Rhymes With Witches Page 4

  “Have we finished the assignment?” Lurl the Pearl asked from behind me.

  I smothered a cry. She was mouth breathing down my neck. Quickly I clicked the back button, and the list of “bitch” sites reappeared. Shit, shit, shit. I clicked again and again to get back to the Google homepage.

  “This computer is reserved for research, Miss Goodwin,” said Lurl the Pearl. “Not Internet hanky panky.”

  “Sorry, Ms. Lear,” I said. I swiveled to face her, reminding myself not to stare at the bizarre contraption connected to her rose-tinted glasses. But it was extremely difficult. A thick strip of elastic circled her head like a crown, securing a Band-Aid shaped piece of metal that stretched horizontally across her pale forehead. A slimmer piece of metal extended downward from the Band-Aid’s center and hooked the bridge of her glasses, preventing them from slipping out of place. All of this to save her the effort of pushing them up every now and then.

  She blinked. “In any case, we do not condone the exploration of inappropriate subjects. Let’s save the nasty until we’re safe at home, shall we?”

  The nasty?

  “I wasn’t … I mean, I was just …” My gaze strayed to the metal T. I wondered if she got tan lines from it, or if it got hot and burned her. I wondered if she ever went out in the sun.

  The cat at my feet mewed, and Lurl scooped it up. It immediately began to purr.

  “In any case, you won’t find what you were looking for on the computer,” she said. She did this laugh thing that sounded like a grown man’s giggle, and my internal creep-meter dinged in alarm.

  “Um, I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I swear.”

  She stopped giggling. “Focus, please,” she said, fondling the cat as it head-butted her hand. She turned to face the class. “Would anyone care to discuss the cult objects found in the temple of Kali, goddess of death and resurrection?”

  Friday night, Bitsy pulled up in front of my house at eight-fifteen.

  “My, aren’t we looking glam?” she said when she saw me. “Quite a bit of leg on show there, eh?” She and Mary Bryan went into a titter fest, and my insides gummed up. I couldn’t move.

  “Hi, Jane,” Keisha said from the passenger seat of Bitsy’s red car. “Get in.”

  I searched Keisha’s face. She didn’t seem to be joking.

  “Come on, come on,” Bitsy said. “You’re dead lucky I haven’t peeled off by now.”

  I climbed past Keisha into the back. I squished in with Mary Bryan and tugged at my skirt.

  “Don’t let Bitsy bother you,” Mary Bryan said. “Anyway, I love your blouse.”

  “Really? It’s not too see-through?”

  Mary Bryan tucked my bra strap under the strap of the camisole. “There. Fabulous.”

  “You look fabulous,” I told her. I leaned forward to address Bitsy and Keisha. “You guys, too. You look great.”

  “Thanks, Jane,” Keisha said. “You’re sweet.”

  Bitsy accelerated, and I fell back against my seat. Mary Bryan giggled.

  “So help us out, will you, luv?” Bitsy said over her shoulder. “I want the truth. Your honest opinion.”

  “On what?”

  “Nose rings. Not a hoop, just a stud. A tiny silver star, for example.”

  “Oh my god,” Mary Bryan moaned. “Bitsy!”

  I pushed myself into a more comfortable position. “Uh … in general, or on someone specific?”

  “On me,” Mary Bryan said. “She’s talking about me, because I happened to mention—once!—that I thought it might look cute. But I wasn’t going to actually do it.”

  “Right, now you deny it,” Bitsy said. “So what about it, Jane? Yay or nay?”

  Mary Bryan hid her face in her hands. “Go on. Just say it, whatever it is.”

  I hesitated. I could tell they were teasing, but I wasn’t sure how to proceed. “Well, I wouldn’t judge somebody for getting it done,” I hedged. “Because, I mean, it’s their body. They can do whatever they want.”

  “Ha,” Mary Bryan said. “See?”

  “But would you get it done?” Bitsy said. “Would you even consider it?”

  “Personally? Um, probably not?”

  “Exactly,” Bitsy said. She caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “Good girl, Jane.”

  “Sorry,” I said to Mary Bryan.

  “I never said I was actually going to do it,” she said.

  Keisha turned toward the window, but she was smiling. My chest filled with something balloony and light.

