The school grounds are practically deserted, and I’m ready to give up on Lacey again when she finally shows at the flagpole. She’s twirling a long strand of hair around her finger, round and round. She’s also putting a lot of energy into chewing a gigantic wad of bubble gum.
“Hey,” she says.
I answer, “Hey.”
“So.” Chew, chew, twirl. “My place is this way.”
She starts walking very fast. Then she slows down. Speeds up. Slows down. I start wondering. She never said a word to me in art class. She hasn’t looked directly at me once. Is she embarrassed to be seen with me? Or is she afraid that I’m going to cast a spell on her?
Then she blows a bubble and it explodes into a big blob on her face. She reaches for it with the hair twirling finger. The obvious happens.
“Oh no!” she shrieks.
It’s pretty bad, all right. The hair, the finger, the gum, all have bonded. Lacey yanks her finger free and yelps, “Ow!”
“Um,” I say, “do you want some help?”
“No! Not unless you know some magic trick to fix it!”
“Oh.” I look off into the distance. “About that. I’m not really a witch.”
“Well, duh! Only a total idiot would believe you are.” She does an eye roll and starts nibbling on the gum mess. When she bites off a piece of gum and spits it out, a tuft of gummy hair goes with it. “Oh my God!” she wails.
“You know,” I say, “I didn’t think stuff like this happened to girls like you.”
Lacey is staring at the nipped hair tuft in horror. It looks like a diseased caterpillar lying on the sidewalk. Without looking up she mumbles, “What?”
“I mean, I thought your life was just naturally perfect.”
Now she looks at me. “Are you, like, crazy? You are, aren’t you?”
“No,” I say hastily, “I’m not. Not really. You should try ice. That’s supposed to work.”
Lacey takes a step away from me. “Ice? What are you talking about?”
“You put ice on the gum, and then it gets hard and you can scrape it out of your hair.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
“No,” I admit, “the only certainty is death.”
Lacey holds up a hand. “Okay. That’s it. Just stop being so freakin’ weird for one minute, will you?”
I shrug. “I can try. I’m not promising anything.”
“Of course you’re not. But Sable, I want you to focus here on what’s, like, important. Try to remember.” Lacey’s voice intensifies. “Will the ice work or won’t it?”
I almost laugh, but I sense that would be the wrong thing to do. Possibly even dangerous. I mean, people have been slapped for less. Not that Lacey has ever seemed like that sort, but still. No point in taking chances. “Lacey,” I say, “I think the ice works. Either that or peanut butter.”
“Great,” she says. “Let’s go.”
She starts walking again, even faster than before. Then she starts twirling the hair again, and I start worrying that she might blow another bubble. I’d rather that whole scene didn’t happen again. So I say, “You seem kind of stressed today.”
“Wouldn’t you be stressed if you, like, totally destroyed your hair?” she asks.
This time I do laugh. It comes out in a snort. “Your hair isn’t totally destroyed. What a drama queen!”
Lacey stops. Gives me a look I’ve been getting from girls since grade six. It’s a mix of pity and disgust. I hate that look. And then I’m snarling, “What? Do I stink or something?”
She blinks. “Huh?”
“Never mind! I don’t know why I’m asking you. You’re too good to waste your time on me, right? You’re so freaked about being with me that you stick gum in your hair.”
Lacey shakes her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This isn’t about you at all. It’s my place that stinks.”
“What?”
“I don’t usually bring people home, okay? That’s why I’m stressing. But I have to bring you over to get a good mark, don’t I?”
I don’t know what to say. What could be so bad about her place? And does she mean the only reason she’s with me is to get a good mark? Of course that’s the only reason she’s with me. That’s the only reason I’m with her too. Now I’m feeling stressed. I shouldn’t have reacted to the look. I should have ignored it. I wish I had some gum to chew.
“Well,” I mutter, “we probably only have to go to your place once, right? Then we’ll be done with this.”
“You think? I doubt it, Sable. We didn’t get too far yesterday, did we? I mean, you gave me that garbage about being a witch and that was pretty much it. I don’t have a clue about a quote for you yet.”
She has a point. We walk in silence until she stops abruptly and says, “So, um, this is it.”
Lacey has stopped in front of the dumpiest little old house I’ve ever seen. Green slime is growing up the side. The fence is sagging and the yard is dirt and weeds. A garbage can off to the side has been knocked over and trash is strewn everywhere. Sparkly Lacey lives here?
“Yeah, right,” I scoff.
She doesn’t say anything. She just marches right up the driveway and goes around the back of the house. I shuffle along behind her and when we get to the back door, I notice the paint is peeling off in large chunks. “You think this is bad,” she says, “just wait until you see the inside.”
