The 11

by Kim Tomsic

  Dad ignored that. “You’ll have fun at that study group.” He sounded hopeful and like he was trying to assure me, which told me my upbeat tone hadn’t fooled him into thinking I wasn’t nervous.

  I looked down at the crumbs on the table. “I know. I should probably get ready soon.”

  “How about we make a deal. I’ll clean up tonight so you can get ready, and you and Piper can do the dishes tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Purrrfect,” I said, my tongue trilling the r without my control.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing. Perfect. I said perfect.” My voice came out shaky. “Thanks, um, excuse me.” I pushed my chair away from the table and hustled up to my shared bathroom, shutting the door and peering in the mirror. Did I really just purr like a cat . . . again?

  CHAPTER

  18

  I stared in the bathroom mirror and mouthed “perfect,” over and over. “Perfect. Perfect.” I’d made the same purr in the hallway at school. “The Perfections. The Perfections.” Again, nothing.

  Obviously, my subconscious was in hyperdrive about cats because of that clock. I shook my head. “Stop acting ridiculous, Megan.” What I really needed to worry about was being impressive at Rhena’s house. What would I talk about there?

  I undressed and climbed into the shower. The label on the Pantene bottle read, “Lather, rinse, repeat.” Nobody’d ever taught me how many times to repeat, and I didn’t know why middle school made me suddenly start reading shampoo instructions. I scrubbed my hair twice (just to be sure), then dried and wrapped a towel around my body. In my bedroom, I yanked the door and shades closed, let the towel fall to the floor, and grabbed a pair of pink sport shorts from the dresser.

  The magazine went berserk, twizzling and flapping pages.

  I snatched up the towel, hugging it close to my naked body.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  Enchanted Teen fell from the desk, glossy pages sprawled open on the floor.

  I stooped to pick it up, not quite trusting it and careful to hold on by the edges. It had landed open to an article titled “What Not to Wear to Live a Life with Flair.” I shook my head and said, “What not to wear, does anyone care?”

  Electric shocks ripped through my fingertips. “Ouch! Dang it.” I tossed the magazine onto the bed. “Look, we need to work out an understanding. You wouldn’t exist without my wish, so how about being a little nicer to me.”

  Nothing.

  “I’m not using your trickster magic again,” I said, digging through my shorts and tossing one pair after another in a pile next to the moving boxes on my floor, until suddenly the magazine flicked out a stream of sparks and purple glitter, urging me to choose the shorts in my hand.

  “Okay. Holy geez, you’re bossy.” I slipped on undies, a pair of jean shorts, a bra, and my rose-colored peace-symbol T-shirt. Piper had once complimented it, so it must be at least somewhat stylish. I looked in the mirror—cute. Maybe the magazine could be helpful, as long as I didn’t use it for magical makeovers. I carried it to the bathroom, where I brushed my shoulder-length hair, trying to calm the frizz factor. The pages opened to an article titled “Five Fabulous Hairdos.”

  “Nope,” I said. “Not touching you.”

  “Hi.” Piper slid through the door. “Who ya talking to?”

  “Nothing. No one.” I dropped a towel over the magazine. “I’m just getting ready for that study get-together.”

  “Awesome that you were invited.” Piper opened a drawer and grabbed a ponytail holder. She wove it through her hair, making a cute messy-bun. “Want me to do your hair?”

  “No, thanks. I think I can handle it.”

  “Okeydoke.” She looked at me, sizing me up like a hairdresser would. “You know, your smooth hair looked awesome for school today, but you also have really cute natural curls. You should play up your wave. Are you sure I can’t help?”

  “Fine.” I shrugged. “Thanks.”

  She kicked out a stool from between the sinks. “Here.”

  She gave me a side part and took mousse from our drawer, squirting foam into her hand and expertly working it through my wet hair. Then she opened a drawer and found the new blow-dryer and diffuser. “Nice! Where’d we get this?” She turned the T-10 in her hands.

  I coughed and looked at my fingernails. “Um . . . I’m not exactly sure.”

  Piper placed the diffuser on the end of the T-10 and turned it on, scrunching my ends until the curls livened up.

  “Thanks, Piper.” I turned my head from side to side. “I’ll let the rest dry on my walk over.”

