Bras & Broomsticks (36 page)

STB looks at my dad and beams. I’m hoping it’s because of the wedding, and not the cleaning.

The next thing I know, the two of them are making out. It’s kind of gross, actually. I can see tongue. So I back out of the kitchen and call home to make sure everything is working out as planned. Miri assures me that everyone is back on schedule for tonight.

Of course they are. My mom is an awesome spell-maker.

To be nice, I start running a bath for Prissy (we’ve got to get a move on, here!), and while the tub is filling, I take a deep breath and make a phone call.

Tammy’s answering machine picks up on the first ring.

“Hi, it’s me,” I say. “I know you probably hate me for everything I did. And you have every reason to. I’ve been a crappy friend, and I want to say that I’m sorry. Sorry for what happened at Mick’s, for blowing you off for Jewel, for everything. You’ve been a terrific friend from day one, a real friend, and I didn’t properly appreciate you until now. Anyway, the wedding is back on, and I’m at my dad’s. You don’t have to call me back or anything. I know you’re busy getting ready for the dance tonight. I hope you and Aaron have a blast.” I hang up and hope that one day she’ll forgive me.

Time to get Prissy ready. (“I love baths because they’re warm and soft and I have a bath pillow and it smells good and do you like baths, Rachel?”)

It’s the least I can do.

Miri gets to my dad’s two hours later (“You were right! The phone calls took me exactly sixteen minutes! Why can’t I have a cool superpower like math?”), and then we change into the putrid pink outfits, which are unfortunately ready and waiting for us in our closets.

“Can you girls help me?” STB calls from their room. Prissy and Miri jump onto her bed. My dad’s in the bathroom, shaving.

STB is facing the mirror, her back to us. The zipper on the back of her elegant A-line strapless beaded beige dress is undone. Her blond hair sits in a perfect bun at the nape of her neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to your show yesterday, Rachel,” she says. “I was really looking forward to it. But I couldn’t . . .” Her voice trails off. In the mirror, her cheeks glow and her lips shimmer.

“I understand,” I say, and zip up her dress. And I realize I’m finally ready. Ready to let STB become Jennifer.

The ceremony is simple and beautiful. Except for Prissy picking her nose, Miri going to town on her fingers, and me still looking like Rudolph, the entire service is picture-perfect.

After marching back up the aisle, I bolt to the bathroom. Too much instant coffee. When I swing open the doors, I see familiar hair and a familiar nose.

Tammy, in a long blue satin dress, is washing her hands.

My throat tightens and I can’t speak. I run to the sink and throw my arms around her. “I . . . can’t believe you’re here,” I whisper.

She hugs me back. “Of course I’m here. It’s your dad’s wedding.”

“But I was so horrible.”

“Yeah, I know. But I remember when my mom was getting married. It’s hard. I acted like a nut-job too. I cut all my hair off and hid in the closet.” She shrugs. “Anyway, I remember how it feels.”

“You’re awesome.” I will never blow off Tammy again. She’s a true friend. Wait a sec. “What about Spring Fling? You were so excited that Aaron asked you.” I can’t believe she’d miss the dance for me!

“Actually,” she says, blushing, “he’s here. I figured that maybe Jewel wouldn’t be here, and I know you were allowed to invite two friends, so I asked him.” She grimaces. “Uh-oh. Should I not have done that? Did you ask Raf instead?”

I laugh, even though hearing his name pinches my heart. “No, after last night’s disaster, trust me, Raf doesn’t want anything to do with me. Especially be seen dancing with me.” Or take me to a dance.

At least I’m not at home watching
Star Wars
again.

“You’re sure it’s all right that Aaron’s here?”

I give her the scuba OK, and arms linked, we walk back into the reception hall, where the band is playing some cheeseball wedding celebration song.

Miri and Prissy are dancing in the middle of the room, along with most of the guests. “Come here!” they both shout when they see me.

Are they crazy? I’m never dancing again.

“Let’s boogie,” Tammy says, and waves Aaron over. He looks really cute in his gray suit.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I mumble.