  Bitsy tapped her iPod to change the playlist. She punched up the volume and tapped the beat on the steering wheel.

  Feeling bold, I fingered the hem of my skirt. “So, what you said about showing a lot of leg. Is that a good thing? Or do I look, you know, too tarty?”

  I meant it to be flippant. An I-can-take-it sort of remark, and also to show that I hadn’t forgotten what she’d said that day by my locker. But she and Keisha exchanged a look, and my stomach dipped.

  “What?” I said.

  Keisha twisted in her seat to face me. “Listen, Jane. Don’t take this the wrong way, but looks do matter. And if you’re going to be one of us, you’ve got to meet a certain standard. Do you know what I’m saying?”

  Mary Bryan found my hand and squeezed it.

  Keisha pressed on. “Your skirt’s a little short. I’m not going to lie. But for the most part you’re cute enough. And you do all right in school, which isn’t that important, but it doesn’t hurt. All of this is part of why we chose you. But you know what the most important thing is?”

  I shook my head.

  “You have to want it,” Keisha said. “You have to want to be popular more than you’ve wanted anything in your life.”

  Her eyes bored into me. Was I supposed to say something? Was I supposed to, like, bounce up and down and do cheerleader jumps?

  Without meaning to, I thought of the dead girl, Sandy, who had somehow come to life in my brain even though I knew she had never existed. Sandy, who was super needy. Who really, really, really wanted to be popular.

  “And we know you do,” Mary Bryan said reassuringly. “Right, Jane?”

  “Crikey, here we are,” Bitsy said. She turned left into a gated community and pulled up at the guard station. She gave them Kyle’s name.

  “So … what do I need to do?” I asked. I heard my voice quaver, and I dug my fingernails into my palms.

  Keisha’s expression softened. “Your wardrobe needs some work—it’s true. But you’re here at Kyle’s party with us. You’re pulling up in Bitsy’s car, and you’re walking in the door with Mary Bryan on one side of you and me on the other. Okay?”

  The gate creaked open.

  “Just be cool, luv,” Bitsy said. “Tonight you’re our baby Bitch.”

  I tried. I did. But my gut cramped up the second I walked in the door, and the whole time I was there I felt like I needed to sprint to the bathroom. Plus, everything was all chichi and ultra fancy. Like, there was a plaque in the entry hall announcing that this was a SHOE-FREE ENVIRONMENT. A shoe-free environment? In all my fourteen years, not once had I seen a plaque announcing a shoe-free environment.

  The others slipped off their shoes and put them on a special rack, so I stepped out of my clogs and did the same thing. My toenails were scraggly. I tried to scrunch them out of view.

  “Ladies,” Kyle said, swooping over to greet us. He put one arm around Bitsy and one arm around Mary Bryan. “Bitsy, I adore that halter. And Keisha! Our queen of the Nile!” He let go of Bitsy and Mary Bryan and air-kissed Keisha’s cheek.

  “Hi, Kyle,” Keisha said. She returned his kiss and made eyes at Bitsy.

  Kyle stepped back. He gave me the once over. “Well, what do we have here?”

  My face split into a twitchy grin. “Hi,” I said. “Thanks for inviting me to your party.”

  “You’re very welcome. Did I invite you to my party?”

  My smile hurt the sides of my mouth.

  “K
yle, this is Jane,” Bitsy said. “Be nice.”

  “Oh, poo. I’m always nice.” He looped his arm through mine and led me toward the kitchen. “Jane. Jane. Can I offer you a quencher, Jane?”

  “Uh, sure,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, cupcake. What’ll you have?”

  I looked at the blue- and gold-tiled countertops, which were lined with bottles. Dewar’s. Grey Goose. Bacardi. I remembered a drink I’d heard mentioned in a movie. “Maybe a mojito?”

  “Aren’t we sophisticated,” Kyle said.

  Bitsy choke-laughed. But she said, “Make it two. Better yet, four. I think we could all benefit from a mojito, right, girls?”

  She lounged against the counter, as comfortable in her body as I was uncomfortable in mine. I modeled my position after hers. Chill, I told myself. You are here with the Bitches. You are golden.

  Kyle handed me my drink. It tasted like mint.

