The Magnolia League

23





The next day is Halloween. In honor of the holiday, I paint my eyes and lips black and put on a Black Sabbath shirt. Dex loves it, of course, but I know I’m in trouble when Madison and Hayes flank me at lunch.

“That’s it,” Madison says. “We’re giving you a forcible makeover.”

“Madison—”

“Seriously. Get your bag. We’re cutting.”

“What? How?”

“We have a note saying you have a Magnolia League community project again.”

I shake my head. “I can’t believe that actually works.”

“Of course it works. Come on.”

I’m hesitant, but since my only remaining classes today are Mr. Roberts’s history and gym, I give in, trailing after them to the Prius. Oddly, both Madison and Hayes are wearing all white again today. Hayes is dressed in white skinny jeans that only a toothpick could wear, and Madison has on a white flowing goddess top and snowy linen pants.

“What’s with the all-white look?” I ask. “Is it a Halloween thing?”

“Halloween is for amateurs,” Madison scoffs. “What you’re in for is way better than a costume.”

“What do you mean?”

She reaches over and yanks on my longest dreadlock. “What do you mean?” she mimics. “Do you know how much you say that? Just go with it, Alex. Life is happening to you.”

Hayes drives. At first I think we’re going downtown, but then I realize we’re driving to Isle of Hope, a seriously plush suburb on the Skidaway River. As usual, Madison’s riding shotgun and I’m in the back. On the way, neither of them bothers to explain anything about what we’re doing. In fact, no one talks at all. We just sit there listening to the music and looking out the windows. My stomach turns—there’s something eerie about their silence.

Madison’s house is a modern estate with a main house, a guesthouse, and a pool house. Everything is white and flat and glossy; I swear, an alarm must go off if someone spills a Coke. We all head straight back to the pool house, not bothering to call out to Madison’s mom to tell her that we’re here. I follow Madison and Hayes through the sliding glass door, looking around with surprise as we step inside. The shades are drawn, and the room is completely lit with candles.

“Who lit these?” I ask. As usual, I get no answer. Someone must have done this before we got here. A maid? Madison’s mom? And why is it so dark in here, anyway? I look quickly toward the bar, which is lined with old brown glass bottles and jars.

“Oh no,” I say. “No way am I letting you crazies guinea-pig me again.”

Hayes smiles. “We’re not going to ‘guinea-pig’ you, sweetie. You know about the spells now. We’re letting you in on our intentions this time.”

“Well, that’s very nice of you.”

“Sit down, will you?” Madison says impatiently.

“Fine. But I’m not drinking anything this time unless I know what’s in it.”

“Oh, come off it,” Madison says. “I saw you drink some organic snot juice the other day. What could be worse than that?”

“That’s kombucha,” I say defensively. “It’s full of antioxidants.” The truth is, kombucha is seriously disgusting, but I’ve been drinking it lately to try to lose weight. My mom used to brew it for people who wanted to speed up their metabolism. So far all it’s done is give me serious gas.

“Alex,” Hayes says soothingly before Madison and I can start bickering again, “we think the time has come for us to give you a little makeover.”

“A makeover?” I frown. “Why?”

“Here’s the deal, Alex,” Madison says. “You need a different look.”

“I don’t want a different look. I mean, sure, I’d love to have Miley bods, like you girls. Otherwise I wouldn’t be downing the snot tea. But that’s just not how I’m built. And I know you guys are super into expensive clothes and makeup, but I’ve never thought that was important. If you like who you are, then why does it matter what you look like?”

“That’s very noble,” Madison says. “And I’m sure the hippies at the commune would be pleased with that answer. But it’s just not realistic.”

“It’s not like new clothes can really change anything. You already took me shopping, remember?”

“What if we told you we could improve other things too?” Hayes asks.

I shake my head. “You girls are bizarre-o. I do not like the sound of this.”

“You have to admit it,” Madison says. “Even you think your hair is gross.”

