A week from Friday. “Shouldn’t you ask me first?”
“Will you go to the fall dance with me and then make out with me until we scare the hell out of our parents?”
“Gee.” I grinned into the phone. “When you put it that way...”
“It’ll be fun.” He paused, then added. “Plus, I want you to go with me.”
“You do?” My heart pitter-pattered.
“Yeah.”
I was afraid my face would split I was smiling so big. “Okay.” It would be fun. Fun to torment our parents. Fun to dance with Jake. Even more fun to make out with him.
“Plus, Anya is so into Brad, she can’t possibly give you a hard time about it.”
Anya and Brad. Oh God! I couldn’t let Brad break up with Anya. “Right,” I said.
“And tell your mom thanks.”
I smiled. She’d like that. “I will. See ya’ tomorrow.”
“’Kay,” he said.
I just sat there on my bed staring at my cell. I wanted that dance. I deserved that dance.
I glanced at the laptop where I stored my potion recipes. I was going to have that dance no matter what it took.
Keeping Anya busy had to be my first priority. Twenty minutes later, I’d identified the best option. A two-week love potion. It was potent, so I could spray it on Brad as he walked by. First, I’d definitely need to give myself an antidote. I didn’t want to accidentally fall in love with some idiot by my own hand. Especially since Brad would be the first person I’d see and falling in love with Brad would be beyond ridiculous.
“Can you pick up some fat free margarine today?” I asked Mom on my way out the door the next morning.
She eyed me with suspicion. “Why?”
“Just, you know, research,” I said, not meeting her eyes. How did she always know when I was up to no good?
“All right. I’ll pick some up.” She scribbled on the magnetic grocery list on the fridge.
On Friday morning, I tracked Brad and Anya to a concrete bench outside at lunch.
“You guys make such a cute couple,” I said. For a split second, I almost reconsidered. Dad and I were invited to watch the game at Jake’s tomorrow night. I wanted to go, but I wanted the dance more.
“Thanks.” Anya expected such as her due. She tossed her hair and edged closer to Brad.
“Hold hands and I’ll take your picture.” If he was touching her, the potion would automatically make him fall in love with her.
Brad took her hand and put his arm around her. I pulled out my phone and snapped the picture. “Oh my God. What’s Jake doing with her?” I said looking over their heads.
Anya and Brad turned to look behind them and I squirted a couple of drops on Brad’s arm from a water gun full of Love Potion. He swiped at his arm, but didn’t pay much attention.
“Very funny, Zoe,” Anya said, turning back to me.
“Sorry. My mistake.” I holstered my weapon, or actually put it in my purse, and walked away from them as quickly as possible. Mission accomplished.
“She’s acting so weird lately,” Anya said.
“I thought she was always weird,” I heard Brad say. I knew I didn’t like that guy. If he didn’t watch it, I’d have to pull out that vomit trump card after all.
Everything seemed to be on track because I had sprouted three black hairs from my chin by the time I got home.
Mom looked up from the magazine she was reading and shook her head. “I had a feeling,” she said. “Love potion?”
“Yeah, but not for Jake. I slipped one to Brad so he’d keep dating Anya. I was afraid he’d dump her before the dance.”
I looked at my chin in the mirror over the couch. The hairs were already two inches long.
“I wonder why there are three of them,” Mom mused. “I guess you could braid them. Maybe put on some beads.”
“Mother! That’s so not funny!” I could totally picture the humiliation of sporting a beaded beard.
“You could start a new trend.”
“Mother!”
“Don’t call me that.”
“What? Mother?”
“You only say that when you’re mad.” She leaned in to peer at my chin. “I’m assuming you have a plan.”
I nodded. “I do.”
“Care to share?”
“Not yet. But I need a ride in the morning to the other side of town. And if everything works out, I’m going with Dad to a party at Sheree’s tomorrow night.”
“Okay. But you’ll tell me in the morning.”
I flopped onto the couch next to her. “Right now I just want to relax and veg in front of the television.”
It took me a while to get ready. But I needed an early start, so I woke Mom up at seven, ready to go.
I backed away from her bed and tapped her with one of my latex covered hands. Mom rolled over, saw me, and shrieked.
