Kelly McClymer-Salem Witch 01 The Salem Witch Tryouts (20 page)

Things actually looked up at practice, though. Not that my skills were hugely improved. But I found out what it was Coach was thinking when she let me stay on the team. “I hoped you might show us some of the routines you learned at your mortal school.” She was oh so casual (so she thought) as she added, “The ones that won you the championship, perhaps.”

“Sure.” I had created quite a few routines. It was something I was good at. In the mortal world. “The routines I know don’t use magic.” Well, none that I would admit toif it got back to Mom, there’d be a talking-to.

“That’s fine. We couldn’t use magic in competition, either, because all the competitions are with mortals.”

Tara was not happy. “But our next game is a—”

“I’m not thinking of our next game.” Coach had a weird glint in her eyes. “I’m thinking of the regional competition.”

There was a gasp and a moment of silence.

Tara dropped her smile in favor of total confusion expressed by downturned lips and a big old frown line down the center of her forehead. A first. I wished I had my cell phone. The snap would be priceless. “Regional competition? But, we never—”

“This year, we will. After all, we have a secret weapon: Prudence was going to be head cheerleader at a mortal high school that won the national tournament last year. She obviously knows how to win.”

Clearly Coach Gertie had been checking out the rep of my old school. Apparently, even witches had learned to like the Internet for research. I shrugged, trying to give the impression that I didn’t know what a bombshell my first suggestion was going to be. “First thing you have to do is stop spending all your time practicing magic routines.”

Tara took it as well as could be expected. After a splitsecond gape, she whispered, “Are you out of your mind?”

Sometimes. “Your technique is sloppy. And if you’re going to be sloppy, you might get a pity clap at Regionals, but you’ll never make it to Nationals.” I knew it was a bomb, but I don’t think anyone in the gym could tell I did. I am a
consummate cheerleader, after all: attitude over reality.

“Out of the question!” Tara wasn’t happy. Although, to give her her props, it was only obvious to another cheerleader.

“We can spare some time for perfecting our mortal routines—after the big game, of course.” Coach was ecstatic. The mustache hairs she’d missed shaving this a.m. actually stood up and quivered in delight.

Tara tried once more to talk sense into her. “Even if we can do just a little, we’ll never get good enough for the Finals. We’re witches. What do we know about lifting and throwing and jumping?”

“You’ll be okay,” I said before Coach could reply. “It only took me two months of hard work to figure everything out. And we have six months until Nationals.”

I added, “Of course, Regionals are just before Christmas. And any team worth a tournament win competes in Regionals.”

Although my probation status still hadn’t been lifted, and my math had turned shaky, I suddenly felt safer than I had since I’d popped into the boys’ locker room by mistake. I had something Coach wanted. Something the other girls wanted.

“Who wants to compete in Regionals? With mortals?” Tara asked the question in a way that dared anyone to raise a hand. She shouldn’t have. I would have told her, if she’d
asked me. But she didn’t, because she thought she knew the answer.

Coach looked at the team. “Good question. Girls—raise your hand if you’d like to have a go at the national competition this year.”

Every girl’s hand went up—even the ones who were begging Tara with cringing puppy dog eyes to forgive them.

“Well, then. That’s settled. Let’s get to work.”

Everyone looked from Tara to me, and I shivered. The look in the other girls’ eyes was amazing. Part murderous, part worshipful.

I could live with it.

ME: Remember the #3 routine last year? Think Coachll mind if I do it here?

MADDIE: Of course Shed give birth 2 a brick But whos gonna tell her? Nommee!

ME: K Then its #3 with mod

MADDIE: Mod? Kewl K

The routine was a simple one: lots of jumping, waving, and chanting letters—the stuff people expect from cheerleaders. Stuff the Salem cheerleaders needed to get them synchronized, which I knew would be my biggest problem if we weren’t going to look like idiots at Regionals. But my secret weapon—to wow them all with my brilliance—was the extra moves.

