Free Chasing the White Witch by Marina Cohen

something. An awkward silence hung like a curtain between us. I suddenly felt incredibly guilty for magically thrashing him the other night. What could I say to him? How could I apologize and thank him at the same time? I was trying to think of how to phrase it, but luckily he spoke first.
    â€œNow get out of here,” he said.
    Still in shock, I left his room, holding his cell and shaking my head. Over my shoulder I heard him mutter, “I’m getting a lock put on my door.”

14
    I was riddled with guilt when my mom kissed me on the cheek, smiled gently, and wished me a good day. Cyrus was sitting at the door, back straight, his snout pointing accusingly at me. I hung my head and kept my eyes trained on the ground, trying to conceal my shame as I nudged him aside. I was absolutely certain that deceit was scribbled all over my face in some bright neon colour. Liar! Liar! Pants on fire! My jeans were definitely smouldering.
    I hated being dishonest — especially with my parents. They were good parents and they always encouraged me to tell the truth, no matter what the consequences. I could hear my father as clear as day, cautioning me, “Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practise to deceive, …” For a second I considered coming clean and telling him the whole story. Trouble was, he wouldn’t believe me. I mean what adult in their right mind would? “What an imagination, Claire,” he’d say, patting me on the head. “Now off you go, and try not to curse anybody else at school today.” Maybe he’d even come up with one of his sayings. Curse me once, shame on you … curse me twice, blah, blah, blah.
    No. I couldn’t tell my parents. This was my mess and Paula-Jean was right. I needed to clean it up all on my own. Well, sort of on my own.
    I skulked in the shadows of the park across the street from the huge home until the last car left the driveway. I watched the black Mercedes drive down the street and turn at the lights. When I was certain it wasn’t coming back, I made my move.
    I rang the doorbell once and waited. When no one answered, I tried again. I waited an entire minute (I know, because I counted. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three …). Then I began pounding on the door. Still, no one answered. I continued to hammer my knuckles against the solid wood door, while my mind raced. Was Hollis even at home? Had they taken her to a hospital? Was she lying in some uncomfortable metal-framed bed, connected to oodles of computers, machines, and wires, clinging to sweet life by a tattered and fraying thread? Stay away from the light, Hollis! Stay. Away. From. The …
    The door opened a crack and a bloodshot eye peeped out.
    â€œWhat do you want?” said the pitch-perfect voice as the door swung open all the way revealing a very tired-looking, very pale Hollis. Her eyes had dark circles around them as though she hadn’t slept well in days.
    To tell you the truth, I was slightly taken aback. I honestly didn’t know what to expect (I mean, I had imagined the green crusty blotches and hobbit-feet and all, but I hadn’t been serious about that). So when I saw Hollis standing in front of me looking sick and fragile, the reality of my curse really hit home. This was beyond my expertise, I decided. This was going to take more than a giant bowl of yogurt and a few handfuls of chopped garlic. Good thing I had a plan.
    I stood for a second wondering how to explain to Hollis what I’d done. How could I phrase it so that she didn’t think I was some kind of raving lunatic? Check. She already did think I was a raving lunatic — so I gave up and decided to just come clean and let the chips fall where they may.
    I’d actually wanted to begin by saying I cursed you , but figures, my tongue got all tangled, and what came out was simply, “Curse you.”
    I winced as Hollis’s perky little nose wrinkled in