Be Careful What You Witch For Page 3

  Olivia thought he was already acting pretty strange, but she let it go. Tilda pointed to a storefront. “Let’s try there.”

  Inside, Olivia thought they’d made a mistake. It looked like a laundry where people like Danny took their clothes. Tables were piled high with worn-out jeans, grubby-looking sweatshirts, and T-shirts. A thin young man walked over and said, “May I assist you?”

  Olivia gaped at him. He had so many piercings that she couldn’t count them. One was a chain that stretched from his earlobe to his eyebrow, and it made a jangly noise as he walked. As Olivia took a closer look, she saw that it had a tiny bell on it.

  “We need to outfit her for school,” Tilda said. Olivia almost laughed, thinking how horrified her mother would be to see her wearing “outfits” like this.

  The young man looked her over the way Aunt Tilda had, but he didn’t bother to hide his opinion. Shaking his head, he said, “First of all, we have to stop trying to be the next Pussycat Doll.”

  Olivia felt her face get red. “I got this outfit at the Ralph Lauren store on Rodeo Drive,” she told him.

  “How is dear old Ralph?” the young man said sarcastically. “Didn’t he sell you a cowboy hat to go with it?”

  Olivia fought back angry tears. Sometimes she’d encountered salespeople like this, even when she was with Mother. Why did she think anything would be different in New York? She wished she could just turn and get out of here.

  But then Tilda reached out and touched the arm of the salesclerk, just brushing it softly so that he hardly noticed. As she did, she said something that Olivia couldn’t hear.

  The effect was startling. His expression changed; the sneer vanished, and he looked around as if he’d forgotten where he was. Then he walked in the other direction and disappeared through a door in the back of the store.

  “Now let’s see,” said Tilda as if nothing had happened. “What sizes do you wear?”

  “What did you say to him?” Olivia asked. Whatever it was, she wanted to remember it for the next time some salesclerk was being snotty to her.

  “Nothing, really,” Tilda said, picking up a dark blue T-shirt that had something written on it in Chinese letters. “Want to try this on?”

  “No, but... you must have said something.”

  Tilda held the T-shirt up against Olivia, measuring it. “Oh,” she said, “I just suggested he had something better to do.”

  Olivia believed it must have been something stronger than that, because he never returned to bother them. She was able to just pick up whatever she liked, slip it on, and check herself out in a mirror without worrying what anybody would say.

  She’d seen pictures of models wearing grungy jeans but Mother would never have let her wear them. In fact, it was a little scary for Olivia to actually see what she looked like in them. “Aunt Tilda,” she asked, “are you sure the kids at this school will be wearing stuff like this?”

  “I checked it out,” Tilda replied. “Trust me.”

  Olivia was beginning to think that was a pretty good idea.

  Chapter Three

  TWO DAYS LATER, sitting in a taxi that was taking her to school, Olivia wasn’t so sure. It was true that Tilda seemed to be unusually good at getting people to do what she wanted. Everywhere they went, Olivia saw that. But Olivia was beginning to think that Tilda had just done the same thing—to her.

  That morning at breakfast (which Olivia made without help, though she hadn’t yet gotten the knack of folding the omelet) Tilda had told Olivia that she’d be going to school by herself. “I’ve called a taxi,” Tilda had said. “The driver will let you off right by the front steps, so all you have to do is go inside and ask for Miss Dolfinger.”

  It sounded easy, but Olivia could think of a thousand things that might go wrong. What if the driver was in a wreck and didn’t get her there in time? What if nobody knew where Miss Dolfinger was? What if... ?

  The truth was, since Olivia had arrived in New York, she hadn’t gone anyplace without Tilda and had gotten used to her smoothing things out wherever they went. Olivia had to admit that there was something a bit uncanny about that, but it didn’t seem much different from the way everybody treated her mother, just because she was a movie star.

  But Olivia wasn’t at all sure that she wanted to go out by herself. She had tried to get Tilda to reveal what exactly she said or did to get annoying people to do what she wanted. “You just have to assume control,” was all Tilda would reply.