Last year, with mortals, I chose to surprise the spectators with flip rolls. It’s not a hard move, if you have two coordinated people, but it really wows the crowd.

It’s a two-part trick. The way it goes, one person does a headstand and the other person does a backflip simultaneously, so that the flipper ends up facing the person doing the headstand. Next, the backflip person grabs the ankles of the other girl and does a dive roll through her legs. The headstander quickly grabs the flipper’s ankles and rolls up to standing. The key is for both girls to hold on tight to her partner’s ankles, so that they roll like a ball across the floor.

Coach liked the idea when I described it to her. The squad wasn’t so sure, and given their coordination challenges, I didn’t blame them. But my reputation was on the line, so I just smiled and broke them into teams of two to practice the move.

You’d think that witches would be more coordinated. But you’d be wrong. “No, you’re supposed to grab her ankles, she grabs yours, and
then
you roll.”

I’d never seen more fish flopping on the floor, not even the day we took my dad deep-sea fishing for his fortieth birthday.

“I think she’s making fools of us. Mortals can’t do this.” Tara was clearly not going to give up without a fight.

“I can do it. It’s the move that won us the tournament
last time.” This was a calculated lie (mortals can do it, but it wasn’t our winning move at Nationals). I needed Coach on my side, because without her, these girls were just never going to get behind getting in synch.

“Prove it.” Tara had her hands on her hips, and her chin jutted out. She really didn’t think I could do this. Which meant if I could, I’d be just this close to ending probation status.

Coach—I know she thought she was being helpful—said, “Actually, Tara, that’s a good idea. A demonstration is just what these gals need. Go ahead, Prudence, show them your stuff.”

I sweated bullets (even though I had deliberately orchestrated this challenge to prove my competence and make me elimination-proof for a little while—until I got my magic skills up to speed). The problem is, to do flip rolls you need a coordinated partner. Whom to choose when I didn’t know who was standing there smiling, hoping I broke every bone in my body? Tara was one such squad member, of course. No doubt she had a stake in my failure since I was undermining her leadership big-time.

Coach, unfortunately, took my slight hesitation for a sign that I needed her help. “Tara, let her show you the move.”

Great. I could see Tara wanted to sink her teeth into my big, juicy failure and send me from the team (maybe the school?) in tears and a sprinkling of black-and-blue fairy
dust. No way José was I going to fail, even if I had to break every bone in
her
body.

“You do the headstand.” I wasn’t about to turn myself upside and down and present my ankles to her—I didn’t want her to have the psych-out on me.

She did the headstand as if she were an eighty-year-old mortal with bad arthritis. Not that she couldn’t handle it, just because she really didn’t want to do anything I said—unless it was “Grab me around the throat and tighten until I turn blue and stop breathing.”

I grasped her ankles firmly. “Grab hold of my ankles and grip tight.”

She gripped like a really hungry boa constrictor. I could feel my toes turning numb.

“Not that tight. If my feet fall asleep, we’re both in trouble.”

She didn’t let up, but I ignored her. My feet wouldn’t fall asleep in the sixty seconds it would take to execute this maneuver and impress the heck out of these witches. Or not.

“Bow out.” I pushed her hips to an outward bow, bent myself, and then started the roll. I sensed she was going to let go about a nanosecond before she did. Without thinking, I whispered,

“Fingers hold,
Fingers mold,
Tara to me,
Glue glue glue.”

Beautiful? No. I never said my spell work was stellar, just becoming serviceable. I didn’t even know if it would work. But over we went, with everyone’s eyes pinned on us, I assume (I didn’t know because I had my eyes firmly shut). We didn’t come apart. We rolled around the room like a ball.

The dismount was a little rough. We were supposed to end up in the same position we’d started in, except with me in the headstand. As if I’d let that happen.

As soon as Tara countered my gripping spell—she’d been muttering under her breath since we started to roll—I let go. I heard her muttered chanting end with a breathless squeal. I hoped she was too disoriented to zap a wrist-burn spell on me.

