Kelly McClymer-Salem Witch 01 The Salem Witch Tryouts (14 page)

Grandmama was coy about admitting to anything above five hundred, but she’d dropped enough hints that I knew she was much older. The sheer horror of what Samuel was saying hit me. “If two hundred is a teenager, what’s sixteen? A rugrat?”

All three looked at me blankly for a minute, but no one seemed to have an answer.

Another question, more horrific, spurted out. “Is twenty-one the age of the majority for witches, like it is for mortals? Or do we have to wait hundreds of years to become adults?”

Samuel laughed, finally getting where I was coming from (probably because he was a mortal groupie). “Adulthood for witches isn’t an age. It’s a test.”

“A test?” Great. Yet another place my lack of witch training was sure to pay off big-time. Thanks, Mom.

“Yep.” He seemed puzzled that I didn’t already know this, but he didn’t make fun of me for asking. “The Wisdom Test. Didn’t your mom tell you about it?”

“No. She did not.” And suddenly I was highly annoyed with my mother, who had dragged us here, dumped us into witch school, and still wasn’t willing to tell us what we needed to know. Talent. Wisdom. What else didn’t I know about? And then I had a truly terrible thought. Maybe,
because I hadn’t manifested my Talent yet, Mom was playing it down because I was the equivalent of not-too-swift in witchcraft. “How hard is this Wisdom Test?”

Denise shrugged. “My mom and dad passed it young, probably fifty-four. My grandmother gets teased by my grandfather, though. It took her twenty tries and she didn’t pass until she was nearly a hundred.”

Maria turned to Samuel. “Wasn’t your mom the youngest ever to pass—on the first try, too?”

There was an awkward little pause at the mention of his mother, but Samuel tried to cover it with a big fake smile. “Yes. She was only twenty-four. But she was a really excellent witch.”

“The best,” Maria and Denise said together, with a little head bob of respect.

I bobbed with them, even though I didn’t know anything about Samuel’s mom. “Wow. It must be a hard test.” And how likely was it that Dorklock and I would pass it easily when we’d been denied—and were still being denied—access to some really simple facts. Like the fact we had to pass a Wisdom Test in the first place? Or that our mom had defied the high council to marry our dad? What other big stuff didn’t I know that was going to come back to bite me?

Samuel’s fake smile had morphed to a real one as we talked. “I suppose it’s like any test. You just need to be prepared. My dad says you mostly have to use common sense.”

Denise snorted. “Granny Anna says they ask trick questions to trip you up.”

“Trick questions. Great. Just what I need,” I sighed.

“It’s not as big a deal as you think, Pru. Chill.” Samuel’s smile was completely real this time. Okay. If my utter terror could be used to make him laugh, I could live with that.

Maria said kindly, “You could always live in the mortal realm until you’re considered an adult in the witch realm. It’s fairly common in the time between figuring out how to counter your parents’ protective spells and passing the Wisdom Test.”

Aha. Yet another interesting fact I probably would have learned in kindergarten if I’d been raised in the witch realm. At least I could be grateful that being a witch wasn’t going to interfere with my college plans. I’d had enough life-plan disruptions for the moment. “So the binding spells can be countered?”

“Of course. It just takes skill,” Maria said, with such confidence that I wondered if she’d already found a way around at least one. “Like when mortal kids beat getting grounded by going out the window. Although, the kids with a Magic Talent have a big edge.”

“Well, then …” I flashed my pearly whites directly at Samuel. “I’m glad you’re going to help me study my way out of remedial classes. Maybe it will help me uncover my hidden Magic Talent and pass the Wisdom Test just a few
decades earlier.” Or maybe I wouldn’t manifest any Talent at all and would get kicked out of witch school. Would Mom let me go live with Maddie then? It was an idea to consider, even though I didn’t like the thought of losing at anything.

And maybe I’d consider asking Daniel—who clearly knew how to get around a lot of binding spells—to show me how to get out of class every so often. After all, no kid, witch or mortal, should be expected to survive high school without playing hooky every now and then.

