Frogs & French Kisses #2 (24 page)

The room is silent. Please don’t tell me we’re going to be short by seven hundred dollars!

Come on, Amy, you’re the worst soc member ever! Can’t you at least buy the purse?

And that’s when a paddle goes up in the back of the room. “Two thousand dollars,” the person says in a familiar voice. Who is it?

All of us backstage are in shock. Is it possible?

“Two thousand going once. Twice. Sold to the blond woman in the back!”

I step on tiptoe and see Jennifer waving at me. Oh my God!

As soon as the crowd begins to disperse, I run right up to my stepmom. “I can’t believe you bought it.”

“Why not? It’s gorgeous and a fantastic deal. It’s a limited edition, you know. I’m already on the waiting list at Henri Bendel. Plus, because I bought it here, it’s tax deductible.”

“But how did you know that we needed two thousand dollars?”

She shows me a notepad that’s covered in numbers. “I was keeping track. You said you needed to raise fourteen thousand, right? So that’s what you had left.”

“Wow” is all I can say.

“I was an accountant before I had Prissy, you know.”

I didn’t, actually.

She pays for her purchase and then waves good-bye.

“We did it!” Will says, picking me up and spinning me around. “We raised fourteen thousand dollars! Prom is going to be amazing. And it’s all because of you, Rachel. This auction was your idea.”

He puts me down and looks into my eyes. “I really love you,” he says.

And you know what I wish? At this moment, what I wish more than anything is that I never used the love spell. I wish that his words were real.

All anyone can talk about for the next two days is prom, prom, prom. It’s on! After school on Tuesday, Tammy and I go shopping to get her a dress and me some shoes. When I get home, I spend an hour walking around the apartment, hoping to break in my new two-inch heels. At least neither my mom nor my sister is around to make fun of me: Miri is locked in her room doing God knows what (she’d better not be ignoring her schoolwork), and my mom is out as usual.
Not
that we’re talking. When she arrives home at nine, looking tired and out of it, she zaps her shoes off and goes straight to bed. I go to bed less than an hour later, counting the hours (forty-four!) till prom.

By the time I get home on Wednesday, I can barely contain my excitement. I slip on my new heels right away to continue breaking them in. When I hear my mom’s television, my good mood convinces me that it’s time to make amends.

I hop over to her room. The door is ajar, and I gently push it all the way open. I find her in her bed, surrounded by a huge mess. Clothes and food cartons are piled on the sheets, and the room stinks like an ashtray.

“Are you sick?” I ask.

She shakes her head but doesn’t move. I sneak over to her bedside and see that her bed isn’t the only thing that’s a mess. Her hair is in knots, her skin looks pasty, and her nails have been bitten down to the quick. I immediately climb into bed beside her, pushing over a wrinkled cashmere sweater. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” she says, and zaps on the light. “It’s the men. I’ve gone on all these dates, and I know they all like me, but I don’t really like them. Do you want some cheesecake?” she asks, and then zaps one up. “Or pie?” and then zaps that up too. “I want a cappuccino.” Cappuccino appears on a tray on her bed. “Never mind. I think I want a cup of tea.” The cappuccino is replaced. “Or maybe—”

“Stop. Just stop,” I say. “Are you feeling okay?”

She shrugs. “Actually, I’m a little depressed.”

No kidding. “Why don’t you go fix yourself up?”

Mom nods and does a little waving thing with her hand.

“No!” I say, sternly grabbing hold of her wrist. “I meant, take a bath.”

She blinks. “Oh. But it’s easier this way.”

“I know it’s easier. But a bath feels good.”

She considers the possibility and decides to do it. As my mom runs her bath, I start cleaning up her room. A sweater here, a jacket there . . . What is all this stuff? Why did she zap it all up? Because it was easy? Maybe that’s why she’s so depressed. When you get what you want so easily, it doesn’t mean anything.

Like an empty I-love-you, I realize sadly.

After I finish cleaning, I check on Miri, who looks equally exhausted. She’s sitting on her floor, surrounded by three binders with labels:
Saving the Whales, Bushfires,
and a new one,
The Evil Circus.

Another head case. But one problem family member at a time. “Mom is having a crisis,” I say.

At first she looks confused, and I’m worried she’s going to say “Mom who?” but then the clouds clear and she says, “What’s wrong with her?”

