Witcha'be Read Free

lowered its homemade jeans—made in the USA was stamped on its scrawny buttocks. American. Just like me.
    On its dirt-smudged face, I saw the faint outline of eyes. Holding it to the light, I made out brush strokes. I grabbed the fingernail polish remover and a cotton ball then rubbed the doll’s face. Flesh-tinted nail polish stained the cotton. The doll stared through light-brown eyes.
    * * *
    I kissed the top of Boo’s head and stepped from the bedroom. The doll, mummified in toilet paper, rested in my overnight bag. Stopping short, I stepped back over the threshold, grabbed my cross necklace and latched it under my hair. The aroma of Mom’s special oatmeal raisin cookies met me on the stairs.
    “Leaving!”
    “Wait a sec.” In jogged Mom, hair dripping black dye, a quart-sized baggie filled with cookies between her elbows. “Tuck these into your bag for a snack.”
    I crammed the small sack into the outside pocket of my bag, and she opened her arms for a hug. “You smell bad.” I held my nose.
    “Just a peck.” Mom made fish lips.
    I kissed her cheek. “See you tomorrow.”
    I transferred the bag from right to left shoulder, dug my cell from my pocket, and texted Lenni.
    Coming now.
    K. Hurry!
    A gorgeous day, I inhaled the fresh air. A big, greenish-brown grasshopper, making a terrible clicking noise, flew across my path, landing on the side of the road. I jogged away, my skin crawling, and then gulped a few deep breaths to calm down.
    What surprise did Lenni have waiting for me this time? She loved surprises as much as I did. In our three-month friendship, she’d surprised me with strawberry-scented lip gloss, a matching journal and pen set, a box of Jelly Belly beans, and the gold cross necklace. I touched the pendant as I walked. Of all the surprises, I liked the cross best.
    I stood on Lenni’s sidewalk and gazed up at her enormous house. The place equaled an Oklahoma mansion, though the Flemmings would never admit it.
    Mrs. Flemming answered the door. “Hi, Molly, come right in.” She jolted me with a hug. “Lenneeeee!” she called loudly, glancing at the chandelier.
    “It’s okay, Mrs. Flemming. I’ll find her.”
    “Call me Pam. I tell you that every time I see you.” She pinched my cheek and shook her pretty, blonde head. She didn’t look a day over twenty-five. Lenni said she’d had some work done last winter, a Christmas present from Mr. Flemming. “I’ll call you when dinner is ready.” She swatted my bottom as I passed.
    I lugged my duffel bag up the staircase, past the Flemmings’ photograph collection—an assortment of frames, different shapes and sizes, all of them black. The pictures were bright and exciting, crashing blue waves threatening sandcastles, lacey-white snowflakes melting on tongues, babbling brooks tickling tiny toes. Not one person just sat in a chair, or simply stood smiling. The photos lived , straining to breathe under glass.
    Lenni swung her door open. I jumped, lost in another family’s memories. “Took you long enough.” She wore a pink tank top and khaki shorts, her hair somehow magazine-fresh in a messy ponytail. She smiled, and then blew a pink bubble. “Glad you finally made it. Your surprise is here.” She took my bag from me, pulled me into her room and shut the door. “Surprise!” she shrieked, ringing my ears.
    My lips went cold. My stomach threatened to hurl the pancakes I’d eaten for breakfast onto Lenni’s fluffy pink carpeting. Bianca perched on Lenni’s purple bedspread, green eyes on me, her gaze curious like a cat’s.
    “Molly.” She sat tall, rolling her shoulders back, red hair brushing the waist of her leather skirt.
    Hic!
    A telephone rang downstairs. I wished it was Mom, changing her mind, ordering me home to complete some undone chore.
    “Are you surprised?” Lenni asked, tossing my bag to the floor. “It’s time for you and Bianca to get to know each other and become best friends too. Then we’ll each have two best