ME: So what position R U this year?

MADDIE: Tryouts 1st please We all have 2 wait 2 find out whoz gonna be HC

ME: Not Chezzie?

MADDIE: Not yet Its drivin her crazy She thought she was a lock

ME: She probably is U know

MADDIE: Well I can hope as long as coach keeps us on the hook

ME: Heres wishin us both gr8 places on our teams

MADDIE: Wouldnt it be weird if we meet at nationals?

ME: No fear My school doesnt enter competitions

MADDIE: U can change that!

ME: Let me make the team be4 U have me whippin it into shape!

MADDIE: K

I was secretly glad that Coach was making Chezzie wait to take my spot as head cheerleader. Not that I didn’t think she would get it. Just like I was sure some girl was going to catch Brent’s eye. But I could dream as long as neither one had actually happened yet. Dream that Mom would stop this horrible experiment and take us home.

Still, I’m a practical girl. Dreams aside, I needed to move ahead on my plan to take Agatha’s by storm. Samuel’s arrival on Saturday was met with all the embarrassing attention that my family was capable of giving. The only piece of good luck was that Grandmama didn’t pop in for a visit to pinch his cheeks and tell him how adorable he was.

Mom got more about Samuel’s family lineage out of him than his family probably knew he knew (although nothing about how his mother died, which I really wanted to know). She did it with a smile, and I know he was dazzled, not intimidated, by her interrogation. Typical Mom.

Dad shook his hand and clapped his shoulder in a greeting that went out in the fifties. “Nice to see that Prudence
is making friends. She was a little worried that she’d be a pariah here.” Great, Dad! Why don’t you tell him about the zit I put a pound of cover-up on ten minutes ago!

He also warned us that we needed to study and that, though my mom had lifted the binding spell that made hives appear if I was alone with a boy, she had replaced it with a warning whistle. “Just keep your hands to yourself, son, and there won’t be any need to cover your ears and run for the hills.” My father is so subtle. Not.

We worked hard, don’t get me wrong. I’m not a slacker. Summoning. Simple spells. Even simple levitation, which was why I was going to be big-time bruised in the morning. But there comes a time when your brain needs rest. Like after a stressful dinner with nosy parents and a bratty little brother.

For some reason, rest (and work, and breathing) made my mind turn to Daniel. I debated for at least ten minutes whether to ask Samuel about him. But I was so curious that I knew if I didn’t ask Samuel now, I might do something horrendous—like ask one of the cheerleaders at the tryouts on Monday. Kiss of death to any rep I wanted to develop if I let on to the wrong girl I was interested in bad-boy Daniel.

Everyone thinks cheerleaders are cute perky chicks who live for positive affirmation in rhyme. But the sport (and it
is
a sport) is cutthroat when it comes to two things: competitions and hooking up with boys.

“Hey, I found out who was dissing me at lunch last week.
It was Daniel Murdoch.” I tried to keep it light for two reasons: I don’t like anyone else knowing my business; and I didn’t want my new tutor getting jealous. It could seriously cut into our study time.

“What a surprise.” Samuel scowled. “He’s bad news.”

“Well, I kinda guessed that when he sent the erasers at my face on the first day of remedial summoning and spells. Speaking of which—why is he in a remedial magic class?”

“Even though his Magic Talent manifested early, he always tries shortcuts and the dangerous things we’re supposed to learn when we’re older. But his spell work is clumsy beyond belief.”

“As is mine!” I reminded him, offended on both my own and Daniel’s part.

“But you have an excuse. Your mom didn’t encourage your skills because she wanted you to fit in.”

“And because it gave my dad the heebie-jeebies,” I added.

“Your dad’s a mortal. Daniel comes from a great family, master witches and warlocks all of them. And what did he do? He ran away when he was thirteen. Didn’t come home for two years.”