I think of Thaddeus and how he said my dreads were “out there.”

“Okay,” I say. “I’m not that into my do anymore. Fine—the phase is over. But I’d have to shave them off. We’re talking baldness, people.”

“We can live with that,” Hayes says.

“No way am I wearing a wig.”

“Just trust us,” Madison says. “We helped you get over that Reggie loser, didn’t we?”

“You did,” I relent.

“Okay. Then sit.”

Reluctantly, I obey, wincing as I see Hayes approach with a large pair of scissors.

“You might want to close your eyes for this.”

“Wait… I… okay.”

I shut my eyes, trying to distract myself as I hear the snip of the scissors. I can hear my heavy locks fall away and hit the floor with loud thumps.

“Ew,” Madison says. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. But when I hear the buzz of a razor, I can’t help looking.

“Oh my God!” Patches of hair stick up weirdly from all of the spots that aren’t shiny and bald. “I look like some sort of radiation victim.”

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Hayes says.

“Something bad always happens when you call me that,” I grumble. “Remember how I almost got burned to a crisp at that party?”

“Just close your eyes again.” The buzz is louder now. My head tickles as she mows my scalp. Suddenly, I feel something cold and wet. When I peek, I see that one of them has turned out the lights. Madison is smearing something black and disgusting on my scalp. Hayes stands behind her, her eyes glittering.

“What are you doing?” I plead.

“Shut up and trust us,” Madison growls. “I’m blindfolding you until this is over.”

She ties a silk scarf around my eyes. The smell is gag-inducing. Within minutes, my entire head is itching furiously.

“Ow!” I yell, reaching up to scratch.

“Don’t touch it!” Madison orders.

“What? There’s a colony of fire ants on my head!”

One of the girls—I can’t see who—grabs my wrists.

“It’s just a few minutes,” Hayes says. “I promise.”

But the sensation is unbearable. I whistle. I stomp my feet. I sing the words of my mom’s favorite Phish song, the one about mangoes that makes no sense.

“I can’t take it anymore!” I finally cry, ripping off the blindfold. I look in the mirror, and—

I can’t believe it. The dreads are gone. I have… hair. Thick, chestnut-colored, unbelievably shiny hair that cascades (frizz-free!) down my back and around my shoulders. Seriously, I could audition for a shampoo commercial right now and win the role, no prob.

“How did you…”

“Magic,” Hayes says, smiling. “Not kidding.”

“What do you think, dorkus?” Madison asks, crossing her arms.

“Wow. It’s good. Really, really good.”

The MGs laugh. Hayes stands behind me, rubbing my shoulders. I touch my new hair. It’s soft, and so shiny it almost sparkles in my hand. It even smells good, like a cinnamon cookie.

“Is it real?” I whisper.

“Probably,” Hayes says. “We don’t really know how the spell works. Sam gives us the bottles and the instructions, and we use them. But it’s definitely your hair to keep.”

“It hurt.”

“No one said the spells were pain-free,” Madison says. She stands back. “Okay. Much better. Now… item number two.”

“There’s something else?” I ask, looking in the mirror again. What are they going to do? Chop off my nose and grow me a better one?

“Alex,” Hayes says, her hands still on my shoulders, “if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?”

I bite my lip. That’s not a hard one. After all, I’ve just been called out for drinking the most disgusting drink on the planet in a vain attempt to shed some pounds.

“I’d be skinny. Like you.”

There’s a pause as the MGs glance at each other, obviously deciding how to treat this delicate subject.

Why do I feel like I’m selling my soul?

“We thought you might say that,” Hayes finally says, rising to go to the spell bar.

“So you do think I’m fat.”

“You’re not fat,” Madison says. “You’re just a little chubby. Healthy, you might call it.”

“Right,” I say, folding my arms tight against my chest. God. Does everyone talk about how fat I am? Dexter? Thaddeus?

