Season of the Witch Read Free Page A

but because he wanted to make Saskia Phelps jealous. I had a total nervous breakdown.
Oh, my God, I thought he liked me and he totally used me—waahhh
.
    Same thing in ninth grade when James Olmstead asked me to go out with him the day after Ramona Digby dumped him—and then dumped me two weeks later when Ramona took him back. Tears, tears, tears. Many phone calls to many people. Sob, sob.
    But by tenth grade, I knew the score. In tenth grade, when Enzo Carmichal asked me out, I was like, “You and Jane have that whole bestie thing going on. I’m not getting in the middle of that.” He was like, “Platonic, dude, platonic.”
    Now, I knew Jane didn’t feel the same way, even though she had never said anything. But I also thought, Well, you know, maybe she needs a push to let him know.
    The push worked. About a month after Enzo and I started, Jane got tipsy at a party and tearfully confessed that she was insane about him. Enzo and Jane are still together. She gives me the stink eye whenever I come near them, which is odd, but whatever.
    Bottom line: I’ve learned that freaking gets you nowhere. Stay cool and everybody has more fun.
    Yes, I did kind of hope that Oliver was going to break it off with Chloe. And yes, it sucked when it became clear that was not happening. But I dealt with it.
    What I couldn’t deal with—what I’m still not dealing with so well—is Chloe hating me. And not just Chloe. Her two best friends, Zeena and Isabelle, hate me as well, because, hey, why think for yourself when you can share a brain with two other girls? So much easier! Isabelle and Zeena have been sending me messages too. Highly original and oh-so-witty things like:
    Suffer, bitch
.
    Don’t think this is over. It’s not
.
    Oh, and the phone calls. They’re fun. Sometimes they’re hangups. Sometimes not.
    Two nights ago, I tried saying, “Chloe, can we talk about this?” Because I didn’t want this stuff to still be going on once school started.
    Silence.
    I said, “I’m really, really sorry. I did not mean for this to happen. I thought you guys had broken up. Now that I know otherwise, I’m out. Okay?”
    I thought, She can’t be mad now. I said I was sorry. That means I’m saying I was wrong, you were right. Like a dog showing its belly to another dog.
I give up, don’t hurt me
.
    Then I heard empty silence as she hung up.
    So here we are. First day of school and it’s still going on. Yay.
    “Well, you said Chloe and Oliver made up,” says Ella when I’m done with my tale. “So, really, she should be chill.”
    “Yeah, not so chill,” I say unhappily.
    I want to tell Ella about the messages Chloe and her psycho posse have been sending. But I realize we’re two blocks away from school and I haven’t asked Ella anything about
her
. Yes, I am terrified, but that’s no excuse for narcissism.
    So I say, “How was
your
summer? Was New You total hell or basically bearable?”
    Ella goes quiet. Oh, dear, I think, total hell.
    Then she says, “Um, this really awful thing happened, actually.”
    Startled, I stop. “What awful thing?”
    “Um—” Ella sighs unhappily. “You know my cousin Cassie?”
    Cassie, I think quickly. Ella’s cousin who goes to our school, but they never hang out, which is why I don’t know her that well. Hard-ass brainiac. Plays rugby and runs with that crowd sometimes. Mostly keeps to herself.
    Ella adds, “And my little cousin, Eamonn?”
    “No.”
    Ella shakes her head. “No, duh, why would you? Well, Cassie has this little brother, Eamonn, he’s eight and he’s like—autistic. Severe. You can’t leave him by himself, he’s so spastic.”
    “That’s hard,” I say.
    “Yeah, it is. Or … it was. A week ago? He
died
.”
    My brain goes on the fritz. I can’t even think the obvious polite thing to say. All I can think is, Died. Someone died. A little kid
died
. How can I be worried about my stupid crap when a little eight-year-old kid is dead?
    Finally I manage to ask,