Frogs & French Kisses #2 (10 page)

Dave, aka the hunkalicious fireman, is locking up his apartment. He waves, heads to the stairs, pauses, then shuffles back to us.

“Do you ladies need help?” he asks, giving us his sexy, toothy smile.

“We’re fine,” my mom says. “But thanks.”

“You smell amazing, Carol,” Dave says, making me almost drop the glass bottle I’m holding.

What is he talking about? All I can sniff is the sardine thing. Yuck.

My mom blushes a deep red. “Thanks. That’s so sweet.”

“I was wondering, maybe you’d like to stop by sometime for a drink?”

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. We’ve officially entered the Twilight Zone. We’ve been living in this building for a decade. True, my mom has been single for only a few years, but still, the fireman has never shown any interest in her. What is it about the recycling bin that has caused his change of heart?

“Perhaps,” my mom says coyly, whisking a strand of her hair behind her ear. She waves good-bye, and we silently return to the apartment.

As soon as she closes the door, I say, “What was that about?”

Blush. “What?”

I can still smell the burnt sardines. Where is that coming from? I lift my nose in the air and inhale. To the right. Closer to Mom. Still closer to Mom. It
is
Mom. I sniff her neck. “Why are you wearing sardine juice as perfume?”

She steps back. “It’s a new scent I’m trying.”

My mother has not purchased an eau de anything since 1989. Something’s fishy here, and it’s not just the perfume. “Why would you buy something that smells disgusting?”

She hesitates. “I didn’t buy it.”

“Was it a sample?”

“Not exactly.”

Abracazam! “It’s a spell!” I shriek.

Mom turns bright red. “It’s an . . . attraction perfume. I was looking through my old spell book, and it looked interesting, so I thought . . . well, I thought why not give it a try? To see. Anyway, judging by what just happened,” she whispers, “I think it works.”

“Um . . . hello? Can I have some of that?”

“It’s too strong for a teen. When you’re older. Maybe. If you can prove to me you’ll use it responsibly and properly.”

I could properly use it right now.

Friday lunchtime! The week is almost over. I’m about to go inside from gym when I spot Will waiting for me outside the door.

I hide behind Janice and sneak into the bathroom. About ten minutes later, when most of my class has left for lunch and I assume senior classes have started, I tentatively open the door. But there he is, pacing the hallway, waiting for me. “Rachel!” he says, looking relieved. “Hey, hang on. I’ve been trying to talk to you all week.”

The jig is up. I have nowhere left to hide. I’ll have to stand here and be told off. “Yes, I’ve noticed.”

“There’s something I have to say to you,” he says, his voice rising.

I hope this doesn’t take long. I’m starving. And Janice invited me to meet her and the girls at the Quiznos down the block. “I know. So just do it already.”

He takes a step toward me. He really is handsome. I’ve never been yelled at by a stud before.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he says, and before I die from shock, he steps closer, looks deep into my eyes, and kisses me.

8

Something Borrowed

If I had died from shock, by now Will Kosravi would have resuscitated me. Because he is kissing me. At first it’s like I’m watching the scene from afar: I see Will’s hand gently caressing my cheek as his lips press against mine. It’s all very romance-novelesque. But then he opens his mouth, and my brain slams back into my body.

My tongue just touched someone else’s tongue! And it’s squishy!

Oh. My. God.
I am kissing Will Kosravi. I am
french-kissing.
And this whole tongue thing makes kissing a real boy far more interesting than kissing, say, my pillow or the back of my hand. I can’t believe that after all the many years of imagining what kissing is, and what it feels like, I’m doing it.

Because he’s almost six feet tall, my face is tilted up at a ninety-degree angle, which doesn’t hurt, because his hand is now very thoughtfully supporting my neck. He smells musky, like aftershave. Omigod, I’m kissing a boy old enough to shave!

I have to admit, this is very nice.

Am I supposed to be doing anything? Besides letting my mouth hang open while my tongue gets pushed around like a grocery cart? Perhaps I should do something with my lips? Jiggle them? What if I bite his tongue by mistake? Am I the worst kisser ever? If I knew he was going to kiss me, I would have spit out my gum. Where is my gum? It was definitely in there before this kissing commotion began. It might be hiding between my molars and gums like a frightened turtle. I don’t want to send out a search tongue for it, because what if that’s the one thing you’re not supposed to do while kissing? Oh, I think I feel it at the back of my mouth. Maybe I should just gulp it. But what if I swallow his tongue instead? And then I choke?

