The Rosemary Spell by Virginia Zimmerman Read Free Book Online

interesting.
    I head home alone, and for no reason at all, I think about when you pretend to throw a ball for a dog and it runs and searches and looks up, expectant and confused and just a little betrayed.

    When I get home, Mom is waiting for me, all delighted with herself for having found bright yellow curtains with rainbow speckles.
    â€œFor your room!” she exclaims with a big smile. “Do you love them?”
    I stand on the stepladder, and Mom hands me the metal bar with the curtain sleeved onto it. My arms aren’t long enough to set both ends of the rod on the hooks, and one end falls out when I try to put the other one in place and then the other end falls out, and Mom and I start laughing. Finally, she takes my place on the ladder, and I step back to admire the splash of color at each window.
    She wants a tour of where I’ve put everything, and I realize she has felt left out of the momentous business of moving me into a new room. It’s hard to believe it’s only been three days.
    â€œI love how you organized the books.”
    Not for the first time, I consider how Mom and Adam are a lot alike.
    â€œAdam and I were thinking maybe this used to be Constance’s room. You know, when she lived here.”
    â€œMaybe.” Mom smiles. “That’s a nice thought.”
    We go down to the den, and each of us curls up on one end of the couch, with our toes just touching in the middle. She’s reading some massive nineteenth-century novel with the spine all creased and lots of pencil marks all over the margin, which means she’s rereading. So am I. I flip ahead to the scene in
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
where Harry starts writing in the old diary he found, and I disappear into the story.
    At eight thirty, after I’ve gone up to my room, Shelby calls. She’s so sorry she missed my call. The musical rehearsals are crazy long but so much fun. I should totally try out when I get to the high school next year. Everyone’s so nice. Blah. Blah. Blah.
    â€œAnyway, what’s up?” she asks.
    â€œWhat did Adam tell you?”
    â€œHe said it was about the diary, but he got weird and wouldn’t say more.”
    â€œYeah, we were using the diary for our poetry journal. For Mr. Cates? And this writing kind of appeared,” I falter. I can’t summon the image of the words on the page.
    â€œUh-huh.” Shelby doesn’t even try to keep the skepticism out of her voice.
    â€œIt did!” I exclaim. “It really did write back.”
    â€œAre you reading
Chamber of Secrets
again?”
    â€œNo,” I lie.
    â€œOkay. So, what did it say?” She doesn’t believe me, but the faintest hope that I might be telling the truth lifts her voice.
    Why can’t I remember? “Hang on.”
    I pull the diary from my backpack. The sweet, musty scent of old book rises from the parchment as I turn page after page.
Diary of a Poet.
The list of herbs. The line from
Hamlet.
Our lame notes from class. And nothing more.
    â€œI . . . it’s nothing.” It is nothing, but it wasn’t. Was it?
    â€œYou okay, Rosie?” The skepticism is replaced with kindness and concern.
    No, I’m not okay. I think I’m going crazy. But I don’t say that. I make an excuse about being tired.
    â€œIs Adam still up?” I ask.
    â€œYou know he keeps the schedule of a toddler,” she quips.
    â€œWhy does he do that?”
    â€œAlways has,” she replies. “You sure you’re okay?”
    I could tell her. I could tell her the book was blank and then it wasn’t and now it is again, but is that really what happened? Maybe Adam and I just wanted so badly to find something in the diary that we imagined we did. But my chair clattering to the floor in the library echoes in my head. We did see something. I’m sure of it.
    â€œThe book . . .” I begin. “It’s . . .