Stirring Up Trouble (2 page)

My stomach tightened.

“Well, Bill, I guess we all need to do better about wearing our sunscreen.” Mom beamed at him.

“Definitely.” He nodded until I thought his head would fall off. Mom and I suspected he binged on energy drinks. Nobody had that much nervous energy. I could totally picture him slamming a case of Red Bull.

The aerobics instructor finally came in, and Hyper Bill turned his attention to her.

“Mom,” I said under my breath. “You are such a liar.”

“Not exactly, Zoe. After all, sunscreen is important. The message is good.”

“Oh, is that our criteria for lies now? The overall impact on society?”

The music started and I moved back and forth to stretch my legs. Years of step aerobics had kept me in shape. At first, the uncoordinated factor had really made it difficult. But I discovered that I concentrated so hard on the steps that I barely felt the exercise. And now, I could hold my own with the rest of the class.

Mom tried to go every day, but on weeks when she had to shoot, she missed a lot. She wasn’t obsessive, but she did make exercise a priority. She’d been a chubby kid, and her image was important to her. When it had become clear that I’d never excel at sports, she’d encouraged me to exercise with her.

“Take pity on me, Zoe,” Mom mumbled. “I’m hideous.”

I just laughed.

The exercise high really helped with the stress I was feeling. At least until Anya called. I had showered and crashed on my bed with my laptop when my cell rang.

“Did you read my email yet?”

“No. I’m just logging on.”

“Well, forget it. I’ll just tell you. I’m thinking about calling Brad,” she announced.

Thank God! “Really,” I said, trying not to sound excited. “I thought you said he wasn’t smart enough for you.”

“Oh, he’s not,” she assured me. “But that could be a good thing. If I’m the smart one in the relationship, I could be the boss, right?”

Leaning back on my pillows, I considered my answer. I was really torn here. I wanted to say whatever it took to get her away from Jake, but she was my best friend. I had to be honest with her, and I really didn’t want to see her hurt. “I don’t think you can boss around football players. I mean, Anya, they’ve got built-in popularity. Brad isn’t going to put up with much.” Football was big at our high school. Football was huge in Knoxville, period.

“Zoe, that is so the wrong answer,” Anya scolded.

“You know he likes you, Anya. Just go for it.” Was I pushing too hard? “Or don’t. Whatever.”

“I take it you’re getting sick of hearing about it.”

“No. It’s just that, well, you’ve broken up with Jake before. And you always get back together.” I’d actually lost count, but it seemed like this was break-up number five.

“I’m over Jake,” Anya insisted. “Besides, he was totally flirting with Camille today.”

He was? My heart shattered. I hoped Anya was exaggerating. Extreme exaggeration was part of her personality. An annoying part. Watching Jake date one friend was bad enough. Having to watch him with another would kill me.

Love stinks.

Luckily, Anya didn’t require a response from me. She continued, “Do you think Brad’s hotter than Jake?” I could just picture her tossing her perfectly straight black hair as she asked. Anya could model with her clear skin, big brown eyes, and full lips. She had an exotic quality about her while I just looked like your average tall brunette.

No. “I don’t know,” I answered tactfully.

“Well, I think Brad’s a total hottie. Jake’s blonde curls are so last millennium.”

I loved Jake’s hair. His hair fell in soft waves around his face. It would take someone else days to get that effect. But his just naturally did that. “Well, he has had his hair that way for a while.” I didn’t say that I hoped he kept it like that forever. Or ask her if the curls bounced into her face when he kissed her.

“Brad’s hair is so much more normal,” she said.

Brad’s hair was totally average. Medium brown, cut short. No personality. “It’s normal all right.” I’d always had a problem with “normal.” I think it had to do with being a witch. Talk about having a chip on your shoulder. I had a freakin’ black cat on mine.

“Oh God! I have to go. Mom wants to have some together time.”

Anya and her mother didn’t get along very well. They both had strong personalities.

“Have fun,” I teased.

I pushed end and logged into my email hoping to push away the thoughts of Jake and Camille. I deleted Anya’s message and opened one from Milo. We’d met at orientation camp after second grade. He hadn’t fit in that well, and I’d been homesick and miserable. A chubby kid with glasses, Milo had been easy prey for the bullies at camp. I still haven’t figured out what his parents were thinking when they named him Milo. The kids didn’t have to stretch to find mean names for him. They just added –lo to any word and taunted him with it. Weirdlo. Craplo. Nerdlo. Buttlo. Well, you get the picture.