Do these people live in the same house? I’m beginning to wonder if anyone pays attention besides me. “Just back me up,” I say. And a half hour later, when we hear the bath draining, Miri and I are waiting on my mom’s bed.

“What’s going on?” my mom asks.

“This is an intervention,” I say. “Mom, you shouldn’t be using magic at all if you can’t use it in moderation.”

“But I . . . ,” she begins, and then trails off. She sinks onto her bed. “I can’t believe this is happening. Again.”

Huh? “Excuse me?”

“This is why I stopped using magic. Why I became a nonpracticing witch. When I was a kid, your aunt and grandmother and I used magic for everything. Clothes, tests, school, boys, friends. But I was never happy. Nothing meant anything. And it wasn’t just me. My mom and sister were never truly happy either. So I decided I would stop using magic. Just stop. In college, I studied for my own exams, bought my own clothes, and met my own boyfriend. Your father. And it made me happier.”

“Not for long,” Miri says. “He left you. It didn’t work out.”

“If I hadn’t married your father, I wouldn’t have had the two of you. I wouldn’t trade my situation for anything in the world. I’m not saying everything was perfect, but I experienced life.”

“I get it,” I say. “Keep going.”

My mom takes a deep breath. “When your grandmother saw how at peace I was, she decided to do the same. We both realized that our powers were more of a curse than a blessing. We vowed that we would never use magic again. Of course, when Sasha realized what we were doing . . . when I let it happen . . . when I didn’t use magic even when . . .” She chokes up, and tears spill over her cheeks.

I lean toward her. Is she finally going to tell us why she doesn’t speak to Aunt Sasha? “When what happened?”

She shakes her head.

I guess not.

“I should have realized that this would happen this time,” my mom says finally. “That I couldn’t just dip my toe in. That it’s not in my nature. I can’t live like this. I have to quit.” She nods slowly. “Cold turkey.”

“Are you sure you need to cut it all out?” Miri asks.

“Yes,” she says. “I didn’t plan on being so extreme this time. But I’m an all-or-nothing kind of witch. I’m sorry, girls.”

I hug my mother tightly. “I promise to support you any way I can. We both do. Right, Miri?”

But my sister is already lost in her own thoughts. I elbow her in the ribs, and she quickly snaps out of it and nods. “What? Oh, yeah, I’ll support you. But I don’t have to give it up too, do I? I have a lot of stuff I need to take care of. Important stuff.”

“We all have to do what we all have to do,” my mom says. “It’s your decision.”

Miri looks relieved. “Good. Because I’m still working on that rain spell for California. And, Rachel, I just found out that the circus is in town, and I absolutely have to take care of that first. Do you think—”

How insensitive is she? “Miri, I think Mom has enough to be concerned about without worrying about your next scheme.” I mean, come on. Do you smoke a cigarette right in front of someone who’s trying to quit? I give my sister my best stop-being-an-idiot eyebrow lift and say, “Why don’t we get Mom into bed and make her dinner?”

“But I’m really—”

I give her my don’t-mess-with-me look.

“Oh, okay.”

My mom touches my cheek. “When did you become so mature?”

Mature? Me? “Good question.”

After we tuck her in, make dinner, and clean up, I follow Miri to her room and close the door. “Okay, what’s all this about a circus? You planning to become an acrobat or something?” Now, that’s a cool job. I’ve always wanted to try a real trapeze. When I was younger, I pretended the curtain rod was one, and I’ll admit that didn’t end happily for me, Miri (she was the catcher), or the living room.

She thrusts a flyer at me. “The Faher Family Circus is in New York!”

I read the photocopied yellow paper. “So? You want to go?”

She grabs the flyer back, rolls it, and hits me over the head. “No, I don’t want to go. Don’t you know how cruel circuses are? They chain the animals to the ground! Lock them in cages! Make elephants, lions, and monkeys perform acts that are totally unnatural!”

“I like the circus,” I say. Our parents took us when we were kids. Hmm, now that I think about it, I remember that Miri spent most of the trip crying while I spent most of the time eating cotton candy. Yum.

“We have to save them! It’s our responsibility! Animal circuses are already illegal in most other countries. Sweden, Austria, Costa Rica, India . . .”

