The strangest thing happened today. I was thinking of my upcoming trip to NewYork, which led to thoughts of my friends in Connecticut where we used to live more than 25 years ago. Recently, my friend Marilou, who lived in Greenwich, died of breast cancer. As I was sitting in church, for some inexplicable reason, her address popped into my mind, 21 Bishop street, Greenwich, Ct.
This was so strange, that I took out my phone and googled the address and sure enough, a picture of her house showed up. I thought of my other friends from that time and place, and I couldn't even name the streets they lived on. I wasn't %100 sure of our old address.
And yes, I know, my thoughts should have been elsewhere, but I was sitting in the nursery with the three and under crowd and everyone was playing very nicely without my interference.
I shared the experience with a friend and she said, you'll have to tell me the rest of the story. But I don't think there is a rest of the story. I don't plan on going to Connecticut on my short visit to New York and even if I did, I wouldn't go to Marilou's house. It's not as if she's there. I'm not sure why I'm sharing this, except that I'm trying to make sense of it.
Has anyone else had moments of clarity that needed clarification?
I once a wrote a blog post on Marilou's house. Interestingly, it's one of my most popular blog posts, but I can't say why since I've never done a thing to promote it. Here it is:
http://kristystories.blogspot.com/2012/09/the-carriage-house-notebook.html
All of my Witch Ways books take place in Connecticut. A part of my heart will always be there.
WITCH WAYS
By Kristy Tate
Copyright 2014, Kristine Tate
I didn’t mean to burn down the science room. I got
mad, flames erupted, and I was expelled. Despaign
Academy, the only school that would accept me, was
once the home of Connecticut’s last convicted witch.
Despite its shadowy past, Despaign has the same cliques
as other schools. Of course Dylan Fox from the senior
stratosphere never noticed me in the sophomore splash
zone. But everything changed the night I cast my first
spell.
A fire isn’t the scariest thing that can happen in high school.
A fire isn’t the scariest thing that can happen in high school.
It happened in Biology. Troy, the kid who liked to
chew paper, blinked at me through his Stephen
Hawking-esque glasses and said he would be honored to
escort me to the dance. If it were only Troy, I wouldn’t
have been so mad, but he was the paper-chewer who sent
me over the edge. Earlier, I’d learned that I had
supposedly also asked Harrison, the kid who wore a
Justin Bieber button on the lapel of his school blazer,
and Frankel, the lead singer of the Wanna-be Lounge
Lizards, a band that serenaded the Hartly cafeteria every
Friday with Sinatra tunes.
Three dates to Homecoming. I didn’t even want one.
And so when I found out Melissa Blankley was to blame, I lost it.
Rage is like that. It builds up inside of you, like pressure in a teapot, until finally, at the boiling point, you let go—because really, there isn’t another choice. Everyone lets go differently. Some people use body language—tight lips, a simple eye-roll. Others swear and name call. Others become violent, and throw punches or people.
Some of us burn stuff.
Although, not always intentionally.
Don’t ask me how everything caught fire. Nothing
like that had ever happened to me before.
And because it was so frightening, I hope nothing
ever happens like that again.
Three dates to Homecoming. I didn’t even want one.
And so when I found out Melissa Blankley was to blame, I lost it.
Rage is like that. It builds up inside of you, like pressure in a teapot, until finally, at the boiling point, you let go—because really, there isn’t another choice. Everyone lets go differently. Some people use body language—tight lips, a simple eye-roll. Others swear and name call. Others become violent, and throw punches or people.
Some of us burn stuff.
Although, not always intentionally.
Don’t ask me how everything caught fire. Nothing
like that had ever happened to me before.
And because it was so frightening, I hope nothing
ever happens like that again.
WITCH WAYS
CHAPTER ONE
“Teenage girls are genetically wired to be unkind to
each other.” Uncle Mitch adjusted his glasses and met
the hostile gaze of Dr. Roberts, making me proud. Uncle
Mitch rarely met anyone’s eyes head-on, not even his
students at Yale. “It’s in their DNA. They have to
compete for mates.”
