When Polly gets home, the kitchen has been cleared and the dishwasher is on. Only Gumpy is still under the table, helpfully vacuuming up any last crumbs that have spilled or mealworms that have escaped. Polly wonders if she is going to be in trouble for not helping clear the table. It was her job to stack the dishwasher tonight.

She can hear the TV on in the lounge room. She tiptoes down the hallway, deciding it’s probably better to avoid her mum for now, just in case.

‘Polly?’ her mum calls out. ‘Is that you?’

Her mother’s voice sounds tired but friendly. Polly’s not in trouble. She sighs in relief.

‘Come and sit with us for a bit, pumpkin,’ her mum calls. ‘We’re watching Nastiest Witch on the Block. Sycamore is winning.’

Polly’s mum is curled up on their neat linen couch, her uncomfortable black work heels kicked off. Winifred is on the beanbag in front of the television.

Polly hovers in the doorway of the lounge room to watch. The aim of Nastiest Witch on the Block is to see who can be the meanest to the other contestants. Polly’s mum and Winifred are hooked on it, but it’s not really Polly’s thing.

An ad break comes on and Winifred unglues her eyes from the TV and twists around to look at Polly. ‘How was Buster?’ she taunts, but to Polly’s surprise, their mother ignores her.

‘Come along, pumpkin,’ their mum beckons, smiling.

She pats the space beside her, a glass of juniper wine in her other hand.

Polly wanders over and curls into her mother’s side on the couch. Her mum smells like vanilla and spiderwebs and juniper berries.

‘Don’t mind your sister,’ she whispers in Polly’s ear. ‘She doesn’t mean any harm. She’s just going through a stage.’

Gumpy trots in, plops down on the shaggy rug and within moments is snoring loudly.

Their mother turns up the volume, and they watch the ad where a witch demonstrates the fancy new gadgets on the Broomstick 100.

‘I can’t wait to get my broomstick licence,’ Winifred says enviously.

‘Broomsticks are dangerous,’ tuts their mother.

‘Mum!’ Winifred groans. ‘All my friends will be getting one! They’re fine.’

‘Well, I certainly don’t like those motorised ones. There are just too many accidents each year for me to feel comfortable with my daughters riding them.’

‘It’s only bat-brained warlocks who fly too fast who have accidents,’ says Winifred.

‘We’ll talk about this again when you’re sixteen,’ their mum says, shutting down the conversation just as their show comes back on.

The three of them settle in to watch. It’s getting close to the season finale, and only Sycamore and three other contestants remain. Sycamore is an old schoolmate of Polly’s mother, and the most horrible witch they’ve had on so far.

‘Ooh, she’s good, isn’t she?’ Polly’s mum says.

They watch Sycamore cast a spell on another contestant, which makes her break out into pus-filled sores just as she’s about to go on a date.

‘She was always so good at spells at school,’ continues their mum. ‘I’m not surprised she’s kept up with it. Not many other witches in our year level did.’

Sycamore’s latest victim bursts into tears and runs away from the restaurant where her date is waiting.

Winifred guffaws with laughter. ‘That stupid witch will be voted off this week, for sure!’

Polly has an uneasy feeling in her stomach. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. Everyone at her school loves this show. Sycamore is the pride graduate of Miss Madden’s Academy of Witchcraft and Spells, and was voted Most Powerful Witch in her final year. But when Polly watches the poor witch standing there with tears flowing over her bumpy, sore-covered cheeks, it just makes her feel confused.

Polly knows it’s only a game, and that the losing witches will have their spells reversed the moment they leave the show. But she doesn’t find any of it funny like everyone else seems to. If anything, it only makes her sad.

‘Actually, I’ve just remembered I’ve got homework to do,’ Polly mumbles.

‘OK dear,’ her mother says, her eyes still fixed on the screen, ‘but don’t stay up too late, will you? You’ve got an excursion to the gallery tomorrow and you don’t want to be tired.’

Polly trudges upstairs to her room, heavyhearted, once again wondering why she feels so different to everyone she knows.