Rhymes With Witches

Also by Lauren Myracle

The
Internet Girls series
ttyl
ttfn
l8r, g8r

Eleven
Twelve
Kissing Kate

PUBLISHER'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Myracle, Lauren, 1969–Rhymes with witches / Lauren Myracle.
p. cm.
Summary: High school freshman Jane believes that she would do anything to be popular until she is selected to be in the school's most exclusive clique and learns that popularity has a price.
ISBN 0-8109-5859-7
[1. Popularity—Fiction. 2. Cliques (Sociology)—Fiction. 3. Witchcraft—Fiction. 4. Conduct of life—Fiction. 5. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 6. High schools—Fiction. 7. Schools—Fiction.]
I. Title.
PZ7.M9955Rh 2005
[Fic]—dc22
2004023447
paperback ISBN 978-0-8109-9215-3

Originally published in hardcover by Amulet Books in 2005
Copyright © 2006 Lauren Myracle

Designed by Jay Colvin

Published in 2006 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.

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For Laura,
the original Bitch,
who couldn't be a bitch if she tried

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

beg

speak

roll over

about the author

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Tobin Anderson for inducting me into the world of the weird. Thanks to Laura Pritchett, Todd Mitchell, and Jack Martin for helping me make the weird even weirder. And thanks times ten to Susan Van Metre, who tempered weirdness with vulnerability, spookiness with humanity. Susan, you are the cat's meow.

I
so shouldn't have worn this thong. It was hiking up my butt, and there was nothing I could do about it because there was no way to subtly reach up and yank it out. “They're comfortable,” Mom had said. Then, “Well, they do take some getting used to. But Jane, if you don't want panty lines …”

Thanks, Mom. This was the wedgie from hell.

“I'm thinking maybe board shorts and a red tank top,” Alicia said.

I shifted on the hard cafeteria chair. My new dress, the one that demanded no panty lines, wrinkled under my thighs.

“
If
I can find black board shorts,” Alicia went on. “Or board shorts with enough black in them to count as black. We all have to wear black and red, did I tell you?”

“Go Devils,” I said.

Alicia speared a spaghetti noodle. She twirled it around her fork. “You're being stupid, you know. They have spots for five freshmen. You could sign up after lunch and still have—”

She was interrupted by a high-pitched yowl as a rangy butterscotch-colored cat bolted from the kitchen. It leaped over one table and skidded down another, sending a plate of spaghetti crashing to the floor. Cries erupted as people jerked out of its way. Chairs screeched.

“Get out! Get
out
!” one of the cafeteria ladies shrieked, brandishing a spatula. “Filthy overgrown rodent!”

The cat bounded through the wide double doors. The cafeteria lady flung her spatula, and the cat jumped sideways and tore down the hall.

“And
stay
out!” the cafeteria lady yelled. She stared after it, her face flushed and her hairnet slipping out of place. She stomped back to the kitchen to the applause of the student body.

“Jesus Christ,” Alicia said. “You'd think we could have one day—
one
day—without those cats breaking a frickin' plate. But nooo. The whole damn school is possessed, I'm not even kidding.”

“They're cats, Alicia. Not spinning-head girls from
The Exorcist
.”

“They're diseased. Why doesn't someone call the Humane Society?”

I raised my eyebrows. Mr. Van Housen, the principal,
had
called the Humane Society, as well as Animal Control. He'd sent out e-mail after e-mail explaining the difficulty of capturing feral
cats once they've taken over a given territory, e-mails that Alicia had received along with everyone else.

“Whatever,” she said. “But it's driving me insane.” She stabbed a fresh noodle and demanded, “So will you? Sign up after lunch?”

“I'm not trying out for cheerleading,” I said.

“But
why
? I know you're convinced you're this big loser, but you could at least try out.”

My skin grew warm. “I'm not convinced I'm a loser. Who said I'm convinced I'm a loser?”

“Hmm. Would that possibly be you, Jane?” She assumed a hangdog expression. “‘I am worthless and alone because my daddy abandoned me. Boo-hoo-hoo.'”

I put down my garlic bread. Alicia was not nearly as clever as she liked to think she was.

“I'm kidding,” she said. Her face showed her regret, although only for an instant. Being real with each other wasn't something Alicia and I knew how to do very well. “But how are you going to, like, rise above it if you never even make the effort? I'm serious. Don't you ever just want to be more than who you are?”

A new disruption sent ripples through the crowded cafeteria, saving me from having to answer. It was the Bitches, Crestview's elite, strolling majestically through the doors. They filed in according to rank: first Keisha, who was a senior; then Bitsy, a junior; then Mary Bryan, a sophomore. A lull fell in the hum of eating and talking, and then conversations swelled back up. Brad Johnson's laugh rang out, shouting,
Look at me! Look at me!
Sukie Karing smiled hard and waved. “Over here!” she called. “I saved you guys seats!”

“
They're
not cheerleaders,” I said. “You don't have to be a cheerleader to be cool.”

Alicia snorted. Still, she straightened her spine as Bitsy passed. So aware, all of us, of being in their presence. I watched as they waltzed into the food line, then I gloomily regarded my spaghetti, knowing they'd emerge with fettuccine alfredo.

Alicia sagged into her usual slump. “That's because they're beyond cheerleader-cool,” she said. “The usual rules don't apply.”

“Well, that's not fair,” I said. But it was a half-hearted complaint, because to complain about something, you had to not like that thing, and I liked the Bitches as much as anyone. Liked them—ha. Craved them, yearned for them, wanted to be them. Bought this stupid dress to impress them, for god's sake, not that they'd ever notice. So really, the complaint was less about them and more about me.

Keisha walked out of the food line with her loaded tray, and Tommy Arnez quoted loudly from
Casablanca
.

“I came for the waters!” he cried. He and Curtis MacKeen started a
Casablanca
riff, their voices growing louder and their Bogart impressions heavier, and Keisha rewarded them with a smile.

“So will you at least come watch next Monday, when we do our official auditions?” Alicia asked. “I need someone to cheer me on.”

I turned back to her. “I thought the cheering was your job.”

She scowled,
Oh aren't you funny.

“Of course I'll come,” I said. “I'll clap like crazy.”

Keisha, Bitsy, and Mary Bryan dropped down by Sukie Karing, and Mary Bryan tore open a packet of cheese and sprinkled it onto her carbonara. Not fettuccine alfredo, but carbonara. I could see the pancetta.

“I just hope I can do a split by then,” Alicia said. “I am so inflexible it's not even funny.” Her eyes drifted to the Bitches, then made their way back to me. She sucked on her Diet Coke. “So what's
your
big news? Before homeroom you said you had something to tell me.”

“I did?” I said. “Huh. I can't remember.”

“Liar,” she said. “Did it have to do with your dad? I bet it did, didn't it? Did he send you another dippy gift?”

As a matter of fact, he had. He'd mailed me a souvenir from Egypt, the latest stop on his quest to find himself. I wadded up my napkin.

“Because you really can tell me,” she said. “I won't say anything mean. I promise.”

“I've got to go,” I said. I tossed my napkin on my tray and stood up. “I've got to finish my Spanish.”

“Nerd,” she said.

“Spaz,” I said.

I slung my backpack over my shoulder. A lump in the bottom bumped my hip. I took my tray to the conveyor belt, then headed past Mary Bryan and Keisha and Bitsy toward the door.
Easy
now,
I told myself. Stomach in. Chin up. Expression alert, indicating rich inner life. Three, two, one—smile!