Witcha'be (6 page)

My stomach rolled. This couldn’t be happening. I tapped the skull again. Its mouth opened.

Sansesco
mamblado dandalo.

The words floated on the screen.

The phrase Bianca had spat at Lenni’s. Heart pounding, I opened the three remaining messages. All displayed the same foreign words, the letters somehow growing larger and bolder with each succeeding text.

The hall was almost empty. My gaze darted to the water fountain. Bianca looked at me, her green eyes smoldering beneath red bangs. Lenni was talking, laughing, and flapping her hands as she shared what seemed to be a funny story. All the while Bianca stared across the hall, straight into my soul.

With rubber fingers, I turned the phone off and shoved it into my pocket. I walked to my locker, opened it, thrust my head inside, deeply inhaling the stale air as I pretended to rummage through my books. The second period tardy bell rang. I ignored it.

I arrived at Mr. Williams’ locked door three minutes late, hiccupping and covered in perspiration. He answered my timid knock, eyed me suspiciously, and asked if I felt okay. I shook my head. He cut me a break on the tardy. I spent the period in silence, except for the occasional hiccup. Thoughts of Bianca rolled relentlessly through my mind.

* * *

I placed my hand over Lenni’s and worked the combination, releasing the lock.

“I don’t know how you do that.”

“You need to practice. I won’t always be here to do it for you.”

“Sure you will.”

“What if I’m sick and miss school, or don’t have time to stop by the locker?”

“Well, then I’ll do what I did this morning. Remember, today I got here first.”

She had a point. When the first bell rang, I’d been trying to exorcise my demon-possessed cell phone. The haphazard heap of books flashed through my mind.

“How did you do it?”

“You should totally see Sarah’s tat.” Lenni slid her binder between her knees and lifted her hair, showing me where the tattoo was located. “A pair of hot-pink angel wings. They go up like this and dip down here.” She drew on the back of her neck with her finger. “Her aunt signed a permission slip. Made her mom totally furious. I took a picture on my phone.” She fished in her pocket.

“I don’t want to see Sarah’s tattoo. I just want to know how you got into the locker this morning.”

“Bianca opened it for me.”

My stomach crawled, infested with ugly caterpillars too frightened to become butterflies.

“She seriously must have a photographic memory. I gave her the combination the first week of school and she still remembers. That’s how I know I will always be able to get into the locker. I mean, what are the odds of you and Bianca being absent on the same day?”

Lenni seemed proud of herself, as if she’d solved the world’s hunger crisis. She slipped her binder from between her knees. I slammed the locker before she had a chance to toss it in.

“Excuse me?” She wagged the binder at me, eyebrows raised.

“Use Bianca’s locker. You can put it next to her broom.”

“That’s not funny.” Lenni looked hurt.

I was sick of being intimidated by Bianca and furious at Lenni for not seeing through her.

“I have something to show you.” I opened the locker, jerked Lenni’s binder from her, and tossed it on the heap. “Let’s go eat.”

Lenni gave me an enthusiastic rundown of her morning classes as we walked to the lunchroom. She seemed extra excited about the play she and Bianca rehearsed in drama class. Still, she treaded softly around Bianca’s name. I appreciated it.

We entered the cafeteria and gave the cashier our student numbers. The lunch ladies smiled and plopped gooey noodles onto our trays.

Finding a table was easy. Everyone had eaten the cookies and rolls from their trays then trashed the rest before heading outside. I slid the phone from my pocket and turned to face Lenni.

“I know this is going to upset you. You don’t want to think Bianca is a bad person, but I truly believe she’s dangerous.” I scrolled through texts as I spoke, scanning names beside messages from top to bottom then bottom to top. No skulls. “This can’t be,” I muttered.

“What?”

“There were texts with little skulls beside them. Bianca texted me the same creepy phrase she used during your sleepover. I know they were here…”

“I’ve never given Bianca your number. She’s never asked.” Lenni’s eyes held suspicion.

“I’m telling you, she texted me and skull-and-crossbones appeared. The phone vibrated so hard, it practically jumped out of my hand!” Lenni’s trust was slipping. I remembered Jake.

“Ask Jake Hughes. He saw the whole thing. He asked me where he could get the skull-and-crossbones app.”

Lenni dropped her eyes to her massive scoopful of tetrazzini. “One time Jake saw Jack Sparrow in a puddle of pancake syrup.”