“But they do not have to burn down the science room.” Dr. Roberts tapped his pencil on the pile of papers on the desk in front of him and fixed me with his cold stare. He had an uncanny resemblance to mannequins: plastic-looking hair, too-perfect teeth, and flawless skin.
“But I didn’t—” I said.
Uncle Mitch sent me a warning glance, and I bit back my words. Before our meeting with the principal, he had made me promise not to speak. “You are your own worst enemy,” he said. I glared at Dr. Roberts.
“As I told you before, we have several eyewitnesses—”
“But teenage girls—” Uncle Mitch said.
KRISTY TATE
“Not just the girls,” Dr. Roberts interjected, “but
several of the students, including the son of the president
of the school board. And Mr. Beck,” Dr. Roberts added.
I liked Mr. Beck, and I hated for him to think that I would do this. Even though maybe I had. Not that I meant to.
“It was an accident.” I refused to be hushed by Uncle Mitch’s foot pressing against my leg. “I don’t even know how it happened.”
Dr. Roberts tapped his pencil—tap-tap-tap. He looked down at his papers.
“According to Mr. Beck, sparks flew from your fingertips. Can you explain this?”
“Would it matter if I could?” I folded my arms, leaned back in my chair, and kicked Uncle Mitch with my saddle shoe. Ditching the Hartly uniform was the only upside of expulsion I could see. Good-bye, tartan plaid pleated skirts. So long, itchy red sweaters and knee-high socks. Adios, clunky black and white saddle shoes. But as I thought of what changing schools really meant, I blinked back tears and hoped no one would see.
“I’m sorry,” Dr. Roberts said. “Evelynn is an excellent student—a credit to Hartly and a reflection of the outstanding academic program we espouse here at the academy.”
He sounded like he was giving a speech at a school fundraiser, begging parents for more money. I glanced at the papers on his desk and saw my name at the top with a red slash through it.
“Of course, she’s an excellent student!” Uncle Mitch said.
I liked Mr. Beck, and I hated for him to think that I would do this. Even though maybe I had. Not that I meant to.
“It was an accident.” I refused to be hushed by Uncle Mitch’s foot pressing against my leg. “I don’t even know how it happened.”
Dr. Roberts tapped his pencil—tap-tap-tap. He looked down at his papers.
“According to Mr. Beck, sparks flew from your fingertips. Can you explain this?”
“Would it matter if I could?” I folded my arms, leaned back in my chair, and kicked Uncle Mitch with my saddle shoe. Ditching the Hartly uniform was the only upside of expulsion I could see. Good-bye, tartan plaid pleated skirts. So long, itchy red sweaters and knee-high socks. Adios, clunky black and white saddle shoes. But as I thought of what changing schools really meant, I blinked back tears and hoped no one would see.
“I’m sorry,” Dr. Roberts said. “Evelynn is an excellent student—a credit to Hartly and a reflection of the outstanding academic program we espouse here at the academy.”
He sounded like he was giving a speech at a school fundraiser, begging parents for more money. I glanced at the papers on his desk and saw my name at the top with a red slash through it.
“Of course, she’s an excellent student!” Uncle Mitch said.
I gaped at him. Uncle Mitch never exploded—
except when he accidentally ate dairy—but that was a
different, smellier sort of blast.
“Which is why I’m sure she won’t have any problem adjusting to public school,” Dr. Roberts said.
Public school? Yes, please.
Uncle Mitch gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head.
“Because I was fairly sure you would feel that way,” Dr. Roberts leaned forward, “I took the liberty of speaking to Evelynn’s grandmother.”
Wait. What?
Uncle Mitch blanched and refused to look at me when I kicked him. I kicked him harder.
He didn’t flinch, but continued to give Dr. Roberts his best death stare. Uncle Mitch doesn’t have X-ray vision like Superman, but with his dark hair, blue eyes, and square jaw, he sort of looks like him. Not that he would ever wear tights. He mostly wore button-down plaid shirts with a pencil and small notebook in the pocket, khaki pants, and leather penny loafers. Today, in an effort to dress up for the occasion, he’d worn his favorite wool sports jacket with the frayed cuffs.
