Bras & Broomsticks

by Sarah Mlynowski

  Uh-oh. I realize there is another problem as soon as I step into the hallway. These wooden heels are high. Now that my rhythm isn’t quite perfect, I shudder when I think about what these stilettos will do to my balance.

  I’m just about to fall flat on my face when I feel a strong arm around my waist. Raf. “You look amazing,” he says, beaming. Obviously, he wasn’t watching the all-girls dance. He was probably backstage changing and has yet to hear about my disastrous performance.

  Oh, no. I forgot about the pimple. He’s looking right at the pimple. I am a hideous, catastrophic freak.

  “Ready to knock their socks off?” he says.

  I’m more concerned about knocking him off the catwalk. “Yup,” I say, shielding my nose with my hand.

  I wobble backstage. I can do this. It’s slow. Slow and romantic. I can do this. As long as I don’t trip over my own feet, I can do this.

  When the Moulin Rouge song starts, the twenty of us are in proper position. Then the ten boys strut down the catwalk, and we follow. I wobble, but make it to my spot in front of Raf. Woo-hoo! I made it! He twirls me, and then we do our sexy moves. Well, he does the sexy moves, and I try to look sexy, but I guarantee I am coming across as wooden and therefore unsexy. This is confirmed when Raf whispers, “Relax,” during our dip. His lips are only an inch from my face. And then he asks, “Are you okay?”

  This is not the romantic moment I’ve been waiting for my entire life.

  I nod and try very hard to remain focused. Once that part of the dance is done, I breathe a huge sigh of relief. Yes! Now all I have to do is make it off the catwalk and back to the stage.

  Couple by couple, we walk to the stage in two lines. We’re the last ones in line, Jewel and Sean right in front of us.

  And that’s when it happens.

  I step on the back of Jewel’s dress. I told her the dress was too long.

  She goes down fast. And then, like dominoes, so do Melissa, Doree, Stephy, and the entire line of girls in front. One of the sophomores lands in the Eiffel Tower and beheads it.

  The set designers scream from offstage.

  The entire audience gasps.

  Dazed, Stephy looks around, rubbing her elbow. Doree’s bun is undone and a mess. Melissa rubs the back of her head.

  Omigod. Omigod. Omigod.

  I send Miri a desperate look, silently begging her to make the stage swallow me up, but her head is in her hands.

  Omigod. Omigod. Omigod.

  The music continues playing, but no one moves. They’re all glaring at me. Eventually, the music stops and we shuffle silently offstage. Raf won’t even look at me. He’ll obviously never talk to me again. I destroyed the entire show.

  As soon as we’re offstage, Melissa, Jewel, Doree, and Stephy circle me like sharks. I can hear Will making MC cracks about bringing France to its knees.

  “What the hell were you doing out there?” Melissa yells. “You ruined everything.”

  There’s a golf ball in my throat. “I’m sorry.”

  Jewel just shakes her head.

  “I’ll skip the closing,” I say. “So I won’t do any more damage.”

  “No way,” Doree says, waving both her hands. “We need you in the closing. The freshman segment is only twenty seconds, and it’ll look stupid without all of us. But wear your sneakers instead of the stilettos so you don’t ruin that number too.”

  “Idiot,” Melissa snorts. “Loser.”

  Unfortunately, along with my talent, my designer sneakers have disappeared. So against my better judgment, I change into my all-black outfit and beaten-up black boots.

  I’m sitting on the toilet seat, silently bawling my eyes out in the same bathroom stall Miri and I visited earlier. I am never coming out. Ever. Well, at least not until everyone has left the building.

  Melissa was right when she called me an idiot. How much worse can it get? I thought. How could anything beat decapitating the tower and everyone laughing at me?

  It got worse.

  After I changed into my black pants and tank top, I got into position. But when the entire cast was supposed to be in sync, I sashayed the wrong way. I swerved at the wrong time. I turned at the wrong time. I was a total mess. But wait. That part wasn’t the horrible part.

