Page 12 of Practically Magic

I know better than to question my mom’s premonition skills. Dad and I cram in, and I try to relax. Principal Aceste hasn’t called. Harry is away at school. My Halloween plan is still very much on track. But all my fears come roaring back as the video call connects and Harry’s perfect face lights up the screen.

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New post from Rita Baumann: Witches Brew appreciation post! I’m so thankful I live in a town that would never allow a chain coffee shop. Witches Brew makes the best lattes in New England, and these new theme drinks that come in gourds are genius! Especially since they buy the pumpkins from our very own Mystic Hollow patch!

The call connects on my sister, Harriet Samantha Hadley, curled up on her dorm room bed. Even dressed in gym clothes, she looks like a model. Her long, blond hair practically glows, it’s so shiny. Her green eyes blink twice as she adjusts her phone to get an even better angle of her face.

As she tilts the camera, we get a snippet of her background: sage-green bedding, an artful smattering of pillows in pinks and creams. It looks like someone’s Pinterest come to life. Could she at least forget to make her bed once? Fall prints are framed on the wall beside her bed along with a few family and friend photos tacked carefully to a corkboard.

“Harry!” Dad says happily. “I was just telling the mailman the story of your acceptance. He couldn’t believe that you got advanced standing. My BC girl!”

Harry smiles, her voice quiet. “Dad, you shouldn’t keep him from his route.” Her soft voice grates on me from hundreds of miles away.

“He’s just run out of people to brag to,” Mom gushes. “You look wonderful. By the way, do you have a copy of that essay you wrote in eighth grade on the politics of witch trials? I want to use it as an example for my college seminar . . .” My two parents crush into frame, squeezing me out so they can get their eldest daughter’s attention. It’s like I don’t even exist. Somehow, they find new achievements to congratulate my sister on. This week, they’re praising her for sending them a few news articles and primary sources that were “absolutely perfect” for their curricula.

“My genius girl finding the time to text her silly dad,” my dad is saying.

I hid a scoff with another candy pumpkin. Who cares that you never call or text me? Who cares that we haven’t spoken since the last video chat? Why should it bother me that you act like I don’t exist?

“You aren’t silly, Dad.” Harry winds just one perfect strand of blond hair around her finger and then abruptly sneezes.

“Harry? Is your magic manifesting?” my mom asks excitedly. She taps her temple. “I don’t feel anything—”

Harry’s eyes shift along her phone screen, and with a jolt I realize she must be looking at me. “You look different.”

“Me?” I squeak out. Is that supposed to be a compliment or a knock? “Um, thanks? I think?”

“Yeah,” Harry continues, squinting. “How was your day? Anything special happen?”

Oh, you know, I conjured a fireball, almost burned down the chemistry lab, stalked my principal, and hacked into his phone. “Nope. I did get a paper cut.” I hold up my finger as evidence.

“I’ve been meaning to ask—do you have your chemistry study guides at home?” Mom interrupts. “They were so thorough and I was thinking they could be helpful to Kat.”

“Mom,” I gripe.

Harry rubs her nose and then frowns. “Something tells me that Kat has been totally on fire in chemistry.”

My parents whip to stare at me as I fight the urge to glare at Harry. She looks back innocently, perfect brows raised.

Don’t you dare, I think at her as hard as I can.

And then Harry twitches her nose.

Suddenly there is a video beeping in from a number I don’t recognize. My stomach drops. Principal Aceste! Did Harry just make him call? She’s literally the worst. Thankfully, Mom ignores the request. Nothing to interrupt her perfect Harry time. That is, until the call lights up the screen again. Mom tries to dismiss it, but before her finger brushes the screen, I hear her gasp.

“Oh, it’s your aunts! I’ve been trying to get them all day,” Mom says, accepting the request. “Viv? Diane? Is that you?”

All we see is one giant blinking eyeball, rimmed with kohl liner and gold eye shadow and layers of mascara.

“Is it on?” Aunt Vivianne’s voice blares out, with a rush of music and laughter from the background. “I don’t see anyone.”

“How should I know?” comes Aunt Diane’s voice. “Didn’t you ask Hugh how this works?”

“I don’t even know if he remembers handing me the phone, dear. I just said, Jackman, you wolverine! Hand it over! And he did.”

“Aunt Viv,” I say, jumping in now. “Hold the phone away from you and look at the screen. You’ll be able to see us.”