 Milo and I had decided that I’d use a potion to avenge him. Unfortunately, we didn’t wait for our afternoon session on magic. If we had, we’d have known about the punishments for self-serving magic. And we would have realized that he’d be punished if I acted on his behalf. The ram horns curling out of either side of his head were way worse than the baldness potion I’d used on the other kids. They could wear hats. Milo could not. Nothing covered the horns.

We’d both promptly been kicked out, and we’d had to return again the next summer. By the end of that second summer, we were really close friends.

Both his parents were magic. One with spells, the other with potions. He’d only gotten spells. I’d rather he had potions like me, but at least he had some magic. He was really my only magic friend. Other than my mom. And she didn’t count because she was not real good at magic.

I grinned. He’d sent me an e-card. We had this ongoing joke where we sent totally inappropriate cards to each other. Last week, I’d found one that talked about how it was what’s inside that counts. I’d modified it to read, “Good luck on your sex-change operation.” Milo had loved it.

This card contained a touching, compassionate message about menopause. Then, a drawing of a scary-looking woman with bulging eyes popped up. “What the hell do you mean I have mood swings?” She pulled out a shotgun and fired at me.

Not bad, I admitted. Milo had done well. Maybe I could find something for men going bald or hemorrhoids. I closed out my email. I could work on that this weekend.

I double-clicked on the Word file marked “challenges.” Mom said it was better to label them challenges than problems. Some sort of psychobabble thing, but I figured it couldn’t hurt. I had four main issues to deal with. Number one, surviving the tenth grade. Sure, millions of people had lived through it before me. One month into the school year, I still wasn’t convinced I’d make it. Number two, dealing with Dad. I had no better idea how to manage my divorced Dad than I had yesterday. Number three, getting over Jake. I highlighted number three and bolded it. After my conversation with Anya, I had to strengthen my resolve. Must not have crush on Jake. Number four wasn’t any easier than the rest. Surviving in a world full of non-magic people.

Luckily, I had some tools for this. I had my bud Milo. And I had the laminated trump cards in my wallet that he’d traded me for some feline health potion. Each card could be used up to ten times. One spell caused a sneezing attack. The other caused vomiting. At camp, we’d learned to carry emergency distractions such as these in order to buy time in incriminating situations. Like, say, you turned your teacher into a frog. If she was sneezing uncontrollably, she might not notice. Okay, she’d notice, but for lesser infractions, a sneezing fit could work well.

I’d never had to use them to protect myself. I hated to make somebody suffer through it. Before I’d gotten the cards from Milo, I’d carried a vial of sneezing potion in my backpack. In sixth grade, the books got heavier, and I managed to crack the glass. I got hit with such a high dose when I pulled out my math book that I probably would have sneezed for ninety-six days straight. Of course, I was lucky enough to have Mom brew me an antidote.

I shuddered. The cards were definitely a better solution.

I’d used the sneezing card for the first time to help out Camille last week. We were sitting in history class and she kicked her purse. A tampon rolled out right into plain sight under her chair. She didn’t notice, but I couldn’t leave her hanging like that. So, I picked up the spell card and sent a sneezing fit to a kind-of-popular jock in the second row on the other side of the room.

Unfortunately, he had some kind of cold or sinus thing going on. The attack hit him so suddenly that he didn’t have time to cover his nose. He sprayed the row in front of him with snot droplets. The ensuing chaos provided great cover for Camille to grab the tampon and tuck it back into her purse. Of course, they’re calling Mike “the Snot Sniper” now. Once basketball season starts back up, he’ll probably be okay. Basically I had deflected an embarrassing situation by humiliating someone else. That was the problem with magic. You could almost never control the variables.

One thing I could control was Snowball’s health. I headed to the kitchen and got the ingredients out for the potion. I’d prepared it so many times that I didn’t need to check the order.

