Parties & Potions #4 by Sarah Mlynowski Read Free Book Online

Sherry Dolan, and the very big-breasted Annie Banks. Seriously, they’re huge. They’re like massive water-melons. And I’m massively jealous. Anyway, the five of us have been kind of a clique since last year. But not a mean clique. No way. We’re nice, we’re smart, and we’re B-list and proud.
    Although I’m kind of A-list—A-minus maybe—now that Raf and I are going out. ’Cause he’s A-list. When you date an A-list boy, some of it automatically rubs off on you. Not that I care about stuff like that.
    All right, I kind of do. But only a little.
    “Have as many as you like,” I say, pushing my plate toward her. “I’ll warn you: they’re not great. Kind of soggy.”
    I carefully pat my outfit to make sure it’s still there. After homeroom, I managed to turn my cloak into a more appropriate minidress. Whoever ended up with the cloak isn’t going to be happy (and will probably be seriously confused) but whatev. I had to do something.
    “Do you need more ketchup?” asks a new voice.
    Everyone at the table jumps. The voice belongs to Wendaline, who was not sitting at the table two seconds ago. But now is.
    Is this chick trying to give me a heart attack?
    “Holy crapola!” Sherry squeals. “Where did you come from? You just scared the heck ie out of me!” Sherry loves the sound of ee. She tends to use it often in conversation, even adding it to words where it doesn’t belong. Kind of like pig Latin but less creative. I wouldn’t be surprised if her name was originally Cher and she changed it to Sherry just to be annoying.
    Tammy coughs and grabs her apple Snapple. “I think I swallowed a fry!”
    This has got to stop. “Wendaline, can I talk to you for a second in private?”
    “Sure,” she says. “Where do you wanna go? Somewhere good? In the city? How private? I can poof us over to—”
    Oh! My! God! “Wendaline. No. Let’s just go to the other side of the cafeteria for a sec, ’kay?” I nod toward the window.
    She follows my lead. “What’s up?”
    I angrily place my hands on my hips. “What are you trying to do?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Dressing like that! Telling people you’re a witch! Zapping yourself into the cafeteria! You can’t do that kind of stuff in school!”
    “Why not?”
    Why? Why me? “Because! You don’t want everyone to know you’re a witch!”
    She blinks. And blinks again. No comprendo. “But I am a witch.”
    “So am I,” I say, enunciating. “But that doesn’t mean I want to broadcast it to the entire world.”
    “Why not?”
    “What do you mean ‘why not’?”
    “Well, why not?”
    “Because … because … because …” Excellent question. Why not? “Because then everyone will know!”
    She throws her arms into the air. “So?”
    “So!” I feel like we’re just repeating each other here.
    “Why shouldn’t everyone know?” she asks. “I am a witch.”
    “I know. I get it. But see, they don’t. They’ve never heard of witches before.”
    “How is that possible?” she asks. “There are hundreds of TV shows and movies and books about witches! We’re all over the media! You have to be pretty isolated to have never heard of a witch.”
    “Wendaline, just because they’ve watched Wizards of Waverly Place doesn’t mean they believe in witchcraft. You’ve seen A Christmas Carol. Does that mean you believe in ghosts?”
    She looks shocked. “You’ve never met a ghost?”
    Is there a wall nearby? So I can bang my head against it? “Wendaline, before my sister got her powers, I did not know that witches were real. I had never met a real witch before.”
    She looks dubious. “Never? What about at the Hexaton?”
    “The what?”
    “You’ve never been to the Hexaton?”
    “I’ve never even heard of the Hexaton.”
    “You’re kidding. I have to take you! It’s so much fun. All the old society witches have tea there. I’ve been going since I was six!”
    “I didn’t know I was a witch when I was six.”
    “Well, neither