How to Date Dead Guys (The Witch's Handbook Book 1) Page 3

  Chrissy glares at me, as if I’ve interrupted something important.

  “He was nice,” Angie says noncommittally. She places one red and one white candle upon the large rock. She reverently strikes a match and lights them.

  I hate the word “nice”. It doesn’t mean anything at all. I stare into the flames that seem to call down a moon so full one could drown in it.

  A few crickets chirp, a lone frog bellows, and then silence. Even the dark trees hush their leaves to listen.

  Angie hands the pink paper to her sister. “You have to read this carefully, or it won’t work. You have to believe in your heart every word is true.”

  Chrissy clears her throat then reads:

  “Oh, Moon, upon me shine.

  Steal his heart and make it mine.

  Guide his eyes so he will see

  The only one to love is me.

  Seize his voice and make him say

  That he will never go away.

  Change his plans and claim his mind

  Make both intertwine with mine.

  Oh, Moon, oh, Stars, upon me glow,

  And force his love for me to grow.”

  After Chrissy finishes, Angie takes the paper. She ignites each bottom corner with a separate candle. We watch as flames crawl up the spell. Angie lets go at the last second, and a single weakly glowing ember floats down to the ground.

  I stare at the red spark until it disappears. In the silence that follows, I wait for someone to play a haunting Beethoven melody to fill the empty air.

  Instead the wind begins to stir. Through the darkness, I hear whispers calling my name. I glance over my shoulder to see if someone is really there. An image of the dead floating body flashes through my mind, but I dismiss it. I can’t think about that, or I’ll go crazy.

  I point at the night sky. “Did you see the full moon tonight? It’s gigantic.” In fact, it seems bigger than I remember. Is that possible?

  Angie nods. “It’s the perfect stage of the moon for this spell.”

  She seems to really believe she’s done something with her little poem and ritual. Even Chrissy appears pleased, which surprises the heck out of me. Why am I the only one freaking out?

  Later, Chrissy and I brush our teeth in the communal bathroom.

  I clear my throat. “Do you really believe in Angie’s spells?” Even if she says yes, I still can’t tell her about the dead people I see.

  “Normally, I would say no, but Kevin is awesome. I’ll take all the help I can get,” Chrissy says. “And Angie has always had such exceptional luck with guys. She must know what she’s doing.”

  Oh, no. If Angie wants Mike, I’m doomed! I need to find out if she likes him, right now.

  I whip out my contacts, shove on glasses, skimp on flossing, and burst out of the bathroom, leaving Chrissy behind. I practically run Angie over as she exits our room with her reusable water bottle. I push her back into our room and shut the door.

  “Are you going to put a spell on Mike, too?” My heart races.

  She smiles. “Would you like me to?”

  “What?”

  “I wondered if you liked him.” Angie laughs. “Why didn’t you ask Chrissy if you could go on the date instead of me?”

  “What do you mean?” I try to act innocent.

  “You can tell me if you like him, Emma. He’s definitely good-looking. I could do a love spell for you, too!” Angie sounds way too excited.

  “What? No!” Crap! Why did I have to go and ask her about Mike? This is so embarrassing.

  “So you don’t like him?” Angie cocks her head.

  “I didn’t say that,” I mumble. What is this? Confession?

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have gone on that date if I’d known you liked him.”

  I shrug. “What’s the point?”

  “How is he going to have any idea you’re interested if you’re so secretive about it?”

  “But I don’t want him to find out. Then he’ll just avoid me.” Blushing, I can’t look Angie in the face.

  “Why would he avoid you?”

  I fidget with the hem of my pajamas. “He probably doesn’t like me back. I’m not beautiful like my mom.”

  “Chrissy told me your mom is very attractive, but you’re pretty, too.” Angie sounds sincere.

  “Thanks for trying, but I don’t really think I’m pretty. Everyone says I’m too quiet and shy, and I spend too much time reading books, and I suck at every single sport that exists, and I study too much, and I don’t know how to dress or…”

  “Stop it!” Angie feels sorry for me, and for once, I don’t mind. “When people say things like that to you, just ignore them. Why do you believe anything bad somebody says about you, but you won’t listen to me when I tell you you’re pretty?”