“Alex, what if we told you that you’ll never have to worry about what you eat again?” Hayes asks.

My eyes fill with tears as I think about all the times Reggie pinched the fat on my waist and called me Pudge. And how Billy would never let me ride his bike because, he said, I would flatten the tires. And how skinny Crystal looked when Reggie kissed her in front of me.

“I’d say that sounds like a pretty good deal.”

“Okay. Good.” Madison opens a dark wooden box on the bar, extracts something, and snaps the box shut. “Put this on your wrist,” she says, handing me a piece of black silk string held together with an old silver clasp.

I take the bracelet gingerly.

“Is this going to hurt?”

“No,” Hayes says reassuringly. “Not this one.”

This time I refrain from asking what she means. Instead, I snap the bracelet onto my wrist. Obviously, this is going to cause something very strange to happen. But if they could do that to my hair… well. Okay.

This spell, though, is not as instantaneous. Nothing seems to happen.

“Is it working?” I ask after a few minutes.

“Give it some time,” Madison says. She walks to the bar and turns on some jazz music. Hayes sits on a stool, texting someone—Jason, no doubt. To distract myself, I start leafing through a copy of Vogue.

“Man, I hate these magazines,” I say. “Like, I’m seriously going to ride a Ferris wheel in a Prada bikini? I mean, this girl is scuba diving in a silk—”

My thought is interrupted by rabid, uncontrollable hunger.

“Hey, Madison, do you have anything to eat?”

“Sure,” she says, pulling out a plate of brownies.

“Something healthy?” I ask. “You just told me I was fat. Remember?”

“You’ve got your talis on. As long as you wear that, you’ll never have to worry about what you’re eating.”

“My what?” I say, barely able to concentrate. Okay, I don’t care if the brownie will make me fatter. I’m ravenous! What is wrong with me? I put one into my mouth.

“Your talis,” Hayes says helpfully. “Your hoodoo bracelet.”

“Hang on.” I stuff in two more brownies. The hunger subsides, but only a tiny bit. “Okay,” I say, swallowing. “What the hell do you mean?”

“When you were at Sam’s, did you see birdcages?”

“Sure,” I say. “Well, not cages. It’s more like an aviary. I figured he kept the birds because their waste fertilized the flowers.”

“That’s one of the reasons,” Hayes says. “There’s also one bird for every Magnolia.”

“One bird for every Magnolia?”

“Oh my God—yours has got to be a parrot,” Madison says.

“Yeah? Well yours is a nasty—”

“Girls,” Hayes interrupts sternly. “Pull it together. We’re working here.”

“The bird burns your food,” Madison says. “Get it?”

“No.”

“The expression eat like a bird is actually totally misleading,” Hayes explains. “Our bird mates are hummingbirds—they eat at least three times their body weight a day. The specimens connected to us by our talises burn our food for us. Doc Buzzard figured out a way to conjure their metabolisms into our bodies.”

“Trippy.” I finger my new bracelet.

“Totally. That’s why we’re so skinny, even though we eat everything in sight.”

I nod. It all makes sense now—the buckets of chicken, the tubs of ice cream. And here I thought it was just a regular bout of teen bulimia. Just then I’m hit with another hunger pang.

“Will I always be this ravenous?”

“You’ll get used to it. The good news is, you’re going to get a lot thinner, fast. In fact, you’ll drop five pounds today if you don’t take in more than three thousand calories.”

“It’s kind of a pain sometimes,” Hayes admits. “It gets hard to remember to eat.”

“That I find hard to believe,” I say, sneaking another brownie.

“Listen, let’s quit for the day and go see Damien,” Hayes says, kindly squeezing my shoulder.

“I told you guys—I’m done with shopping.”

“Come on, Alex,” Madison says. “It’s Halloween. Lighten up! Anyway, trust me—you’ll thank me. In a couple of days, you’re going to need all new clothes.”