  “You look great, and you’re going to have fun, you know?” Piper looked at me in the way Mom used to when she was worried.

  “Yeah, I’m just nervous.” And with the purring and meowing, I had reasons to be nervous. Maybe motormouthing wasn’t the dorkiest thing you could do in middle school.

  Piper squeezed me in a hug and then skipped out of the bathroom. I grabbed my backpack and headed out the door.

  On the walk to Rhena’s, I was back to worrying about what to talk about once I arrived. Hannah had always been the one to keep conversations interesting when we did group things in Colorado. She was funny, and everyone loved her. Maybe I should be funny. How to Survive Middle School said so. I continued down the sidewalk, took out my phone, and Googled “funny things to say.” Only one-liners popped up, but they all had to do with politics and other boring jokes, so I stuck my phone back into my pocket and practiced conversation openers instead. “Hi. Hey. How do you do”—ugh—this was tough.

  The sun still blazed at six thirty when I arrived at the large iron gate blocking the entrance to Rhena’s neighborhood.

  Palm trees and flowers with bright pink blooms decorated the center island of the street. White oleander bushes lined the sidewalk where a smaller gate also had a keypad. Enormous houses were on the other side. I looked at my text message to be sure I hadn’t missed receiving the gate code. Nope. I typed a message to Rhena.

  Me: Hey! What’s the code to your gate?

  Her answer popped up within seconds.

  Rhena: Who is this??

  Um.

  I typed, “Megan Meyers.”

  Rhena: I’m confused. Why do you need my gate code?

  A sick feeling seeped into my stomach.

  Me: For the history study group.

  Minutes ticked by. I stood on the sidewalk waiting, sweating, melting. A gray cat stepped out of the bushes and rubbed his soft fur against my leg.

  “Hey, cutie.” I bent down and scratched its head.

  Just then an SUV loaded with Team Rhena rolled up to the gate. Its sides had professionally printed car decals and window stickers that read, “Vote Rhena! Spirit Week!”

  The mom driving punched digits on the keypad, and I angled my back toward the group, but not before I caught sight of Yoona squished shoulder to shoulder with the others.

  I clicked my phone screen back on. Still no reply from Rhena.

  I could have dashed inside when the gate opened, but the uneasy feeling continued growing; a feeling like I’d been sucker punched.

  My phone finally vibrated.

  Rhena: My bad. I have two Megans in my phone. I texted ur number when I meant to text the other Megan. Meghan with an H. That’s why u accidently got the message. Sorry 4 the trouble.

  I reread the message, realizing I wasn’t going to be walking through that gate. I wouldn’t need any funny lines or conversation openers. I wasn’t going to be part of that study group. “Disappointed” wasn’t even a big enough word to describe me.

  Another car rolled up. I kept staring at my phone screen in disbelief, waiting for an incoming text that would say, “But come on in.”

  It didn’t.

  “Megan! Hey, Megan,” someone called from a car.

  The driver’s window finished unrolling. I saw Mrs. Sinoway first, and then the passenger. Jackson.

  “Ahh, hey.”

  “Are you okay?” Mrs
. Sinoway asked, looking at me with an odd expression.

  “Sure, of course,” I said, my tone ridiculously chirpy.

  Mrs. Sinoway squinted.

  Jackson leaned over his aunt. He gave me a strange look. Shocked, almost. But then he smiled. “Are you going to Rhena’s for the study group?”

  Keep it together. Don’t let him see you’re hurting. “Um, you have Kersey, too?” I managed.

  “Yep. After lunch.”

  A car waiting behind them beeped. Jackson glanced back. “You want to ride with us the rest of the way to Rhena’s?”

  “Oh, I . . . no. Thanks. I’m just on my way home.” A huge lump choked my throat.

  Mrs. Sinoway typed the gate code. Jackson glanced at my backpack. The gate slid open. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve got to run.” Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. I turned and sped down the sidewalk.

  Two days into a new school and I’d already been humiliated. Everyone was probably in Rhena’s house, having a good laugh over seeing me waiting by the gate. Spirit Week was the worst thing that could’ve happened to me. Rhena was being so mean because of some dumb election, and I’d bet any money that she’d have her friends—her Rhenite clan—laughing at me again tomorrow.

