by Ariella Moon
Mom opened the door as we purred into the driveway. “Sorry!” Mrs. Hyde-Smith called out through the rolled-down window. Mom dismissed her with a curt wave.
“You’re not in your studio,” I said as she closed the door behind us.
“I’m ironing.” I could tell by her tone she’d been worried. “Would you like a snack?” Mom asked.
“No thanks. I’ll just get my homework out of the way.”
Mom shot me her when-did-aliens-take-over-your-mind look. I pretended not to notice and headed for my room. My heart beat way too fast, as if I had chugged caffeinated soda on an empty stomach.
“I seriously need help with Algebra and Biology,” I told Baby as she followed me into my room. I knelt by the green beanbag chair and picked up Teen Wytche. Maybe it contained a spell, or talisman, or something to keep me from flunking.
Goosebumps sprouted on my arms as I opened the cover. The pages were no longer paper. The text was no longer machine printed. The words flowed in a spidery scrawl across ancient vellum. Ink smudged the goatskin, or whatever it was, as if the writer had hurried to get her thoughts down.
I dropped the book and threw the beanbag chair on top of it. For a second, I only heard the thudding of my heart. Then the beans in the beanbag started to rattle. I backed up and grabbed a huge stuffed rabbit and hugged it to my chest, peeking over its long, floppy ears.
Something fluttered in my peripheral vision. A Shay Stewart photo floated to the floor. Then another one detached from the wall and freefell.
The beans stopped rattling. A sudden chill enveloped the room. The windows were closed—no breeze. The fine hairs on my arm stood on end. In a fit of madness or misguided courage, I placed the bunny on the floor and lifted the beanbag chair.
The grimoire had grown to the size of a photo album. It flew open, and the pages riffled as though stirred by a strong wind. I dropped the beanbag on the rag rug, grabbed a chocolate-stained skirt from the floor, and hid my face behind it.
So much for courage.
My nose twitched at the faint incense smell rising from the grimoire. A framed photo of Parvani and me, taken from arm’s length with my old 35mm camera, dove off my desk and thudded onto a pile of dirty jeans.
“Stop that!” I threw down the skirt. I gave my desk and the Shay Stewart shrine a quick glance. No more jumpers. Narrowing my eyes to slits, I glanced down. The book had fallen open to a page marked Correspondences. The word wisdom leaped out at me. My fingertip rasped against the paper as I skimmed across the list. Yellow. Sage. Sunflower.
A wisdom spell? It involved something about days of the week and planetary hours. The latter involved math, so I ignored it, hoping it wasn’t too important. I rose to my feet and jogged down the hall. Baby scurried behind me, her toenails clicking across the tile in the entry.
A few minutes later, I dumped a handful of stuff on the rag rug, then shooed Baby into the hall. She whimpered as I locked my bedroom door.
The red needle on the compass Dad had given me back when I’d been a Girl Scout wobbled toward north. I dragged out the river rocks and placed them at each compass point. “Okay, Quarter Guardians.” Parvani must have highlighted a paragraph or two about them. I should have looked it up, but decided I didn’t have time. Mom could appear at any moment to check on me.
The river rocks established the parameters for my invisible circle. In the center, I placed a yellow plate with an orange poppy design. Squatting, I slathered slippery sunflower oil onto a birthday candle. Once coated, the yellow candle glistened. I sprinkled it with sage from the spice drawer. The effect wasn’t pretty, but then neither are math or science. Since the candle was too small for a candleholder, I pressed a glob of silly putty onto the plate and impaled it with the candle.
What else had been on Parvani’s list? The pentacle. After wiping my oil-slick hands on a tissue, I dug out Salem’s necklace and put it on. We hadn’t found god and goddess figures yet, so I plucked a rainbow haired troll doll from my wicker hutch and placed it next to the plate. A dusty rhinestone tiara from a long-ago princess party sat in for the goddess.
I wrote the words math, science, graphs, and Hardy-Weinberg on a piece of binder paper along with help and good grades. Praying I wouldn’t set off the smoke detector—or worse, burn down the house—I struck a wooden kitchen match, recoiling a bit when the sulfur burned a path up my nose. The candlewick flared. I blew out the match, almost extinguishing the candle as well, which probably would have jinxed the whole thing.
