Witch Test, page 14
The stand smells of hay, apple cider, and the diesel tractor pulling a wagon of people around the property. The fields shine golden in the bright sun overhead, the pumpkins add a pop of color. It’s a picturesque autumn day.
Not that I have time to enjoy it. The stand is so busy, I barely have time to sit. By lunchtime, I’ve carried so many pumpkins and pulled so many wagons that I’m all sweaty, despite having ditched my sweatshirt hours ago.
My dad swings by on his old pickup truck, a fresh load of pumpkins and assorted squash in the back. Susan and I help unload them, while customers clamor for a first look at the new batch. I’m grateful for the sandwiches and iced tea my dad brought, but it’s a sprint to eat a few bites before someone needs help.
It’s exhausting and chaotic, but that’s what farm life is…until it’s not. The off-season is much quieter, though there is always some work to be done.
I check my phone to find my shift ends soon. The wave of customers has slowed, everyone heading home to get ready for Halloween night. I’m glad my dad never asks me to work the maze, but I’m guessing that will end one of these years.
Susan, her hair wilder than ever, waves me over to the wooden counter. I’m glad to join her on a bale of hay in the shade of the stand. She produces a pair of cold apple ciders and doughnuts covered in sugar crystals.
“To the flavors of the season.” She offers her container in a toast, and I knock mine against it. “Good work today.”
“Thanks,” I say between bites of soft, delicious doughnut.
A young family walks among the lines of remaining pumpkins. The little kid tries to pick up one of the biggest pumpkins out there. One of the grown-ups grabs it and hands the kid a tiny, bumpy gourd.
A large white van pulls down the dirt driveway into the parking lot, a trail of dust following it. I take my last bite of doughnut but find it hard to swallow. The sight of that van sets my stomach bubbling like a simmering cauldron.
Sure enough, Abby, her parents, and a bunch of her siblings exit the vehicle and make a beeline for the pumpkins. I’m reminded of a video I once saw of a swarm of locusts descending upon a wheat field. There wasn’t much of the field left after the locusts picked the stalks down to nubs and moved to their next location of destruction.
Susan is already on her feet, keeping one of Abby’s brothers off the hay bales that mark the boundaries of the patch.
Abby carefully avoids looking my way as she stands off to the side with her hands crossed over her chest as if she’d rather be anywhere else in the world. She stares at her phone, but the sun is so bright, I bet she can’t see anything.
I pull a wagon over to her dad as he bends over to inspect a pumpkin. He straightens up and spots me. “Liza! I haven’t seen you around much. Must be busy for you and your dad this time of year.”
Abby’s dad may be a super-smart lawyer, but when it comes to the social life of his kids, he’s clueless. “Hi, Mr. Gleason.”
He begins loading pumpkins onto the wagon. Every year, Abby’s parents pick out one for each of their kids—even the ones who don’t live at home anymore—and arrange them from biggest to smallest on their front steps. It gets pretty crowded.
“Abby!” he yells. “Come say hi to Liza.”
He’s too busy to notice Abby’s eye roll as she slowly walks over. But when she looks at me, it’s with a tentative smile instead of her usual smirk. “Hi, Liza.”
Her friendliness startles a reflexive “hi” from me. Her eyebrows raise in the same surprise I’m feeling.
The moment of peace passes quickly to be replaced by anxiety over what brand of poison she’s waiting to dose me with.
“Why don’t you two pick out a pumpkin together?” Abby’s dad has an overly happy expression that makes me wonder if he’s as clueless as I thought he was.
She huffs and walks off to the next row of pumpkins, and I cautiously follow.
“I’ve heard you plan on coming to the corn maze tonight,” she says without turning in my direction.
“Uhh” is all I manage to squeak out, my throat constricted in terror over her calling me out.
“Do whatever you want.” She waves her hand dismissively. “I’m over it.”
I don’t trust her words; the Abby I know does not get over things.
As I stumble around behind her, not sure how my feet work, she abruptly stops and I almost run into her.