Dr. Roberts placed his elbows on the table. “As you are aware, Faith Despaign Academy is an excellent school, and as a former trustee—”
Uncle Mitch pushed to his feet. “This meeting is over,” he said through tight, white lips.
“Have you consulted with Evelynn’s parents?” Dr. Roberts also stood.
Uncle Mitch gave Dr. Roberts a silencing look. “I am Evie’s legal guardian.”
“Which is why I’m sure she won’t have any problem adjusting to public school,” Dr. Roberts said.
Public school? Yes, please.
Uncle Mitch gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head.
“Because I was fairly sure you would feel that way,” Dr. Roberts leaned forward, “I took the liberty of speaking to Evelynn’s grandmother.”
Wait. What?
Uncle Mitch blanched and refused to look at me when I kicked him. I kicked him harder.
He didn’t flinch, but continued to give Dr. Roberts his best death stare. Uncle Mitch doesn’t have X-ray vision like Superman, but with his dark hair, blue eyes, and square jaw, he sort of looks like him. Not that he would ever wear tights. He mostly wore button-down plaid shirts with a pencil and small notebook in the pocket, khaki pants, and leather penny loafers. Today, in an effort to dress up for the occasion, he’d worn his favorite wool sports jacket with the frayed cuffs.
Dr. Roberts placed his elbows on the table. “As you are aware, Faith Despaign Academy is an excellent school, and as a former trustee—”
Uncle Mitch pushed to his feet. “This meeting is over,” he said through tight, white lips.
“Have you consulted with Evelynn’s parents?” Dr. Roberts also stood.
Uncle Mitch gave Dr. Roberts a silencing look. “I am Evie’s legal guardian.”
“I just thought Mr. Marston would like to know. I
rather hoped to meet him.”
Of course, he did. Everyone wanted to meet my father. Money breeds insta-friends.
“I had hoped to see Mrs. Marston—Sophia, as well,” Dr. Roberts said. Flushing, he tried not to look like the money grubber that he was. “Is she—”
“Still in India,” I said.
“I’m sure she’ll want to be apprised of this situation.” He paused and smiled at me. “I knew your mother when we were kids. You remind me of her.”
For a moment, he looked almost human. I tried to picture him in his heavily starched suit and slicked back hair, next to my mom with her flaming red corkscrew curls and freckles. They didn’t belong in the same room. Maybe not even on the same planet. They were definitely different species.
“We grew up together,” Dr. Roberts said. “That’s why I felt comfortable contacting Mrs. La Faye.”
Wait. Who?
Uncle Mitch headed for the door.
Dr. Roberts scrambled after him. “I would have
hesitated to dismiss Evelynn if I hadn’t known she had a place at Faith Despaign.”
Uncle Mitch spun on his heel. “Did she set this up?”
Who were they talking about? Who was this Mrs. La Faye?
Dr. Roberts reeled. “No-o. How could she?”
Uncle Mitch studied Dr. Roberts.
“Arson is a serious crime.” Dr. Roberts wilted, and
slunk behind the safety of his desk. He shuffled the papers that bore my name. “Again, I’m very sorry about this, Evelynn and Dr. Marston, but I’m sure you’ll find Faith—”
Of course, he did. Everyone wanted to meet my father. Money breeds insta-friends.
“I had hoped to see Mrs. Marston—Sophia, as well,” Dr. Roberts said. Flushing, he tried not to look like the money grubber that he was. “Is she—”
“Still in India,” I said.
“I’m sure she’ll want to be apprised of this situation.” He paused and smiled at me. “I knew your mother when we were kids. You remind me of her.”
For a moment, he looked almost human. I tried to picture him in his heavily starched suit and slicked back hair, next to my mom with her flaming red corkscrew curls and freckles. They didn’t belong in the same room. Maybe not even on the same planet. They were definitely different species.