Ran away? “I didn’t know witches could do that.” One of the girls in my class in Beverly Hills ran away in eighth grade. Her mom and dad freaked. There were posters everywhere. The police even interviewed our class. They found her six months later in New York City. But she never came
back to school with us. I heard her parents sent her to some fancy private school that did double time as a kiddie prison. She was a weird chick, always going on about horoscopes and how she could talk to horses. But she seemed nice enough, and she always gave me the nuts off her brownie because she didn’t like them.

“His Magic Talent is really awesome,” Samuel explained. “He’s like a magic version of a hacker. When he ran away, his parents really freaked. He broke twenty binding spells, and none of their locating spells worked. They hired someone to cast a repeating loop of spells, and he still didn’t get caught until he was sick with the flu one day and couldn’t ward off one of the locating spells in the repeating loop.”

“Then he sure doesn’t sound like he belongs in remedial magic.” I wondered if he’d be interested in tutoring. But, no, a guy like that is not to be counted on. I needed someone steady, like Samuel.

“They should have kicked him out of Agatha’s altogether,” Samuel said, shaking his head.

“He’s just not the kind to like rules. What’s the big deal?”

“That’s like saying a Rip Van Winkle spell will get you a good nap. Ever since Daniel came home, he doesn’t listen to anyone’s rules. He pops in and out of class halfway through, and he”—Samuel’s voice squeaked, which made him blush as he finished—“laughs through detention.”

I didn’t like Daniel being dissed. Don’t ask me why. Insanity inherited from my mother (who married a mortal, after all). “Well, I guess he must be used to it after so many years of doing the big D. I knew kids like that.”

He sighed like a parent who’s just dug the straight-F report card out of the trash. “Our detention isn’t anything like the one at your mortal school.”

“Why? What do they do—hang you upside down from the ceiling like a bat?”

“Only if you’re really bad, and do something like set off a level-five spell without supervision. Which Daniel has done twice, I might add.”

This was a little more than I wanted to hear. But, still …“So what do they do in regular detention?”

“They sink you up to your neck in liquid quicksand. You can’t move for the whole hour. It’s horrible.”

“You …?” Again, the barrier of not being able to ask a loser question popped up to silence me. But then I remembered this was Samuel. He had a crush on me, and a very soft heart, too. Curiosity could reign supreme. “When were you in detention?”

There was just a little hitch in his breath, and he fiddled with his glasses before he answered. “Only once. When I was in seventh grade.”

I probably shouldn’t have tortured him—his cheeks and chin were flushed, and he wasn’t looking at me. But hey,
I wanted to know, and I was pretty sure he would tell me if I asked. “What did you do?”

“I popped into the girls’ locker room,” he said sheepishly.

Foolishly, I had taken a sip of my soda after asking, so naturally I choked on it and spent a minute or two coughing like a barking seal before I could deal with that surprising answer. “You’re a perv?”

“It was an accident,” Samuel insisted.

“Seventh-grade boy. Girls’ locker room. Sure it was.” Okay, so I don’t take surprises well. Sue me for being the queen of mean.

“No, really.” He was red up to his hairline. “It was just, I was thinking about what would happen if I did it—I wasn’t thinking about doing it, just what if, and …”

“I get it.” No more throwing stone from this glass house. I hadn’t meant to catch Mr. Bindlebrot in a towel, but I had. “I still pop into the wrong place from time to time myself.” And get some interesting views, just like Samuel. “So, was it worth detention?”

He flashed me a dimple. “Visions for a lifetime.”

Well, well, well. Maybe Samuel
does
have a mischievous streak after all. “I guess you and Daniel have more in common than you know.”

Mentioning Daniel cooled the room by about a hundred degrees. “Stay away from Daniel. He’s bad news.”

I shrugged. “He got Hi to open up for me.”

“He did?” Despite the scowl, I think Samuel was impressed.

“Yes. He did. When no one else,” I said pointedly, and he suddenly got very interested in looking deep into his soda can, “had the common decency to warn me my locker was haunted.”

He didn’t look up from the depths of his soda, but he did mumble an apology. “I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

“What?” I hadn’t been sure Samuel had even known about Hi. Until now. The rat.