  Yeah, right, Olivia thought. Tilda seemed to sympathize. “I chose this school for you because I knew you’d never been to a rigorous one before,” Tilda said. “You shouldn’t have any trouble with the program at the Knickerbocker School.”

  “You mean it’s easy?” asked Olivia, knowing she should feel glad. In fact, she felt a little disappointed because she’d always wondered what a real school was like.

  “Well, they adapt their curriculum to the students’ needs and abilities,” Tilda replied. “Or so they say. I’ve been told the teachers are friendly.”

  So here was Olivia, clutching her cell in one hand, all set to speed-dial Tilda at the first sign of trouble, sitting in the back of a cab traveling through the streets of Manhattan. She had half-expected the driver to be the same one who drove them from the airport, but unfortunately it wasn’t. This one was a black man who thought his job included making cheerful remarks. At least he spoke English. “I am René,” he said, as if she had to know his name. He had an accent that Olivia thought sounded French, though of course he couldn’t be French. But when she looked at his license, posted on the window behind the front seat, she saw his name was René Touvain. That sounded French.

  “First day of school, yes?” he said after they started down the street from Tilda’s house. She sort of grunted in reply, not wanting to encourage him but afraid of being totally rude.

  “I wish I was going to school today,” René continued.

  This time Olivia made no comment, just looking out the window and wondering why so many people in New York seemed to walk everywhere. Maybe riding in cars was more dangerous here than in Los Angeles because of the narrow streets.

  “You know why?”

  She couldn’t even remember what he was talking about, but decided it was safer to say “no.” René turned his head every time he talked, and Olivia was worried that when he took his eyes off the road he might crash.

  “Because the way to get ahead in this life is to learn.” He told her this as if he was revealing some hidden truth that was the secret to everything. She felt like telling him that the way to get ahead in life was to be incredibly beautiful and to act as if everybody should bow down before you wherever you went.

  At least, that was the way her mother did it. Olivia had to admit it was difficult for a mousy-looking person like herself. “How long will it be before we arrive?” she asked, trying to sound the way her mother did.

  “Ah, who can say, who can say?” René answered. The chauffeurs who worked for her mother would never have said that. “You in a hurry?”

  She shook her head. She knew he wasn’t really looking for an answer.

  “Because people who are in a hurry, they wear themselves out,” René said. “Run here, run there, the heart beats fast and wears out too soon.”

  “But what if I’m late for school?” Olivia asked.

  “That will never happen,” René replied, turning to look at her. Olivia desperately pointed at the windshield. “Never happen,” he repeated. He sounded very sure. “Matilde won’t allow that.”

  It took Olivia a moment to realize he meant Aunt Tilda. She was about to ask how Tilda could stop it, when René turned a corner and motioned for her to look. “See, there it is now.”

  Olivia saw an old stone building, surrounded by a black wrought iron fence. A sign with gilt letters was attached to the fence, reading “The Knickerbocker School, founded 1897.” A crowd of kids stood there, talking. Olivia saw that they were, indeed, dressed in the same kind of
clothes Tilda had bought her. Olivia felt relieved. She would have been a real standout in the outfits her mother had picked out.

  As she looked closer, she saw that most of the students wore jeans with distinctive stitching or labels that showed they were expensive brands—really expensive, like Seven for All Mankind, True Religion, even some Versace. Most of the boys wore skater sneakers, a lot of Lakais and even some limited-quantity Japanese brands, while the girls were all in Tory Burch or Kate Spade flats in rainbow colors. Everyone’s hair was carefully styled, the girls with hair blown out so straight it shone like sheets of glass, while the boys opted for tousled, mussed styles. And even though almost everybody did wear a T-shirt, as Aunt Tilda had predicted, many of them Olivia recognized as being from the pricier lines of Juicy Couture, J. Crew, and some designers. A few people’s T-shirts were at the other end of the spectrum: L. L. Bean or with slogans that seemed self-consciously uncool. The ones wearing these were mostly kids who sported eyeglasses with large and prominent frames, Woody Allen style. She saw one T-shirt that really made her smile: the slogan on the front read “I ♥ Beverly Hills.” If you only knew, Olivia thought.

