Rhymes with Witches

“Well …” Bitsy said.

“But she’s with Brad now,” Pammy interjected. “Right, Bitsy? And I’m so happy for you. You’re such a great couple.”

“Yeah? You don’t think he’s a bit flash?” Bitsy asked.

“Oh my god, he’s the hottest guy in school,” Pammy said. “Not to mention the fact that he totally worships you.”

Even in my nervousness, I gagged at what a suck-up Pammy was. On the other hand, if I were in her place, I’d probably be licking Bitsy’s boots, too. If Bitsy were wearing boots. If it were a shoe-possible environment.

“There is that,” Bitsy said. A chip bag rustled. “I suppose I’ll keep him a little longer.”

“Good, because we don’t want you single again, that’s for sure,” Pammy said. She giggled. “Little Miss Greedy-Guts, stealing all the boys away.”

There was a pause. Then, “Little Miss Greedy-Guts?”

“She didn’t mean it like that,” Sukie interjected. “Right, Pammy? She just meant—”

“What if I want to be Little Miss Greedy-Guts?” Bitsy asked, dangerously smooth.

Pammy’s giggles dried up. “I just … it’s just that you’re so beautiful and fu

“Maybe none of you has a chance because you’re whining slags,” Bitsy said.

Sukie tried to laugh. “Bitsy. Don’t be like that.”

“Like what? Honest?”

A drip of condensation rolled down my glass.

“Every boy in the school wants to go out with you, that’s all,” Sukie said. “I mean, not that it’s your fault.”

“Of course not!” Pammy chimed in. “I never meant it was your fault. Oh my god, is that what you thought?”

“It’s just a fact of life,” Sukie went on. “You think Payton would be going out with me if he thought he had a shot with you?”

“And Ryan Overturf,” Pammy said. “Last year he wouldn’t give me a second look. He was all Bitsy, Bitsy, Bitsy. But now that you’re with Brad—”

“Enough,” Bitsy commanded.

They both shut up. I gripped my glass.

But when Bitsy spoke again, it was in a new voice. “So, Pammy. You fancy Ryan, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Pammy said hesitantly. “Maybe? And I think—I mean, probably not—but sometimes I think maybe he likes me back?”

“Oh, he likes you. No worries there, luv.”

Now Bitsy was being too nice. It worried me.

“Really?” Pammy said. Her hopefulness was excruciating “Has he … has he said something to you?”

Bitsy laughed. “Not just to me. To anyone who’ll listen.”

“Bitsy …” Sukie said.

Pammy started hyperventilating. “Oh my god, oh my god. You have to tell me!”

“Well, you do know he drives by your house practically every night, right?” Bitsy said. “Sometimes he parks at the corner and just moons up at the house.”

“He does?”

“He says you leave your curtains open, you sly dog. He says it’s quite the peep show.”

“He says—what?”

“Says you’ve got quite good form, really. The whole i

Pammy’s confusion made her stupid. “What? I don’t … I swear, I never—”

“Look, pet, I think it’s brilliant,” Bitsy soothed. “Give him a taste and make him beg for more. Him and all the other blokes he’s told.”

“He’s lying,” Pammy whispered. “I don’t leave my curtains open, I swear.”

Feet slapped the floor. “Ladies, ladies,” a male voice said. Kyle. “Your presence is required. We’re starting a game of butt quarters.”

“Butt quarters, ooo goody,” Bitsy said. “Sukie, Pammy? You in?”

Pammy sniffled. “I … I need to go to the bathroom,” she said. She fled the room.

“Good grief,” Kyle said, clearly confused. “Was she crying?”

“Here, Kyle,” Bitsy said. “Have some chips.” The bag rattled. Kyle crunched.

“Did Ryan really say all that?” Sukie asked in an undertone.

“She really should be more careful,” Bitsy replied.

“For Christ’s sake, these chips are stale,” Kyle complained. “That is the last time I buy organic, the environment be damned.”

“Abso-bloody-lutely,” Bitsy said. “Preservatives or die.”

Kyle strode past the island to the pantry, and my blood froze. He stood within feet of my hiding spot. “There must be a bag of Tostitos stashed around here somewhere.”

My heart whammed. I trained my gaze on the floor—not on his khakis, not on his pale feet—and prayed he would find the chips and leave. Please, please, please, I prayed.

“Ta-da,” he called.

I screwed my eyes shut.

He headed for the living room. “Shall we, then? Butt quarters awaits.”

“I better check on Pammy,” Sukie said.

“Suit yourself,” said Bitsy. “Kyle—hold up!”

The kitchen emptied, except for me. I crawled out from behind the island. Leftover adrenaline pumped through my veins. I felt thick, like I needed fresh air.

I looked into the living room. Bitsy had draped herself over the arm of a sofa, and she laughed as Kyle held up a quarter and wiggled his fa

“Demonstration, anyone?” he drawled.

Pammy was nowhere to be seen.

The next morning, I called Phil and told him to meet me at Memorial Park. He showed up with a ratty blanket, two king-sized Cokes, and a milk-carton box of Whoppers, my favorite candy. Obviously I’d sounded more depressed than I’d intended.

“Hey,” he said, putting down the food and spreading out the blanket. As usual, the air smelled foul, because sewage run-off had contaminated the bordering creek. But the park itself was lush and green and nearly always deserted.

Phil patted the spot beside him. “Take a load off.”

I sat down and accepted one of the Cokes. The rattle told me he’d gotten extra ice, just the way I liked it. “What’s better than roses on a piano?” I asked.

“Exsqueeze me?” Phil said.

“Tulips on my organ,” I said. “Hysterical, huh?”

Phil wasn’t there yet.

“Tulips on my organ,” I said again. “Two lips on my—”

He winked and pointed his finger at me. “Clever girl. You make that up yourself?”

“Parker Rylant told it at the party last night, one of many blow-job jokes. You should have been there.”

“Wasn’t invited,” Phil said.

“L’Kardos got steamed, because he said he didn’t want Keisha to hear that kind of crap. He said it was sexist and offensive.”

“And right he was,” Phil said.

“Absolutely,” I said. I sucked on my straw, remembering Keisha’s expression when I’d laughed, before I realized the joke was in bad taste.

Phil stretched out and propped his head on one elbow. “Tell me more.”

“They were like princesses,” I said. “Fairies. And everywhere they went, they sprinkled their magic fairy dust and made everyone adore them.”

“And ‘they’ would be … ?”

“Who do you think? Keisha and Bitsy and Mary Bryan.” I reached for the Whoppers. “Bitsy told Ryan Overturf she’d have to slap his ass if he didn’t give her a foot rub, and Brad, Bitsy’s boyfriend, just laughed like Haha, that Bitsy, such a joker. And then Ryan was rubbing his thumb up and down Bitsy’s instep, and Bitsy was purring and arching her back, and the whole time Brad was turning redder and redder. So finally Bitsy said, ‘Be a doll and get me another mojito, will you, Brad?’ And Brad snapped out of it and said, ‘Sure, Babe. Anything you want. Ryan, need another Coors, man?’”

“That’s so lame,” Phil said.

“I know.”

“Don’t they know that friends shouldn’t let friends drink bad beer?”

I shoved him. “Anyway, they were total goddesses, and I was a floundering blob of patheticness.”

“You’re not a floundering blob of patheticness.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You only are when you say you are, so stop saying it.”

“Whatever.” I paused, remembering Nate Solomon’s complete obliviousness to my very existence. Except my crush on Nate was one thing I would never bring up in front of Phil. So I told him about my inglorious retreat instead.