Life is unfair. Mega unfair. And it’s all my parents’ fault. I wouldn’t choose to leave the house I was practically born in, not to mention all my friends, my school, my world. And just how sneaky was it to give me the cell phone I’ve been begging for since before I left for cheerleading camp (picture phone, text messaging, unlimited minutes, the works) just before dropping the bomb?

I should have known something was up. But no. I was not prepared for them to spring the bad news…no, strike that. The catastrophic news.

We’re moving. New state, new house, new school. No more sleepovers, no more a.m. gab fests with Maddie before school. No more … anything. Except, of course, magic. That I can have. As if I want it. My life has been just fine without magic for almost sixteen years. Why do I need it now?

Mom and Dad just lucky that they have me for their daughter. Ten years of academic excellence and five years of cheerleading have taught me how to handle any crisis like Jane Bond – shaken, not stirred. Even when said crisis comes with a major twist.

I guess it’s not surprising that, at almost four hundred years old, Mom thinks it’s no big deal to uproot us. Witches think different, I learned that before I learned to walk. But Dad has no excuse. He’s not even fifty yet, and he’s mortal. He’s attached to his things in a way witches outgrow around the hundredth birthday (or so says Mom when I ask why I can’t have Dolce and Gabbana like the other kids).

I’d say my life is over, but I’ve used that line so often it doesn’t even get an eye roll from Dad. Mom even, would you believe, did a little spell to make harp sounds play —just like she used to do back when I was 13 and, I admit, a teensy weensy bit of a whine-o-mat.  And all I’d  said, quite reasonably, was “I want to stay and live with Maddie until I graduate.”

If only they were reasonable. But I guess I should know by now that reasonable is just not one of the weapons in the parental arsenal.

Mom and Dad tried to softball the hardball news that we were moving from Beverly Hills, California to Salem, Massachusetts by telling us our new house had an indoor pool. Big whoop. Our old house had an outdoor pool, no snow in the forecast for a zillion years, and Beverly Hills high school, where I was going to be the very first junior to be named head cheerleader and maybe, just maybe, run for student council.

“You’ll be running your new high school before long,” Mom teased, as if she thought swapping schools was as easy as swapping Swatch bands.

Dad was more serious, as always. “As long as you keep your grades up, we’ll be happy, Prudence honey. We don’t need you to be head cheerleader or elected to class government to know you’re special.”

Special. He says that word with a wince. Poor Dad. He never really got used to living with a witch or raising two children who could do magic. If I were a good daughter, unselfish and properly thinking of my family, I’d appreciate how hard it was for him to agree to my mother’s request to bring us to Salem, her birthplace, so that we could learn to use the magic that had been highly discouraged here in the mortal realm.

Why did they suddenly decide to make this move? Did Dad get a fabulous new job in the advertising company he works for so Mom and I could splurge on shopping and spa weekends? As if. No. We’re moving because of Dorklock (otherwise known as my younger brother Tobias). When the hormones hit, he couldn’t control his magic. After the third time poor Miss Samsky’s skirt flew up in the middle of summer school math class, my mother had our house up for sale and my golden life at Beverly Hills High up in flames. Boys are dumb. Especially when they’re twelve. I would have voted to send him away to magic boarding school. But I don’t get a vote. Because life is unfair.

I think Dad was tempted. After all, he is a non-magical mortal who is much happier when there are strict rules against uncontrolled magic in the house. But the idea that my brother could go to school where teachers were able to do simple spells against his simpleton magic until he learned to control it, while still being under close parental supervision, was a strong argument. Besides, my mother said she’d take us with him or without him. And he really adores her, no matter how much magic makes him nervous.

Dorklock doesn’t even mind that he’s ruined our lives. He thinks it’s cool that we’ll be in Salem, living in the witch realm, and able to use our magic without the usual restrictions we have to have to live with mortals. What can I say? He’s a kid. He doesn’t understand that as the newbies in school, we’ll be on a lower scale than even the lowliest freshman. Of course, he’s used to being a scud, the lowest of the low.

But I’m not. I’m honor society. I was supposed to be head cheerleader—the first junior ever. My life was supposed to be charmed, even with the big bad magic prohibition. I had it all arranged – first-ever junior to be head cheerleader, maybe even class president. Fast track ticket to the college of my choice in the pretty pink Coach bag. After all, I deserved it. I’d been working on being kewl since pre-school. In Beverly Hills. Thank goodness I know how to plan for the unexpected — even the majorly unexpected like this move. If I have to go (and apparently I do), I intend to keep my kewl. Even if I have to use magic to do it. Which is going to be a mondo change. Me, doing magic and not getting grounded for it.

The first thing that told me my life was going to do a mid-air flip more quickly than even I expected was the actual day of departure. Instead of moving men and moving trucks, Mom flashed everything from our old house to our new house. One minute there, the next, gone. Dad kept watch at the window, to make sure no nosy neighbors saw our insta-move.

Mom’s sentimental and likes rituals, so we all stood in the living room and said farewell to the house, sprinkled just a bit of incense to leave the next family a nice welcome, and then she said softly,

“Bless this house and all its walls

We have lived here safe and sound

Now we move to our new home

Shift our things and cleanse this ground."

 

Zip zap. Empty rooms. Clean rooms. Fresh, blah cream paint on the walls. Even though the empty rooms of the house echoed and looked strange without the furniture that I’d always thought was part of the house, I’d coped. But then I noticed that she hadn’t just painted and cleaned with a zap.