  Since the bows were right after the closing number, I had to wait onstage (while all the freshmen and sophomores gave me poisonous looks) as Will called each person’s name in alphabetical order. He called out the entire cast, and of course, the audience cheered and screamed and rushed the stage to give their loved ones bouquets. And then he announced, “Rachel Weinstein!”

  No one cheered. Or maybe someone did, but I couldn’t hear because of all the laughter. I walked to the front of the catwalk like I was supposed to, only to find that no one, nadie, was waiting to hand me flowers. Not even my parents, although I could hardly blame them. They likely had other issues on their minds.

  And then, before I could run off the stage in humiliation, Will called, “London Zeal!” the final name in the show, and she strutted down the catwalk, waving at the audience like a queen and grabbing her bouquets.

  That’s when I tripped on my own two feet, fell into London, and knocked myself, her, and all her flowers off the stage.

  And heard the sickening crack.

  “My leg! You walking disaster!”

  That was her screaming, not me.

  She shrieked again and then hit me on the head with a rose. I apologized profusely before bailing out of there like a convict on the lam.

  I’ve been in this bathroom stall for forty minutes and through the door have had to endure the worst kind of berating, since no one knew I was here and they ripped into me freely. Not that I expected any mercy, after what I did. Melissa called me a loser, Doree said she would never talk to me again, and when I heard Stephy say that London was carted off in an ambulance, I fully lost it. I had to flush repeatedly so no one would hear me crying. No one’s come into the bathroom in the past ten minutes, but I’m still not ready to come out.

  I’m going to have to transfer to another high school immediately. Unless the news of this disaster has spread to every school in the tristate area, in which case I might have to be home-schooled or convince my mother to move with me to Iowa. Although now she probably hates me too, so she’ll most likely ship me off to boarding school.

  Needless to say, I am not looking forward to going home. If only there were somewhere else I could go. I can’t even escape to my dad’s, since I’ve just ruined his life. STB’s life, too. Prissy will have to be in therapy for the rest of hers. Tammy hates me. There is no way Raf will ever talk to me again, never mind take me to Spring Fling.

  I will never again be A-list. I’ve been permanently demoted to the L-list. As in Loser.

  Someone enters the bathroom and takes the stall next to mine. I try to stop crying. I recognize the pointy-toe shoes under the stall. Jewel’s shoes.

  “Jewel,” I murmur. Jewel was my best friend for so long. She’ll know what I should do. She won’t dump me now in my time of need.

  “Rachel?” She flushes and opens her door.

  “Is anyone else out there?” I whisper.

  “Just me.”

  I venture out and, again, burst into tears. I’m like a broken water fountain.

  She’s fingering her still-straight hair, which is starting to frizz at the tips. “Um . . . don’t cry. Everything will be okay.” I want her to pat me on the back or something, but she keeps fidgeting with her hair.

  Then I get an idea. I don’t have to go home. When I used to get into fights with my mom, I would just go sleep at Jewel’s. “Do you think I could sleep over tonight? This has been, like, the worst day ever.”

  She takes a step back. “Tonight? Actually, I’m going to Mercedes’ tonight. For a cast party? Maybe another time.”

  I look her in the eye. “But I need you now.”

  She backs out of the bathroom. “I can’t,” she says, a little sadly. The door swings c
losed behind her.

  And just like that, she dumps me. Again. I don’t know what to do with myself, so I walk to the mirror and stare at my reflection. A cast party. Nice.

  I’ve stopped crying, but my makeup is a mess, my pimple is screaming, and my hair is all over the place. The ocean has been through a nasty storm. I’ve gone from superstar to social leper in less than four hours. I’ve lost my best friend, again, as well as my almost-boyfriend.

  I take a deep breath and leave my refuge. My mother and sister are waiting for me, leaning against the wall in the hallway. I try to read the expression on my mom’s face. It ain’t looking happy. Super. Just what I need. To get yelled at.

  She puts her arm around my shoulder and hugs me.

  I start crying all over again.

  When we get home, all I want to do is crawl under my covers and never come out, but my mom says, somewhat ominously, “Come to the kitchen. I want to talk to both of you.”