Weren’t spells supposed to rhyme? If so, I was hosed, because I doubted anything would rhyme with Weinberg or science. Finally, figuring spells were just prayers with props, I sat down on the rag rug and prayed for wisdom. And clarity. And help. And not to look stupid in front of Jordan. Then, not wanting to appear greedy, I added, Please just help me through Friday so I can pass the algebra quiz.
Behind me, the doorknob rattled. “Evie? Why is your door locked?”
“Just a sec, Mom.” I licked my fingers and extinguished the candle.
I cracked open the door. “Yes?”
Mom’s nose crinkled. “Have you been lighting matches?”
Unable to come up with a plausible lie, I resorted to the truth. “I lit a candle.”
Mom sniffed again. The lines that had become embedded in her forehead since Dad’s death grew deeper.
“I’m trying to study,” I reminded her.
“All right.” She drew out the words as if weighing whether to believe me. “How does pasta at six-thirty sound?”
“Fine.”
Mom narrowed her eyes. For a second I feared she’d push the door open. She didn’t. Maybe the Quarter Guardians had kept her out. “Later, alligator.” Mom headed for the studio she and Dad had built over the garage.
I glanced back at my circle. The rainbow-haired troll appeared amused. Maybe because of the candle stuck in the silly putty. Then I noticed Jordan’s photo, the one I had hidden among the belts, had fallen off the shelf again and landed face up in the circle next to the candle.
My jaw dropped. “No,” I told the grimoire. “This can’t be. Stop throwing us together.”
I heard a soft puff of air, as if someone were blowing bubbles through a wand. Pink vapor rose from the open spell book, and the scent of summer roses perfumed the air.
“You didn’t say anything about roses and wisdom.”
I could have sworn the book uttered an exasperated sigh before it slammed shut.
My heart constricted. I gave Jordan’s photo one last look before I hid it under my mattress. The troll doll beamed wide-eyed approval as I shoved the Quarter Guardians back into Baby’s unused poop bag. “Stop looking so happy,” I warned the troll. Realizing I sounded crazy, I shoved Teen Wytche under a pile of dirty clothes and headed to the bathroom for a hot, cleansing shower.
Chapter Fourteen
The doorbell, which Nana had installed during one of her wry moments, sent the opening bars of the “Mission Impossible” theme thundering through the house. Baby lumbered to her feet, barking, and bounded down the hall.
“Mom! Can you get it?” I unwrapped the bath towel from around my wet hair and listened. No screeching stove fan. No simmering garlic-and-shallot smell wafting down the hall. Mom must still be in her studio.
The bell rang again. It had to be Salem. Parvani would have called.
The barking stopped, and I heard Baby skid across the entry tile. I threw the damp towel on the rag rug, just outside the magic circle. I pulled on my plaid flannel pants in a rush, facing them inside out so the huge Cal logo wouldn’t draw too much attention to my butt. Water dripped down my back, chilling my bare flesh. I whipped the pentacle necklace over my head, then hurried into a pink satin bra and a cleanish yellow hoodie. I stashed the candle inside my jewelry box, then, having no idea where I’d left my shoes, slid on some frayed slippers and headed down the hall.
As I rounded the corner, I noticed a figure pressed against one of the narrow windows flanking
the door. Jordan! Heat rushed up my throat. Every cell screamed run, but he had already seen me and waved.
I opened the door, my breath rattling like tumbleweeds inside my chest. “Jordan.”
“Hey, Evie.” He gave me a once over. “I like the wet hair look. Nice slippers. Though I kinda preferred your pink bunnies.”
My brain felt microwaved. “The ones I wore when we were six?”
Light danced in Jordan’s eyes. “Yeah.” He bent and petted Baby. “Did you eat the bunnies, girl?”
Baby wagged her tail.
“So, can I come in?”
The kitchen door slammed. Mom must have come down to make dinner.
“Um, sure.”
Jordan stepped inside and hesitated, raking his fingers through his highlights. When we were younger, he would have run down the hall to my room. Mortification crept over me as I thought of Jordan seeing my Shay Stewart shrine, the magic circle, and my unmade bed. I gestured toward the living room.
