Free Rhymes With Witches by Lauren Myracle Page A

there.
I didn’t ask any more questions.
    The neighborhood Bitsy lived in was even ritzier than Kyle Kelley’s, and her house was unnervingly gorgeous, with vaulted ceilings and gleaming hardwood floors. Mary Bryan disappeared into the kitchen and returned with Diet Cokes, pitas, and hummus. I sat on a white leather sofa across from the others, and I crossed and recrossed my legs. On the glass coffee table sat an ornately painted vase. I could hear the ticking of a clock.
    â€œWe brought you here to tell you that we’re interested in you,” Keisha said at last.
    â€œNot to be blunt, but we don’t have much choice,” Bitsy said. Keisha shot her a look of warning, and she added, “Of course we adore you, it goes without saying.”
    â€œOh yeah?” I said. I tried to form my mouth into a smile.
    â€œIt’s true,” Mary Bryan said. “Out of all the candidates, you’re our top pick. It was unanimous.”
    â€œCandidates?” I said.
    â€œChelsea Campion had potential,” Mary Bryan said, “but her dad’s this Hollywood mogul type, so she’s got all sorts of contacts already. She doesn’t need us.”
    â€œShe certainly needs something,” Bitsy said. “Her bum’s as big as a bloody buffalo’s.”
    â€œAnd we almost asked Lynn Seigler,” Mary Bryan continued, “but we decided she’s
too
pretty. She looks like a model, practically.”
    She continued listing girls—as well as why they were axed—and my stomach folded in on itself. Too pretty, too well connected, too smart without being nerdy … All of these descriptions sounded like
good
things. I didn’t understand what any of it meant.
    â€œCarrie Beale came this close,” Mary Bryan said, holding her finger an inch from her thumb. “But then we were like,
Ohhh. She doesn’t
mind
being a free agent.
Which made us realize that she wouldn’t want it bad enough.”
    â€œWant what?” I said.
    â€œDo
you
?” Keisha asked. “Even after Kyle’s party?”
    â€œWhat, to be a Bitch?” I tried to play it cool, but my words tumbled over themselves. “Yes. God, yes!”
    â€œEnough to do whatever it takes?” Keisha pressed.
    â€œWell, sure,” I said.
They offered a sacrifice, and the sacrifice was accepted
, came a voice in my head. I faltered. “I mean, I think so … but what do you mean?”
    Mary Bryan got up from her sofa and moved to sit by me. “Don’t worry, Jane. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Anyway, we’re not talking, like, bank robberies or kidnapping innocent children.”
    â€œBut we’re not talking a new hairstyle or a cute new pair of boots, either,” Keisha said. “Jane’s entire life would change. She needs to know that.”
    Mary Bryan made a face, like
Don’t mind her, she’s being such a grown-up
.
    Bitsy put down her Diet Coke. “I think you’re both forgetting the point of being a Bitch, which is to dump your grotty old life and start over again. So of course Jane’s life would change. That’s what it’s all about.” She stood and walked to the entertainment center, where she opened a wooden door to reveal a large-screen TV. She pivoted to face us. “Get comfy, dearies. I think it’s time for our video presentation.”

    The video was of Mary Bryan, only I don’t think Mary Bryan knew it was coming, because she turned pale when the images flickered onto the screen. “Oh my god,” she kept saying. “Oh my
god
.”
    It
was
pretty creepy. Someone (Stuart Hill?) had videoed a rafting party that I guess happened last fall, because the Bitsy in the tape had a short, flippy haircut that now had grown out. She was there along with Keisha and a bunch of other kids, all piled onto big rubber rafts stocked with coolers. One of the rafts had a keg