‘‘Aunt Mags,’’ I said, running back into the house. Mags was in the kitchen mixing herself a rum and Coke. ‘‘Daphne and Dru just took off in my car!’’
Mags took a seat at the kitchen table and settled in with her drink and a magazine. ‘‘Well, it’s not like you could use it right now anyway,’’ she said reasonably. ‘‘You have to finish unloading the truck.’’
I stared at her.
‘‘Get a move on,’’ Mags said. ‘‘We wouldn’t want your father to come home and find out you’ve been shirking your responsibilities, now, would we?’’
Somehow I found myself nodding and doing as she said.
It took the full hour, but I had the remaining boxes unloaded and stacked in the living room and guest room before Elliott got home. When I heard the bus pull up, I ran outside and met the crowd of kids at the corner.
‘‘Elliott, can I talk to you?’’ I said, as the school of children parted and flowed past me like fish around a rock in a stream.
My brother stopped in front of me. His brown hair was sticking up in every direction, and his T-shirt read, ‘‘You make me throw up a little.’’ Maybe he could use a better chaperone, but Aunt Mags wasn’t it.
‘‘What’s up?’’ he said.
I looked over my shoulder at the house, then started walking in the other direction, motioning Elliott to follow. ‘‘We have a problem,’’ I said.
‘‘Yeah?’’ He stopped and turned to look back. ‘‘What’s that moving van doing there?’’
‘‘Keep moving,’’ I hissed. ‘‘It’s Aunt Mags. She’s moving in.’’
‘‘Why?’’ he said, investing the single syllable with all the horror a ten-year-old could muster. That was a lot.
‘‘Dad called her and said he needed help with you after I go away to college.’’ We cut through the Henderson’s yard to get to the public park and headed for the swing set. I used to take Elliott here after school back when Dad first said I could be the babysitter.
‘‘Are you going away?’’ Elliott asked. ‘‘I thought you hadn’t decided.’’
‘‘I haven’t,’’ I said, ‘‘but apparently Dad isn’t waiting.’’
‘‘Did you call him?’’
‘‘Not yet. I haven’t had time.’’
‘‘Do you have your cell?’’
‘‘Yeah.’’
‘‘Well, call him then.’’ We sat on swings next to each other, and I took out my cell phone and dialed. Elliott twisted around in his seat until the chains were wound tight and then let go, circling in the air as the chains unwound.
‘‘Hey Lanie, it’s Brandie. Is my dad in? Could I talk to him, please? It’s kind of important.’’ I waited while my dad’s secretary tracked him down. ‘‘Elliott, you’re going to make yourself dizzy.’’
Elliott grinned and started twisting again.
I shrugged.
‘‘Dad?’’ I said. ‘‘Hey, um, did you call Aunt Mags last night? Yeah? Okay, well did you know she’s moving in?
‘‘When were you going to tell me?’’
Elliott stopped spinning and listened to my side of the conversation with interest.
‘‘But Elliott doesn’t even like her. She made him eat brussels sprouts last Christmas.’’
He made a face. I made one back until something Dad said made me start.
‘‘Lisa?’’ I said. ‘‘Who’s Lisa?’’
I hung up a few moments later and stared at the phone.
‘‘Well?’’ Elliott prompted.
My shocked gaze went from the phone to my brother. ‘‘Lisa’s moving in, too,’’ I said.
‘‘Who’s Lisa?’’
‘‘Dad’s new fiancée.’’
‘‘Are you serious?’’
I nodded, numb. ‘‘There’s more.’’
‘‘What?’’ Elliott said.
‘‘She’s moving in tonight.’’
‘‘Holy—’’
‘‘Elliott!’’
‘‘I wasn’t gonna say nothing bad.’’ We swayed on the swings for a moment in perfect unison.
‘‘Brandie?’’
‘‘Yes?’’
‘‘Is Lisa going to be our stepmother?’’
I stopped swinging; Elliott put his feet down and skidded to a stop next to me.
‘‘Elliott?’’ I said.
‘‘What?’’
‘‘I think I know what’s going on.’’ I stood up. "C’mon, we’ve got to go home."
Elliott got up and went to stand next to me. I started forward and stopped again when I felt his hand on my arm. I turned.