  On the walk home, I wiped my eyes and clenched my jaw. The magazine said it could deal with mean girls, and if I was willing to face another cost, I could take Rhena down.

  CHAPTER

  19

  I threw open my front door and crashed into Dad, who was heading out.

  “Whoa, sorry,” he said, then did a double take and smiled. “Well, hey, Lion King. You’re back early.”

  I dropped the heavy backpack from my shoulders, and my voice unleashed the anger meant for Rhena. “Lion King. What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Archie rounded the corner, took one look at me, and then tucked tail and ran up the stairs.

  Huh? I turned back to Dad, crossing one arm over the other. “Well?”

  “Oh?” Dad looked surprised. “I just thought . . . with the hair, you were trying . . . you wanted . . . you know . . .” His voice trailed off. “I’m sorry. I never know what to say to you girls.” He looked down and jingled the change in his pocket. “Listen. I have to get back to the office. I’ll see you in a few hours.” He backed out the door.

  Barett clomped down the stairs, carrying one of Piper’s shirts.

  “See ya, Piper,” she called back toward the kitchen. “Thanks for the loaner.” Barett headed toward the doorway. “See ya, Meg—” She stopped and blinked at me twice before speaking again. “What’s with the hair?”

  “Why?”

  “It has a lot of voltage, if you know what I mean.” She shrugged. “See ya.”

  I reached up and felt a tower of puff. Huh?

  I ran to the bathroom next to the kitchen. “Ahhhhhhk!” I screamed when I got to the mirror. My hair had exploded to four times its normal volume—I looked like I was wearing a lion’s mane.

  Piper was at my side within seconds. “Are you all right? Whoa! I mean, wow. Your hair.”

  “Yeah. My hair. Thanks a lot, Piper, ’cause everybody from school just saw me looking like this.” By everybody, I meant Jackson.

  “Megan, that sucks! Do you think it was the T-10?”

  I gulped. She was right. The T-10 and diffuser had come from the magazine, just like that horrible makeover.

  “But it’s kind of fun. And who cares. You should’ve stayed.”

  I hung my head and walked to the kitchen. Piper followed.

  “That’s not exactly why I’m home early.” I pressed a glass to the icemaker, filling it with cubes and water, then I hopped up onto the kitchen counter and told Piper what had happened with the un-invitation.

  “Are you kidding? That’s awful!” Piper reached over and squeezed my hand. “She can’t get away with this. What a witch!”

  “I know, right? Rhena is so—”

  “Rhena?” Piper released my hand. “She’s my middle school big sister in yearbook club.”

  “Big sister?” Heat rose in my skin.

  “I mean, that’s what they call it in the club. Are you sure it was Rhena? She’s really super-nice.”

  I stared at Piper. “Yes. I’m sure.”

  “But don’t you think there could be a legit excuse, like maybe her parents limited the group size or there wasn’t enough pizza or something?” She searched my face. “Grams would tell us to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

  “I don’t think Grams would say that in this instance.”

  “I’m just saying Rhena’s not like that. Maybe you got confused on the details?”

  “Confused?” Wasn’t Piper supposed to be on my side? “Whatever.” I jumped off the counter and marched up the stairs while Piper called my name. I slammed my bedroom door and dialed Hannah. At least she’d take my side.

  “What’s going on in Boulder?” I said when she answered.

  “Hey! Not much. What’s up with you?”

  It was embarrassing to admit getting uninvited, but I still wanted to talk to her about it and about all the stress I was feeling over pulling off a flashmob in T minus three days. “Well—”

  “Oh, by the way, do you remember Brooke Sutherland?” Hannah asked. “And how we thought she was a big snot last year? We got it all wrong. She’s actually sweet! I had lunch with her today.”

  I sank into the bed.

  Hannah rattled on. “We should’ve hung out with her more last year. She’s really funny.”

  “Yeah, that’s great.” What I really wanted to say was “How could you?”

  “Oh, speaking of which. I have to run. Brooke and I planned to Skype tonight and I’m already a few minutes late.”

  “Don’t go getting a new BFF.” I faked a laugh, but Hannah had already hung up.