  René stopped the cab close to the entrance of the school. “I will be here to pick you up at three p.m.,” he said.

  “You will?” She was surprised, though she hadn’t thought about getting home. “What if they keep me after school?”

  “Do not disgrace Matilde,” he said, more serious than he’d been before.

  “She wouldn’t allow that,” Olivia replied. René frowned.

  Olivia certainly felt invisible as she entered the building. The hallway was crowded with people, just like the schools she’d seen in movies. Here, they seemed to be all ages, from little primary-school kids to much older ones who must be high school seniors. All the other students were greeting each other and talking about what they’d done over the summer. Nobody paid her the slightest attention until Olivia flagged down somebody who looked like a teacher. She wasn’t much older than some of the students, but she was the only one wearing a skirt. “Where is Miss Dolfinger’s office?” Olivia asked.

  “Up those stairs and to your right,” the woman replied. Then she gave Olivia a second look. “You’re new?”

  Olivia nodded.

  “So am I,” the woman said, putting out her hand. “I’m Ms. Noyes, and I’ll be the language-arts teacher for ninth and tenth grades.”

  “I’m in ninth grade,” said Olivia. “So I guess...”

  “We’ll be seeing each other,” Ms. Noyes finished. “And your name?”

  Oh, right, thought Olivia, feeling stupid. She tells you her name, you tell her yours. It’s not rocket science, Olivia.

  “Olivia,” she said. Ms. Noyes nodded, as if encouraging her to go on.

  “Yearwo—” She caught herself. “I mean, Bettendorfer. Olivia Bettendorfer.”

  Ms. Noyes gave her a funny look, and why not, since how many students wouldn’t be able to remember their own names? “Maybe I should show you where Miss Dolfinger’s office is,” she said.

  Olivia protested, but it was clear she had already marked herself as the class idiot. Ms. Noyes guided her up the stairs and even pointed to the door, which was clearly marked “Idella Dolfinger, Head of School.”

  “Through there,” Ms. Noyes said with a helpful smile.

  Riiiight, thought Olivia. I wouldn’t have guessed, since I’m unable to read.

  She pushed open the door to face a middle-aged woman seated behind a desk. The woman was wearing a plain white blouse with a pin of blue stones at her throat. She was writing something and at first didn’t look up. Finally she peered over the top of her glasses. “Yes?”

  “I... I’m here to see Miss Dolfinger.”

  “Your name?”

  Olivia took a breath this time before reciting it correctly.

  “You’re new,” the woman said. It wasn’t a question. She reached for a vertical file on her desk and took out a manila folder. Olivia saw her new name on it. After looking at some papers inside it, the woman picked up her telephone, dialed a short number that must have been an extension, and said to the person at the other end, “Send Muffin up to Miss Dolfinger’s office.” She hung up.

  “Are you Miss Dolfinger?” Olivia asked. She was getting impatient.

  “I’m Ms. Tucker, her assistant,” the woman said.

  “Could I see Miss Dolfinger?”

  “This is the first day of school,” the woman said as if Olivia hadn’t comprehended that. “She’s quite busy and has already examined your record.” The woman looked down at the folder and closed it firmly. “Such as it is. We at the Knickerbocker usually demand more formal training than you have had, but it’s been decided that if you apply yourself, you may be able to achieve our standards. We’ve placed you with the freshperson class, but of course we have all grades from K through 12, if you don’t fit in at that level.”

  Olivia felt her eyes fill with angry tears and she struggled to find a response. But the door opened behind her and she turned to see a girl about her age. She looked a little like Hillary Clinton in her geeky phase, with large round glasses that made her closely resemble an owl.

  “Muffin, this is a new girl, Olivia Bettendorfer. Olivia, this is Muffin Van Stroops. She will be your companion.”

  Olivia was a little surprised. They assigned you friends here? “I’m sorry?” she said.