  Miri and I sit and stay silent while my mom makes and then pours herself a cup of tea. She sits at the table and shakes her head. “What you two did was cruel. Cruel to your father, cruel to Jennifer—”

  “But she isn’t good enough for him,” I interrupt.

  She silences me with her hand. “I know you two don’t like her, but who your father marries is not for you to decide. But not only were you cruel to them, you were cruel to me. Do you have any idea of the hurt you caused?”

  “We were trying to help you,” Miri says, sniffing.

  “Help me? You thought making me think that your father was in love with me again would help me?” She shakes her head and takes a sip of tea from her I♥NY mug. “It took me two years to get over him. When he left, I was a mess. I cried myself to sleep every single night.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Miri says softly, her eyes filling with tears. Mine do the same.

  “I was trying to be strong for you girls. I was so crazy about him, and then suddenly he announced that he didn’t feel the same. I didn’t even try to get him to change his mind. I figured what was the point? You can’t make someone feel something he doesn’t want to feel. So I did my best to make a life for myself. To care about my career and to raise you two without him. And soon I found that I was able to fall asleep at night without crying. Slowly, I got over him. Gave away the hope I’d been clinging to.”

  Gave away the sweatshirt, I realize.

  She smiles sadly. “I began to see what the marriage had really been like. The way he used to work late every night and not be there for me—or for you. The way he always put himself first. My unhappiness led to anger, but in time that faded too. I realized that he wasn’t solely to blame. When we were married, I never told him how I felt. I used to be so quiet and meek. Maybe if I’d been stronger . . . if I’d spoken up . . .” She shakes her head. “Would have, could have, should have,” she intones, as if casting a spell. “I’ve moved on, and so has he. I’ve grown stronger, become more confident. And he’s changed too. He’s not so self-absorbed.”

  Miri rolls her eyes, and my mom laughs. “Okay, so maybe he has farther to go than I do, but you have to admit, he’s trying.” Her face turns solemn. “Part of me will always love him—but not in that way. That’s gone.” She points an accusatory finger at us. “But you two! Just as I was starting to feel happy again, really happy, he reappears in my life, claiming to love me again. And then I find out that it’s all fake. . . . All the pain came back, and it hurt.”

  “We thought you wanted him to love you,” I say through a constricted throat.

  “If I valued a relationship based on love that was fake, love that was an illusion, don’t you think I would have cast a love spell myself?”

  Oh. Miri and I both slump in our chairs.

  “I’m a witch, remember?” she continues. “When your father left me, I could have cast a spell to make him stay. But I didn’t. Because that’s not the kind of love I want.” And then she stands up and puts her mug in the sink.

  My cheeks burn with shame. After the way I made a fool of myself onstage, you’d think I’d be used to the feeling by now, but I’m not. Self-absorbed. That’s me, all right. Miri got Mom’s witchcraft, and I got Dad’s self-absorption. If there’s an S-list, sign me up.

  Stupid list.

  Shame list.

  I’ve used everyone—Mom, Dad, Miri, and even STB—to get what I thought I wanted. Only, what I thought I wanted is worthless. Fake friends. Fake love. Because love that’s not voluntary isn’t love at all.

  For the first time ever, even though her nails are gross and her roots are a mess, and even though she doesn’t date, I wish I could be more like my mother. Wise. Powerful.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry, Miri.” My eyes fill with tears. Again. “How am I going to fix this?”

  Miri shrugs. “Dad went home to apologize to STB, but I doubt she’ll take him back. I don’t know how to fix it either.”

  I put my head in my hands, and my mother runs her fingers through my disheveled hair. “I don’t know if this is something you can fix,” she says.

  And I know she’s not talking about my hair.

  22

  SHAKE THAT BOOTY

  Instead of sleeping, I plan. And drink instant coffee. Lots of instant coffee. It’s no iced caramel macchiato, but it does the trick.