  From where I stood I could see the already crowded living room, and out of everyone there—the jocks and the cheerleaders, the honor council kids, the partiers—there wasn’t a single person I knew well enough to say hello to. So when Keisha said, “All right, Jane. Time to mingle,” I about crapped my pants.

  “I’ll just hang out here,” I said. “But, you know, thanks.”

  “We need to see you in action,” Keisha said.

  Panicked, I turned to Mary Bryan.

  “You can do it,” she said. She smiled anxiously. “It’ll be fun.”

  Bitsy raised her glass. “Go on, luv. Strut your stuff.”

  Elizabeth Greene, head cheerleader: … and so he called me up out of the blue and was like, “I could really use someone to cuddle with right now.” Isn’t that too cute?

  Amy Skyler, Elizabeth’s best friend: No.

  Elizabeth: I think he wants to get back together.

  Amy: Elizabeth, he was horny. Which, in case you’ve forgotten, is why he dumped you for Paisley in the first place.

  Elizabeth: She totally stole him on purpose. Slut.

  Amy: Skank.

  Elizabeth: Lying piece of trash.

  Me, edging closer: Paisley Karr? The girl who trains Seeing-Eye dogs?

  Elizabeth: Who the fuck are you?

  Stuart Hill, star quarterback: Dude! I am all about faith. I mean, those Christian girls are hot.

  John Rogers, linebacker: Yeah, man. You said it.

  Me:

  Stuart: I’m like, “You want to pray, sweet thing? Sure, baby, get down on those knees.”

  John, cackling: Forgive me, O Lord, for I have sinned.

  Me:

  Stuart: Dude!

  Raven Holtzclaw-Fontaine, super-good artist: I’m dying to capture one of them in oil. Those claws. Those yellow eyes. Oh my god, those tails.

  Katie Clark, wannabe artist: You should. You totally should.

  Raven: “Doomed to Die,” I could call it. Or, I know, I know. “Fish out of Water.”

  Katie, giggling: “Fish” out of water? Not “cat” out of water?

  Raven: It’s a statement, Katie, not a one-to-one correspondence.

  Me: Are you, um, talking about the feral cats?

  Katie: Excuse me?

  Me: Because even though they’re creepy, I kind of feel bad for them. Don’t you? I mean, they just want to go about their lives, but they can’t, because everybody hates them and throws rocks at them and—

  Raven, coldly: Well, that’s their own fault. Did anyone force them to make their little love nests on our fucking campus? No.

  Me: Oh. That’s true, I guess, only—

  Katie: Excuse me, but I don’t think we asked for your opinion. So if you don’t mind … ?

  By ten, I was ready to throw myself over a cliff. Here I was supposed to be strutting my stuff, and my stuff was utterly pathetic. Hell, had the Bitches wanted to show how unfit I was for the whole popularity game, they couldn’t have picked a better way.

  I even made a fool of myself in front of Nate Solomon, a senior I’d had a secret crush on since before the school year started. Nate lived next door to Phil, and all summer long I’d gotten to admire him from Phil’s backyard. Polishing the hood of his pickup. Buffing the fenders with his T-shirt, which he’d have conveniently taken off. His arms were such boy arms, strong and muscular. Sometimes I got so mesmerized that I lost track of Phil altogether.

  “Janie,” Phil would say. “Janie. Anyone there?”

  “Ooo, sorry,” I’d say, “I just got distracted.” I’d flash Phil my most charming smile. “What was that again?”

  So when I spotted Nate shuffling through CDs by Kyle’s stereo, my heart whomped so hard I thought I would be sick. This is your chance, I coached myself. This is your only, only chance. I swallowed and made myself step forward.

  “Um, hi,” I said.

  His eyes flicked over me. He grunted.

  “So … picking out some music?” I blushed the second I said it, because duh, what else did I think he was doing? Strumming a banjo? But it didn’t matter, because his attention had already slid elsewhere.

  “Ryan!” he called, holding one CD aloft. “Ice bonus, man!”

  He brushed past me on the way to the CD player and didn’t notice as he knocked my shoulder, because I was absolutely invisible.

