Worst Love Spell Ever! by Wanda Coven

Author:Wanda Coven
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon Spotlight
Published: 2023-08-29T00:00:00+00:00

Now Ms. Langley is going to call on somebody else! I slink down in my seat and stare intently at my lap.

Please don’t pick me! PLEASE don’t pick me!

My prayer of pleading works. She doesn’t pick me! She chooses Hunter! I sit back up because I don’t want to miss a single word!

Hunter walks to the front of the classroom. He doesn’t look nervous either. Meanwhile, Melanie slides the scrunchie off her ponytail. Her gorgeous blond hair tumbles down past her shoulders. She swings her head from side to side like I did this morning to get Hunter’s attention.

Note to self: the hair swish should be added to Melanie’s Guide to Flirting.

Hunter begins to read his poem, so I shush my inner dialogue.

“My poem is called ‘Joyful,’ ” he says.

Joyful? I think. Wow. I didn’t know boys wrote poems about being joyful. I stare at Hunter adoringly and hang on his every word.

“Joyful looks like a home run going over the wall. It smells like buttered popcorn. It sounds like a crowd cheering. It feels like a new leather baseball glove. It tastes like a hot dog with lots of mustard. It makes me feel great.”

This time the whole class claps, including me.

But Melanie gets the prize for clapping the loudest.

I wish she would just relax!

I’m completely lost in thought when Ms. Langley calls on me.

Help!

Ambush!

How did I briefly forget that I might have to stand before my peers and spill my guts? My mouth feels cottony, just like it did on the first day of school.

What if I can’t talk?

It’s not like I need two embarrassing experiences in one day.

Thank goodness I didn’t do my poem on jealousy.

Embarrassing!

But my poem isn’t upbeat, like Melanie’s and Hunter’s. It’s weird, dark, and chaotic. If my poem were a drawing, it would be a bunch of squiggles.

“Take it away, Rapunzel!” Caden shouts.

This comment unravels me even more. At least he didn’t call me Hairy Heidi like I heard Tate did.

Somehow amid the mocking, the angst, and the terror, I stand up.

My hands are shaking. My legs feel wobbly.

I think I might throw up, but I make it to the front of the classroom. I look out at my classmates.

Just get it over with, Heidi. I take a deep breath and go for it.

“My poem is called ‘Stress.’ ”

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