“We grew up together,” Dr. Roberts said. “That’s why I felt comfortable contacting Mrs. La Faye.”
Wait. Who?
Uncle Mitch headed for the door.
Dr. Roberts scrambled after him. “I would have
hesitated to dismiss Evelynn if I hadn’t known she had a place at Faith Despaign.”
Uncle Mitch spun on his heel. “Did she set this up?”
Who were they talking about? Who was this Mrs. La Faye?
Dr. Roberts reeled. “No-o. How could she?”
Uncle Mitch studied Dr. Roberts.
“Arson is a serious crime.” Dr. Roberts wilted, and
slunk behind the safety of his desk. He shuffled the papers that bore my name. “Again, I’m very sorry about this, Evelynn and Dr. Marston, but I’m sure you’ll find Faith—”
With a grunt that sounded like the noise our bulldog
Scratch makes when he’s forced to move, Uncle Mitch
headed for the door.
I followed.
My uncle marched down the deserted hall, out the door, and down the steps. The acrid smoke smell still hung in the air even though the fire had been put out days ago. I tried not to look at the black cavernous hole that had once housed the science department.
I hurried to keep up. “Do you want to tell me about my grandmother?” I asked.
“No,” Uncle Mitch said without looking at me. “Do you want to tell me how the fire really started?”
“I can’t.”
Uncle Mitch increased his speed, and I trotted beside him in my clunky saddle shoes. “But—don’t you think having a grandmother is something I should have known before now?”
He stopped and looked at me. “No.” He strode away.
I stared at his back, realizing I had never seen him angry before. Never. Not even when my friend, Bree, accidentally backed into his 1958 T-Bird with her 2000 Toyota Corolla, or when Scratch was a puppy and chewed up one of his loafers, or when I accidentally knocked over his moth habitat, and we had larvae everywhere in the house for months. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Mateo was really mad, but Uncle Mitch hadn’t said a word and just went back to recreating the moths’ home.
I followed.
My uncle marched down the deserted hall, out the door, and down the steps. The acrid smoke smell still hung in the air even though the fire had been put out days ago. I tried not to look at the black cavernous hole that had once housed the science department.
I hurried to keep up. “Do you want to tell me about my grandmother?” I asked.
“No,” Uncle Mitch said without looking at me. “Do you want to tell me how the fire really started?”
“I can’t.”
Uncle Mitch increased his speed, and I trotted beside him in my clunky saddle shoes. “But—don’t you think having a grandmother is something I should have known before now?”
He stopped and looked at me. “No.” He strode away.
I stared at his back, realizing I had never seen him angry before. Never. Not even when my friend, Bree, accidentally backed into his 1958 T-Bird with her 2000 Toyota Corolla, or when Scratch was a puppy and chewed up one of his loafers, or when I accidentally knocked over his moth habitat, and we had larvae everywhere in the house for months. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Mateo was really mad, but Uncle Mitch hadn’t said a word and just went back to recreating the moths’ home.
Thinking about all the many ways I’d disrupted his
solitary life made me grateful once again that I’d gotten
Uncle Mitch in the divorce. Dad married Maria, Mom
left with Fred, and I got Uncle Mitch. I had definitely
won. But at the moment, my curiosity was facing off
with gratitude, and curiosity was winning big time.
“I’m sixteen years old!”
“Fifteen,” Uncle Mitch said. “Your birthday isn’t until January.”
“I know when my birthday is. What I don’t know . . . or didn’t know . . . was that I have a grandmother!” I stopped chasing him. “Isn’t that something someone should have told me?”
“No.” He didn’t turn around, but marched toward his car.
I ran, afraid he would drive off and leave me in the nearly empty parking lot. I climbed in the T-Bird, closed the door, and stared at him.
“Why not?”
After sticking the key in the ignition and putting the car in gear, he looked at me. “I promised your mom and dad.” He shrugged. “You’ll have to ask them.”
“Did my grandmother know about me?” It stung that not only would my parents and Uncle Mitch keep such a huge secret from me, but that the mysterious grandmother Beatrix didn’t even want to know me.
