Twist My Charm Read Free Page A

here. He’s got a gray beard and really tan, leathery skin. It doesn’t matter how warm or cold it is; he never wears a shirt and he’s always in red shorts. He’s like a neighborhood celebrity—to me, anyway. I’ve named him “Red Shorts,” because I’m brilliant that way.
    Toby sniffs and plays with some of the other dogs that pass by, and his favorite this afternoon is a nicely groomed golden retriever being walked by a lady with long legs in super-short shorts. She and Dad chat about how the dogs seem to like each other, and then she and her shiny pet walk in the other direction.
    All the time I look for signs that Dad doesn’t care about Terri anymore, but I never find any proof. Like just now, the lady with the dog was really pretty, but Dad didn’t even notice. He still sometimes calls Terri his girlfriend until he corrects himself and says “ex,” which sounds like the saddest syllable in the world. Dad and Terri weren’t “hanging out” like Lisa Lee and Ronnie Cheseboro or Kylie Mae and Lonnie. Dad and Terri were in the kind of love that Ryder Landry sings about.
    Ryder Landry. Those eyes. That smile. I can’t wait to get back to my room and listen to more of his songs.
    “Cleo! Why are you standing there? Come on!”
    I look up and see Dad and Toby way ahead of me, about to cross the street. I didn’t even realize I was standing in the path with people and dogs passing me as I stared into space thinking about Ryder Landry. Is this love?
    No! I’m not in
love
with Ryder Landry. I think you need to
know
someone personally to love that person, but if Dad feels half of what I feel about Ryder right now, he needs to get back together with Terri.
    “Coming!” I shout, and run to meet Dad.
    Dad says it wasn’t my fault he and Terri broke up. I don’t agree, but it doesn’t matter. It’s my responsibility to get them back together. He was happy to see her at my play, but that was over three weeks ago—the night I got the love potion—and no matter what Focus! tries to teach me, sometimes I can’t help being impatient. Dad is an old man—he might even be forty—and I don’t want him to waste too much time. I ask him sometimes if he’s talked to Terri, but he says she needs her “space.” It seems to me like she has plenty of space, though, since she lives by herself at least two miles away from us.
    Back home in my bedroom, I let Millie the millipede crawl on my hand as I kneel in front of my dresser. I stare at the little red bottle of love potion. It’s only two or three inches tall, but to me it seems…powerful. Being careful not to knock Millie off my wrist, I pick up the bottle and take out its stopper.
    I look inside. I swirl the liquid around, but it’s kind of thick so it doesn’t move much. I put my nose close to the opening and breathe in. If the potion has any smell, I can’t tell, but that could be because Millie’s terrarium is nearby, with some newly rotting fruit inside for him to eat.
    I want to tip the bottle over, to feel the potion on my finger, maybe even taste it and see if it’s sweet or sour or salty or nasty, but I stop myself.
    Why hasn’t Uncle Arnie told me how it works?
    I look at my computer. I
could
just call him. I
have
called him before. He gave me advice about my voodoo doll when I needed it, and he congratulated me on the night of my play. Maybe he
wants
to hear from me. Maybe he’s wondering why his little niece Cleo hasn’t called in so long. All I need to do is push a couple of keys on the keyboard and I can find out everything I need to know.
    But no. I promised myself I would wait for his instructions to come, like he said they would. I have willpower. I have focus. I can do it.
    And I know one thing for sure: if I don’t know how the love potion works, I definitely shouldn’t play with it. Not as a joke at school, and not for Dad and Terri. Not yet.
    But hopefully soon.
    —
    Having a love potion at home makes it hard to focus on things