand still, but it might as well. I’m not hearing the music anymore. I’m not worried about Lisa Lee and the spots on her suede. I’m not thinking about whether or not things are working out with Madison and Sam and Larry—well, not really. All I’m doing is shouting (inside my head, of course), Say something, Dad! Say something to Terri right now! But he’s taking another long, leisurely sip of his punch. Come on, Dad! A minute ago you were avoiding the punch with every comment you could think of. Now you love it?
Ten little words, Dad! Talk to Terri about anything! Life on Mars, the mess I made in the kitchen, whether or not her cat sheds in the summer. I don’t care; just say something to her!
Finally Dad speaks. “Hey! I’m surprised we didn’t see you already tonight. How are you doing?” In my head, I count the number of words Dad just said. It’s more than ten. The only problem is that Dad was not looking at Terri when he said them. I turn my head in the direction he’s facing.
It’s Paige.
Samantha’s mom. A third wheel on what should have been a bicycle. Looking perfect as always with her long, shiny black hair and tight-fitting skirt and blouse.
“Good to see you, Bradley,” Paige says, leaning in to kiss the air beside his cheek. Oh no! Sam’s mom liked him once, and now if the love potion works, he’s not only going to like her back, he’s going to love her!
And it will be all my fault.
The adults are all friendly and smiley as Dad introduces Terri to Paige. Dad’s plenty chatty, sharing lots and lots of words with Terri now that it’s too late.
When Terri broke up with Dad, I remember her being upset—well, not really upset, but sad—thinking Dad was spending a lot of time with Paige. That was back when Samantha
and I were so close we wanted to be sisters, and we thought if her mom married my dad, it would be the best thing ever. But I know better now. If I know anything about love—and I’m definitely learning a lot from Ryder Landry’s songs—there’s a person out there who’s right for you. Ryder calls it your Only One. Sure, people can date and like each other and even think they’re in love, but there’s only one real one out there. One right one.
Terri is definitely Dad’s Only One.
When there’s a pause in the conversation, Dad takes another sip of his drink and makes a face. “That is really…unusual punch,” he says.
Really, Dad? I think. If you thought it was that interesting, why didn’t you tell Terri when you needed to?
I stand there, stunned by everything that’s happened. There’s only one thing I can do now, and it’s the opposite of what I thought I’d want tonight.
I have to hope the love potion doesn’t work.
Standing with Dad, Terri, and Paige, I want to get away as fast as possible. “I’ve…uh…gotta go,” I say. “I still haven’t seen Madison’s or Sam’s stuff. Bye!”
I zoom through our art gallery gym, frantically searching for Madison…Sam…Larry…Ryder Landry’s head…anything to get away from the big, dumb mistake I made. I need to warn Madison not to do anything. I should have known better than to mess with magic. Something can always go wrong. I just forgot for one tiny moment. But I can’t give up now, because I need to fix what I’ve done. And how in the world am I supposed to do that?
Down an aisle my eye catches a glimpse of yellow hair, puffier and even more canary-colored than Mrs. Paddington’s.
It’s Ryder Landry’s head—with a wig on top, it looks like.
In front of the head is Madison. Alone. Maybe that’s good. Maybe nothing else has gone wrong.
I join her. “Ryder looks great,” I say. I have to say something.
“Oh, he looks bad,” she says. “I couldn’t make the hair work with chicken wire, so my mom gave me a wig, but I’m about as good a hairdresser as I am at papier-mâché.”
Before I knew Madison for real, I thought she was great at everything. Now I look at Ryder—skin too orange, teeth too big and white, eyelashes too fake—and I know Madison isn’t perfect. I like that in a friend, I decide. Samantha isn’t perfect either. I wish we could all be imperfect together.
“No, he’s totally cute,” I say, just to be nice.
Madison looks at me seriously. “Something went wrong,” she says.
Oh no! Madison’s a bad artist and she makes mistakes just like I do? She’s even more imperfect than I thought!
I want to know every detail, so I have to tell her the truth. “Something went wrong with me too.”
“What happened?” she asks. I look into Ryder Landry’s unnaturally blue eyes and tell her the whole story.
“We’ll fix it,” Madison promises. “We’re smart. We’ve got the book. There’ll be a way to undo it, for sure.”
I like hearing all this, though there’s no way of knowing if any of it is true. But now I need to find out what else happened.
“What went wrong for you?” I finally ask. “Did Larry drink the potion?”
Madison is about to answer when a voice interrupts us.
“Hey, Cleo, I haven’t seen your project yet. Where is it?” I turn to see Larry sipping from a blue cup, his headphones sitting around his neck.
Madison and I aren’t thrilled with the interruption, but it’s not his fault. He doesn’t know. “Over with the drawings and paintings,” I tell him. I notice that his music is still filling the gym. “Hey, how is your music still playing if you’re here with us?”
“I made a playlist long enough to let me take a break. I had to see what my compadres were up to and toast to their success!” He lifts his cup in the air, then drinks. “Aaaack!” he screams, pointing at Madison’s Ryder Landry head. “What’s that?”
“Oh, leave me alone!” Madison tells him. “That’s Ryder Landry and you know it.”
“Ryder Landry again?” Larry makes a barfing motion. “Don’t you ladies know there are awesome dudes like me right here at school?” He throws his arm over my shoulder and starts singing at the top of his lungs. “You, you, you plus me, me, me. Put us together, it’s chemistry!”
I wriggle out from underneath, laughing. “You know his songs way too well to blame it on your little sister!”