  I wince. “Don’t you think it’s easier to believe the bad things than the good?”

  “No, I only listen to compliments, not complaints.”

  “I wish I could do that, but I can’t. I’m just not wired that way.”

  “Stop putting yourself down! You’re smart and funny. Give yourself a chance. There’s no reason why Mike shouldn’t be interested in you.”

  I roll my eyes, but Angie isn’t deterred.

  “If you’d let me work a love spell for you, then he’d like you for sure.”

  “Do you have any spells that would make me less boring?” I ask, only half joking.

  Angie laughs. “No, but, Emma…you’re not boring.”

  “Yes, I am.” Clearly, you have not been paying attention.

  “No, you just think you’re boring,” Angie reasons. “And I don’t have any spells for that, either, but I do have lots of love spells in Grandmother’s Book of Shadows.”

  “Well, thanks, Angie, but I don’t want a love spell.”

  I don’t believe in chanting, potions, and candle lighting anyway.

  At least I don’t think I believe in them. However, even I have to wonder when early the next morning Chrissy’s phone starts ringing and doesn’t stop. Angie doesn’t seem surprised, but I watch, mystified, as Chrissy gets herself a new boyfriend.

  Kevin suggests we all go out to breakfast together. I’m happy to join them until Angie starts playing matchmaker. I should appreciate her assistance. Instead, I’m so uncomfortable I can hardly swallow my food.

  “Did you know that Emma gets straight A’s?” Angie makes another flattering comment about me. “She’s the smartest girl I know.”

  No matter how good her intentions, I sound so very lame.

  “Oh.” Mike focuses on his waffle.

  “And she has a belly ring.” Angie smirks.

  “No, I don’t!” I protest, my mouth full of scrambled eggs, which is impressive for everyone else sitting at our table, I’m sure.

  “Well, you should,” Angie says.

  Both Mike and Kevin head toward the breakfast bar for seconds. I sit breathless with embarrassment, my stomach in knots.

  “Would you stop trying to make me sound more interesting than I really am?” I beg.

  “Well, somebody has to do something for you,” Angie argues.

  “What’s going on?” Chrissy asks.

  “Emma likes Mike,” Angie announces, much to my horror. Fortunately, the restaurant is packed with noisy diners, so I don’t think the boys can hear us.

  “Good.” Chrissy nods. “Then you can come with me to Mike’s twenty-first birthday party. I just know Kevin is going to ditch me to take Mike out to the bars. You can wait there with me.”

  For once I’m glad Chrissy always manages to make everything be all about her.

  As expected, when the boys return with heavy trays, the two sisters add a lot more to the conversation than I do. I notice that even with her seemingly carefree ways, Angie refuses to go get seconds, just like her diet-conscious sister. Not wanting to seem like a pig all by myself, I don’t go back either, even after Mike tells me I should.

  “You girls are missing out. These
waffles are great.”

  Angie leaves in a flurry later that day, waiting until the last minute to collect her things. She calls home just before she departs. “Okay, Mom, I’m leaving… Yes, I’m packed… Don’t worry. I’ll drive carefully. Bye now.”

  Then Angie is gone.

  I miss her already. Despite my protests and embarrassment, I know if Angie was around all the time, she’d help me with Mike.

  Then maybe I’d have a chance.

  ow Chrissy spends all her time on the phone with Kevin, or “studying” with Kevin, or watching TV with Kevin, or working out with Kevin. On the rare occasion Kevin isn’t around, she incessantly talks about Kevin.

  “I can’t believe how well Angie’s spell worked! I’ve never had her do that for me before. No wonder she’s so popular with the boys.” Chrissy even sends her sister a funny thank-you card from the campus bookstore. With Kevin as her boyfriend, Chrissy is happier―and nicer―than I’ve ever seen her before.

  I don’t mind Kevin being around, either. It means that occasionally I get a chance to see Mike. Chrissy, in her usual style of pure self-interest, has already forgotten what Angie blurted out in the restaurant. This is probably for the best, and certainly less awkward for me.

