Parties & Potions #4 Read Online Free PDF Page A

rebel.
    It’s super-weird to see my mom as a young girl. I can’t picture her as a teen. I can’t imagine her as a real person without kids. Isn’t she on this planet to be my mom?
    “You were pretty,” I say.
    “ ‘Were’? Gee, thanks.”
    “Are pretty,” Miri says. “That’s what she meant.”
    “Totally. That’s what I meant.”
    In the next photo, I get a better look at the outfit. Mom’s wearing a long-sleeved purply satin dress. The neck is low and shows off her—
    “Mom! You had boobs! How old were you when you had your Samsorta?”
    “Thirteen. Miri’s age.”
    “But you’re huge. Did you pad? You so padded.”
    She giggles. “I may have padded a little bit.”
    The bodice of the dress is tight, and the skirt flares into ruffles. She’s looking off into the distance. Behind her is the Eiffel Tower.
    “You had your Samsorta in Paris?” I ask. “I thought they held it in Romania.”
    “No, it was in Romania. We just popped by Paris for pictures.”
    Popped by. La, la, la, I think I’ll pop by Paris on my way to school. Pick up a baguette. Merci beaucoup.
    She flips over to a two-page spread. On the left is Teen Mom with Today Mom. No, that makes zero sense. Unless she’s Time-Traveling Mom.
    “Is that Grandma?” Miri asks.
    Ah. So clever, that little one.
    “It sure is.”
    “She looks just like you do now,” I say. “Except for the black hair.”
    “Yeah, she had gorgeous thick black hair. I got mine from my father.”
    “Is he in any of the photos?” I ask.
    “No.” Sadness creeps into her voice. “He stayed out of the witch stuff. Didn’t want to get in the way.”
    At least he had the opportunity to get in the way. Unlike Dad.
    Imagine if Mom had told him—had told all of us— about her Samsorta years ago, when we were still one family. The four of us, cuddled together on the couch, flipping through the pictures, teasing, laughing, sipping hot chocolate by the fireplace—
    “Hey, Mom,” Miri says, interrupting my trip down Alternate-Reality Lane. “Does mogul mean ‘grandma’?”
    “It’s moga,” she answers.
    “That’s what I said.”
    “You said ‘mogul.’ ” I snicker.
    “Did not. Next picture, please.”
    The next page is Teen Mom … with a boy. A boy who’s looking at her adoringly.
    She gets a girlish smile on her face. “That’s Jefferson Tyler.”
    Reeeeeally “And who is Jefferson Tyler?”
    “My very first boyfriend,” she says.
    No way “You had a boyfriend before Dad?” I squeal.
    “Yes, dear.”
    Miri and I study the picture. He has short, curly dark hair and a big smile. “He’s cute,” I say.
    Miri asks, “Is he a warlock?”
    “Yup.”
    This is all too much. “Other men, other name…. Who are you?”
    Mom clucks her tongue. “I did have a life before you were born, you know.”
    Apparently! “How long did you go out with him exactly?”
    “I don’t know … about five years?”
    “What?” I shriek.
    “We met a few months before my Sam, and we stayed together until I was about eighteen.”
    “That’s forever,” Miri says, folding her legs underneath her. “I can’t believe you never told us about him!”
    “Have you seen him since? Did you love him? Did you guys—” I’m about to say “make out,” but I decide I don’t want to know the answer to that. At all. Yuck. So instead, I say, “Break up?” which makes no sense. Obviously they broke up.
    Miri snorts. “No, they got married.”
    “He wanted to get married,” Mom says. “But I wanted to go to college.”
    “No way,” I say. “I can’t believe another guy proposed to you before Dad. At eighteen. Yikes.”
    “Things were different back then. Witches got married young. I wanted to excommunicate myself from the world of witchcraft; he wanted to get more involved…. My mother wanted me to marry him, of course.”
    “Why?” Miri’s eyes are wide.
    “She wanted me to avoid the problems she’d had by marrying a norlock. That’s a—”
    “We