Madison points in the direction of the DJ table. “Go play that song right now!”
“I’ll get right on that…after I’ve played every other song known to man!” Larry says, strolling away. Then he turns and winks at both of us. “Have a good night, ladies.” Bowing toward me, he adds, “Cleo,” like one of King Arthur’s knights.
“I like him, but he can really be annoying sometimes,” I say to Madison. “Now, what happened?” I pause and make sure Larry is far enough away so he won’t hear me. “So…did he drink the potion or not?”
“No,” Madison says, disappointed.
“Well, maybe that’s a good thing—”
Madison cuts me off. “It’s not good. I was mixing up the potion in some lemonade and Sam came back.”
She’s right. That’s not good. “Did she see you do it?”
“No, not really, but she was all suspicious like before.”
“You didn’t…give it to her, did you?” I ask. If Samantha drank the potion without Larry around, she could’ve talked to…anyone after that. A teacher, a cafeteria worker, the hamster in the fourth-grade classroom. Anyone!
“No, no, no. But she was asking and asking. She really wasn’t letting it go.”
I smile. Samantha’s like Toby when he wants to be taken on a walk or play with his favorite squeaky toy. When she puts her mind to something, she usually gets it.
“I had to get her to stop, so I told her to go find you and check out your drawings.”
“Well, that’s okay,” I say with a sigh. But I can tell there’s more to come.
Madison takes a deep breath. She looks at her Ryder Landry head as if he’ll help her say the next thing. “I put it down.”
“Put what down?” I ask.
“The lemonade. When I was talking to Sam.”
“What do you mean?” I’m afraid I already know what she means, but I want to be sure.
“I left the lemonade on the table.”
“O…kay,” I reply, thinking it over. “That’s not so bad, though. You wouldn’t drink a lemonade you didn’t pour, right?”
“I was hoping that, but when Sam walked away, I turned around and it was gone.”
“The lemonade…with the potion in it…was gone?”
Madison nods, biting her lip and picking at her nail cuticles. She looks worried, frustrated, and almost scared. So I try to make her feel better.
“I’m sure someone threw it out.”
“You think so?” Madison’s blue eyes look hopeful.
“Sure,” I say. But inside I’m imagining everything that could have gone wrong: A teacher drank it and then talked to a student….A student drank it and then talked to a teacher….Lisa Lee drank it and then talked to the papier-mâché Ryder Landry head….
This is a problem. More than a problem. This could be big, big trouble—at school and at home. Madison must think everything’s okay, though, because she’s already smiling again, ready to check out more artwork. I smile too, but I feel like my heart has turned into a block of cement.
What in the world happened to that cup of lemonade?
—
Dad seems happier than usual over the weekend…and I don’t like it.
I wake up Saturday morning to Toby yowling at the foot of my bed like one of the coyotes we sometimes hear in our neighborhood. But his howls are only the second-most annoying sound I hear. Far away in the kitchen, a loud, mechanical grinding sound keeps going on and on—GRRRRRRR! GRRRRRRR!—starting, stopping, then starting again. From my bed, I call Toby over and pat him on the head to calm him down. Th
en I get up with a groan and shuffle down the hall. “Dad? What’s that noise?”
Inside the kitchen there’s an unusual sight. Dad is dressed—in clothes, not the underwear and T-shirt he usually wears until at least noon on the weekend. His hair almost looks brushed, and he’s even wearing laced-up sneakers instead of flip-flops.
He pushes a button on the blender, and the noise grinds to a halt. “Remember that one week when we tried to eat more green foods? After your healthy play?”
Of course I do. Yuck.
“I know that didn’t work out for us,” he admits, “so I’m trying something better—homemade smoothies!” Dad is so excited you’d think he whipped up a pot of gold coins and cupcakes. “I know you like strawberries and blueberries and bananas, but I mixed in the really healthy stuff so sneakily you won’t even be able to taste it.”
I pull out a chair and sit at the table. “Why are you in such a good mood?” I ask.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Dad says. “It was nice seeing your artwork last night and talking to your friends.”
And seeing Terri? I wonder. No, more likely he’s happy he saw Paige. Ugh. Maybe I once thought she was cool and pretty and had lots to teach me, but now I don’t want her anywhere around Dad. I want Samantha to be my friend, not my sister. And I want Dad to be with his Only One.
Dad pours the thick purple smoothie into two big cups. He hands me one with a yellow smiley face on it. The smile matches his.
“Thanks,” I say with no enthusiasm whatsoever. “I’m going back to my room.”
“Okay, but don’t stay there all day. It’s too nice a day to waste!”
“Cool, Dad.” I’m walking away so he doesn’t see my frown.
When Dad and Terri broke up, Dad sat at his computer day and night with his shoulders slumped. Our curtains were closed, keeping out the sunlight. Mounds of dust and Toby hair started piling up in corners. I didn’t like any of that. But Dad being in a good mood isn’t much better. It’s irritating, especially when all I want to do is look through POCIÓNES FANTÁSTICOS and figure out if there’s any way to turn a love potion around so he and Paige don’t fall in love. I have no free time the entire weekend, though, because Dad bursts into my room wanting to go to an art museum downtown. Later we pull weeds in the backyard, and on Sunday we go for a bike ride around the lake! We pass Red Shorts twice. First he’s just walking fast, but the next time he’s reading a magazine too. Dad says hello, and Red Shorts nods back as usual.
Twist My Charm Page 6
