Frogs & French Kisses #2 (16 page)

“I’m just off to MOMA with Jordan,” my mom declares as I walk into her room when I get home. “Finish your homework before you watch TV. And make sure Miri finishes her reading in A
²
. She’s been falling behind in her training. I left you money to order Chinese food on the kitchen table—”

Again? And who’s Jordan?

Mom slaps her hand against her open mouth.

“What?”

“I forgot the laundry in the washing machine. Do you think you can— Oh, never mind.”

She closes her eyes and purses her lips, and the next thing I know, a heap of our clothes is dry and folded into neat piles on her bed.

All the folding and sorting I’ve done over the years becomes a distant cruel memory.

“How do I look?” she asks, twirling. She’s wearing chocolate-colored pants (new), a white blouse (new), and her heart-shaped necklace.

“Gorge. Have fun,” I say, and kiss her on the forehead.

She takes off in a flutter, and I try to block out my Rafinduced confusion and focus on the task at hand—figuring out what I’m going to auction off. I find Miri at her desk. “I’m really busy,” she says without looking up. “Did you hear about the bushfires in California? What are we going to do?”

“Not much,” I say, lying down in my usual position, my feet propped up on her wall. “Can we take a few secs to discuss the prom debacle?”

She closes her notebook and turns to face me. “Go ahead.”

“So it seems that alumni have donated most of the money to repair the school, right? But since this whole screwup is partially your fault, I still need your help. Like you promised. To raise prom money instead. And we’re having an auction. So I need you to poof up something that I can donate. Something that we can sell. Something cool and expensive.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know. What can you whip up? Let’s brainstorm.”

She heaves a sigh, then opens her notebook to a clean page. “What do teenagers want?”

No more acne, no more rules. “To be older.”

“Not sure I can do that.” She scratches her nose with the wrong side of her pen and draws a blue line across the bridge. I try not to laugh; I don’t want to interrupt the flow of this brainstorming session. “What about a trip somewhere?” she suggests.

“How would we do that? Fly the person plus guest there on your broomstick?”

“Ha-ha. Maybe I could zap up some airline tickets to Cancun.”

“Yeah? That sounds more like computer hacking than witchcraft.” I take her pillow and balance it on my feet.

“Can you stop? I sleep on that, you know.”

“It helps me think. Maybe we could get Mom to help.”

“Are you kidding? She’s way too busy lately.”

“No kidding. She needs a clone of herself just to meet all these guys. Hey, that would be cool. Can you make clones?” I would get mine to go to school for me. What would her name be? I think of London and grimace. Definitely not Rochelle.

“I don’t think so.”

“An iPod?” I could really use one. I kick the pillow over to Miri and she catches it in her lap.

“A laptop?” She tosses back the pillow.

“A TV?” I kick it right back to her, like we’re playing hot potato.

She throws it right back. “A flat-screen TV? Lots of flatscreen TVs!”

I catch it with my hands and then lie down on it. “Perfect! A fancy TV will get us at least a few grand. We poof one up, then use the multiplying spell, and presto, the prom is saved! Is there a spell for TVs?”

“I doubt it, no. But I have a ton of stuff to do this week. I’m going to try that cleaning spell on the Hudson River, and maybe the Mississippi. So let’s make Saturday spell day. And we’ll figure it all out.”

“Perfect! I have nothing to do Saturday anyway. Will is working and Tammy is babysitting Aaron.” I realize how selfish that sounds. Here I am asking Miri for a favor and expecting her to fit it into my schedule. Still, there’s no reason we can’t be efficient with our time, is there? And as far as the prom is concerned, time is of the essence!

“I thought she didn’t like him anymore.”

“She likes him as a friend, but that’s it. But because he has mono, she feels too guilty to break up with him.” I really shouldn’t gossip with Miri so much about my friends. She never tells me anything about hers. Hmm, I’m not sure she has any. “So Saturday will be a sister day. Maybe we can watch a movie on the new TV!” Maybe I should stay home and watch TV on Friday, too, instead of going out with Will and Raf. How can I deal with both—correction:
all—
the Kosravi brothers simultaneously?

I need a clone. Rochelle, where art thou?

“Oh, will you do me one more favor?” I ask. “I need you to extend the love spell on the glove.”

“Extend?” Miri says, shaking her head. “You can’t renew a love spell. It isn’t a library book, you know.”

“What?” I scream. “Are you kidding me?” What am I going to do? Will’s feelings for me are going to wear off and I’ll be left with nothing! Unless Raf starts to like me again . . . Yeah, right. It looks like I’ve lost Raf for good.

Miri leans back in her chair again, laughing hysterically. “I’m just kidding. Of course I can do it again. You can sleep on it tonight. Wow, you should have seen the look on your face. It was so funny.”

Hilarious.

Operation Save the Prom, aka the Auction, has been approved by the principal and scheduled for Monday, May 24, which is only three days before the prom.

I’m in the school bathroom trying to get the no-touch auto-dryer to work when Jewel and Melissa saunter in. They start flicking their hair excessively when they see me.

“Hi, Rachel,” Jewel says, catching my eye in the mirror. I feel the familiar tug of my heart. We used to be best friends. Before she joined the dark side.

“Hey,” I respond, and stop waving my hands like a weirdo. I wipe my hands on my new fabo jeans. This room is too small for the three of us.