“Let’s sit down and discuss it.” I make myself comfy on her bed.

“I don’t want to sit down!” she screams, sounding a wee bit hysterical. “We need to go. Now.”

“Now? As in tonight?” My plan for the night involves lots of sleep. “It’s been a stressful few weeks, and prom is tomorrow, and now I’d really like to chill.”

She narrows her eyes. “The elephants don’t get to relax. They’re too busy having metal hooks slammed into their feet.”

Gross. “That’s pretty graphic.”

“You can’t just pretend these things don’t happen.” She disappears from the room and returns with the lithium batteries. “I’m going. Are you coming or not?”

She’s out of control. “Let’s just take the night to think this through. We’ll make a plan. Why don’t we have a rally? Or a protest? We don’t have to do it tonight. I did lots of research on the Internet and the consequences of our spells have been—”

“I said, I’m going. Guess you’re not.” She puts her fists together, scrunches her eyes shut, and says, “Transport to the place inside my mind.”

Oh, drat. I jump on her back.

“The power of my fists shall ye bind!”

I close my eyes in preparation for the screaming light.

“It didn’t work!” Miri says angrily.

I open my eyes. Indeed, we are still in her bedroom. I slip off her. “What happened?”

She places her fists on her hips. “Did you gain weight?”

“No!” The nerve. “Maybe the batteries died. Do you have spares?”

She pouts. “Noooo. Guess we’ll have to fly. I’m changing into camouflage!” she says, stripping. “And bringing the reflective shield in case.”

“Can we just pause for a second and discuss this like rational people?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I have to help. It’s my responsibility.”

“Not everything is your responsibility!”

“You don’t understand,” she says as she pulls on my black sweatpants. “You’re not a witch.”

Ouch. “You’re right, I’m not.” Maybe she has a point. I don’t understand how she feels. I don’t know the pressure of having the capability of doing so much good. Of feeling like the entire world’s health and happiness is in my hands. I don’t know the fear that comes with magic. I don’t know anything.

She fetches our broom, then pulls a black sweatshirt over her head and fastens her helmet. “Are you coming?” she asks.

The only thing I do know is that it’s my job to support my sister. “I’m coming,” I say, and dash back to my room to change. “Do I have a choice?” I scribble a note for our mom.

Miri joins me in my room, the broom in tow. She yanks open the window and the cool air breezes in.

“Time is of the essence,” she says, straddling the broom. “Hop on!”

I fasten my helmet, climb on behind her, hold up the umbrella shield, and duck as the broom jolts toward the open window.

Here goes nothing.

16

Should Have Taken a Taxi

“What’s your plan exactly?” I say over the sound of the wind.

“Huh?”

“Plan? What? Is? Yours?” I yell directly into her ear.

“I can’t hear you!” she says back, obviously ignoring me. Funny, I can hear
her.

We’re flying high over the buildings in Chelsea, my two-inch heels dangling beneath me. Unfortunately, in my rush I forgot to put on something a little more appropriate.

Miri does a few circles over the massive convention center as she scouts a landing. When she sees a side entrance that appears empty, she nose-dives toward the pavement and quickly lowers the broom to the ground. We topple onto the cement. I wish she’d learn to land this thing better; one day I’m going to break an arm for sure.

This is obviously the worst plan she has ever had. We’re in a sketchy part of the city, all the way on the West Side. We could easily be mugged. By the time I regain my balance, Miri is already at the convention center’s side door, chanting her open sesame spell. I hand her the broom and she props it against the brick wall.

The door opens, and Miri rushes inside. I’m reluctant to follow. “There are going to be trainers here,” I whisper. “What are you going to do? How are you going to save the animals exactly?” I’m afraid to lose her, so I step inside.

“Don’t close the door,” Miri tells me. “In case we have to make a quick exit,” she explains. Not exactly encouraging words.

Great. My heart speeds up as I enter the dark building. At least we have on our night-vision helmets. I hurry to catch up with Miri, which isn’t easy in these heels. Maybe tonight isn’t the best time to break them in.

“ROWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!” A wild, animal noise echoes through the room. I’m pretty sure that was a lion. Or a tiger. Very possibly a bear. Oh my.

We both freeze. “Miri. This. Is. Not. Safe,” I hiss through a clenched jaw.

“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

And that’s when I see it.