I measured everything out into little glass cups, like on those cooking shows. When the water boiled, I put in the teaspoon of echinacea, the capsule of Vitamin D, four orange seeds, one teaspoon of margarine, a half cup of slime from the three-day-old pasta, an egg, and a pinch of unicorn horn. I removed the cauldron from the heat, with a grunt, and waited for it to congeal. Then, I whipped it with a whisk until it was watery again and poured it into the glass bottle, and closed it with the specially treated cork stopper.

I didn’t have leftovers, but the pot had to be salted before washing for this type of potion according to
Finnegan’s Treatise on Environmental Emergency Aversion
. Before Dr. Martin Finnegan had come up with procedures for different types of potions, we’d had some real problems. I shook in the salt and headed for the sink.

Chapter Two

“It’s Brad, isn’t it?” Jake asked before homeroom the next day.

“What? Where?” I hadn’t been ready for this question when I’d taken my usual seat beside him. I hadn’t even had time to admire the new mossy green button-up shirt he wore.

“That’s who she likes,” he prompted.

“Anya?” I asked sounding like a total idiot. The things I do for friendship. I plopped my backpack on the desk and fiddled with my jean jacket collar.

He leaned back into his seat and crossed his arms in a casual manner. “You can just answer me. I already know. I saw her waiting for him this morning out front.” He didn’t sound too upset.

“She was?” She hadn’t told me that. I braved looking at Jake. If I had to listen to her complaining, I should at least hear her decisions.

“I guess he’s okay,” Jake said. “He didn’t badmouth Tiffany after they broke up. And from what I heard, she deserved it.”

“So you’re okay with them going out?” I asked, examining his eyes as if I could read the truth. I hadn’t thought he would be.

He shrugged. “It’s just weird. You know. Everything’s been the same for so long. Now, it’s all changing.”

We’d been buds for a while, but I didn’t think we’d ever had a conversation on our own that lasted this long. Luckily, the homeroom teacher hadn’t told the class to be quiet yet. “Like what?” I asked. “Besides Anya?”

Jake looked down at his desk. “Well, my mom broke up with her boyfriend. And she’s seeing some other guy.”

His mom’s boyfriend had lived with them, so it must be almost like a divorce. “Weren’t they together for like, forever?”

“Since I was five,” he said. “Now she’s met some kind of nuclear physicist or something.”

“What?” My breath caught, and not in a good way. The only nuclear physicist I knew was my father. But fate couldn’t be that cruel.

“Yeah, she’s all into this guy, John.” He didn’t sound happy.

“John Miller?” I winced, mentally banging my head on the desk because I already knew the answer. Fate could be that cruel.

“Yeah,” he said. His brow jerked up as he realized that was my last name. “He’s not related is he?”

“Oh, we’re related all right.” I sighed. “He’s my dad.”

His eyes widened. “No way is my mom dating your dad.”

I groaned. “You’d think it was impossible, but here we are.”

“I thought Anya said your dad left your mom for his secretary?”

“Lab assistant,” I corrected. I still hadn’t come to terms with that betrayal. “And she dumped him. So he’s moved on.”

“To my mother.” He clenched his jaw. “Your dad sounds like—”

I interrupted him before he could make me mad. “Just pretend he’s not my dad, and think what you want. I really don’t claim him anymore. Except every other weekend.” Dad was totally screwing up my life.

I didn’t think I could even share this with my mom. She probably couldn’t handle it. I probably couldn’t even handle it.

Jake shifted in his seat. “So when my mom runs around getting ready for her date, she’s trying to look hot for your” —he gulped— “dad?”

I just smiled. I mean sometimes you either laugh or cry. I really, really wanted to laugh. Because crying sucked.

At lunch, Anya, dressed to the nines in a new funky jacket and chunky jewelry, had no trouble laughing at my latest Dad woes. “Oh my God! That’s just hilarious!”

Thankfully, most of our friends had gone outside to eat. I tried to chew my sandwich. It tasted like sand. Dry, dirty sand.

“Of all the people for your father to date. He has to date Jake’s mom.” She completely cracked up. “Jake is going to hate his guts.”

At least no one could hear us over the noise in the cafeteria. “I think he already does.”

Anya had no trouble plowing through her lunch despite the fact that the chicken sandwich smelled like a cat litter pan. My stomach obviously couldn’t handle the stress.