Free Twist My Charm by Toni Gallagher Page B

lake! We pass Red Shorts twice. First he’s just walking fast, but the next time he’s reading a magazine too. Dad says hello, and Red Shorts nods back as usual.
    Finally, on Sunday night, I text Madison and tell her I haven’t gotten even one baby step closer to finding a potion that could reverse the charm we put on Dad. And by the time Monday morning rolls around, I’m exhausted—and actually happy to be going back to school.
    —
    I’m happy, that is, until I get there. As soon as Dad parks by the curb in the parking lot, I’m ready to run for Kevin’s classroom. Then Sam and her mom pull up right behind us.
    Dad looks in the rearview mirror. “Is that Samantha?”
    Of course it is, but I don’t want Dad seeing Paige, so I say, “I don’t think so,” and open my door to jump out. “You’d better go, Dad. I’m sure you have a lot of work to do!” I take a few steps toward the school, but his car doesn’t pull away.
    Instead, the driver’s side door opens. Dad is getting out! I watch helplessly as he walks over to Sam’s car and starts talking to Paige through her open window. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but it doesn’t matter. Why are they talking at all? How often has this been happening? Is this the first time they’ve talked since the art show?
    Suddenly Sam is standing next to me. As if she heard my thoughts, she says, “I think my mom and your dad talked over the weekend.”
    I stare into the parking lot at Dad leaning over Paige’s car. It’s easy to imagine what they’re saying: “
You’re so handsome, Bradley.” “You look so pretty today, Paige.” “I like you.” “I like you more.” “Let’s kiss.” “Not here, where the kids can see.” “Later, then.” “Okay.” “You’re so cute.” “I really like you.” “Not as much as I like you.”
    Argh! How can this be happening? The love potion recipe said it was foolproof, and it was. I’m the fool, and I proved it worked—the wrong way, with the wrong people.
    I turn to Samantha to start up a conversation—a conversation that friends might have,
not
sisters—but she’s already gone. She’s a dot across the courtyard, heading toward Kevin’s classroom.

I t’s a happy announcement when we hear that instead of Recreational Wellness this afternoon, there’s going to be an assembly. I love school assemblies; they’re great for napping. No matter what the topic is—William Shakespeare’s birthday, not talking to strangers, how to prepare for an earthquake—it’s almost impossible not to snooze. If the lights are down and the speaker has a calm, mellow voice, my eyes droop and close immediately. Once, in fourth grade, I guess I even snored, because my friend Jane Anne had to jab me with her elbow so I’d wake up. I wonder if that’s why she didn’t want to be my friend the next year.
    I hope Madison doesn’t mind a little snoring, because I’m settling into a chair in the auditorium, getting comfy. She’s beside me, but she’s sitting up straight, all alert and excited. A second later, I realize why.
    This is no ordinary assembly.
    “Summertime, summertime, sum-sum-summertime!”
An old-timey song blasts through the room. Brightly colored lights flash on and off, and all the kids begin hollering and cheering. The song changes to a slow one:
“Because it’s summer, summertime is here…”
    Madison leans over to me and whispers, though she really should yell because the music changes to the type of old rock song my dad might like:
“Hot time, summer in the city…”
    “This is the summer assembly,” Madison says.
    Duh,
I think, but I say, “Yeah, I got that idea. What’s so big about it?”
    Before she can answer me, our principal, Frederick, walks onto the stage. He usually wears a tie, or at least a professional-looking sweater, but today he’s in board shorts and a Hawaiian shirt! He’s also wearing flip-flops and sunglasses and has a triangle of white on his nose like he’s afraid