Rhymes With Witches (21 page)

I put the bobby pin on Lurl's desk, closing my mind to whom it might have once belonged. It was easier than I thought. And an hour later, as I gathered my books from my locker, I felt the spine-tingling surge that meant Lurl had claimed the offering. It filled me up and left me breathless.

That evening, after an impromptu
Through the Looking Glass
theme party at Sukie Karing's house, I played back a sad-sack message from Alicia.

“Um, hi, it's me,” she said in a snivelly voice. “I hope you're not mad at me. I know I was really rude, but I didn't mean to be. It's just, what you said, it really …” She sniffed. “Anyway, I'm sorry. That's all I wanted to say.”

The first message was followed by a second. This time I could hear Rae in the background.

“Um, hi again,” Alicia said.

Then Rae: “Tell her, Alicia. Just say the words on the paper.”

“I can't!”

“
Say
it!”

Alicia came back full strength, as if she'd removed her hand from the part you speak into. “Um, sorry, Jane. That was just Rae. Anyway—”

“She hates your guts! She thinks you're scum!”

“No, I don't! Oh my god,
Rae
! Jane, I swear—”

Her voice cut off, and the machine beeped, announcing the third and last message.

“This is Rae. My sister hates your guts, even if she's too afraid to admit it. And I do, too. Everyone does. They may not act like it on the surface, but we all know that what's on the surface is a big, fat lie. So take that and shove it up your bunghole, you lying bitch!”

Three final beeps, then silence, except for the ticking of the oven clock.

“Psychotic freak,” I whispered.

My legs felt shaky. I hit “delete.”

Saturday night was casino night at Stuart Hill's house. Stuart's probation was over, and to celebrate, his parents had hired a croupier to run a blackjack table in their living room. A roulette wheel clicked and whirred in the alcove, and in the oversized den, three showgirls danced in Cleopatra headdresses and black sequined fantails.

Bitsy smooched with Ryan Overturf by the slot machine in the entry hall, then tired of his fawning and called for a Bitches meeting away from any nosy parkers. I was reluctant to leave the bar, where Nate had been showing me the impossibility of burning a cigarette hole on a twenty dollar bill laid flat against his arm. Apparently the flesh behind the bill took the heat, and sure enough, when Nate removed the bill, I could see a small red blister rising on his skin. I would have kissed it to make it better, but duty called. I trailed the others out to the patio.

“It's ten o'clock, and already I'm knackered,” Bitsy complained.

“What about your new flame Ryan?” Mary Bryan asked. “You seemed happy enough five minutes ago.”

“Five minutes ago he hadn't yet confessed his undying love for me,” Bitsy said. “‘Be still my heart'—he actually said those very words! Swooning about like an idiot, saying it was a dream come true. Bloody nightmare, I say!”

“You don't want to be his dream come true?” I asked.

Bitsy rolled her eyes. She was gorgeous even when she was fed up, and in her low-cut red dress, she was every guy's dream come true. “It was a
kiss
. A simple, ordinary kiss. I swear, I thought he was going to break out in song.”

“Then why'd you come on to him?” Keisha said. Tonight her dress was teal. It shimmered as she took a sip of her Diet Coke. “You knew what would happen.”

“Bloody hell,” Bitsy said. “Pammy can have him. They can slobber all over each other and leave me out of it.” She pulled a compact from her tiny red clutch and checked her makeup. She uncapped a lipstick and applied a fresh coat. “He asked me to go to the Fall Fling with him, can you believe it?” She dropped the lipstick back in her bag. “I told him sorry, but we girls are going together.”

“We are?” Mary Bryan said.

“Fine with me,” Keisha said. “L'Kardos has an away meet that weekend, anyway.”

Mary Bryan shrugged. She was dressed as a flapper, her hair swooped back in adorable pin-curl waves. “I guess it's okay with me, too.”

They looked at me expectantly.

“Jane?” Bitsy inquired.

I smoothed my new skirt, which I'd bought with Mom's credit card. “The thing is, I kind of already have a date. With Phil Fleischman?”

“Phil
Fleischman
?” Mary Bryan said.

“What?” I said. “What's wrong with Phil?”

Bitsy smothered a laugh. “Oh, sweets. Phil may be a nice lad, but come on. He's puny.”

My cheeks burned. “Puny” was a terrible word.

“Come with us,” Mary Bryan said. “Phil will understand.”

Bitsy looped her arm through mine. “Girl power and all that. Tell him it's a unity thing.”

Keisha watched my face. “You don't have to, Jane.”

“Yes, you do,” Bitsy said. “Otherwise there'd just be the three of us, and how sad would that be?”

I bit my lip. I imagined being at the Fall Fling with Phil, watching as Keisha, Bitsy, and Mary Bryan frolicked about without me. Then I imagined it the other way around, with Phil watching from the sidelines. Only he probably wouldn't come on his own. It's not as if he really liked school functions, anyway.

“I guess I could do something with Phil another night,” I said. I was just trying out the idea, but Bitsy squeezed my arm approvingly.