She didn’t believe me.

“Was Bianca’s name on the texts?” she asked.

“No. The name was withheld.”

She glanced at me then away.

“Lenni, you
know
me. I would never lie to you. This whole situation has gotten way too serious. I don’t think I can do this anymore.” I wasn’t sure where I was going next. Dread filled me, as if great loss was right around the corner.

“What are you saying?” Lenni stiffened.

“Maybe we should take a friendship break for a while.” My eyes stung.

“No, Molly, listen. I’ll fix this. If you’ll let me have a little more time, I can make things right, okay? Please, give me a chance.” Her pink lips trembled.

I groaned inside. “You’ve never done anything bad in your whole life. It’s absurd for you to think this is somehow your fault.”

“Molly—” She broke off in tears. Lenni was like a sister to me. I couldn’t let Bianca rob me of my only true friend.

“I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. I’m just frustrated. Please don’t tell Bianca—but I’m terrified of her.” I glanced over my shoulder to make sure she hadn’t materialized behind me.

“I love both of you. Can we please talk about something else? I don’t feel so good. I think it’s nerves.” Lenni’s face paled.

My soul ached. When Lenni loved someone, it was with her whole heart. “Okay, you’ve got it.” I forced a smile. “Hey, I haven’t had a chance to tell you about Mrs. Piper’s dream project.” Despite my anxiety, the excitement returned.

“Dream project?”

“Yeah. Mrs. Piper asked us to record our dreams at night.” I couldn’t wait to write my first one down. I hoped it would be good, to counteract this waking nightmare.

“What if you don’t dream?” she asked.

“You’re not supposed to make anything up or force it. She said we’d have a lot of time. And the best part is, at the end of the month we’re going to compile our dream data into a book.” Adrenaline surged through me.

“Wow! That
is
exciting. I’m so jealous. I haven’t dreamed in years.” She dropped her gaze to the floor. “There was a time I didn’t want to, but now I’d like to again. I really wish she could give them back,” she murmured then slapped a hand over her mouth.

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing.”

I rubbed my temples as the bell rang.

“Gotta go. See you after school.” Lenni darted from the lunchroom.

She wished someone could give her dreams back? What was she hiding?

CHAPTER FIVE

I walked into Mr. Lopez’s art room and inhaled familiar smells of paint and clay. The evidence of creativity.

I sat in a plastic chair covered with dry paint splatters and slid Boo’s snapshot from my art pad. After an entire week, the little dog remained unrecognizable in my drawing. I sighed and dumped my colored pencils to the table.

“Hello, Molly. What are you working on?” Mr. Lopez stood beside my chair.

“Hi, Mr. Lopez.” I covered the drawing with my forearm.

“May I?” He gently tugged the sketchpad free. I wanted to crawl under the desk as his gaze swept the bulgy eyeballs, stubby nose, and too-large head.

“Not bad. You just need to work on a few basic skills. I have an example that might help with balance and proportion.” He crossed the room and unclipped a large drawing that faced the window, bringing it to me. I held my breath. A squadron of goose bumps marched along my arms. My hairline tingled with perspiration.

Mr. Lopez didn’t seem to notice as he circled his tawny fingers around the head and thorax of the enormous, brownish-green grasshopper. He spoke in an easy, unhurried tone as the insect stared through eyeballs bulgier than Boo’s.

“…To achieve balance. Do you understand, Molly?”

I nodded dumbly and choked back a hiccup. I hadn’t heard a word he’d said.

He smiled and patted my back, leaving the grasshopper picture as a reference. Bianca’s name emblazoned the bottom right corner.

* * *

I slid into Mrs. Timble’s room as the tardy bell sounded. Unbelievably, Bianca’s glare didn’t bore into me as I found a seat. She sat in the first chair of the first row, eyes focused on her paper.

“Students, pass Friday’s homework to the front. That’s chapter eight, for those of you who’ve forgotten.”

I pulled the neatly creased page from my book and passed it to the girl in front of me.

Mrs. Timble collected the papers. “It appears most of you have the assignment finished.”

Amy tapped lightly on Bianca’s shoulder, attempting to pass her the row’s papers.

“Bianca, are you still working on your assignment?” Mrs. Timble’s gaze settled on the top of Bianca’s head. “Your time is up.” Mrs. Timble held out her hand.