The next thing I know, Will pulls away, signaling that the kiss is over. Now he’s smiling at me, saying, “Cool.”

“Uh, yeah.” I’m mildly unclear as to what planet I’m on. Why did Raf’s brother just kiss me?

“I was serious before. I think I . . . love you,” he continues, his eyes getting all googly.

What, what, what? Love? How is it possible that the love of my life’s brother loves me? When I love his brother? Will leans over to kiss me again, but this time I use my hand to stop him. “What about Raf?”

“I know you two used to be together, but I asked him if I could hang out with you and he said it was cool. Can we do something this weekend?”

“Okay,” I say, partly out of shock and partly out of rejection. Raf doesn’t care that his brother likes me?
Loves
me? How can that be? No way I’d let Miri date Raf. Unless I was completely and utterly over him.

My heart sinks. Raf must be completely and utterly over me. Not even Miri’s love spell could overcome his distaste.

“Another kiss?” Will asks, raising his hand back to my cheek.

“Sure.” Well, why not?

“It makes no sense,” I say to Tammy via the phone in my bedroom. I’m lying on my bed, my feet up against the wall.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she says, her voice still hoarse.

“Should I cancel the date?”

“Do you want to go out with him?”

“I want to go out with his brother! I just don’t get it. I never had a clue he had any feelings for me at all!”

“Did he say when he started liking you?”

Good question. Did he like me while I was dating Raf? Or maybe he’s liked me since the first day of school but didn’t feel it was appropriate for a senior to date a freshman. He must have been out of his mind with jealousy when Raf asked me to Spring Fling.

I hear Miri’s key jingling in the front door. “Rachel? You home?”

“In my room!”

“Guess what!” she screams at the top of her lungs while throwing open the door. “We’re going to Africa! I found a transport spell!”

I hastily attempt to cover the receiver with my palm, but I think it’s too late. “Are you crazy?” I mouth. I wave the phone at her.

Her eyes widen and her jaw drops.

I place the phone back against my ear, take a deep breath, and try to sound oh-so-nonchalant. “What was your question? When Will started liking me? I’m not sure. It could have been recently.”

Silence. And then: “Did your sister just say that she found a transport spell? And that you’re going to Africa?”

Terrific. I shake my fist at Miri. “What? Oh, no, you must have heard wrong.” Think fast! “She said the train, um . . . smelled. Like . . . Africa.”

Miri rolls up into a ball by my bed, and her lips are quivering with fear.

Another silence. Tammy’s not going to buy it. Our cover is ruined. Miri has just ruined everything! I trust Tammy and all, but you never know; this is a big secret. What if she tells her Moms and they call the press, and then Miri and my mom are institutionalized? Oh, no. I’ll be forced to live with my dad!

“What does Africa smell like?” Tammy asks.

I exhale. “Um . . . dry? Listen, Tammy, can I call you back? My sister is having some mental issues.”

“Sure. Talk to you later.”

Miri climbs onto the bed beside me. “Whoops.”

“Try not to tell the entire world you’re a witch, okay? And excuse me . . . ,” I add as I recognize the seat of my favorite jeans hanging loosely over my sister’s scrawny behind. “Did I give you permission to borrow my clothes?”

“What’s the difference?” she mumbles, face pressed against my pillow. “You weren’t wearing them.”

And that’s when the cold water of realization is dumped over my head. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Will isn’t
really
in love with me. “This is a disaster.”

Miri turns her head sideways to look at me. “You’re not really mad, are you?”

“Raf’s glove,” I spit out, “wasn’t Raf’s. He must have borrowed the gloves from Will.”

“Huh?” She sinks her face back into the pillow. “Oh, no.”

I start laughing. I can’t help it. I recount to Miri the events of the day and finish with a flourishing “Doesn’t that suck?”

She nods. “What should we do? Do you want to use the heart-reversal spray? We have one already made and ready to go. Or I can try making a spell reversal, but it’s a tough one, a five-broomer. Maybe we should just use the heart reversal.”

“I guess.” I sigh. It’s Raf I want to like me. It’s Raf I like. Although Will is a good kisser. But I’m sure Raf is too. “I’ll use it on the date tomorrow. He wants to take me out for dinner.”

“You’re going to reverse the spell at a restaurant? What if he freaks out?”