This part of the house is so not Mom’s or my style. Dad’s parents had given us the black leather sofa and chair three years ago, right before they’d moved to Bangkok. Mom had tried to soften the starkness by adding a scuffed wooden coffee table and white tea light candles. I guess it helped a little. Enlarged prints of Dad’s photos adorned the wine-colored wall behind the sofa. Dad had clustered my photo series on homeless people and their pets on the end wall, above the chair.
Jordan plopped down on the white shag carpet, leaned against the couch, and unfolded his legs beneath the low table. He jiggled his foot, a sure sign he was nervous.
I perched on the chair, plotting my escape, certain he was about to dump me for a lab partner who understood an x/y axis and Hardy-Weinberg. Jordan patted the floor beside him and gave me one of his puppy dog looks. If Parvani had been here, she would have squealed.
“What’s up?” I tried to sound nonchalant as I lowered myself onto the carpet. Baby wormed between us and rested her head on Jordan’s thigh, drooling on his jeans.
“See, she remembers me.” Jordan pushed up the sleeves of his rugby shirt, exposing skin still golden-brown from skateboard camp. He propped his elbow on the sofa. His nearness charged the air between us. The fine hairs on my forearm stood on end.
“You ran out of Biology pretty fast. Are you mad at me?”
I blinked several times as my mind processed. He’d noticed I had left in a hurry?
“I’m sorry I ratted you out to Miss Gaya,” Jordan said in a rush.
“You talked to the school counselor about me?”
“I thought you knew.” He reached over and fingered my hair, like he used to do when we were kids. His hand smelled of sunshine and pines and freshly mown grass. I struggled to concentrate. A startled look jumped into Jordan’s eyes, as though he’d just realized we weren’t five anymore. He withdrew his hand. Suddenly, I wanted to swallow my pride and ask Mom to take me to her hairdresser so I could get my old color back.
Get my old life back.
“Why did you go to Miss Gaya?”
“You know.” Jordan’s voice cracked and he stopped to clear his throat. “First your dad died. Then you went all, like, Halloween with your hair.”
“You got highlights.”
“Because Evan dared me. He said he’d donate thirty dollars to the VFW if I did.”
“VFW?”
“Veterans of Foreign Wars. Grandpa belongs to it. I guess Evan’s older brother does too, since he served in Iraq.”
“Oh.”
“And then yesterday,” Jordan continued, “Parvani had to take you to the nurse. I felt, like, maybe you needed some help.” He shrugged as his voice trailed off.
Stunned, I tried to decide whether to be furious or touched.
“So, are you, like, mad at me?” He lowered his arm, and his fingers grazed my back, zapping a tingle to my core.
The phone rang in the kitchen. The sound registered in the back of my mind. “I’m not mad because you went to Miss Gaya,” I decided aloud. Ditching me for Bucky and the Smash Heads, yes.
Jordan blew a long breath out his nose. “Good, ‘cause…”
“Parvani called,” Mom said as she entered the room in a garlic-scented cloud. Seeing Jordan, her eyes widened.
My heart flat-lined. Parvani. The spell.
Mom wiped her hands on her green Kiss the Cook apron. “Jordan, how nice to see you again. Would you like to stay for dinner? We’re having pasta.”
Jordan extricated his long legs from under the coffee table. “Thanks Mrs. O, but I can’t. Mom has a committee meeting tonight and Dad has to prepare for a trial, so I need to hang with Grandpa.”
“How is he doing?” I asked.
Jordan shrugged like everything was fine, but we both knew it wasn’t. “He’s… forgetful.”
Mom placed her hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know it’s tough.” She glanced at me. “Evie, I thought you were doing homework, so I told Parvani you’d call her back.”
I nodded, determined to tell Parvani I resigned from helping her with the love spell. Mom headed back to the kitchen. I walked Jordan to the entry and opened the door. “Thanks for looking out for me.”
“You’re welcome.” He leaned over, and for a heart-stopping moment I thought he might kiss me. “Chill,” he whispered, his breath a warm caress upon my ear.
My heart yo-yoed. “Not in my vocabulary, Clark.”