“Finished.” She shoved the page toward Mrs. Timble, who refused to lift it from the desk. The teacher stood silent, palm open, until Bianca crammed the paper roughly into her hand.

“Thank you.” She collected the rest of the homework from Amy then returned to Bianca’s desk and shuffled the papers into a stack on the surface.

Bianca glared, jerking her black-polished fingers to her lap.

“Bianca, please trade desks with Amy,” Mrs. Timble said, walking to the podium.

A gasp echoed through the classroom. Mrs. Timble arranged our seating by test scores—the highest performers on the front row. She never pulled a student from their assigned seat. Things were serious.

“Whatever.” Bianca stood and snatched her bag from the chair’s back.

Amy gathered her books from the wire basket beneath her desk, a little line creasing her forehead.

I gazed at Mrs. Timble, admiration swelling my chest. Bianca had met her match.

The remainder of the class passed without incident. Mrs. Timble reviewed the information from chapter eight and touched on new material from chapter nine. I glanced at Bianca, who appeared to take notes.

The bell sounded and we filed from our seats, with the exception of Bianca, still scratching in her notebook with a dull pencil.

On the way out, I stole a glimpse. My spine tingled. Bianca was working on a drawing of Mrs.Timble—blindfolded, gagged, suspended by strings. A powerful-looking hand with black fingernails controlled the puppet.

On wooden legs, like Bianca’s marionette, I toddled from the room and into the main hallway. I glanced over my shoulder. Bianca followed me with her eyes.

“Hey, what’s the hurry?” Lenni punched me weakly in the arm as I knocked into her at the locker.

I spun the dial. “Sorry. I-I just need to get home. I can’t miss the bus today.” I swung the locker door open, snatched up my dream journal and tossed in the algebra book.

Lenni reached around, digging in the pile of books and papers.

“See you in the bus line.” I sprinted away, apologizing to people as I bumped down the hall. I couldn’t wait. Not today. Lenni’s upbeat chatter on the slow walk home would drive me insane.

I ran across the lawn and took my place in the line awaiting bus five. It pulled up within a couple minutes. The driver, Loch Ness—Ms. Lochneist—swung out the stop sign and opened the door. I glanced around. Lenni was nowhere to be seen.

I climbed the metal stairs and slipped into the first empty seat. Pulling my feet up, I rested the back of my head against the window and took out my phone. Where’d Bianca’s little skulls come from and where had they gone? They’d completely vanished. I searched every virtual nook and cranny of my phone as the bus shimmied and bounced along its route.

“Molly! Get off,” Loch Ness demanded.

I snapped up my head and turned to gaze out the window, mortified. Somehow, in the course of my crappy day, I’d forgotten about the witch on my porch. I exited to peals of laughter.

The bus rounded the corner and I climbed the steps to the front door, surveying porch witch. Something was different. Same green skin, same black dress, and pointed hat, same black-buckled shoes. Yet, something was definitely different. I stepped closer and peered into her eyes—green glass with stiff black lashes, set under severely arched brows. I backed up and shrugged.

I picked up Boo at the door and chucked my books on the coffee table. By the sound of things, Mom was in the spare bedroom rummaging through antiques. Dad tried to convince her to sell some on the Internet. Maybe she was finally weeding them out. I peeked in. She sat cross-legged on the floor, holding a notebook and pen, surrounded by knick-knacks and a whole lot of dust.

“Hi, Molly Lou.” She smiled.

I wanted to yell at my mother, tell her that stupid porch witch had made me the dorkiest kid in school. But she looked so content playing with her antiques, I couldn’t.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“As you know, your father urged me to auction some things, so I’ve decided to give it a shot. Dinner tonight will be quick and easy. He’s going to help me photograph this stuff. I want to get as many pictures as possible.”

“Sandwiches are fine. I’m going upstairs to do homework.”

“See you later,” she called.

In my room, I set the journal on the nightstand and laid my favorite blue pen on top. I reclined on my bed and reached for the items, testing the distance, in case I needed to write in the night. Satisfied, I yawned and opened my Oklahoma history book to the Dust Bowl section.

Boo stared at me, wagging his tail. I slammed the book shut. “Okay, boy. Let’s go for a walk.” He jumped from the mattress and turned circles at my ankles.