  Humiliated, I slunk to the kitchen. The tile counters and the top of the island were cluttered with plastic cups and half-full wineglasses, but there were no actual people in the room. It was a party-free zone, at least for the moment. I bit my lip, then crossed to the far side of the island. I slid down behind it, bringing my knees to my chest as my butt reached the floor. I was eye level with the cabinets under the sink. A lone blue M&M rested on the floor by a piece of fluff.

  I exhaled. All that was left of my mojito were small ovals of ice, and I sucked a piece into my mouth. I let it drift about my tongue, then leaned slightly forward and let it slip out. I swirled my glass until I couldn’t distinguish it from the others.

  In the living room, someone shrieked and said, “Turn that thing off! I look terrible!”

  “Ah, shut up. You know you love it,” a guy said. Stuart Hill, who was apparently making the rounds with his video camera again. I’d seen him with it earlier in the night.

  The tension in my chest started to loosen—the party people were there, and I was here—and I had the thought that I could stay hidden behind the island forever. It was clean. It was dry. It was actually quite comfortable. I raised my glass and slurped in another ice oval, then choked as I heard feet pad across the tiled kitchen floor.

  “—in common at all,” a girl was saying. “I’m just so tired of it.”

  I swallowed the ice and drew my knees up as far as I could.

  There was the hiss of an opened pop top. A second girl said, “Tell me about it. All I think about is what a good girlfriend I would be, if only I got the chance.”

  I breathed as quietly as I could. The first girl was Sukie Karing, I was pretty sure. And the second girl was Pammy Varlotta, another junior. I could tell by the way she pronounced her Ts, as if her tongue was too big for her mouth.

  “I mean, seriously,” Pammy went on. “How sad is that?”

  A third girl laughed. Even before she spoke, I knew who it was.

  “Dead sad,” Bitsy said. “If you want a boy, Pammy, you’ve got to go out and get yourself one. None of this lurking about feeling sorry for yourself.”

  Shit, shit, shit. Sweat beaded the nape of my neck.

  “Easy for you to say,” Sukie said. “You’ve got boys drooling over you every time you turn around.”

  “Well …” Bitsy said.

  “But she’s with Brad now,” Pammy interjected. “Right, Bitsy? And I’m so happy for you. You’re such a great couple.”

  “Yeah? You don’t think he’s a bit flash?” Bitsy asked.

  “Oh my god, he’s the hottest guy in school,” Pammy said. “Not to mention the fact that he totally worships you.”

  Even in my nervousn
ess, I gagged at what a suck-up Pammy was. On the other hand, if I were in her place, I’d probably be licking Bitsy’s boots, too. If Bitsy were wearing boots. If it were a shoe-possible environment.

  “There is that,” Bitsy said. A chip bag rustled. “I suppose I’ll keep him a little longer.”

  “Good, because we don’t want you single again, that’s for sure,” Pammy said. She giggled. “Little Miss Greedy-Guts, stealing all the boys away.”

  There was a pause. Then, “Little Miss Greedy-Guts?”

  “She didn’t mean it like that,” Sukie interjected. “Right, Pammy? She just meant—”

  “What if I want to be Little Miss Greedy-Guts?” Bitsy asked, dangerously smooth.

  Pammy’s giggles dried up. “I just … it’s just that you’re so beautiful and funny, and your accent is so adorable. None of us has a chance when you’re around.”

  “Maybe none of you has a chance because you’re whining slags,” Bitsy said.

  Sukie tried to laugh. “Bitsy. Don’t be like that.”

  “Like what? Honest?”

  A drip of condensation rolled down my glass.

  “Every boy in the school wants to go out with you, that’s all,” Sukie said. “I mean, not that it’s your fault.”

  “Of course not!” Pammy chimed in. “I never meant it was your fault. Oh my god, is that what you thought?”

  “It’s just a fact of life,” Sukie went on. “You think Payton would be going out with me if he thought he had a shot with you?”

  “And Ryan Overturf,” Pammy said. “Last year he wouldn’t give me a second look. He was all Bitsy, Bitsy, Bitsy. But now that you’re with Brad—”

  “Enough,” Bitsy commanded.

  They both shut up. I gripped my glass.

  But when Bitsy spoke again, it was in a new voice. “So, Pammy. You fancy Ryan, do you?”

  “I don’t know,” Pammy said hesitantly. “Maybe? And I think—I mean, probably not—but sometimes I think maybe he likes me back?”