“That's our girl,” she said. She sat down on a wicker bench and patted the cushions to show that we should join her. “And now for more pressing concerns. What in heaven's name shall we wear?”

On our way back through the house, we were waylaid by Elizabeth Greene and several of the other cheerleaders. They were
perched on one of the living room sofas, cackling at something on somebody's laptop.

“Check it out,” Elizabeth said, grabbing Bitsy's arm. She pulled Bitsy over and pointed midway down the screen. “Look what we put for ‘favorite movie.'”

“
Bad Girls' Dormitory
,” Bitsy read. Her lips curved into a smile. “Is that the one with Alyssa Milano?”

“And for favorite Web rings, we put ‘Naughty Professors,' ‘Prince Edward's Lesbigay Social Club,' and ‘Asian Sluts.'”

“Brilliant. Only she's not Asian,” Bitsy pointed out.

“What, she's not allowed to have a fetish?” Elizabeth said.

“Who's not allowed to have a fetish?” Mary Bryan asked. She squeezed past me to get closer to the computer.

Until now, I'd only been half paying attention. Keisha had spotted L'Kardos slipping a bill into the bra of one of the showgirls, and she'd marched over to slap his hand. Seeing him had made me think of Nate, and I'd been scanning the dimly lit room for his lean frame.

But then Elizabeth said, “Camilla Jones,” and the back of my neck prickled. At least, I thought she said “Camilla Jones.” Did she say “Camilla Jones”?

I shook my head to clear it. “I'm sorry. Who'd you say you're talking about?”

“For favorite music, how about this,” Elizabeth said. “Up with People, Backstreet Boys, and the Sex Pistols.”

“What about that guy who plays the pan flute?” Mary Bryan suggested.

Elizabeth giggled. She typed in, “And that guy who plays the pan flute.”

“I'm totally lost,” I said.

“It's a ‘Friendies' profile,” Elizabeth said proudly. She scrolled to the top, where sure enough, there was Camilla's name, along with her measurements, her favorite food, and her favorite color. For that one, Elizabeth had entered, “The rainbow.”

“You know, a hook-up club,” Elizabeth explained. “We gave out her home phone, too. And her street address. Want to see the photo we submitted?”

She clicked on another link, and up came the picture. Camilla's hair was pulled back into a severe bun, and her lips were pursed. Offering contrast to Camilla's scowl was a flock of doting bluebirds, which Elizabeth had pasted in so that they appeared to be sitting on Camilla's shoulders.

I battled with my natural impulse, which was to laugh. Only in reality it
wasn't
my natural impulse, and I knew it. My breathing grew shallow.

“I took it on my camera-phone yesterday during lunch,” Jerri Skyler volunteered. “First I made Clark throw a cherry tomato at her.”

“But why?” I said.

“To make her look up,” Jerri said.

“No, I mean why are you doing this in the first place? What if some weirdo actually tracks her down?”

Elizabeth winked. “Then maybe she'll make a friend.”

“A friendie,” Jerri corrected.

They all cracked up. I didn't want to be there, so I left. Bitsy followed me into the hall.

“Chill,” she said. “It was my idea. I thought it would be good for a laugh.”

I wrapped my arms around my chest. I was a bad person, but at least I tried to rein myself in. And I knew I was indebted to Bitsy, but why did she always have to make things harder?

“I don't get it,” I said. “You're, like, the most adored girl in the school. You've got everything you want. Why do you have to make everyone be mean to her?”

Bitsy wagged her finger. “You've got to admit, Camilla is very antisocial. It's not healthy.”

It pissed me off that she was being so flippant. The whole situation pissed me off, my own reaction included. “And this is your way of bringing her out of her shell? Signing her up for an online stalker service?”

“She's a stuck-up cunt. If she didn't think she was so much better than us, none of this would be happening.”

“Oh, that's nice,” I said. My anger flared higher. It was her fault I felt so ragged inside. So I said, “Why do you even care what Camilla does? Seriously, does it bug you that much that she knows about your dad?”

Her face went slack. Then her eyes flashed poison and she said, “What did you say?”

I realized I'd screwed up, but it was too late to recant. “Nothing! Just that …” I threw up my hands. “Dads leave. That's what they do.”

She lifted her chin. “And of course you know all about it, being the resident expert. How long's yours been gone, two years now?”

“Three,” I threw back. “But you don't see me ruining people's lives just for the fun of it.”

“Oh, so you did your friend Alicia a favor, then, did you?”

“I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't—”

“Face it, Jane. You're no better than I am.”

“Maybe not. But at least I want to be.”

She stepped closer. For a second I thought she was going to—what? Slap me? Then a movement at the end of the hall drew her attention. It was Mary Bryan, wandering out of the living room.

“
There
you guys are,” she said. She glanced from me to Bitsy. “What? What's going on?”

“Jane's been prattling on about how virtuous she is because she feels sorry for poor Camilla,” Bitsy said.

Mary Bryan wrinkled her forehead. “Camilla? Why?” Then, as if it honestly that second occurred to her, “Oh. Because of the ‘Friendies' thing?”