‘‘I am not eating brussels sprouts,’’ Elliott warned.
I nodded. ‘‘Neither am I,’’ I said, meeting his seriousness with my own. I didn’t know anybody who liked brussels sprouts, no matter how old they were. ‘‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’’
We went back together.
‘‘Here it is,’’ I said, digging out the spell booklet from under the remaining pile of laundry. ‘‘Okay, there’s a number here that you can call if you have any questions—’’ I scanned the table of contents and flipped through the pages until I found it. ‘‘Hand me my cell phone.’’
Elliott tossed me my cell and went back to listening at the door. We had snuck in past Aunt Mags during the confusion caused by the arrival of a brunette woman with a piercing voice and her own set of boxes—a woman who could only be Lisa. The two women were currently downstairs arguing loudly enough to be overheard even with the door shut about the arrival of a giant mirror Lisa claimed had been her mother’s.
I had a bad feeling about all of this.
I dialed the number and got an automated system. I pressed one for customer service, two for fairy tale life, two again for mail-order center, and three to report a product malfunction. The hold music was kind of nice, a sort of eighties pop blend. I recognized George Michael.
Downstairs, the yelling stopped. Elliott and I held our breath for a second. Then it started again, louder than ever.
I gave Elliott a thumbs-up, and went back to tapping my foot to the hold music.
‘‘This is your friendly Fairy Tale Life Customer Service Representative! My name is ANNIE! How may I assist you today?!’’
My god, she spoke in permanent cheerleader.
‘‘Hi, Annie,’’ I said, keeping my voice as quiet as I could without whispering. ‘‘I think my spell malfunctioned. I’ve got some weird stuff happening.’’
‘‘Don’t you worry, because I WILL help you! What’s the problem?!’’
‘‘My aunt just moved in with her two daughters, and they’re acting really strange—’’
‘‘No problem!’’
‘‘Wait,’’ I said, ‘‘there’s more.’’
The silence had an exclamation point.
‘‘My dad just got engaged to a woman we’ve never even heard of, and she’s moving in, too.’’
Annie waited!
‘‘That’s it,’’ I said. ‘‘Did you guys send me a broken spell or something?’’
‘‘Our merchandise is one hundred percent effective! We guarantee a FAIRY TALE LIFE!’’
‘‘What kind of fairy tale is this?’’
‘‘Why don’t you tell me first exactly what you did when you got the spell?!’’
‘‘I filled in the little bubbles on the form and I burned it over the candle. Nothing happened at first, then all the adults went twilight zone.’’
‘‘And which fairy tale did you select for your life?!’’
‘‘Cinderella,’’ I said.
‘‘Cinderella!’’
‘‘And then Snow White for second choice.’’
‘‘SECOND choice?!’’
‘‘Yeah,’’ I said. ‘‘Second CHOICE!’’
Elliott made frantic hush motions and I waved at him to show I understood.
‘‘So what’s gone wrong?’’ I said. ‘‘How do I make everything normal again?’’
‘‘You didn’t read the instruction booklet, did you?!’’ She was scolding me in cheerleader.
‘‘I skimmed,’’ I said, annoyed.
‘‘If you had read the instruction booklet, you would have realized that you are required to choose ONE fairy tale, and one alone for the spell to work properly! I’m afraid you’ve got a PROBLEM!’’
‘‘I KNOW I have a problem,’’ I said, ignoring Elliot’s wildly waving arms. ‘‘How do I FIX the problem?’’
‘‘I’m afraid this is one we can’t fix over the phone, we’re going to have to send a Mobile Customer Service Representative!’’
I gritted my teeth. ‘‘When can they get here?’’ I asked.
‘‘I should be able to send someone out tomorrow afternoon!’’ Annie said.
‘‘Nothing sooner?’’ I asked.
‘‘That’s the earliest I can do, but don’t worry! We’ll be sending DAVE!’’
I gave her the address and hung up. Elliott turned.
‘‘You suck at being sneaky,’’ he said.
‘‘Shut up,’’ I said halfheartedly.
‘‘So?’’ he asked.
‘‘They’ll be sending DAVE!’’ I said. ‘‘But not until tomorrow afternoon.’’