A massive lion licking her massive paw.

And she sees us.

I jump back about twenty feet before realizing she’s in a cage. A locked cage. There are two lions in there, and they’re both beige and maneless and lying in the corner. It’s kind of sweet, actually. One of them is resting her leg against the other’s leg. They’re kind of cuddling. I wonder if they’re sisters and—

“ROOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAR!” The cranky younger sister, obviously. I jump back about ten feet.

How secure is that lock?

“Poor little lions,” Miri murmurs, tiptoeing toward the animals. Little? “See how claustrophobic they look in that tiny cage?”

I grab her shoulder so she won’t get any closer. I like my sister in one piece, and those lions look hungry. Fine, they look sleepy. But maybe that’s just a trick.

“We should start here,” she says, reaching into her satchel.

I begin to panic. “Start what?”

“Freeing them, what else?”

That’s it, she’s losing it.
I’m
losing it. I shake her by the shoulder. “Are you insane? What are you going to do? Open the cages and set the sister lions loose on New York? They’ll have us for appetizers and then chomp down all of Manhattan for the main course!”

You know what? It smells in here. A lot like JFK after the cow invasion.

She struggles to remove my hand from her shoulder. “Do you think I’m stupid? Manhattan is no place for them. I’m sending them home. Where they can run free. Now, let me go!”

I step back and take a good look at my angry, red-in-the-face, disheveled-haired sister. She’s definitely out of her mind. I think my entire family needs a vacation.

She removes a Tupperware container from her satchel, opens it, then sets the spell book in front of her and chants:

“Be free of reins

And drop your chains,

By tomorrow’s morn

You’ll be back where you were born!”

She tosses the concoction on them, and I feel the familiar rush of cold as I ask, “Can’t you just get them to click their heels together three times?”

The two lions begin to fade. They get lighter and lighter, and then they’re gone.

“Cool,” Miri says.

I really hope they’re not going to reappear behind me. I carefully turn my head. Nope. I let out a long breath. “Where do you think they went?”

“Duh. Africa. Let’s see who’s next,” Miri whispers. But she stops walking when she spots a trainer at the end of the room rattling about outside a cage. “Wait for him to go,” she whispers. We freeze, and I start to panic. What if we’re caught? How would we explain the animal disappearances? Would we be arrested for animal-napping? Even if they couldn’t find the evidence?

As the trainer comes our way, we duck behind a pole. “Don’t move,” Miri whispers.

About five minutes later, the trainer disappears into a back room out of view, and we move on to the next cage. Camels. I love camels. How cool are they that they don’t need any water? How cute is that hump? Not that I would want a hump like that or anything. I snap back to attention as Miri chants the spell.

And away they go!

Next we hit the tigers, elephants, zebras, horses, alligators, and llamas, which takes forever. Finally we’re at what I think is the last cage.

Where there are two goats. A mama goat and her baby.

Once again Miri goes through the whole spell, the throwing, yada, yada, the cold, the fading. Well, the big goat fades, but the little one doesn’t budge.

Miri approaches the cage. “What’s wrong, baby goat?”

“Try again,” I tell her, already bored. I’m now sitting on the floor, too tired to care about what’s been on the floor before me.

Miri tries again.
“Be free”
—blah, blah, blah—
“born!”

The goat still doesn’t budge.

“Something’s not working,” Miri says. “I’m going to check it out.” She looks around for a lock, finds it, recites the open sesame spell, and opens the cage. “Isn’t he cute? Hello, adorableness. Why won’t you go home?” She gently pats his head.

I approach the door. He
is
cute. Small, too. He’s all white, with a small wet gray nose and two triangular floppylooking ears that are pointing to the high ceiling. I bet he’d be great to mooshie. He looks like a teddy bear. Teddy goat. Billy the Teddy Goat. He looks so cuddly, probably only a few weeks old. “Maybe he was born here,” I say. “That’s why he didn’t disappear.”

Billy looks up at us and widens his big dewy eyes.

“Aw,” Miri and I both murmur.

And that’s when it happens.

Billy bolts. Right out of Miri’s arms, right between my open legs, and out of the cage, galloping at a speed I would never have believed possible for a goat. A baby lion, maybe. But a goat? This one is faster than a speeding bullet. As Miri and I watch him in disbelief, Billy the Supergoat runs straight for the door. The open door.