His lips softened. “Can’t remember the last time you called me Clark. Guess now you’re, like, Lois Lane.” He used to call me “Jimmy” after the red-haired photographer in the Superman comics. Apparently I didn’t qualify anymore. I pushed Jordan away. Bitterness crept into my voice. “Lois probably understood math.”
He cocked his head in a cute puppy sort of way. “Doubt it. Look how long it took her to figure out Superman’s true identity.”
With an athlete’s easy grace, he picked up his helmet from the bench outside the door and put it on. Once he’d secured the strap, he retrieved his skateboard, which he’d parked next to the flowerpots bursting with purple and red primroses. Jordan pushed off. The skateboard rolled, its rhythmic and gritty sound filling my ears. He executed three kick turns, then glanced over his shoulder. “Bye, Lois. Love your pants.”
I gawked down at my inside–out Cal pants and rolled my eyes, hoping he wouldn’t notice the mortification flaming across my cheeks. Impish glee sparkled in his lake-blue eyes before he shifted to navigate the blacktop ahead.
I watched him glide down the driveway, then closed the door. Some invisible force pulled me back to the living room. My feet may have touched the floor—I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t feel my legs. Dazed, I plopped down on the couch.
A few pieces of folded binder paper on the coffee table caught my eye. My heart jackhammered as I picked them up.
Evie. I know you hate math stuff. Thought this might help. (I made copies for myself.) Call or email me if you have any questions. See ya, Lab Partner. ~J.
I blinked down at the two pages. Step by step, Jordan had explained independent and dependent variables and diagramming. He’d even drawn a couple of graphs with little dialogue bubbles off to the side explaining various aspects of the x-y coordinate plane.
The spell had worked.
Which meant, I realized as a slow burn ate at my stomach, that Parvani’s love spell might be equally successful.
Chapter Fifteen
The next morning, I dreamt Jordan and I were about seventeen, and racing down Main Street in Disneyland. The sun shone, corny music played in the background, and the smell of popcorn filled the air. The scene shifted, and we sat next to each other on a boat ride. One more curve before the big waterfall, and Jordan leaned close. This was it. The big kiss. I parted my lips, my body one giant tingle of anticipation, and—the phone woke me.
“No!” I cried into the pillow.
I staggered to my desk, plunged my hand into a pile of papers, and unearthed the phone. Parvani’s name showed on the ca
ller ID.
“Hey,” I said. “I’m so sorry. I forgot to call you back last night.” Actually, I’d been too upset to call, but what’s one more lie between best friends?
“You’re forgiven.” Parvani sounded worried. “Was Zhù in Yearbook yesterday? He made it to History and Honors Geometry, but I didn’t see him on the field after school.”
My conversation with Señora Allende flashed in my mind, along with a half-dozen worrisome thoughts. “No, I didn’t see him.” But I wasn’t there the whole time.
“I hope he’s okay. Maybe I’ll text him.”
“Yeah, you should. Good luck.”
“Thanks. Bye.”
Zhù. Zhù. Zhù. I tapped the phone against my lips. The longer he’s absent, the more Parvani will realize how much she cares about him. The more she realizes, the less inclined she’ll be to perform a love spell involving Jordan. I had some serious work to do.
“Evie, you’re running late. Get moving!”
I saluted my bedroom door and Mom’s voice beyond it. The woman was not a morning person. She must have been a mind reader though, because when I dragged my carcass out to the kitchen, Mickey Mouse-shaped waffles awaited.
This was going to be a good day. On impulse, I went back to my room and changed into a daffodil-colored top. Parvani—who would watch every fashion reality show if given the time—had designed it. It had a cool, asymmetrical neckline and what she called “bracelet sleeves,” which meant the sleeves were three-quarters length to show off your jewelry. Too bad I didn’t own any.
Before leaving, I crouched on the floor and made sure the dirty clothes still hid the spell book. When I flipped back my mud-splattered jeans, the grimoire hissed foul-smelling brimstone.
“Stop it!” I ordered. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Behave.” My heart did a heavy metal drum solo as I closed the door behind me.
Since we were running late, Mom took the shortcut down Lucas. Weak rays of sunlight caused steam to rise from puddles on the street. I shivered and crossed my arms against my torso. Three more houses, then the stop sign, then the car engine would be warm enough so Mom could turn on the heater.