Good point. New plan needed. What if he deserts me at the table? “Best to get it over with as soon as he rings the doorbell. Like ripping off a Band-Aid,” I say. Sigh.

“What’s wrong?”

“It felt good to have a guy like Will say he loves me. Even if it seemed weird and over-the-top. Especially since lately everyone else has been treating me like a major loser.”

“I can do another spell on Raf if you want.”

“Let’s focus on one love spell at a time,” I say.

She shuffles next to me and leans her legs on the wall. “Did it feel good?” She turns bright red. “The kissing part.”

“Yeah. It was cool.”

“Gross?”

“No, not gross. Fun.” But not Raf.

“Hi, guys!” my mom says, popping into the room. I didn’t know she was home. “What are you doing?”

“Discussing a magic disaster,” I admit. Why not? Maybe she’ll have some advice. “We put a love spell on the wrong guy.”

She perches on the corner of the bed. “Girls, I warned you to be careful.”

We hang our heads.

She sighs. “Why don’t you tell me all about it while I make you some pasta for dinner before my date.” She retreats into the kitchen.

I’m concerned that an alien has taken over my mother’s body.

“Another date?” Miri calls.

“Yes,” Mom calls across the apartment. “It’s a busy weekend. Dave invited me for a drink tonight. And tomorrow Adam is taking me to a play.”

“Two dates in one weekend?” I shriek. Despite my new fake boyfriend, my mom is getting more action than I am. Pathetic.

“Three, actually,” she says, and we hear the water turn on. “I’m meeting Jean-Paul for wine and cheese on Sunday.”

Triply pathetic.

“Jean-Paul?” At this point I jump off the bed, go into the kitchen, and heave myself onto the counter.

“Who is Jean-Paul?” Miri asks, annoyed, arms crossed, in the doorway.

“Just someone I met this week. He’s French.”

Bet he
really
knows how to kiss. “Where did you meet a Frenchman?” Where can I meet a Frenchman? I’ve always wanted to be fed cheese fondue while being whispered to in the language of love.

She opens the cupboard and pulls out the noodles. “It was the craziest thing. I was walking down the street and he bumped right into me. He knocked my purse off my shoulder. At first I thought he was some sort of hustler, like he was going to take off with my money, but he helped me pick up my things, told me I was
magnifique,
and asked me out! Incredible, huh?”

“Incroyable.”
Surely the eau de sardines didn’t hurt.

She pulls a wooden spoon from the drawer and points to herself. “Any suggestions on what I should wear?”

“Why don’t you whip yourself up some new clothes?” Miri suggests. Somewhat sarcastically, I might add.

Mom hesitates. “I’m trying to use magic sparingly.”

Miri snorts. “Right. Well, I’ll be in my room.”

Mom looks like a wounded bird. “Homework?”

“No. Saving-the-world work. I’d tell you more about it, but you’re far too busy.” And with that, she stomps off.

“I’m only trying to be a happier person,” my mom says sadly. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

“No, no, no, I’ll talk to her,” I promise. Mom’s off to such a promising start; she can’t quit now. I adjust her hair so it looks like she has bangs. “Oh, that looks great.”

“You think? Time for a new do?”

“Yes. Definitely.” I’ve only been saying that for two years.

“Longer? Or shorter?” She folds strands in half and hides them under her chin. “What do you think?”

I feel warm and girly. “Longer, definitely. You should grow it out. And do your roots!”

When dinner’s ready, Miri and I eat while my mom showers.

As I’m doing the dishes, my mom sashays back into the kitchen. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

“Have fun,” I say distractedly. And then I look up.

Oh. My. God. “Um, Mom?”

“What do you think?” she asks eagerly.

“Don’t you think”—how do I put this?—“Dave might notice that your hair grew two feet overnight?”

And it did. Not overnight but in the last sixty minutes. Seems Mom took a trip to the beauty parlor of magic. It’s long, and blond, and gorgeous. Roots? What roots? She looks like Barbie. Like Cinderella. Rapunzel.

She nibbles on her thumb. “Did I go overboard?”

“Well . . .” I probably shouldn’t burst her bubble. She needs the confidence boost. “You look hot. Smoking.”

She gives me one of her big freakish winks, with her open eye not moving at all. “He is a fireman.”

Groan.

“Get on my back,” Miri says the next morning, barging into my room, holding her knapsack close to her chest.

“Excuse me?”

“Come on. I want you to come with me to Tanzania so we can help the orphans.”