Grandma drives me to school the next day. Mom usually drives me but when she’s away, Grandma does. They both keep bringing up the fact that I’m sixteen now and I could technically drive myself if I get licensed but why would I do that? I have them. Anyway, we live in a small town in Rhode Island called Plywood. When I say everyone knows everyone here, I mean it literally. It’s that small.
Our family didn’t always live in Rhode Island. Grandma’s from New York City. My grandpa was, too. I love hearing about the summer they met and fell in love there. Grandma was in her late twenties and apparently it was unusual for a woman to be single and childless at that age. Society was different back then. Grandma wasn’t expecting to find romantic love. In fact, she had given up on the whole thing. Says she thought there was no man out there for her. And that didn’t bother her either, she stresses. She was content with the love she received from her family. “That was more than enough for me,” she says. And then Grandpa waltzed into her life on a random Tuesday in July.
Grandma was enjoying a coffee and reading a book at a local shop when a handsome, tall and dark gentleman asked if he could sit across from her—all the other tables were taken. She agreed. They struck up a conversation and never stopped talking. She says she fell for the way he made her laugh. Those throw-your-head-back, pain-in-your-stomach types. They married in under a year and were pregnant soon after that. Grandpa was adamant he didn’t want to raise a kid in the city. Said he preferred a quiet, suburban life for his baby, so they bought the house in Plywood. Mom was born in that house, the one we still live in. Grandma’s contractions came on suddenly one night and there was no time to get her to the nearest hospital in Providence. Madeline’s mother, Miss Cook, who was pregnant with Madeline herself, helped to deliver Mom.
This is the part that still shocks me till this day: Grandma didn’t come out to Grandpa as a witch until Mom’s magical abilities became apparent. A five-year-old Mom would unknowingly make strange things happen like materializing a cat out of thin air because she saw a really cute one in a cartoon. Or telekinetically lifting pieces of food off of her parents’ plates because she wanted a taste. When Grandma sat Grandpa down to tell him the truth about the blood running through his daughter’s veins, he didn’t bat an eye. “He just wished I’d told him sooner,” Grandma says. Her justification is that magic doesn’t always show up in an offspring. It can skip generations. Before her and my great grandma, our lineage didn’t see a witch in a century. She was hoping my Mom would be a normie.
Revealing the truth turned out to be a positive, though. It nudged Grandma to find community for Mom, a space where she could grow up feeling accepted and related to–something she didn’t have as a young witch. That’s how we found the coven. Coincidentally, there were already generations upon generations of witches in Plywood. “It’s funny the way life works out,” Grandma likes to say.
To think I could’ve been born and raised in the greatest city in the world… Thanks, I guess, Grandpa.
He was the best. He loved the three of us so deeply, but me, I was the apple of his eye. Grandma says she never saw him come so alive until me. Even when Mom and I lived with my dad in a tiny apartment across town, before their divorce, Grandpa would come visit us every day so that he and I could play. His favorite game was hide and seek. Mine was building a fort with the couch pillows and My Little Pony blankets. I miss him.
Grandpa died of pancreatic cancer when I was seven. It came on fast and strong. Stage four before we could even do anything. The cancer spread to his lungs, making it hard to breathe for him by the end. I remember visiting him in the hospital, on his last day, and watching him struggle to say, “I love you.” I assured him that I knew and I held his hand until he took his last breath.
I still get sad about his passing from time to time. We all do. That’s when the old photo albums come out and Mom and Grandma reminisce, telling stories about him for hours. I hug Grandma extra tight in moments like those. I can’t imagine what it’s like losing your husband of forty years.
We’re on the main road in town when Grandma speaks. “Looks like there’s a new witch in town,” she says. Her emphasis on witch lets me know she is not fond of whatever is going on.
She’s referring to the storefront next to Cestra’s Pizzeria. There’s an awning overhead that reads Plywood Psychic. An older woman I’ve never seen with frizzy, silver curls and a wooden cane is unlocking the front door. She’s definitely new in town. Grandma chuckles, as if to say, “Are you seeing this?”
“What? You don’t believe in psychics?”
“It’s hocus pocus if you ask me. There’s no spell that tells the future.”
“What if it’s a different type of magic?” I ask.