“What do you think of this one?” She points to a pumpkin that is the model shape and size, the kind you’d see on the cover of a fall magazine.
I take a deep breath and try to remember she’s a customer. I tip the pumpkin to peek at the bottom. “It’s got a little mold on it. It’ll be rotten soon.”
Abby wrinkles her nose. “Eww.” She continues to the end of the row and turns down the next one, apparently not impressed with the selection.
I haven’t yet turned to the next row, and when we pass each other, we accidentally make eye contact. There’s a hint of my old best friend in her face since she’s not looking at me as if my witchy ways might curse her. I almost want to trust that face…almost.
There have been so many evil faces of Abby since we started school that I can’t let my guard down and trust this niceness.
Sticking to the job, I try not to show how much my hands are shaking when I point to a pumpkin on the opposite side of her. “That one looks good.” It’s a little taller than it is wide, but it’s a perfect orange color and the stem has a pretty curve to it.
Abby narrows her eyes slightly before inspecting it closely. She tilts it, the way I did with the pumpkin she picked before, and looks at the bottom. “I guess it’s good. I’ll take it.”
She walks on without picking it up, like she expects me to get it for her. She is a customer, so I bend at the knees, place my hands under the pumpkin, and hold it the proper way—from the bottom, not the stem. It’s heavier than it looks, another indication it’s a good pick. But I know as good as it looks on the outside, there’s always a chance it’s rotten on the inside.
Abby’s family meets us at the counter. Susan weighs all the pumpkins, and I wheel a wagon full of them to the Gleasons’ van. Abby actually pitches in with loading them in. We linger at the back of the van for a minute while her family piles in.
She folds her arms over her chest and stares at something behind me. “Do you want to meet up tonight?”
My heart skips a beat, and I’m not sure I heard right. She’s staring at me now, a little bit of a challenge in her expression but also a vulnerable tilt to her eyes.
Pretty on the outside, rotten to the core, I remind myself. Her threat still stands no matter how she’s acting right now.
“Um,” I hedge. “What about Mia and Gabrielle?”
“They’ll be there.” She rolls her eyes. “But they’re boring. It’s Halloween, and that’s like your night, so it’s bound to be interesting.”
So we’re back to the witch thing, only this time it doesn’t seem like she’s being mean about it; it’s almost like she’s excited. My chest is pounding and I’m sweating worse than ever.
I’ve missed Abby so much these last two months, even when I’ve reasoned that I’m a better person without her. I’ve cried buckets over our dead friendship.
My skin prickles with the anticipation of having my best friend back. Then I think about Daya and Cameron, about how they’d feel if I canceled on them and showed up with Abby. I think about our lunches together in the art room and how excited Cameron is to do our make-up. Most of all I think of the way Abby looked when she read my fake list on the bus and of her cutting her finger across her neck, telling me she would end me.
“I can’t. I have plans.” I wait for the insults, but they don’t come.
Abby’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and she actually looks disappointed. “Oh.” Then she recovers. “Whatever. I don’t care what you do…witch.” She twirls around and stomps into the van.
I’m left in a swirl of dust as Abby and her family drive away. My hands are shaking and a pang of regret fills my chest. I didn’t realize all this time I’d been holding a flicker of hope in restoring the flame of my friendship with Abby.
Now given the chance, I’ve blown that fire right out. I know I’ll come to regret turning down Abby before the night is over—one way or another.
Chapter 35
Bewitched
At home, I chop and throw the ingredients for vegetarian chili in the instant pot. Then I jump in the shower and try not to think about Abby. As if it’s ever worked not to think of someone.
Abby seemed sincere at the pumpkin patch, but it’s her motivation that gnaws at me like maggots on a wound. Does she really miss being friends or is she bored and in need of entertainment? Entertainment my witchy self would provide.
I check the chili, and it smells amazing. Now there’s nothing left for me to do but wait for my friends; it’s still weird to think of Daya and Cameron as friends. I try not to dissect why they’re friends with me as I pace the kitchen, biting my lower lip until it’s sore. My nerves are all a jangle when I get a text from Daya saying they’re almost here.