  Then comes a long weekend when both boys travel home to celebrate another clean, cancer-free scan with their mother. Chrissy instantly becomes intolerable to live with. I have a bunch of tests to prepare for, so I hide in the library to avoid her nonstop whining and pining.

  Monday rolls around again, and I have the one-credit art class I hoped would teach me how to draw majestic landscapes―or at least cute cartoon characters. But so far, all I’ve drawn is my left hand―ten times. Boring.

  As I leave the Fine Arts building after class, I watch a group of drama students rehearsing on the lawn. I envy their courage to perform where everyone can see them.

  I hear bike tires squeak to a halt behind me.

  “Emma?” It’s Mike. “Are you going to the library? I could really use a study buddy. I have a test tomorrow.”

  “No,” I say, distracted by the actors. “Wait… What did you say?”

  Mike wheels his bike closer. “Are they rehearsing Romeo and Juliet?”

  “Yes.”

  “We studied that in high school.” Mike shakes his adorable head. “I never really got it.”

  What’s there to get? “It’s a love story.” I blush, wanting to hit myself for saying the word “love” in front of him. How embarrassing.

  “Well, first they only know each other for like five seconds before they decide they’re in love. Then, five minutes later, they kill themselves because of it.”

  “That’s not it at all,” I argue. “Juliet just pretends she’s dead so she can run off with Romeo, but he doesn’t know about her plan. So Romeo kills himself because he thinks she died, and when Juliet finds Romeo dead, she kills herself, too.”

  Boy, I can really talk sometimes… Usually when I should just keep my mouth shut. My face flushes even hotter.

  “Yeah, that’s just what I said.” Mike nods. “And wasn’t Romeo on the rebound, anyway?”

  I sigh. I don’t want to argue about this anymore. He obviously thinks I’m an idiot.

  Mike smiles. “Sorry if I’m picking on your favorite story. Listen, I’ll make it up to you―let me buy you an ice cream cone.”

  “Actually, it’s not my favorite story,” I disagree, startled by his offer. “Wait a minute, what time is it? Crap! I’m totally late for my tutoring job.”

  I turn to dash away.

  “Isn’t the tutoring lounge all the way on the other side of campus?” Mike asks.

  “Yes, and I should’ve been there five minutes ago.”

  “Why don’t you borrow my bike?”

  I glance at it. “Your bike is too big for me.”

  “That shouldn’t matter.” Mike hands me the bike lock.

  “Thanks.” I push off. Mike’s bike is way too big for me. It sways back and forth as I struggle across the bridge. “How do I get it back to you?” I call over my shoulder, nearly toppling over as I do so.

  “Just drop it off at the house later!” Mike yells. “I’ll be back in time for supper.”

  Two hours later―my tutoring sessions behind me―I make another awkward attempt to ride Mike’s ginormous bike. I finally give up and walk it back to his house instead.

  My heart races as I knock on his front door.

  One of his roommates answers, holding a bag of chips in his chubby hands.

  “Is Mike home?” I ask.

  “Nope.” The boy chews noisily. I remember that his roommates called him Tall Tom. Or is it Large Larry?

  “Well, I have his bike.”

  “It looks too big for you.” Chomp. Chomp. Chomp. A blizzard of orange crumbs settles upon his shirt.

  “Yes, I’m aware of that.” I sigh. “Where should I put it?”

  “I’ll get the key for the garage.”

  I roll Mike’s bike into the garage and squeeze it in between other bikes, canoes, and basketballs.

  “Are you coming to Mike’s party on Saturday?” Tom or Larry asks as he locks the garage door. “He’s turning twenty-one.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “You’re Chrissy’s roommate, right?”

  I nod.

  “If you want to wait for Mike, I’m just watching TV,” Tom or Larry offers. I’m going to have to ask Chrissy his name. “Do you want some chips?” He holds them out.

  “Ah, no thanks.” I smile. “I’d better get going.”

  “I’ll tell Mike you stopped by.”

