Free A Midsummer Night's Scream by R. L. Stine Page B

them his potions.”
    They stared at me. They didn’t move or speak.
    My dad and Mr. Castellano exchanged glances. The two women remained silent.
    “Oh. Right,” Dad said finally. “The trailer with all the potions.”
    “Do you know it?” I asked.
    “Sure,” he said. “It’s right next to the cage where we keep the unicorn. You know. Across from Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer?”
    Everyone had a good laugh at my expense.
    “I’m serious, Dad,” I said when everyone finally stopped laughing.
    “Me, too,” he said. “I’m serious, dear. There’s no trailer next to wardrobe. And there’s no little short bearded guy who gives out potions.”

 
    17
    THE LAST NORMAL NIGHT
    DAD HATES WHEN PEOPLE ARGUE at the dinner table. So I shut up about the trailer and the potions. I knew Dad was wrong. It’s a big studio. He doesn’t know everything that goes on there.
    He had to be wrong, because I had been inside that trailer. And spoken to the hairy little creep. And stolen a potion and used it on Jake. Jake couldn’t back me up because he had no memory of it. But Delia could.
    They all love to laugh at me. They think I’m some kind of woo-hoo fantasy freak. Because I hear and see things they don’t. Well, maybe I’m just more sensitive than other people.
    I’m going back there, I decided. And I’m going to get the right potion this time. The love potion. And I’m definitely going to use it on Jake.
    Unless I didn’t have to. Unless I could make him see how I felt about him without having to sprinkle a potion on his head.
    I gave him meaningful looks all through dinner. And I tried to channel Annalee. I kept touching him a lot. Squeezing his hand and patting his shoulder.
    Mainly, I concentrated hard, sending him thought waves. I really believed if I kept sending my feelings on psychic waves directly to his brain, he would recognize them. He would understand.
    I can’t help it. I believe in magical things. I always have. You can’t imagine how crushed I was when a kid in preschool told me Santa Claus was a fake. I was only four, but I really wanted to believe.
    I beat up that kid in the sandbox. I mean, I really pounded him. I can still remember it. I made him eat sand. But I knew he was telling the truth.
    So now I sent my psychic brain waves to Jake. He definitely was not getting them. At one point, he pulled a salami slice off his pizza and offered it to me. That was our tenderest moment.
    After dinner, as we stood on the sidewalk waiting for the valets to bring around our cars, I decided to take action. I leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
    He actually jumped. He nearly fell off the curb. He turned and squinted at me like I was from another planet.
    “Oh. Sorry,” I said. “Stumbled. It’s these shoes. Not used to them.”
    He nodded. And wiped his cheek.
    I could feel my face turning red. But I decided to press on. “Hey, you know the new club on Sunset? It’s called The Club, and a lot of kids from school have been hanging there. Want to check it out tonight?”
    He took a few seconds to think about it. “I don’t think so,” he said finally.
    I made a pouty face. “Why not?”
    “I’ve got a lot to do. Uh … Zack gave me some assignments. Some software things I have to work out.”
    I nodded. My heart was beating kind of fast all of a sudden. Not from excitement. From disappointment.
    “Well, do you want to just hang out when you’re finished with that?” I blurted out.
    “Not tonight,” he said. “Why? Did you want to talk to me about something?”
    “No,” I said. “Not really.” The valet brought our BMW around, and I called good night to his parents and slumped into the backseat.
    As he drove home, Dad was telling Mom about some producer from Fox he saw at the restaurant. Mom said she couldn’t get over how fabulous Amy Castellano’s skin is. “It’s smooth as a cloudy day.”
    Huh?
    I tuned them out and pulled my phone from my bag. It chimed. A text message.
    Maybe