“Right, right,” says Grandma.
In the school’s lot, she enters the drop off lane. “I’m making pork chops for dinner,” she says just before I get out of the car.
“Sounds good.”
“And don’t forget to check on Kayla, okay? You promised Madeline.”
“I know. I will.”
Inside, I immediately want to go back home. People won’t shut up about the junior prom. Apparently, tickets just went on sale in the library. That’s unfortunate for me because the love of my life only became aware of my existence yesterday.
“Y’all don’t gotta worry about me cause I’m not going,” a guy snickers in homeroom. I laugh because…same.
I am many things but I’m not delusional, okay? As much as I want him to, I know Keith isn’t going to ask me to the prom.
The bell rings as I take my seat in Trig. Keith isn’t here which is strange. He’s usually the first. My knee starts twitching.
Calm down, Devon.
We’re barely into the power-reducing identity when Keith raps on the door. Tall and lanky Keith with his full head of hair and his dazzling smile. Relief washes over me.
“Sorry, Ms. Fiona. I got stuck picking these up.” He brandishes two prom tickets.
My heart plummets. I’ve never wanted to go to prom more in my life.
He takes his seat in front of me and I’m green as an artichoke. Who’s the lucky girl and why does she think she can have him?!
I’ll kill her.
Sorry. That was harsh. But c’mon.
Keith turns around and whispers, “Excuse me.”
His first two words to me. Ever.
I’m too stunned to respond. He’s beautiful and his eyelashes are stupid long. There’s a slight gap between his front teeth. How did I miss that all these years?
I flash back to middle school: the first day. I begged Mom to drop me off early. I barely kissed her goodbye in the van, I was so excited. I’d been waiting for this moment since my fifth grade graduation. I’m a big kid now, I remember thinking. He’s the first person I noticed in the school yard because he was standing alone, by the fence, inspecting rocks. I wanted to be one of those rocks. He must’ve moved to town over the summer. I didn’t recognize him. “Go over there and talk to him,” I whispered to myself. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Inside, I was the same shy and nervous child. I was ten.
Keith waves his hand in front of my face and I’m sixteen again.
Crap. Say something.
“Yes?” I whisper.
My eyes drop to the tickets on his desk. Wait…am I The Girl? Is Keith about to ask me to prom? I would’ve preferred we weren’t in the middle of class but this works just fine. I never want to forget this moment: the chalkboard, the sunlight, his brown eyes shimmering like portals to heaven.
“You’re breathing really hard on my neck.”
Earth, please please please swallow me whole.
“Sorry.”
I shrink into a raisin.
For the rest of the period, I can’t focus. When the bell rings, I zoom out into the hall, leaving my dignity behind.
I find Max at her locker, eating a protein bar.
“I need to move three states away and change my name,” I blurt.
“Okay, yeah for sure,” she says, confused but game. “Why?”
I’m talking a mile a minute. “Because I breathed too hard on Keith’s neck, and this was only our second interaction ever, the first being when I dropped a book and just stared at him, and now he thinks I’m a weirdo–so Maine it is.”
Max blinks. “Help me out–Keith who?”
“Keith Rosen. Also, do you know who he’s taking to prom?””
“Ohhh, that Keith. Your long-time crush, that’s right. Sorry, you know I’m bad with names! Well, let’s see. He’s the president of True Crime Club, right? Maybe he’s taking one of the girls from there?”
“You’re probably right. What if you infiltrate the club? Pretend you love murder mysteries. You’ll talk to him and find out who he’s taking, yeah?”
“What, Devon? No,” she says.
“Pleeease Max.”
“No.” Her tone is final.
Max: the goody two-shoes.
“Fine.”
“I can’t join you for lunch.” She waves her protein bar. “I gotta scarf the rest of this down and go tutor some nimrod from the Lacrosse team.”
“Gotcha, no worries. I’m supposed to be catching up with Kayla. Her mom came over last night and asked me to check on her–apparently she’s…going through something. Gonna stop by the Lilac table and see what’s up.”
“Sounds cool. I’ll catch you later.”
Max slams her locker shut and she’s gone.
I turn toward the cafeteria just as Keith rounds the corner. I duck into the girl’s bathroom before he can see me.
Smooth, Devon. Real Smooth.
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