And then my dad and Jennifer join the crowd, and suddenly everyone’s shaking and grooving and I don’t really have a choice, do I?

So without even a trace of rhythm, and looking as if I’m undergoing shock treatment, I join my friends and family on the dance floor. And have a blast.

23

NOT A GLASS SLIPPER BUT CLOSE ENOUGH

“Hello?” we call into the apartment.

It’s Sunday morning, and we’re back home. My dad and Jennifer dropped us off at the train and then caught a plane to Hawaii for their honeymoon. Prissy went home with her grandparents. I hope they can take it. . . . All that chattering can be a bit much for old people.

“Hi, girls,” my mom says from the kitchen. “I’m in here making that peanut butter tofu you love so much.”

She arranges the grossness in a casserole dish as we slide into our chairs. “So?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “How was it?”

“Nice,” Miri says.

“Yeah,” I add. “Really nice.”

She smiles. “Good.” Then she scratches the back of her neck and grimaces. “Rachel, you had a very unhappy visitor last night.”

What? “I did? Who?”

“Raf. He was wearing a suit and claimed he was here to pick you up for a dance. When I said I didn’t know what he was talking about, Tigger tried to attack him. I told him you were at your father’s wedding.”

I don’t believe it. Not for a single millisecond did I expect him to show up. To want to be seen with me in public. “What . . . happened?” I croak.

“What do you think happened? He left. I wasn’t going to the dance with him.”

I leap from my seat and run to the phone in my room. I dial his number (which I know by heart, even though I’ve never had the nerve to call him). It rings once, twice. Three times. Answer the phone, Raf!

“Hello?” a deep voice says.

“Raf? I am so sorry. I feel like such an idiot.”

There’s nothing but heavy silence on the other end.

Oh, no. Oh, no. “I didn’t think you’d want to go with me to the dance after—”

“Rachel? Is that you? It’s not Raf. It’s Will.”

The humiliations just keep on coming. “Sorry,” I mumble. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “Um . . . is Raf there?”

“No,” Will says. “He’s in New Orleans with my parents.”

“Oh, yeah.” I forgot. I stretch the phone cord out and wonder if it will fit around my neck.

“Why did you tell my brother you’d go out with him when you knew your father’s wedding was the same night? Not cool. He was looking forward to going to the dance with you. He really liked you.”

His choice of tense is not lost on me. “I am so sorry,” I repeat.

Again, silence. Guess there’s not much else for us to chat about. “Bye,” I say.

“Later.”

I can’t believe how badly I blew it. Even after I made a complete fool of myself, he still liked me, and I ruined everything. Stuck a pin directly into the balloon of my potential happiness. Not a pin—I attacked the poor balloon with a chain saw. I flop onto my bed and groan into my pillow.

My mom knocks against the open door. “Yes?” I say through the pillow. I am never coming up for air. I don’t care if I suffocate.

“Did you two make up?” she asks. La, la, la. How simple she thinks my life is.

“Not yet.”

“Okay. When you do, give him back his glove. It must have fallen out of his pocket when Tigger attacked him. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.” Humming to herself, she returns to the kitchen.

Glove?

I pop into a sitting position.

A gray wool glove is resting on my comforter. A gray wool glove that belongs to Raf.

I stare at the glove. The glove stares back at me.

Okay, I know we agreed that love spells are off-limits. But come on! This glove isn’t just a normal glove. It’s a sign.

Why else would Tigger have attacked him and made him drop it?

One little spell can’t really hurt anyone.

What was it Mom said? When magic gets us into a mess, we can make exceptions? Right?

“Hey, Miri . . .”

The magic continues—don’t miss the next
bewitchingly funny book about Rachel!

Published by

Delacorte Press an imprint of

Random House Children’s Books a division of Random House, Inc.

New York This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright © 2005 by Sarah Mlynowski

All rights reserved.

Delacorte Press and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
www.randomhouse.com/teens
Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at
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eISBN : 978-0-307-43318-3

[1. Witches—Fiction. 2. Sisters—Fiction. 3. . Weddings—Fiction.