the water and see them getting red—with the rest of my body quickly following. To get my mind off that, I pretend like I’m Madison’s mom, Heather Paddington, in her gigantic “powder room,” filled with big bottles of perfume and vases of flowers. I lie back, put a washcloth over my eyes, and order my staff around. “Chef, make me some pâté, and use extra bay leaves!” “Alfredo, more bubbles! But
close your eyes
when you come in!”
KNOCK KNOCK. What’s that? Why is there knocking? The chef isn’t really here! And I’m not even sure Alfredo is a real person! I sit up and pull the cloth off my eyes. “What?” I shout.
Dad’s voice comes from the other side of the door. “Who are you talking to?”
“Nobody,” I say. “I’m just taking a bath.”
“You don’t have your phone in there, do you?”
I know why Dad’s asking. If I were talking on the phone in the tub, I would drop it for sure. “No. I was…um…talking to myself, I guess.”
“Well, as long as you’re good company,” he says. What a doofus. “Don’t forget to come out and put the dishes away tonight.”
I tell him I won’t…forget, that is. Then I dunk myself under the water. If I’m going to be covered in a bay leaf broth, it might as well be from head to toe.
A fter I drain the tub, I wrap a towel around me and run to my room, holding my five leftover bay leaves like they’re precious diamonds. Toby, who’s lying on the floor, looks up and makes a grossed-out face. “Oh, like you always smell like roses!” I say as I open my dresser drawer. None of my pj’s—or, as the potion called them, nightclothes—are “washed freshly,” but I pick a nightgown I haven’t worn since I was nine, so I’m pretty sure it’s clean. The sleeves are way too short, and my bony arms look like sticks on the sides of a snowman. I’m glad my sheets and pillowcase don’t have to be “washed freshly” too, because I can’t remember the last time we cleaned those!
I find some safety pins scattered around my desk; then I pin a bay leaf to each corner of my pillowcase. A few leaves break into a couple of pieces, but I’m not worried. I know the universe will understand my intention. I put a full leaf under the pillow as instructed, then go to put the dishes away.
As I walk down the hallway, I hear voices coming from the kitchen.
One is Dad’s. The other is…a woman’s!
Though I can’t understand any words, I’m very glad not to hear Southern accents. I’ve had enough of those tonight. I stop and listen harder. This woman had better not be Paige. But I can’t tell. I take a couple of steps closer, leaning forward, stretching my neck, still not hearing anything specific, leaning forward even more, until…
BANG! Something that sounds like a pot clangs against the floor or the counter. I scream! Then I fall over, right into the kitchen doorway, where Dad and whoever this woman is can see me from head to toe.
So much for trying to spy.
“Are you okay?” the woman asks, and finally I recognize her voice. I look up, and sure enough, it’s Terri crouching down and leaning over me!
Though my call to Uncle Arnie was nothing but strange, maybe his postcard was right about taking a step! I only took the bay leaf bath five minutes ago, and here’s Terri hanging out with my dad in the kitchen! I haven’t even slept on my pillow yet, and the potion is already pushing Dad away from Paige. Yes!
“Terri, hi!” I say, probably too excited, as I stand up and fix my nightgown. “We already had dinner, but do you want some dessert? Our ice cream’s kind of old and frosty, but Dad could go buy some.”
“No, no,” Dad says. “Terri’s only here to get a pot she lent us.”
A pot? Uh-oh. The last pot I used ended up in the trash.
“Why did you lend us a pot?” I ask.
“Your dad and I made beef bourguignonne, remember? And the pots you guys had here were…”
“Crummy,” Dad says.
“But the beef bourguignonne was
close your eyes
when you come in!”
KNOCK KNOCK. What’s that? Why is there knocking? The chef isn’t really here! And I’m not even sure Alfredo is a real person! I sit up and pull the cloth off my eyes. “What?” I shout.
Dad’s voice comes from the other side of the door. “Who are you talking to?”
“Nobody,” I say. “I’m just taking a bath.”
“You don’t have your phone in there, do you?”
I know why Dad’s asking. If I were talking on the phone in the tub, I would drop it for sure. “No. I was…um…talking to myself, I guess.”
“Well, as long as you’re good company,” he says. What a doofus. “Don’t forget to come out and put the dishes away tonight.”
I tell him I won’t…forget, that is. Then I dunk myself under the water. If I’m going to be covered in a bay leaf broth, it might as well be from head to toe.
A fter I drain the tub, I wrap a towel around me and run to my room, holding my five leftover bay leaves like they’re precious diamonds. Toby, who’s lying on the floor, looks up and makes a grossed-out face. “Oh, like you always smell like roses!” I say as I open my dresser drawer. None of my pj’s—or, as the potion called them, nightclothes—are “washed freshly,” but I pick a nightgown I haven’t worn since I was nine, so I’m pretty sure it’s clean. The sleeves are way too short, and my bony arms look like sticks on the sides of a snowman. I’m glad my sheets and pillowcase don’t have to be “washed freshly” too, because I can’t remember the last time we cleaned those!
I find some safety pins scattered around my desk; then I pin a bay leaf to each corner of my pillowcase. A few leaves break into a couple of pieces, but I’m not worried. I know the universe will understand my intention. I put a full leaf under the pillow as instructed, then go to put the dishes away.
As I walk down the hallway, I hear voices coming from the kitchen.
One is Dad’s. The other is…a woman’s!
Though I can’t understand any words, I’m very glad not to hear Southern accents. I’ve had enough of those tonight. I stop and listen harder. This woman had better not be Paige. But I can’t tell. I take a couple of steps closer, leaning forward, stretching my neck, still not hearing anything specific, leaning forward even more, until…
BANG! Something that sounds like a pot clangs against the floor or the counter. I scream! Then I fall over, right into the kitchen doorway, where Dad and whoever this woman is can see me from head to toe.
So much for trying to spy.
“Are you okay?” the woman asks, and finally I recognize her voice. I look up, and sure enough, it’s Terri crouching down and leaning over me!
Though my call to Uncle Arnie was nothing but strange, maybe his postcard was right about taking a step! I only took the bay leaf bath five minutes ago, and here’s Terri hanging out with my dad in the kitchen! I haven’t even slept on my pillow yet, and the potion is already pushing Dad away from Paige. Yes!
“Terri, hi!” I say, probably too excited, as I stand up and fix my nightgown. “We already had dinner, but do you want some dessert? Our ice cream’s kind of old and frosty, but Dad could go buy some.”
“No, no,” Dad says. “Terri’s only here to get a pot she lent us.”
A pot? Uh-oh. The last pot I used ended up in the trash.
“Why did you lend us a pot?” I ask.
“Your dad and I made beef bourguignonne, remember? And the pots you guys had here were…”
“Crummy,” Dad says.
“But the beef bourguignonne was
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