Luckily, I landed on my feet while she managed to keep from flopping to the floor by levitating to the ceiling. I’m sure it helped her get rid of some frustration. Not that I had any sympathy.

Everyone clapped. In unison. At least there was one skill I wouldn’t have to teach them for the competition. And I’d learned one skill of my own: I could cast a spell and still do a super-kewl move.

❊

One thing I learned the day after my triumph at practice: Witches are just as mean as the meanest mortal girls. And they have more tricks up their sleeves.

Maybe if I hadn’t shown up Tara, I wouldn’t have been target du jour. But, just like back home, maybe I would have been, anyway. I do wish they hadn’t messed with my lunch. I had skipped breakfast and I was hungry. Which meant I was meaner in response than I might have been. Which meant we ended up in the principal’s office.

“Girls. I hear you’re behaving like mortals.” Agatha was no friendlier than she had been during my testing. But at least there were four of us in the room to divide the intensity of her glare.

Well, almost. She saved a special one for me. “I guess I can’t expect more from you, Miss Stewart, since you were raised in the mortal realm.” Somehow she made the word “mortal” sound like “worm.” I didn’t think that was a very positive sign.

Then she shifted her gaze to the other three and I realized she hadn’t saved the worst for me. “But you girls! I expected better. Should I summon your parents?”

“No!” There was more unison in that answer than in any of their cheerleading moves. So they had potential. If they just dropped the chips off their shoulders—and didn’t drop them on me.

“What happened?” Agatha ignored me and focused on Tara.

Tara shrugged. “She’s just not very good at spells and she blames us.”

“That’s not true!” I protested.

“Miss Stewart, did I ask you to speak?”

“No.”

“Then please do me the courtesy of controlling your mouth or I will have to lay a silencing spell upon you as if you were a two-year-old,” said Agatha sternly.

The other girls tittered, like little blind mice following Tara’s example. Sure, that’s nice. Laugh at the half-blood girl in remedial classes.

“So, then,” Agatha continued, turning back to Tara as if nothing had happened, “you had nothing to do with the incident in the lunchroom today?”

Maybe she wouldn’t have gotten away with it if she’d just denied all involvement. But Tara was too diabolical for that. She looked down, as if she were sorry. Hah. “We were just trying to help. I swear.”

Charity, Tara’s right-hand nail polisher, broke in: “She conjured up this awful concoction for lunch that smelled so bad, it made us all gag. We just tried to help her by getting rid of it.”

Right. Which was why the simple curry I’d been trying to conjure for lunch had turned into a tarry, gluey mass that stunk like twelve skunks and stuck to me in places that never saw the light of day. Who could blame me for
sharing the joy with Tara and the other girls?

Agatha swallowed their explanation without an upraised eyebrow. “Thank you for being so honest with me, girls. I think this matter need go no farther. You may go.”

For a moment, I was torn between protesting and slinking away, glad that this was going to disappear. Until Agatha said, “Please stay, Miss Stewart. We have more to discuss.”

I’m sure I don’t need to spell out the rest. The half-blood witch got a detention, while the bitch-witches got to skate. By the time I got home, I was ready to run away. Living on the streets of L.A. looked way better than sitting in a vat of mud for an hour tomorrow afternoon. Or facing the squad at practice the next day.

I could tell by the look on Mom’s face that she’d been informed of the trouble. And the detention. So I didn’t wait to hear what she had to say. “I renounce my witchness.”

Dorklock stopped swigging milk straight from the carton to say, “That’s like renouncing your blood type, stupid.”

“Don’t call me stupid,” I snapped.

“You can’t renounce your witchness, sweetie.” Mom shocked me into speechlessness with her sympathy. I had gotten a detention! Me. The perfect daughter. And instead of grounding me, she was trying to console me! What she said next was even more shocking. “The most you can do is ask another witch to bind your powers. But that’s an awfully drastic measure.”