“As if you’re so pretty with all that cream on your face,” I muttered through the blue bandana tied over my nose and mouth. “C’mon, Mom. Let’s get this over with before I chicken out.”
“Don’t wave that toilet brush at me, Zoe.”
I made a threatening gesture with the offending item.
Mom sat up in bed and scooted back against the headboard. “From your costume, I’m guessing your plan involves either handling nuclear waste or cleaning bathrooms.”
I shrugged. “Same dif.”
Mom raised a brow. “Tell me.”
“We head across town and I clean the bathrooms in fast food restaurants and gas stations until my chin clears up.”
“Oh my God!” She shuddered. “You weren’t that bad, Zoe. Surely, we can think of something else. Something with fewer bodily fluids and less disease.”
“Mom, I have to do this quickly. And it cannot benefit me in any way.”
Mom sighed. “Have you eaten?”
“No,” I admitted. “I figured I’d just barf it right up anyway.”
“Okay,” Mom said, fully awake. “Go eat some cereal and I’ll make a few calls. Maybe we can drum up some dirty bathrooms that are less likely to result in death by infectious disease.”
Chapter Eight
“Mrs. Lovette,” Mom said, pulling up to the curb in front of her friend Alice’s house. “She’s got three boys and works full time. At least you’ll be dealing with little kid pee instead of truck driver pee.”
“True,” I said. I adjusted the adhesive bandage which hid my shame. Mom had ordered me to take off the bandana. “I’ll call when I’m done.”
“Love you, honey,” Mom called as I got out of the car.
One little, short-acting, love potion, and I’m up to my elbows in human waste. Ain’t life grand.
When Mrs. Lovette opened the door, she greeted me with a warm smile. “Hi, Zoe. It’s so great that your service organization wants to help working mothers clean house. But you really don’t have to do the bathrooms.” She eyed my toilet brush. “Picking up the boys’ rooms would be a huge help.”
Then, a dog ran by her followed by three small boys shouting at the top of their lungs. The screaming faded as they ran for a distant part of the house.
“Our advisor is fresh out of college. She likes to think outside the box,” I explained, using the excuse Mom and I had cooked up.
“You know,” the heavy-set woman said, stepping back so I could enter. “They should use this as sex ed. Cleaning my house will probably convince you never to have kids.” She grinned.
I laughed, but the kids came running by again, (this time one carried a baseb
all bat), and Mrs. Lovette shut the door and ran off after them.
She ended up taking the boys and dog to the backyard. I picked up enough toys to open a chain of toy stores. Then, I dusted and vacuumed. After mopping the kitchen, I headed for the bathrooms.
Toilets are my least favorite things in the world. Necessary, yes, but totally nasty.
I cleaned the master bath with little effort. But, when I reached the hall bathroom, I realized exactly why this was going to work on the unfortunate side effect of my potion. I lifted the toilet seat to find a crystallized yellow coating—dried urine. Barf. The base of the toilet was similarly decorated. The worst part was the screws that attached the seat. They were rusted from all the pee.
Oh, God. I fought the nausea, quickly finished cleaning the toilet, and washed my hands with soap for about twenty minutes. Then, I had to go to the third bathroom downstairs which was almost as bad.
Mrs. Lovette thanked me by hugging me until I couldn’t breathe. She tried to give me a twenty, which I declined. Then, she walked me two doors down and introduced me to her neighbor.
Only one little boy lived here, and he was a cutie. But he also had a penchant for peeing all over the bathroom.
It suddenly struck me that Jake’s bathroom could be this gross. I swear it was almost enough to end my crush. Almost.
The little boy followed me around as I cleaned.
“Do you have a boo boo on your face?” he asked, pointing to the adhesive bandage which covered my three new hairs.
“Uh, no,” I said.
“Did your cat scratch you?” He held up his arms to show me what must have been where his cat had scratched him.
“Ooh. Those look like they hurt.” I motioned to my chin. “It’s just a zit,” I said, figuring that was the most normal thing to say.
“What’s a zit?” he asked.
I guess preschoolers don’t know zits. “It’s just bumps you get when you’re a teenager. They’re no big deal.”