Read Online Parties & Potions #4 by Sarah Mlynowski - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sarah Mlynowski
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yes, huh?”
She blows me a kiss. “I learned from the master.”
Watch Your Back
It’s Wednesday (otherwise known as one day before my birthday), between second and third periods, when I know we’re going to have a problem.
I spot Wendaline in the hallway, in a black and red polka-dot monstrosity, and wave.
She waves back.
At least she’s not in her cloak. Not that this getup is much better. But at least there’s no popping or zapping anywhere. All good, right? Normal. Until I watch, horror-stricken, as a random junior boy sticks his Converse-clad foot out in front of her, sending her toppling to the floor. A spiral notebook and a pencil case veer in different directions.
The junior smirks. His friends laugh.
I hurry to the disaster site and help her up. “Are you okay?”
“It’s all good. I’m fine. So weird. I’ve been falling all over the place today. Something must be wrong with my equilibrium.”
She’s so clueless. “Wendaline! There’s nothing wrong with you! That jerk tripped you!”
“He did not!”
“He so did. I saw him.”
She shakes her head. “It must have been an accident, right? It was an accident?”
“Um …”
She flinches. “You don’t think it was an accident?”
“No,” I say. “I don’t.”
“But why would anyone trip me on purpose?” She bends over to pick up her now many-times-stepped-on notebook.
I spot a yellow paper taped to her behind. Trip me is scrawled in black marker. I pluck it off and silently hand it over.
Her jaw drops. “Why would someone do that?”
Sigh. “Because they’re mean.”
“But why? That is so awful! It’s been happening all day! My elbows are all bruised!” She rubs her arm, punctuating her point.
I pick up her equally bruised pencil case from the floor and pull her into an empty classroom. I take a deep breath. “Wendaline, it’s because of the way you dress.”
She looks at me with dismay. “Because I’m not wearing the same jeans and a shirt like everyone else?”
“Yeah.”
She throws her arms into the air. “That’s ridiculous! I have the right to dress however I want!”
“Of course you have the right. But maybe you shouldn’t.” I point to my own outfit—of jeans and a shirt. “Sometimes it’s better to blend in.”
“But this is my style!” she cries. “I don’t want to blend in. I want to be me. ”
I wave the yellow paper. “ Being you is getting you tripped.”
She snatches the note from my hand and crunches it into a ball. “Now it won’t.”
“Be careful,” I say uneasily. “You have to watch your back.”
“Literally, apparently.” Her shoulders slouched, she hurries down the hall.
The cafeteria is extra-crowded because of the torrential rain outside. When it rains in Manhattan, it rains hard. It rains cats and dogs.
Cats and dogs. What kind of creepo expression is that? Why would it rain animals? If I were going to make up an expression about it raining animals, I would at least use air-borne animals like pigeons or mosquitoes.
From our table, I watch a tiny freshman girl accidentally bump into Wendaline in the lunch line.
“How do you know Wendaline?” Tammy asks, following my gaze.
I fidget with my brown paper bag as Wendaline spins around, eyeing the other freshman suspiciously. Uh-oh. Now she thinks everyone is out to get her. “Wendaline’s an old friend of the family,” I mumble. I’m afraid my family friend Wendaline is about to crack and turn the innocent freshman into a pigeon in about a millisecond.
Tammy sips her juice. “Right. Is she really a witch?”
I almost spit up my sandwich. Cough, cough! Choking, here!
“I know the Heimlich and I’m not afraid to use it,” says a familiar voice behind me. Raf.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, and chug my water. “All clear. Hi. No tray?”
He gives me a quick kiss, takes a seat beside me, and drops a rumpled paper bag on the table. “I brought my lunch today. Leftover lemon chicken. Hey,
She blows me a kiss. “I learned from the master.”
Watch Your Back
It’s Wednesday (otherwise known as one day before my birthday), between second and third periods, when I know we’re going to have a problem.
I spot Wendaline in the hallway, in a black and red polka-dot monstrosity, and wave.
She waves back.
At least she’s not in her cloak. Not that this getup is much better. But at least there’s no popping or zapping anywhere. All good, right? Normal. Until I watch, horror-stricken, as a random junior boy sticks his Converse-clad foot out in front of her, sending her toppling to the floor. A spiral notebook and a pencil case veer in different directions.
The junior smirks. His friends laugh.
I hurry to the disaster site and help her up. “Are you okay?”
“It’s all good. I’m fine. So weird. I’ve been falling all over the place today. Something must be wrong with my equilibrium.”
She’s so clueless. “Wendaline! There’s nothing wrong with you! That jerk tripped you!”
“He did not!”
“He so did. I saw him.”
She shakes her head. “It must have been an accident, right? It was an accident?”
“Um …”
She flinches. “You don’t think it was an accident?”
“No,” I say. “I don’t.”
“But why would anyone trip me on purpose?” She bends over to pick up her now many-times-stepped-on notebook.
I spot a yellow paper taped to her behind. Trip me is scrawled in black marker. I pluck it off and silently hand it over.
Her jaw drops. “Why would someone do that?”
Sigh. “Because they’re mean.”
“But why? That is so awful! It’s been happening all day! My elbows are all bruised!” She rubs her arm, punctuating her point.
I pick up her equally bruised pencil case from the floor and pull her into an empty classroom. I take a deep breath. “Wendaline, it’s because of the way you dress.”
She looks at me with dismay. “Because I’m not wearing the same jeans and a shirt like everyone else?”
“Yeah.”
She throws her arms into the air. “That’s ridiculous! I have the right to dress however I want!”
“Of course you have the right. But maybe you shouldn’t.” I point to my own outfit—of jeans and a shirt. “Sometimes it’s better to blend in.”
“But this is my style!” she cries. “I don’t want to blend in. I want to be me. ”
I wave the yellow paper. “ Being you is getting you tripped.”
She snatches the note from my hand and crunches it into a ball. “Now it won’t.”
“Be careful,” I say uneasily. “You have to watch your back.”
“Literally, apparently.” Her shoulders slouched, she hurries down the hall.
The cafeteria is extra-crowded because of the torrential rain outside. When it rains in Manhattan, it rains hard. It rains cats and dogs.
Cats and dogs. What kind of creepo expression is that? Why would it rain animals? If I were going to make up an expression about it raining animals, I would at least use air-borne animals like pigeons or mosquitoes.
From our table, I watch a tiny freshman girl accidentally bump into Wendaline in the lunch line.
“How do you know Wendaline?” Tammy asks, following my gaze.
I fidget with my brown paper bag as Wendaline spins around, eyeing the other freshman suspiciously. Uh-oh. Now she thinks everyone is out to get her. “Wendaline’s an old friend of the family,” I mumble. I’m afraid my family friend Wendaline is about to crack and turn the innocent freshman into a pigeon in about a millisecond.
Tammy sips her juice. “Right. Is she really a witch?”
I almost spit up my sandwich. Cough, cough! Choking, here!
“I know the Heimlich and I’m not afraid to use it,” says a familiar voice behind me. Raf.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, and chug my water. “All clear. Hi. No tray?”
He gives me a quick kiss, takes a seat beside me, and drops a rumpled paper bag on the table. “I brought my lunch today. Leftover lemon chicken. Hey,
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