12

"Hey,” I said, trying to sound as casual as possible just to gauge whether or not Paula-Jean would even talk to me.

“Hey.”

She actually responded, which was a good sign, because for a second there I thought she was going to hang up on me. Still, her voice was flat — almost expressionless.

“So, er, how are you doing, Peej?”

I tried hard to sound upbeat. Peppy. Downright jovial. There was a long pause. I was thinking she might start yelling at me any second. After all, things hadn’t exactly been good between us lately and I can’t say I didn’t deserve a good verbal thrashing. But instead, Paula-Jean let the silence dangle between us like the blade of a guillotine. When she finally spoke, her words came down swift and sharp. To tell you the truth, I couldn’t really blame her.

“Why do you want to know? Did you cast some sort of evil curse on me or something?”

Ouch. That hurt. But since it was entirely possible, I decided to let the comment slide.

“No. No, I didn’t do that, but well, you see, I … I …”

“Come on, Claire. Spit it out. I haven’t got all day. Is my hair going to fall out? Will I be plagued with dandruff? Attacked by arthritis?”

I had been agonizing over my situation for some time now, bottling up all my anguish and fear, and when Paula-Jean opened the door with her question, it was like everything I’d packed in me came gushing out in a giant tsunami of emotion.

“Oh Paula-Jean, I put this teensy-weensy binding curse on Hollis and now she’s off sick and it’s all my fault because I was so mad at her for being your partner and taking you away from me because you’re my only friend — you’re all I’ve got — and she knew it and she wanted to hurt me because I’d made her miss Fall Fun Day and then I wanted to hurt her back, so I put the curse on her and now she’s sick, she’s really sick and it’s all my fault and I can’t undo the spell because I can’t find the shoelace and I can’t undo the knots and now Hollis is going to be sick forever, maybe even die, because of me and you were right, you were totally right, the book is evil, EVIL, I tell you, and I’m … a … I’m a … a H-HORRIB-BLE P-PERS-SON!”

The last few words sputtered out between fits of hysterical sobs. When I was done, I didn’t even try to stop the tears that streamed down my face like a river of regret. My tongue flapped and I gasped and gurgled for several minutes until I managed to get control of myself. I wiped my eyes and nose with my sweatshirt all the while wondering if Paula-Jean was still on the line.

“Y-you s-still there?” I stammered.

“Yep,” said Paula-Jean.

“A-are y-you s-still my f-friend?”

“Yep,” said Paula-Jean, though I wished she’d have used a more convincing tone.

“W-what are we g-going to do, Peej?” I asked.

“We?” Paula-Jean said coolly. “We? You have some nerve.”

“Go on and say it,” I whimpered. “I deserve it. Say I told you so.”

“Okay. I told you so. There. That doesn’t solve anything, Claire.”

“Does it at least make you feel better?”

“Minimally.”

“Look, Peej, I need to undo this curse. I tied seven knots in a shoelace and now I can’t find the shoelace to undo them. If I can’t undo them, Hollis and I will be cursed forever.”

“Oh. So this is about you, Claire.”

“Well. Sort of. Kind of. But it’s more about Hollis. I swear. I really need to remove the curse. I want her to be well again. Honestly. So, what am I going to do? I know you’ll think of something, Peej. You always do.”

“Not a chance. You got yourself into this mess, Claire, and now you’re going to have to get yourself out of it. Even if I wanted to help you I couldn’t. Last I checked I wasn’t a witch! I told you not to mess with that voodoo stuff, to heed the warning. Remember the warning? The one you so irresponsibly ignored? The one you said was only there so that people didn’t sue the publisher?”

“Yes. The publisher. They ought to be sued. The publisher and the …” I began, but the remaining words died back into my throat when I realized what I was saying.

The warning. The publisher. The author. The author was a witch. A White Witch. She had to know how to undo the curse. It was so simple I kicked myself for not thinking of it right away.

“You’re a genius, Peej!” I shrieked. “I knew you’d help me figure a way out of this mess!”

“Whoa!” said Paula-Jean. “I didn’t …”

“Ah, but you did! You did!” I shouted. “Thank you so much, Paula-Jean. You’re the best — the very best and I mean it!”

“But, Claire …”

“No buts — you are!” I said confidently. “I know exactly what I have to do now, Peej. I’m going to fix this. You’ll see. I’m going to de-hex Hollis and me and make everything right. And I promise I’m going to be a far less vengeful person in the future. Really.”

“Claire …”

“There’s just one teensy-tiny simple thing, Peej,” I said tentatively.

I heard Paula-Jean huff, like she was expecting me to ask her to fly to Rome or something. “Are you kidding me? Nothing is ever teensy or tiny or simple with you, Claire.”

“It’s no biggie. Really,” I insisted. “If I just happen to be away from school tomorrow and Mrs. Martin just happens to ask, can you just tell her I’m sick?”

I could almost hear the drip, drip, drip of sarcasm as Paula-Jean spoke. “Oh sure, Claire. I can tell her I think you’re sick. And it wouldn’t be a lie, since I truly do believe you are sick — in the HEAD!”

“I deserve that, Peej. I do. But can you just file the insults for the moment and promise me …”

Paula-Jean sighed. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Oh I do!” The words bubbled out of me. “I really do this time, Peej. No worries.”

“Why is it when you say no worries that I begin to worry?”

“Aw, that’s so sweet of you, Peej. You’re worried about me!”

I hung up the phone feeling happier than I had in days. Paula-Jean was my friend again and I was going to set the world right. I headed straight for my little green book. This time I knew what I was doing. I really did. Even when I tripped and jammed my toe, I barely even let out a cry.

I opened the book to the copyright page. All it said was:

© The White Witch, 2011

Mixed Pickle Press, Toronto, Canada

All rights reserved

I frowned. I don’t know what I expected to find, but certainly a little more than this. At least I knew it was a local publisher — finding their address wouldn’t be difficult, but what I’d really hoped for was some way to contact the White Witch. The wheels in my brain cranked into full gear. “Hmmm … this is going to be a bit trickier than I thought.”