  “Muffin will guide you through your first day, introduce you to teachers, and be your student advisor about any problems you may encounter.”

  Olivia looked at Muffin, who smiled in a way that was supposed to be friendly but came out as hopelessly condescending. Olivia sighed. Well, she thought, it’s either go with her or go skiing. Skiing was suddenly looking better.

  “Did you just move to New York?” Muffin asked after they left the office.

  “Yes.” Olivia was concentrating on Muffin’s glasses, which were uglier than they had to be. Olivia knew from seeing other students outside the school that it was the style, but even so...

  “My family has lived here for three hundred years,” Muffin replied.

  Uncertain about how to reply to that, Olivia said, “You could get contacts, you know.”

  A frosty silence followed as Muffin apparently digested this abrupt change of subject. “Contacts can cause infections, even blindness,” she told Olivia.

  “Everybody in Beverly Hills wears contacts,” Olivia replied, “and there aren’t any blind people. At least none I’ve ever seen.”

  “Is that where you’re from?” Muffin asked with some interest.

  Damn, damn, Olivia thought. Nice way to remain invisible. “I’m actually from Bettendorf, Iowa,” she said.

  “Oh.” Muffin seemed easily fooled. “What’s it like there?”

  “Quiet,” Olivia replied. “Very quiet.”

  “Isn’t your name Bettendorfer?”

  “That’s right. Everybody in town is named Bettendorfer.”

  A longer silence than that which had followed Olivia’s suggestion about contacts ensued. “You’re putting me on, aren’t you?” Muffin said.

  Olivia just smiled in a friendly way.

  Muffin’s tone turned serious. “You know, if you want to get along in this school, you have to make friends with the right people,” she said.

  Olivia giggled. She couldn’t help it. “You mean... you?”

  Well, that really was the wrong thing to say, she thought, but even so.

  Surprisingly, Muffin didn’t seem offended. “Of course, me. I know all the popular people in school. Many of us have been here since kindergarten.” Practically a life sentence, thought Olivia.

  A group of girls approached in the hallway and Muffin waved hello to them. “See you at lunch,” she said. A few of them gave curious glances at Olivia.

  When they had gone past, Muffin said, “Did you notice the tall blond girl?”

  Olivia looked back. Most of the group were blonds, but one was taller than t
he others. And even though she wore the same grungy outfit as everyone else, she somehow managed to make hers look better fitting. She wore enough eye shadow for both of the Olsen twins, but somehow—unlike them—she made it look glamorous. For a second, she made eye contact with Olivia, and there was something in her look that made it clear she regarded Olivia as inferior. Irritated at herself, Olivia turned away.

  “That’s Madison Lispenard,” said Muffin. “She’s the most popular girl in our class. She always has been. I know her, and can introduce you.”

  Right then Olivia decided that she would do her best never to be friends with Madison Lispenard.

  For the rest of the morning, Olivia followed Muffin, who showed her where her locker was, helped her work the combination, and then took her to class. After what Ms. Tucker had said, Olivia had been a little worried that she might not be able to keep up with the work here. But she soon decided that Tilda was right: it was going to be even easier than the twelve-student school Olivia had attended in California.

  The teachers’ biggest concern seemed to be to entertain the students, or at least not to bother them too much. Mr. Feldstein, the social studies teacher, had dressed for the class in a costume that made him look like an old-time sea captain. It even included a sword that he drew and waved around, which was, Olivia thought, one sure way to get attention. The whole thing was to remind the students that they were embarking on a voyage of discovery, blah blah. He pointed out the window, where they could see a river—Olivia wasn’t sure which one. It didn’t look like you’d want to swim in it. “When Henry Hudson came here four centuries ago,” Mr. Feldstein said, “he didn’t know how far that river went. Do you know where your lives are going?”

  Umm, can you get back to me on that? Olivia thought, trying to make herself as invisible as possible so that he wouldn’t call on her.

  Fortunately Mr. Feldstein was the type of teacher who liked to answer his own questions, possibly reflecting his opinion of the students’ abilities. “To find out, you have to know where you’re coming from.”