Uncle Mitch, grim faced, didn’t answer, but steered his ancient car out of the parking lot and down the tree- lined street.
“Do I have a grandfather I don’t know about?” “No.”
“Aunts, uncles, cousins?”
“I’m sixteen years old!”
“Fifteen,” Uncle Mitch said. “Your birthday isn’t until January.”
“I know when my birthday is. What I don’t know . . . or didn’t know . . . was that I have a grandmother!” I stopped chasing him. “Isn’t that something someone should have told me?”
“No.” He didn’t turn around, but marched toward his car.
I ran, afraid he would drive off and leave me in the nearly empty parking lot. I climbed in the T-Bird, closed the door, and stared at him.
“Why not?”
After sticking the key in the ignition and putting the car in gear, he looked at me. “I promised your mom and dad.” He shrugged. “You’ll have to ask them.”
“Did my grandmother know about me?” It stung that not only would my parents and Uncle Mitch keep such a huge secret from me, but that the mysterious grandmother Beatrix didn’t even want to know me.
Uncle Mitch, grim faced, didn’t answer, but steered his ancient car out of the parking lot and down the tree- lined street.
“Do I have a grandfather I don’t know about?” “No.”
“Aunts, uncles, cousins?”
He didn’t answer.
“So, I do.” I chewed on this. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Anger, frustration, and curiosity built like a dark cloud. Growing warm and agitated, I curled my hands into tight fists.
I looked out the window and watched the flash of the familiar landscape. I had lived on Elm Street my entire life. I had started Hartly in kindergarten. I didn’t even know anyone who went to Faith Despaign.
“Where’s this school?”
For a moment, sympathy flashed in his eyes. “North Harbor, off the Merit.”
“It’s expensive, then.” I knew my dad had money, but I’d always assumed my mother’s family was poor. I don’t know why, except my mother was always, as Grammy Jean used to say, a free spirit in sandals. Mom wore long gypsy skirts and gauzy blouses even in the winter when everyone else wore itchy wool.
A thought struck me. Maybe Mom’s clothes were more than just a fashion statement! Maybe, like me, she had a temperature problem.
I scrounged through my bag, looking for my phone. Then I remembered. Sticking out my hand, I said, “I want to call my mom.”
Uncle Mitch glanced at me before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone.
“Aw, come on! I can’t even have my phone for two minutes?”
“By orders of your dad, you’re grounded.” He slapped his phone into my palm.
“Ugh.” I started to press Mom’s number, and then froze.
“So, I do.” I chewed on this. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Anger, frustration, and curiosity built like a dark cloud. Growing warm and agitated, I curled my hands into tight fists.
I looked out the window and watched the flash of the familiar landscape. I had lived on Elm Street my entire life. I had started Hartly in kindergarten. I didn’t even know anyone who went to Faith Despaign.
“Where’s this school?”
For a moment, sympathy flashed in his eyes. “North Harbor, off the Merit.”
“It’s expensive, then.” I knew my dad had money, but I’d always assumed my mother’s family was poor. I don’t know why, except my mother was always, as Grammy Jean used to say, a free spirit in sandals. Mom wore long gypsy skirts and gauzy blouses even in the winter when everyone else wore itchy wool.
A thought struck me. Maybe Mom’s clothes were more than just a fashion statement! Maybe, like me, she had a temperature problem.
I scrounged through my bag, looking for my phone. Then I remembered. Sticking out my hand, I said, “I want to call my mom.”
Uncle Mitch glanced at me before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone.
“Aw, come on! I can’t even have my phone for two minutes?”
“By orders of your dad, you’re grounded.” He slapped his phone into my palm.
“Ugh.” I started to press Mom’s number, and then froze.
“What’s the matter?” Concern touched Uncle
Mitch’s voice.
I shook my head, blinked back tears and stared out the window. How could I ask my mom if she sparked, too?
I shook my head, blinked back tears and stared out the window. How could I ask my mom if she sparked, too?
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