  I wake Miri up at seven. “Here’s what we’re doing. I am going on the 8:22 train to Port Washington to convince STB to take Dad back. Until then I’m calling the one hundred and eight friends and family members on that e-mail list to tell them that the wedding is back on. Assuming that they’re mostly couples, that’s fifty-four phone calls at forty seconds each. Should take me thirty-six minutes. Meanwhile, you’ll shower and call the hired help beginning at nine. I’ve allotted you three minutes a call to speak to and plead with the sixteen essential service people. Altogether it should take you forty-eight minutes. Tell them that the wedding is still on. If any of them give you a hard time, call me at Dad’s at ten and I’ll start banging on doors. Got it?”

  She jumps out of bed, looking relieved and amazed. “Wow. Your brain is like a magical calculator. So you’ll fix it?”

  “I’ll try,” I say, even though I have no idea how. Hmm. Maybe math is my superpower. Maybe I’ll quiz STB on various equations until she breaks down and forgives him. Nah. I’d be better off threatening to start biting my fingernails. Of course, I still have to find my dad, and no one seems to have a clue where he is. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.

  “Rachel,” my mom says, poking her head through the doorway. She’s wearing her usual charm of an outfit that’s sure to pick up the men: T-shirt, green-striped sleep shorts, and white sweat socks. “Can I talk to you girls for a second?”

  We nod, and she sits on Miri’s desk. “You know I don’t believe we should use magic to play with people’s emotions. I believe that everyone should be allowed to feel real emotions.”

  Yes, Mom, we know, we know. I glance at my watch.

  “But I think that ST—” She clears her throat. “I mean, Jennifer, is probably suffering from some emotional trauma right now, and I feel partly to blame. After all, the powers did come from me. And Miri, I should have realized that despite your maturity, you’re just a child, and that of course you would want to explore and play with your powers.” She hands me a spray bottle. “That said, I want you to use this on your future stepmother.”

  Huh? “You want me to clean her?”

  She shakes her head. “Last night I made a spell for you . . . and worked a little magic on the wedding band, caterer, and all the nonguest cancellations that took place.”

  Miri claps. “My job just got loads easier!”

  “Yes, but this doesn’t mean I condone the use of magic for any future problems,” my mom goes on, wagging her finger at Miri. “In fact I hope this experience has taught you that every spell has a consequence.” She closes her eyes for a second, looking pained. I wonder what she’s thinking about. “In this case,” s
he continues, opening her eyes, “we can make an exception. After all, magic got us into this mess.”

  “And this will get us out?” I ask, pointing at the bottle.

  ”It’s not complicated,” my mom explains. “All you have to do is spray it at Jennifer’s chest. It’s a heart-reversal potion.”

  Yes! Miri and I throw our arms around her frail shoulders. “You’re the best!” I tell her.

  “I know,” she says, smiling.

  Fifty-four phone calls, lots of hasty explaining, and one train ride later, I arrive at the house on Long Island. I ring the doorbell and get into firing position. It’s freezing. Why is it so cold today? It’s already April!

  I hear footsteps, the door opens, I’m ready to spray . . .

  My father and STB are holding hands.

  Oh. Well. “Hi,” I say, for lack of anything better.

  “Hi, honey,” my dad says. “We made up.”

  So I see. STB, still in her low-cut bathrobe, is smiling broadly. I follow them into the living room and close the door behind me. “When did you get here?” I ask my dad.

  “After the show. I spent all night pleading and begging Jennifer to forgive me for my cold feet.”

  I spot what appear to be at least ten dozen long-stem red roses in vases on the dining room table. I’m sure those didn’t hurt my father’s cause either.

  STB pats my dad’s bald spot. “The ranting at the rehearsal dinner was a case of temporary insanity.”

  “I should have had a bachelor party to get the craziness out of my system,” he jokes.

  She casts a warning glance at my father. “Don’t get any ideas, Daniel. Your bachelor days are over. You’d better be on your best behavior for the rest of your life because you’re on permanent probation.” He kisses her on the cheek and she blushes. Then she turns back to me. “Rachel, don’t tell me you’ve dragged slush in from outside. Has no one ever taught you to take off your shoes before entering someone’s house?”

  Hmm. If I spray this potion all over her exposed cleavage, will her heart get reversed again?