Free Kelly McClymer-Salem Witch 02 Competition's A Witch by Kelly McClymer

in the spell book?”
    She shook her head. “There are plenty of them, Pru. But I’ll have to think up a special one. I hope I can.”
    “Why?”
    She smiled at me, sadly, like she did when the subject of witch-mortal age differences comes up. “Because I have to find one that will react to all mortals except your father, or we’ll be hearing wind chimes every time he’s in his own house.”
    “Oh.” I shrugged. “At least it will be wind chimes, not an air horn.”
    Mom laughed a little. “True.” She stopped laughing and made an “I mean it” face. “Angelo is mortal, Pru. You don’t need—”
    Frappiola, I hadn’t seen the lecture coming and I wasn’t prepared to listen. “Don’t worry. He just looked thirsty.”
    “Right.” Sometimes I forget that Mom was young once too. But she reminded me when she said cheerfully, “If I were a few centuries younger, and not married, I don’t know if I could resist that one.”
    “Mom!” Ewww.
    She looked at me, one final mom-warning moment. “He’s mortal, Pru, and that makes him dangerous right now. Plus, there’s something about him….” Her voice trailed off. I stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate. “Oh, I don’t know. But don’t make him cookies anymore, okay?”
    “No problemo,
Mamacita
,” I lied. “I wouldn’t have time for him, anyway, what with all the studying I have to do for school and getting the team ready for competition.”
    For some reason, Mom didn’t call me out on my blatant lie. We both knew there was always time for a guy like Angelo.
    I can’t say I wasn’t bummed that he was a “look, don’t touch” kind of neighbor. Six-pack abs are pretty sexy. And that’s one thing you don’t see a lot of in witch world. Witches pop, they don’t pump. But Agatha was watching.

Speaking of the Do Not Date list, and boys as friends in general, there was one boy I needed to keep on my good side. Samuel. Besides the fact that he was smart, he had one of the best Earth Talents in school—not to mention that my parents liked him, which was more positive than negative, in his case. And I was pretty sure I was lucky that he’d stayed my friend when I made the transition from new girl with no seat in the lunchroom to cheerleader with a place at the kewlest table in school.
    Don’t get me wrong. Samuel is not a snob. Not even a reverse snob who hates on kewl kids. No, he’s a fringie. Fringies tend to get along with everyone, because that’s the fringie nature. They just don’t get the differences thateveryone else sees. They’re like people who can not only walk through walls but can’t even see the walls. But being friendly isn’t the same thing as being a friend—as anyone raised in Beverly Hills knows beyond any possible doubt.
    So far, Samuel had stayed more friend than friendly. There’d been some changes in our relationship since I made the cheerleading squad, but I didn’t want the fundamental fact that we were friends to get lost in the drama of the unfortunately necessary reality that I wasn’t eating lunch with Samuel—and my other fringie friends, Maria and Denise—since I’d made the cheerleading squad. I missed them a little. Not enough to eat with them, but enough to stop by and say hello. Nevermind that Tara and the girls on the squad were watching me for warning signs of impending social suicide.
    In typical fringie fashion, the three people who had been willing to let me sit at their table that first week when I was the dreaded “new girl” were welcoming enough, although I could tell they understood the unspoken rules—no sitting down, no Hollywood kiss-kiss-lovelytoseeyou, just hey-howareya-moveon. At least, Maria and Denise did. Samuel was clueless, as always.
    “You can have lunch with us, Pru, the cheerleaders’ table won’t collapse without you just this one time.”
    A bowl of Samuel’s trademark curry appeared on the table. “Pull up a chair, stranger.” He smiled, and I felt