“So, Rachel,” Melissa says, sliding up next to me. She reapplies her lipstick. “Looking forward to dinner tonight? Patsy’s is my fave. Love that white pizza.”

What?

Not only do I have to deal with my boyfriend, my quasi ex-boyfriend and love of my life, and their parents, I also have to deal with my archenemy? Are Melissa and Raf
that
serious? Are they a full-fledged couple? Maybe I’ll stab her with the pizza slicer. Maybe I’ll stab myself. Waiting for hours in the ER waiting room has got to be better than enduring an entire evening at the restaurant, as fave as it is. (And I know about waiting for hours in an ER. A person has to be run over by a steamroller before a doctor will see her. When I was five I got my finger caught in the car door, and I had to wait six hours before someone finally came out from somewhere in back, and then all he gave me was one lousy stitch and a lollipop.)

Melissa’s green eyes are twinkling with evil.

You know what? I’m not going to take her intimidation any longer. She should be nicer to me; I’m practically her sister-in-law. So what if Raf and Melissa are an item? It doesn’t matter. Raf doesn’t want me? Well, I don’t want him. I’m dating someone older and wiser. Someone who
wants
to date me. Fine, maybe his feelings are a bit enchanted, but that’s irrelevant. I have a boyfriend. Raf is history. “I am,” I say in my loudest, bring-it-on voice. I stretch myself up to my full five foot one. “See ya.” With that, I exit the bathroom.

Not my best closing line, but at least this time I didn’t trip over a bike rack.

It’s Friday night, and once again my mom and I are acting like wound-up toy cars, running all over the apartment. She’s in a bathrobe, blow-drying her long, perfectly blond hair, as I struggle to find the right outfit for my potential night from hell.

When the buzzer goes off, I kiss Miri on the forehead and go into my mom’s room to say good-bye. “Have fun tonight!” I say over the sound of the blow-dryer.

She’s tilted upside down and smiling, so it looks like she’s frowning. “You too! Where are you going?”

It smells like smoke in here. That had better be her hair burning and not a cigarette. “Patsy’s!” I say.

“What?”

“Patsy’s!”

“Barbequing? Have fun! Can you open the . . .” The blow-dryer drowns out her words.

“What? I can’t hear you.”

“Never mind!” she says, and with a purse of her lips, she opens her bedroom window with a bang.

I grab my purse and I’m out the door.

This is a disaster.

No, really. I know I’ve called things disasters before, but this qualifies as an eleven on the Richter scale. Here is the seating arrangement at our round table: Will is on my left. Next to him is Mitch. Next to Mitch is Louise, his girlfriend. Next to her is Mr. Kosravi (“Call me Don, sweetie,” he says). Next to Don is Mrs. Kosravi (who keeps giving me the evil eye, most likely for ditching her baby boy and then promptly taking up with her middle child). Next to Mrs. Kosravi is Melissa. Which means guess who’s sitting to my right? (Drumroll, please.)

Raf.

How did this happen? It was like a game of musical chairs gone wrong. And now anytime Raf or Will moves his legs, his shoes accidentally bump against mine and shock waves go through my body. My left foot—Will. Right foot—Raf. My brain sensors are in overdrive. And Melissa is ignoring me entirely, laughing and joking with Mrs. Kosravi (she calls her Isabel) and Louise. Melissa’s parents, Louise’s parents, and the Kosravis go way back. How quaint.

Isabel and Louise let out peals of laughter and my back stiffens. Who knew Melissa had anything funny to say? I stare into my plate of Caesar salad.

Okay, it’s not
all
a disaster. The fried calamari is pretty awesome. And the truth is listening to the three boys tease and joke with one another is pretty adorable.

“Do you wanna play some ball tomorrow?” Mitch asks Will. Mitch is, not surprisingly, as hot as his younger brothers. The three of them all have the same sexy dark hair, dark eyes, and lean athletic bodies. Mitch’s hair is the longest, his face the most angular. Will’s hair is the shortest and I think he’s the tallest. Raf has the widest smile. And a curl to his hair that the others don’t have.

“I can’t,” Will says. “Unlike you, I have a job on Saturdays.”

He is so responsible, my boyfriend. How many eighteen-year-old boys work just to be independent?

“Why do you work so hard?” Mitch asks.

Raf rips a roll in half and dips it into his bean soup. “It’s called money. You know, that green stuff you keep milking from Mom and Dad?”

Funny. Fine. But
he
doesn’t have a job. So there.

But he does have a drop of soup on the corner of his mouth. He licks it off. Must stop staring at Raf’s lips. Must stare at Will’s instead.

“You’re a comedian, Lobes!” Mitch reaches clear across the table and tugs on Raf’s ear. “Doesn’t he have the floppiest ears? Raf, does your girlfriend give you mooshies?”

Me? What? Oh, right. I’m
Will’s
girlfriend.

Raf squirms and turns a deep shade of red.

Melissa stops her conversation to beam a smile across the table, as if she’s accepting an award. The Snob of the Year Award.

“You should have seen him when he was younger,” Mitch says. “He had the biggest ears in the world. Dumbo ears. Will and I used to tape them to the back of his head. We still think you should have had that surgery.” He polishes off the remainder of his salad.