Rhymes With Witches by Lauren Myracle Read Free Book Online

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.
    â€œI’ll just hang out here,” I said. “But, you know, thanks.”
    â€œWe need to see you in action,” Keisha said.
    Panicked, I turned to Mary Bryan.
    â€œYou 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: Ex
cuse
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.
    â€œJanie,” Phil would say. “
Janie
. Anyone there?”
    â€œOoo, sorry,” I’d say, “I just got distracted.” I’d flash Phil my most charming smile. “What was that again?”
    So when I spotted