I don’t want to see the inside. It’s probably filthy, stuff piled everywhere, cobwebs and mold...But I follow Lacey in and don’t find what I expected. Quite the opposite. I even feel dizzy for a second because the inside doesn’t match the outside at all.
We’re standing inside a tiny laundry room, and everything is pure white. The walls, the floor, the appliances. Everything. And it smells like bleach, not mould.
“Don’t move until you take your shoes off,” Lacey warns. She points to the closet where I see she’s already placed her shoes. I slide my black runners in beside Lacey’s pink ones and feel guilty over the bit of dirt I see clinging to a shoe lace.
“Come on,” Lacey says, “we’ve got to get some ice.”
The kitchen is even more bizarre. White again, but to an impossible extreme. The cupboards, the table and chairs, even the canisters and utensils on the counter are white. The place is so stark and bright, it hurts my eyes. When Lacey opens the freezer, I get my first glimpse of color, a bag of frozen peas. At least their food isn’t white.
Lacey is holding a tray of ice cubes and frowning. “Okay, like, now what?”
“Um. Maybe put the ice into a glass, and then stick your hair in there for a while.”
Lacey does this, and then she stands awkwardly at the sink, her head tilted to one side. After about ten seconds she says, “This is hurting my neck.”
“I don’t think you have to stand up,” I say. “You could sit down at the table.”
Lacey’s lower lip juts out in a little pout, but she does what I suggest. She sets the glass down, and then she sits with her head bowed, staring at the gummy clump of hair. “This sucks,” she says.
“Yeah,” I say.
“No, I mean it really sucks. Like, what happens if my mom catches me?”
“Your mom?” I glance around but don’t see anyone.
“She’s not here right now. With any luck she won’t show up. But if she finds one speck of gum on her table she’ll rant for a week.”
I don’t think Lacey is kidding. I erupt in a high-pitched giggle.
“It’s not funny!” Lacey says.
“Sorry. I guess I’m nervous.”
“You’re nervous? You’re not the one who’ll have to listen to her. Your mom seems really nice.”
“She only seems that way,” I say defensively. “Believe me, she has tons of weirdness.”
“Hah,” says Lacey. “Nobody’s as weird as my mother. You haven’t seen our living room yet.”
Now I want to go into the living room. But Lacey is still absorbed with her hair, and I sit down beside her. “Maybe I can help. Let’s see if the gum is frozen.”
Lacey shoots me a suspicious glance, and then she shrugs. “Okay. But be careful.”
I poke a finger into the glass and touch the gum. “It feels cold,” I report.
“Good. Now what?”
“Now you can probably pull the gum off your hair.”
Lacey lifts her hair out of the glass, grabs the gum wad and yanks. “Ow!” she squeals.
“Not like that,” I say. “Let me try.” I take hold of the gum and dig in a fingernail. I manage to pick off a fairsized chunk. I flick my finger, and the chip of gum lands on the floor.
“Quick,” Lacey says, “pick it up.”
I scramble for the offending blob of pink, and I’m down on the floor when a pair of white stiletto heels clatters in. Lacey’s mom doesn’t take her shoes off, and the heels look dangerous at eye level.
She stares down at me like I’m a big nasty bug and says, “Lacey, what the hell is going on?”
“Nothing,” Lacey says.
“Nothing,” her mom mimics. “Come off it.” She points a long finger at me. “Who’s this?”
“This is Sable. My art partner.”
Again, Lacey’s mom glares at me like I’m something repulsive. I’m on my feet now, but for half a second, I wonder if I should have stayed on the floor.
Lacey’s mom looks like she just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. She’s glossy, from the crown of her blond hair, to the shine of her lipgloss, to the sheen of her blue satin suit and those polished white heels. She’s so shiny I wonder if she’s coated in a layer of varnish. She also has the coldest hardest pair of blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Her face has no expression at all; it’s frozen, like a painting.
I glance at Lacey and am shocked to see her wearing the exact same face. No emotion, her eyes blank.
“Your art partner?” The cold gaze hits me once more; then it turns to the glass on the table. “Is this your project? What are you doing?”
Lacey tries to hide the glass with her hand. “Nothing.”
Shiny Mom grabs the glass, and Lacey’s gummy hair swings into view. “Ugh!” says Shiny Mom. And she shudders. “How incredibly disgusting.”
“Yeah,” says Lacey.
Shiny Mom reaches into a drawer, whips out a pair of scissors, grabs a hunk of Lacey’s hair and snips. It all happens so fast that Lacey reacts in slow motion. Her mouth opens wide. Her eyes open wide. Her hand reaches for her hair. And then she screams. “Ahhhhhhh! My hair! How could you?”
Shiny Mom shudders again as she carries the gummy hair blob to the garbage. “You’ve got to be kidding, Lacey. This is revolting. Now maybe you ought to take your little friend away. I’ve had a bad day, you know?”