We both became aware of silence downstairs.
‘‘That did it,’’ Elliott said, pressing his ear back to the door. The stairs creaked as someone climbed them. The brat looked to me for rescue.
It was my fault.
‘‘Get in the closet,’’ I said. ‘‘I’ll tell them you’re spending the night with Jay and sneak you something to eat as soon as I can.’’
He nodded and scrambled into the closet. ‘‘Good luck,’’ he said, and then hid.
The bedroom door opened just as the closet door closed. The overhead light sputtered and died, and Mags loomed, backlit by the hallway. Her eyes glittered menacingly.
‘‘It’s time for dinner,’’ she said, and stood to the side so that I had to squeeze past her to get out the door.
Sure enough, dinner was brussels sprouts.
I did the dishes after dinner, then helped Lisa unpack her boxes in my dad’s room. He wasn’t home, yet, as usual, so Mags and Lisa had divided me out between them.
I managed to sneak Elliott some saltine crackers and a jar of peanut butter and tell him where my cola stash was, but that was the last moment I had to myself until well after dark.
Lisa seemed okay at first—weird, but okay. She had dark brown hair the color of chocolate and big blue eyes, and I could totally see why my dad was into her, looks-wise at least. She did sit-ups next to the bed and watched me work for a while, but she didn’t try and make conversation beyond directing where things went.
Then she got chatty.
‘‘You have a great figure, Sandy. Do you work out?’’
‘‘Brandie,’’ I said.
‘‘What?’’
‘‘My name is Brandie.’’
‘‘That’s nice. So do you?’’
‘‘Do I what?’’
‘‘Do you work out?’’
Lisa was maybe a size two. Half the clothes I’d unpacked so far had been spandex.
‘‘I take gym at school,’’ I said, halfheartedly trying to bond. I was pretty sure she’d go away when the spell did, but my dad wouldn’t have been the first guy to have a midlife crisis, and Lisa sure looked like one.
‘‘I always work out at least two hours a day,’’ Lisa said disapprovingly. ‘‘You should, too, you know. Don’t worry, it’s never too late to start.’’
Scratch bonding. I longed for the arrival of Dave.
Sure enough, Lisa woke me up at 5 a.m. to do aerobics with her in front of the ridiculously huge mirror she’d inherited from her mother. She’d set it up in the basement in what had been the TV room, along with a full set of weights and an exercise mat. The couch had been moved against the wall so we had more room to move.
Elliott came down at seven and found me with my head in my sweat-soaked hands at the kitchen table. He had slept in his own bed, having snuck back into his own room the night before while I’d been at dinner.
‘‘Is the coast clear?’’ he whispered.
I nodded without looking up. Mags had left strict instructions not to be awakened before noon, and Lisa had gone to yoga.
‘‘Are you okay?’’
‘‘No,’’ I said. ‘‘That Lisa is crazy.’’
‘‘What do you mean?’’
I tried to raise my head. Too much effort. I settled on turning my head to the side and letting it loll. ‘‘She’s a loon, a wacko, a certifiable nut job who’s had some sort of mutation reaction from too many Slim-Fast bars and too much spandex.’’
Elliott poured himself a bowl of cereal and some milk. I swung my arm around and fished a spoon out of the silverware drawer to hand to him.
‘‘What’d she do to you?’’ he said, munching.
‘‘What didn’t she do?’’ I said. ‘‘Jumping jacks and running in place and push-ups and sit-ups and these weird dance moves that supposedly worked muscles I didn’t know we had. And the longer we were at it, the more competitive she got. I started hyperventilating at one point and she laughed. I swear to god. And what’s weird is I think the mirror was laughing too.’’
Elliott nodded sagely. ‘‘She’s a bad guy, all right.’’
‘‘Gee, you think?’’
There was silence but for the clink of Elliott’s spoon against the bowl.
‘‘Hey Brandie,’’ Elliott said after a while.
I opened a single eye. ‘‘Yeah?’’ He was looking over my head at something.
‘‘Have you looked out the window this morning?’’
‘‘No.’’
‘‘Maybe you should.’’
I dragged myself over to the window.