“What happened to the lines on the door?” The careful nicks in the living room doorframe that had charted my growth – and Dorklock’s, of course – were gone. Gone. The wood was smooth. The paint perfect. I’d been holding it together ever since Mom and Dad had said we were moving. No discussion. No appeals. No surprise. A cheerleader knows how to put a smile on, after all. But sometimes a girl’s gotta let her true feelings be known so she doesn’t get squashed flat like a frog on the freeway.

“The real estate agent will have an easier time selling the place if we leave it spiffed up,” Dad said optimistically. “Wouldn’t want someone new to have to do all the sanding and painting and such.”

It was another sign that everything familiar was being turned upside down — Dad never calmly accepts Mom using “big” magic. Which is pretty much anything more than zapping an extra serving of popcorn if we run out and it’s too late to run to the market. I’d suspect him of taking a couple of Xanax, but he’s driving and he doesn’t even take antihistamine if he’s going to be driving. My dad makes a square look like it has sloppy corners.

 “Put it back.” I looked at Mom. “It’s the house’s character. You’ve said so a million times.”

“It’s only a thing, sweetheart. Remember, things are not important, people are. And the new people will make their own memories and create their own character for this house.”

“It’s not fair!” Harps sounded, mocking my words. It’s not fair. I tried to shoot the thoughts through my blazing eyes. I think it worked. They looked taken aback. And harp music didn’t play.

“That’s enough out of you, young lady,” my dad said. The move had gotten on his nerves, too. “Get out to the car right now.”

I thought about making a grand gesture, running off to my room, slamming my door, refusing to go. But the room was empty. All my stuff was gone to the new house. Grand gestures shouldn’t be wasted. We only get so many in one lifetime (or so says Grandmama, Queen of High Drama).

“Time to go,” Mom was grimly cheerful. She was usually the optimist to his pessimist. But I think leaving was hard for her. This was her first home with my dad. Where she’d raised us. She was going back home, sort of. But I don’t think she liked it. Not that she was going to do less than she thought was right for her children.

Too bad she didn’t believe in witch bootcamp. Dorklock was the perfect candidate. He was already out in the SUV, just waiting to go. He didn’t even mind leaving everything behind. He’d like bootcamp. It was the perfect solution, if my mom didn’t feel she needed to be a perfect mother because she’d waited so long to have children. Apparently, in her eyes, perfect mothers didn’t send their imperfect children away. Too bad she couldn’t see the situation through my eyes.

Then again, maybe she did, a little. She put her arm around me and led me out. As we passed the door, she touched the spot where the notches had been and they reappeared. “Even a new family can enjoy a little lingering character.”

“Just a minute.” I stood there looking at the naked rooms that weren’t anything like home anymore. I touched the top notch, and my name appeared in the wood. Not to leave the Dorklock out, although he probably deserved it, I touched his top line and his name appeared. His top line was only a little under mine, despite the fact that he’s four years younger. Soon he would be taller. Would there be a door frame to notch in the new house? And did it matter, when it wasn’t home and never would be?

For a moment I considered locking the front door to the house and refusing to leave. But seriously, I’m in it to win it, just like a good cheerleader should be. What was there to win in refusing to go? An empty house that wasn’t ours anymore? All my things were far away, in Salem. Still, it was hard not to revert to the Terrible Twos.

I guess it showed, because when Dad came back he gave Mom that “Is she sane?” look they like to use when they think I’m being unreasonable. “Ready, princess?”

Princess? More like medieval serf. It’s a wonder I’m a leader at school, considering how they treat me like a baby. I tried not to cry. Crying makes my voice shake. Voice-shaking is not leadership-quality behavior. I may have been forced to leave my cheerleading squad behind, but I would go with head high and a big fake smile in place. If only – “We’re going to come back. Why can’t we just leave the house…”

“I’m not made of money, princess. We’ll make a nice profit on the house, that’s how we can afford the pool in the new place.”

Pool. Big deal. Although, I supposed it will be useful leverage to establish kewl status in Salem.

All I could think for a second was that I needed to grab my uniform and fall in line. But I’d turned my uniform in to Coach. In the heartbeat it took for the gut punch to hit me that I was no longer a part of the squad, that it was complete without me, they geared up and began a cheer.

“Gimmee a B!”

“Gimmee a Y!”

“Gimmee an E!”

“Noooooooooooooooooooo.”

“We love Pru so so much.”

“We can’t let her goooooo.”

“So come back soon and we’ll cheer.”

“For Pru, our leader dear.”

I didn’t want to cry, because Chezzie was watching and she’d tell everyone, including Brent, my crush de jour. I’d been planning to wage a campaign to get him to take me to the junior prom this year, as soon as I got my driver’s license (which would happen in Salem, now, since my birthday was August 25).

It was bad enough that I had to leave without knowing if the definite buzz between Brent and me would turn into a nice hot relationship. I didn’t need Chezzy talking to him and making sure he wouldn’t talk to me if I did manage to talk Mom and Dad into coming back. I could just imagine, “She was so jealous of how good we looked without her, she was screaming with rage.” Chezzie puts the yotch in beeyotch. Not that Chezzie would be wrong. I was jealous of them. Jealous that their worlds weren’t being ripped into confetti. Jealous that they weren’t going to have to piece all the confetti together again in another place and put on a smile while doing it.