“Get that goat!” Miri screams, and we take off. Fine, I’m laughing a bit. I can’t help it. But I run after the goat anyway, right through the convention center, until I’m outside, wondering which way he went.

“Billy’s gone,” I tell Miri.

“Who’s Billy?” she says, panting. “We should fly. That will make the goat easier to—”

The broom is no longer where she left it. “What the—”

“What did you expect to happen on an isolated street in the city?” I scream. Someone is in for a rude shock when they try to sweep their floor. “There’s Billy!” I say, pointing at the small creature currently licking his hoof.

We bolt after him. And he runs. And we chase. We chase him all the way down Thirty-ninth Street, cringing every time he crosses an avenue, praying he doesn’t end up goat cheese. We continue chasing him right to Forty-second and Eighth, and then right into the—

Oh, no. Not the subway station!

Miri freezes at the landing. “We’re not allowed to take the subway so late at night,” she whimpers.

We’re allowed to go hightailing over Manhattan but not to take the subway? Does this make sense? I ignore her and take the stairs two at a time, trying to catch up to Billy the Bolting Supergoat. “Come here, Billy,” I call, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he runs right under the turnstile. Of course I don’t have my MetroCard. Why would I? It’s two in the morning!

“Zap it around,” I tell my ashen-faced sister. She’s almost the same color as Billy, who’s now calmly licking himself in a very inappropriate way on the other side of the turnstile.

Miri does as she’s told, and I push through and lunge after Billy. He’s faster and takes off as soon as I’m an inch away from grabbing him. Luckily, there’re only two other people waiting for the train.

And then Billy the Supergoat takes a flying leap—“No, Billy, no!” we shriek—directly onto the subway tracks.

Our jaws drop in horror, and we peer over the edge. Billy seems to have realized that he might have made a mistake, because he is now bleating loudly, and his little legs are quivering.

“We have to get him,” Miri says, and takes a step toward the track.

I give her a power block with my arm. “Over my dead body are you stepping onto a subway track.”

“But . . . but . . .”

And then we hear it. Oh yes, the rumble of the swiftly approaching train.

“Oh, no,” Miri whimpers. My heart races almost as fast as the oncoming car. As the headlights glare toward us, I see poor Billy, eyes wide and wet, begging us to help.

Miri shrieks, reaches her hands toward the train, and yells, “Stop!”

Her lips purse, I feel the rush of cold, and the subway grinds to a sudden halt.

The station is silent. Until Billy bleats.

The conductor pops his head out his window. “What the hell?” he says. “We just lost power.” He spots Billy. “All this because of one little goat?”

“One little goat,” I say. “That my father bought for two
zuzim.
”

Miri starts to cry.

I lead my blubbering sister and the sleeping goat she’s cradling up the pitch-black stairs. It seems Miri blew out the power in the whole station. Thank goodness for our night-vision helmets. “I almost killed you,” Miri tells the goat between sobs.

“Yes, you did,” I say as I finally step into the night. I’m furious. We have no broom, no batteries, no money, and no working subway, and my feet are killing me. Not only are my shoes broken in, but my feet feel broken too. “You have to think about the ramifica—”

Oh, no. I look around.

The entire city is dark. As in cloaked in darkness. As in all the sparkling lights that normally illuminate the city have either burnt out simultaneously, or—

“Uh, oh,” Miri squeaks. “Did I . . . ?”

“Yes, Miri. Apparently you did. Apparently your little stopping-the-train tactic blew out all the power in Manhattan.” I am so mad, I’m fuming.

“Well, what else could I do? What about poor little Billy?”

We arrive home two hours later. I won’t even discuss the bloated, deformed shape of my feet. I’m too angry to talk to my sister, so I leave her and Billy to figure out their sleeping arrangements. I throw the itchy helmet onto the floor and feel my way toward my mom’s room. After making sure that she’s sleeping soundly, wrapped in her covers, oblivious to the world, I kiss her on the forehead and feel my way back to my room, drop my camouflage outfit on the floor, and slip under the covers. I need to get some sleep! Prom is tomorrow and I’m going to be so tired and I’m going to look exhausted and there’s no power and I don’t even know what time it is because my clock isn’t working and please, please, please let everything be better in the morning.