Rhymes with Witches

“Sick!” he yelped, pushing me off.

I sprawled to the floor, and my mini-skirt slid high on my thighs. Some sophomore almost wet himself in delight.

“Nice crotch shot,” he crowed. “Not!”

My humiliation that day included, but was not limited to, the following:

• my chair was pulled out from under me not once, not twice, but on three separate occasions;

• Miriam Fossey upended my backpack and kicked the contents across the floor;

• Ryan Overturf a

• and a cat pissed on my locker.

Oh, and in my early religions class, Lurl couldn’t stop giggling. She’d teach a little, look at me, and let out her low, throaty man giggle. And I wasn’t the only one freaked out by it. Everybody was.

“God dang,” Bob Foskin stage whispered from the front row. “Stop setting her off, girl. Are you in heat or something?”

I sank lower in my seat. My foot hit something soft, and I jerked it back. A white cat hissed and swiped at my ankle, and my heart knocked against my ribs.

I drew my legs all the way up in my chair. I tried very hard not to think about kittens. But Lurl was right there, not ten feet away, and I searched her face for any clue about how she got to be who she was today. From the hollow-eyed freshman to the radiant Ice Maiden to … this. What unseen power had transformed her so completely?

She caught me looking, and she broke off her explanation of fertility and the blood of life.

“The devil’s in the details, dearie,” she said, pitching her words at me. She covered her mouth and dissolved into giggles.

As I was walking home from school, Alicia’s sister Rae pulled up beside me in her Plymouth Cougar. She rolled down her window and called, “Hey. Jane.”

I looked at her warily, and she threw a brush at me. A pink plastic Goody. She sped away, her horn blaring “Dixie.”

On Thursday, I told Mom I was sick. I also told her that I needed to switch schools, because I didn’t fit in at Crestview and I never would. I didn’t mention the fact that my humanities teacher had sold her soul to the devil.

“Oh, honey,” Mom said. She sat down beside me. “What’s going on?”

“Nobody likes me. Everybody hates me.”

“Guess you’ll go eat worms?” she said, quoting a song she used to sing when I was little. She saw my death look. “Sorry. But, Jane, you’ve got tons of friends.”

I pushed my Cheerios with my spoon.

“Don’t you?” Mom asked. I snuck a look at her face and saw that she had grown uncertain. She started to rub my neck, then drew back her hand. “Surely things aren’t as bad as you think.”

“Yes, they are.”

“Sweetie …”

I released my spoon handle. I watched it slide sideways under the milk.

Mom frowned. She glanced at her watch, then stood up. “Well, if you’re really sick, you can stay home. But why don’t you think about calling Alicia? Or Phil. Maybe they could cheer you up.”

“Sure,” I said. “That’s a great idea.”

Last week, Mom would have held my face in her hands and told me how much she loved me. Today, even she couldn’t bear to touch me. I dumped my cereal into the sink and went back to bed.

I didn’t go to school on Friday, either. What was the point?

No one called to check on me. No one brought me chicken soup.

In a fit of furious self pity, I threw away the teddy bear, the jade hair comb, and the Polynesian vest, as well as every other Dad-related knickknack I could find. I purged myself of everything Dad, because what good had he done for me? He’d left on a three-year trek to find himself, and now, because of him, I was as lost as he was.

But I went back once my blood had cooled and dug out the teddy bear. I touched his stupid shirt, the one that said, “I Love Cairo.” I hugged him tight, closing my eyes and resting my chin on his head.

That night, Mom went out with her friend Kitty. They were going to a ribbon-cutting ceremony at a boutique called “Essentials.” There were going to be fabulous giveaways.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Mom asked. “I’d be happy to stay home. We could order a pizza.”

She would have, if I let her. I saw that now. But I said, “Go, I’ll be fine. Really.”

I watched Mom climb onto the back of Kitty’s motorcycle, and I felt as if I were looking at her from a far back place inside of me. As if there were a gap between me and the rest of the world. Everything looked so fragile.

Kitty’s voice rang out, and Mom laughed. She tightened the strap on her helmet.

Who are those people? I asked myself. Who am I?

Kitty’s Harley purred to life, and I stood there until I could no longer see the taillights. I went back inside and picked up the phone.

First, I called Alicia. I was worried that Rae might answer, but she didn’t.

“This is me,” I said to the machine. “Jane. I need to talk to you, okay? Call me.”

Next I called Camilla, but when Camilla’s mom answered, she said Camilla was out for the evening.

“Oh,” I said. “Uh … where?”

“A party,” said Camilla’s mom. I could hear the pride in her voice, the still surprise of it. “She dressed up as Dorothy from that movie with the munchkins. One of her new friends came by and helped her get ready.”

“Right,” I said, as if I’d simply forgotten. “Thanks so much.”

On a hunch, I looked up Kyle Kelley’s number and punched it in. I switched the phone to my other ear, wiped my palm on my jeans, and switched back. My pulse thrummed in my temples.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Kyle said in a sultry tone. I heard voices and laughter in the background.

“Uh, hi,” I said. Did he have caller ID? Did he know it was me? Just in case, I said, “This is Jane. What’s up?”

“Who?” he said. The party noises were really loud.

“Jane,” I said again.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” he asked. There was a splintering crash, and he said, “For God’s sake, Stuart, you’re the tin man, not the terminator. Will someone please give this man some lubrication?” He came back to me full strength. “Who’s this again?”

“It’s Jane Goodwin. And I—”

“Nevermind sweets. This really isn’t the best time. Bye now!”

The line went dead. I hit the off button and threw the phone onto the couch. It bounced off a cushion and landed on the floor, where it trilled its shrill ring.

I lunged for it. “Hello? Kyle?”

“No, it’s Alicia,” Alicia said. “Kyle who? Kyle Kelley?”

“Alicia, hi,” I said. My chest opened with a rush of relief. “I’m so glad you called. It’s been the most crappy week, I’m so not kidding.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. “What happened?”

“Well, your sister threw a hairbrush at me, for one. Can you believe it?”

Alicia didn’t answer.

I quickly switched gears. “But the real thing is that they ditched me. The Bitches.” I decided to lay it out for her, the whole of my shame, to make up for what I’d put her through. “They, like, totally dropped me, just like that, and now Camilla Jones is their new darling. Because she stole from me, can you believe it? So now she’s a Bitch instead of me.”

“Ha,” Alicia said. “That’s hysterical.”

I laughed uncertainly. “Well, I wouldn’t say hysterical, but—”

“And now you’ve gone from the top of the heap to the bottom. Lower than me, even, is that right?”

“What? You were never at the bottom of the heap. I mean, I’m sorry if you felt that way, but—”

“And where were you when I was so miserable? Were you there, holding my hand like a good friend should? No.”