Car tires crunch on the gravel driveway. I peek out from behind the kitchen curtain to see a maroon sedan that I don’t recognize. It must be them.
When I open the front door, voices from the volunteers at the corn maze drift my way. Right now there are only a couple of cars and my dad’s pickup in the parking lot.
When someone throws a log onto the flames in the big fire pit, sparks shoot into the air. They will keep it burning until the last person makes it out of the corn maze.
In another hour, all the little kids and their families will be lined up, waiting to enter. For them, the biggest scares will come in the form of dead ends in the maze. Once it’s us middle schoolers’ turn, the haunts come from the volunteers who dress up as ghoulish figures stalking through the maze.
A chill runs down my back when I think of being in the maze, or maybe it’s just the deepening cold. The warmth from the earlier sun has begun to seep out of the earth. It’ll be cold tonight, and I hope the costume Felicity made for me is warm.
“Hey, Liza.” Daya’s arms are full with bags, so she awkwardly waves to her father as he backs out of the driveway. She’s dressed in black yoga clothes with a knit dress on top. Her hair is parted severely down the middle and has been straightened so the silky locks reach well past her shoulders.
Cameron flashes me one of his easy smiles. A duffel bag is draped over one of his arms and he carries a neon pink make-up case. His outfit is a long-sleeved lavender dress and a sleeveless lime green cape, which I think is his costume, but it’s hard to tell with him sometimes.
“Endora has arrived,” he says in a high voice that ends in a bit of crack as he tilts his head and bats his eyelashes.
“Remind me again who Endora is?” I ask.
He holds the back of his hand to his forehead as if my question pains him. “Why, Samantha’s mother from Bewitched, of course.”
“Right..” I don’t want to further show my ignorance by admitting I don’t remember what Bewitched is.
Luckily, Daya comes to my rescue. “She’s in an old TV show from the 60s. Wait until you see the wig.”
I have them put all their stuff in the living room, except for the make-up case, which Cameron brings into the kitchen. I put out bowls for the chili and set up the snacks Daya brought.
I thought my nerves would have settled by now, but it’s like I stuck my finger in an electrical outlet and can’t get the charge out of my body. My heartbeat ratchets up when Cameron makes space on the table for the pink case and folds out the compartments to reveal layers and layers of make-up.
I don’t think it’s the prospect of getting made up that has my nerves on edge, rather the realness of seeing Abby at the maze creeping ever closer.
He pulls out a bright red lipstick. “Daya, I think this color is perfect for you.”
She finishes a bite of chili. “Really? I mean, I love it, but it’s so…red.”
“It’s classic Morticia Addams,” Cameron says. Daya decided on the very goth witch from the 90s movie The Addams Family.
“If you think it’ll work.” Daya takes another bite of food. “Liza, this is so good. I can’t believe you made this.”
“Thanks,” I say distractedly.
It’s clear my new friends are super-serious about this costume thing. For the first time, I’m worried that whatever Felicity has planned for me isn’t going to be enough.
The delicious aroma of the chili entices me to eat, despite the uneasiness of my stomach. I top it with broken bits of corn chips. Out of habit, I almost offer my friends tea but decide to go with water and soda.
They’re deep into a discussion of the witches who inspired their costumes when the distinct rumble of the convertible’s engine shakes the old windows of the house. I jump out of my seat like I’ve sat on a porcupine and open the front door before Felicity is even out of the driver’s seat.
Now that the engine is quiet, more noise from down at the cornfield wafts up to the house. The lights are on in front of the small wooden stand where tickets are sold, and a line snakes all along the front of the maze.
At the car, Felicity’s hair is wrapped up in one of her gorgeous scarfs. She waves like a movie star addressing her adoring fans before grabbing a bag and a large black cloth from the backseat.
“Your aunt looks amazing,” Cameron says from behind me, and I jump in surprise. I didn’t realize anyone followed me to the door.