  CHAPTER

  20

  In the morning, I added a few notes to my orange Moleskine journal under the costs category. The first line under “UPDATE” had “magazine costs = tricks (i.e., makeover).”

  I wrote in the next line:

  T-10 (from magazine) = hair disaster

  ??? = . . . Purring?

  I dried my hair with a regular blow-dryer and diffuser. My phone dinged.

  Yoona: We on for Wednesday Night Walks tonight?

  Sure, Yoona had been in that car of Rhenites. She probably knew I got uninvited. But she couldn’t be blamed for Rhena.

  Me: Yep! Can’t wait!

  I pushed aside moving boxes, the ones still packed with books and Halloween stuff, and then I dug through my closet for something to wear to school. The magazine flipped and fluttered like a fish on sand.

  “What?” I walked over and crossed my arms, refusing to pick it up.

  It flipped again.

  “No. I’m not interested in your next makeover or ‘free’ gift.” I put air quotes around “free.” “I’m sticking with the clock. Only the clock.” I caught my reflection in the bedroom mirror, the zit on my chin still there but clearing up. “And you know what else. I should wish that Rhena’s hair fritzes into a ’fro and pimples pile on her nose and chin.”

  The magazine did a backflip, but Marlo Bee’s cover photo changed from a smile to a frown.

  “What?” I said, looking at Marlo Bee’s eyes. “You can’t be mad. When I first opened this magazine, the card you gave me said, ‘If you’ve got a dilemma, we’ve got your back.’ Remember? Well, Rhena’s a dilemma. What are you going to do about it?”

  A cold chill zipped through the room and rushed up my spine. The magazine pushed open past the fashion week pages and the stuck pages and settled on an article titled “How to Deal with Mean Girls.”

  I carefully picked up Enchanted Teen by the edges and leaned in to read the small print. The line below the title had words running together in nonsensical gibberish. “BabbleGabbleCrinoseFlibbertigibbetFlapdoodleSingultusCacographyPalabra.”

  “Is this supposed to be a spell, like saying ‘abracadabra’?�
� I reread the line. How could this possibly stop a mean girl?

  I paused for a moment, reconsidering whether I actually wanted to get Rhena back. Nothing good had come from the magazine so far, and Rhena didn’t feel worth the risk. Plus, revenge wasn’t my style. “No thanks.” I fanned the pages. “I don’t trust you not to throw me under the bus again.”

  A thick card with sparks of glitter fell from the magazine and dropped to the floor. I picked it up. A perfume sample. The advertisement read, “Peppermint Wish, a Parfum de Cataire scent for girls who want to exude cool.” Bold letters on the scented flaps read:

  Open Here to Unleash the Magic.

  Friends Are Sure to Follow.

  “Like I said, no thanks. Probably more tricks.” I shoved the perfume sample back between the pages and dropped the magazine on my desktop next to my backpack. I wouldn’t touch it again. The clock was my only safe bet. It had given me the snow cost-free.

  Enchanted Teen had been the problem causer. Right? I reconsidered the hypothesis I’d written in my orange journal—specific wishes on the clock are safe. Unspecific wishes cause problems. This had to be accurate. In fact, maybe specific and unspecific wishes in magic were like stable and unstable atoms—with stable atoms, all is well, but with unstable atoms, the energy is radioactive.

  All I had to do to keep the magic in check was stick to clear and concise wishes on the clock, so that on Friday—T minus two days—I’d have stable magic from the clock to nail the perfect flashmob plan. I pushed the magazine to the far corner of my desk and decided not to touch it again.

  I slid open the desk drawer, searching for bubblegum—my backup plan in case my knuckles wouldn’t pop at eleven-eleven. I scooped up two pieces of strawberry Hubba Bubba and stuffed them into my pocket.

  Popping supplies, done. Clothing, hmmm. Ditching the full makeover was a no-brainer, and I’d keep my standard ponytail, but looking cute had felt nice, so I grabbed a pillow and headed to Piper’s room.

  Piper sat in front of her mirror with her laptop open to Style Rookie’s blog. I would have tossed the pillow at her head, but she was clasping a sparkly clip in her hair.