  “Thanks.”

  I drag my feet back to the dorm, hoping to run into Mike, but I don’t.

  Saturday night, Chrissy and I go to Mike’s house for his twenty-first birthday bash. I stand alone, not knowing what to do with myself―or my eyes. I try to ignore the kissing couple smashed up against the wall right next to me. I wonder if they even know each other’s names.

  They keep inching closer to me so I move away and watch a crowd of people across the room. They chant in a circle around Mike as he guzzles from a tall bottle. Maroon wine spills out both sides of his mouth and splashes down his bright red shirt.

  I step back and almost get knocked over by the Stupid Kissing People.

  “Hey, watch out,” I grumble.

  “Sorry,” they both murmur, midkiss.

  Gross, I just saw his tongue!

  I keep moving away from them, but they continue to bump into me.

  “Get a room,” I mutter too quietly for them to hear.

  Chrissy stands far on the other side of the party, smiling at Kevin. Would she even notice if I left? Then Mike stumbles toward me, and I decide that maybe I don’t want to go home, after all.

  “I’m not really like this.” He blinks, bleary-eyed and wobbly.

  “Oh?” I reach out a hand to steady him.

  “Thanks.” Mike leans against the wall and speaks as if it takes some effort to form words. “I don’t usually drink this much. Can we go outside? I don’t feel so good.”

  Before I can answer him, Mike’s buddies crowd around us.

  “Mike! Let’s go!”

  Mike’s head bobs back, as if he is just waking up from nodding off.

  “Come on, man. You’re twenty-one!” Kevin bellows. “Let’s go to the bars!”

  Two of Mike’s friends each take an arm, and they drag him outside.

  Chrissy and I wait around for their return. I get restless after half an hour.

  The only other partygoers left behind are the Stupid Kissing People. They’ve progressed to lying down together on a couch. Shortly thereafter, they sneak into the next room and shut the door.

  I turn to Chrissy. “Can we go home now?”

  She hands me a soda and flops down on the couch closest to the TV. She grabs the remote and flips through a hundred channels, one mind-numbing show after another.

  Flip, pause, flip, pause, flip.

>   “This is boring,” I grumble.

  “There’s got to be something on worth watching.”

  “Chrissy, this is ridiculous.”

  “Emma.” Chrissy frowns. “You promised you’d stay with me while Kevin took Mike to the bars.”

  I cross my arms and sink down farther on the couch. “Well, that was stupid of me.”

  Chrissy continues to channel surf at lightning speed.

  “Could you at least stay on one channel long enough for me to focus?”

  “Ugh!” She throws down the remote.

  I sigh. “I’m growing old here… Let’s go home!”

  “No! Kevin asked me to wait for him.”

  “What are you waiting for anyway? They’re probably going to stay at the bars for hours. Can’t Kevin just see you tomorrow?”

  “I know!” A mischievous smile creeps across Chrissy’s pretty face. “We could snoop around their rooms.”

  She jumps off the couch and rushes up the staircase.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I call after her. “I wouldn’t want anyone to get all nosy with my stuff.”

  After a moment of righteous hesitation, I follow her anyway.

  Kevin’s room is a pigsty. Chrissy finds it fascinating, even though she’s already been here many times before. I leave her rummaging through his dresser drawers to meander down the hallway. My heart jumps as I pause in the doorway of each room and glance inside. I really shouldn’t be doing this.

  Each bedroom I come to is disgustingly messy.

  A few of them smell like feet.

  Or sweat.

  Or both at the same time.

  Ugh.

  At the far end of the hallway, I find what looks like Mike’s room. His jacket hangs on a desk chair and his backpack is on the floor. Mike keeps his room much neater than Kevin, which impresses me, but I don’t cross the threshold. I just stand and stare.

  A door bangs downstairs, and loud voices echo from below. Chrissy and I bump into each other as we rush down the stairs. I’m afraid we’ll get busted for snooping, but nobody even seems to notice we’ve been upstairs.

  Half of the guys hurry into the kitchen to eat. Some collapse on the crusty couches and chairs and fall asleep.