“She always does,” Daya agrees.
I hold the door and Daya and Cameron scoot out of the way. The black cloth appears to be alive, its surface undulating as Felicity walks up the steps and across the porch. It’s only when she sweeps past me that I see it’s the feathers giving the cloth motion.
A caw pierces the cold night air, startling me. I peer around the deck and am not surprised to find a crow sitting on the railing that wraps around the porch, its silhouette an inky black against the velvety blue sky.
I venture a few steps closer and the crow remains perfectly still. Its wings are against its body, so I can’t be sure it’s my crow, but what other crow would be hanging out on my porch on Halloween night? My scalp prickles at the way its shining black eyes seem to take in everything, like it’s waiting for something.
Arms wrapped around myself, I click my tongue in what I hope is a friendly gesture and head back to the door, quickly shutting it against the chill. I catch up to the others in the kitchen.
My friends are examining the feathered garment, and Felicity has helped herself to a bowl of chili. She sprinkles a heaping pile of cheddar cheese on top and answers questions about the garment.
“I’m calling it a cape, though it’s more than that. It attaches to Liza’s elbows, so it’ll move with her arms.”
Cameron smiles wide. “Like wings. How perfect for our Morrigan.”
My nerves have finally calmed down, but I can’t shake the detached feeling that has taken their place. I’m in the bubble again, watching the world around me, not able to take a solid step into it.
Cameron puts his hand on his chin and stares at me. “I think all black make-up with a touch of something special for the mouth.” He claps once, loudly. “Oh yes, I can see it.”
My bowl of chili sits half-finished on the table, but I’m not hungry for the rest. My hands shake a little as I bring it to the sink. I grab a bottle of water from the counter and take a gulp.
I’ve never been afraid of the crow, but on the porch, it seemed on guard. What is it waiting for? Does it sense the thinning of the veil?
The conversation around me has turned from make-up to sewing machines, but I haven’t been following.
“Should we start getting ready?” Daya asks. I give her a blank stare. “Liza?”
I try and blink away the fogginess. “Uh, yeah.”
Felicity checks her phone. “I’ll leave you to it. I have to pick up Candy and get to the maze.” She kisses my cheek, her lips warm on my face. “Come and find me down there. I need pictures of the finished product.”
“Sure.” My throat is dry, and the word comes out hoarse.
Daya and Cameron, their bags in hand, are looking at me expectantly. I realize they want to know where to go to get changed. I direct Cameron to my room, and Daya and I head to my dad’s room.
After I change into my plain black outfit to go underneath the cape, I examine Felicity’s handiwork up close for the first time. Each feather is stitched into the fabric, not glued on, so I won’t have to worry about shedding all night. I hold it up and shake it to admire the fluttering motion, the feathers catching the light in different ways as they move, giving the garment even more life. I run my hand along the softness, appreciating the amount of work that Felicity must have put into it. Work I never properly thanked her for.
I wrap the cape around me, fumbling with the clasp around my neck until I latch it. There’s no way my shaky hands will be able to attach the clasps at my elbows, so I turn to Daya. The sight of her makes me suck in a breath.
“You look hot!” There is no other description for the long, tight-fitting black dress Daya wears.
“It’s not too much?” She frowns at the costume. “I had to tell my mom I was wearing a jacket over it to get her to let me wear it.”
“No. It’s gorgeous. You’ll be the star of the maze.”
“That’s the problem.” She slumps down and sits on the edge of my dad’s bed. “I’m not sure I want to be a star.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly, knowing exactly what she means. It’s not a good thing to stand out in eighth grade, especially not with the Abbys of the world out there, waiting to pounce on anyone who does. I sit on the bed next to Daya.
“I don’t know how Cameron does it.” She stares down at her hands. “He’s just so sure of who he is, and he doesn’t seem to care what anyone thinks of that.”
“We should try that tonight.” The insight clears away the fog in my head.
“Try what?” Daya looks up, her brow knitted in confusion.