Mrs. Amueller, my ninth grade English teacher, was on the front lawn facing off against seven of the younger neighborhood kids. It looked like there was going to be a rumble.
I’d Googled fairy tales last night before bed and had a better handle on my plots now.
‘‘I’m guessing what we have here is a standoff between my fairy godmother and the seven dwarves,’’ I said. I went back to the table and put my head down again.
‘‘Just tell them to keep Lisa away from me,’’ I said, and fell asleep.
It was Saturday, so we didn’t have school. Elliott set up a lemonade stand in the front yard and called some of his school friends to come over and watch the show.
I spent the morning and early afternoon locked in my room trying to read, but I couldn’t concentrate. Around two, I unlocked the door and tried to open it, but it was barred from the other side. Unbelievable. I pushed the screen out of the window and climbed down the drainpipe instead.
‘‘Brandie,’’ Elliott called, and motioned me over to the little seating area he’d set up in the bushes. His buddies grunted admiring hellos, and I figured he must have told them I was responsible for the mayhem they’d come to see.
I figured DAVE should be getting here soon, and I could do worse than hang with the rugrats until he showed. Elliott offered me some lemonade free of charge.
I sipped and studied the playing field. Three of the kids lay in a stunned puppy pile over by the sidewalk, early victims. The remaining four had put up a patio furniture barricade and were defending their position with water pistols, spitballs, and slingshots.
Mrs. Amueller had always hated spitballs.
‘‘So these guys are all supposed to sweep in and make your life better?’’ Elliott asked a little skeptically.
‘‘Theoretically,’’ I said, as Mrs. Amueller took out yet another rugrat with a well-aimed shoe. She had a sort of boomerang-throw thing going that I attributed to magic run amuck. Shoes had a habit of taking on undue significance in fairy tales.
The remaining three kids didn’t stand a chance. I hoped that didn’t mean I was going to the prom next week in a pumpkin coach, although I was more
in favor of that than of taking on seven more kids as full-time babysitting charges. Somehow I didn’t see cooking and cleaning for seven short males as the pleasure cruise it was made out to be; one was hard enough.
A green Volkswagen Beetle pulled up and parked on the street. Now that’s a car, I thought.
A tall, thin guy in Dockers and a button-down shirt got out of the car and walked our way. I hoped this was our repair guy, excuse, me, I meant Mobile Customer Service Representative.
‘‘Hi,’’ I said when he got close enough. ‘‘Look out!’’
He picked a spitball out of his hair with aplomb. ‘‘Hi!’’ he said, and I winced. Then, ‘‘I’m Dave,’’ completely exclamation free.
‘‘Thank God,’’ I said. ‘‘Can you fix this?’’
He surveyed the carnage in my front yard. ‘‘This isn’t what you had in mind?’’ he asked, deadpan.
‘‘Not so much,’’ I said.
A spandex-clad Lisa came to the front door with a basket of apples, and waved one in my general direction. ‘‘Natural fruit sugars!’’ she called. ‘‘They’ll help cleanse you!’’
I looked at Dave. ‘‘Help me,’’ I said.
It was simple enough after that. There was another bubble form to fill out, another patented spell-delivery system to light, and then a couple of forms to sign.
‘‘They’ll all wander home pretty soon,’’ Dave said, indicating the thoroughly confused teacher and children now looking around themselves in confusion. One of the kids kept shooting spitballs even without the spell driving him. I squinted. That was Billy Pendergast. He always had been a pain in the butt.
‘‘I’m sorry to say I can’t offer you a refund,’’ Dave continued as I handed him back his pen. He capped it and returned it to his shirt pocket. ‘‘But I can offer you an exchange. Any spell in our catalog.’’
I considered it. Lisa had disappeared from the doorway. I figured she was looking around at our horrible carb-filled house and packing her bags. Dave walked with me back toward the house. ‘‘Just to be sure,’’ he said.
Mags appeared in the doorway, and called me over. I left Dave with Elliott. ‘‘I feel terrible about this, hon, but I don’t know what I was thinking bringing the girls over here and promising we’d stay. I can’t possibly move them into this neighborhood. It’s a war zone. Do you think your dad will be horribly upset?’’
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