LOVE’S SPELL

By Q. Kelly

LOVE'S SPELL

Blurb: Ava Van Dorn doesn’t believe in magic, but she believes in possibilities. So, she figures trying a love spell her grandmother left her won’t hurt. Worst case: her life will stay the same. Best case: her fellow second-grade teacher James Friedlander will fall in love with her, and they’ll live happily ever after.

Except…oops!

Ava accidentally places the spell on her principal, Libby Lubbock. Libby is wrestling with her own issues in the love department, namely the fact that she’s deciding whether to give her ex a second chance after the ex cheated. Libby is beginning to think she’s the type who is better off single.

The spell can be undone, but it requires Ava and Libby getting to know each other better. Lots better. Libby agrees to the undo because no way does she want to fall in love with Ava if she can help it. However, perhaps the last paragraph in a letter Ava's grandmother wrote is right: “Why all these crazy steps? My great-great grandmother, the witch, strongly believed that things happen for a reason. This time with the ‘wrong person’ will help determine if the wrong person might be the right person, after all.”

Can Libby and Ava cast a love spell that has nothing to do with abracadabra magic and everything to do with the magic of true love?

Thanks and acknowledgements

I dedicate this novella to my wife, Melanie, to our cats, Dopey and Flirt, and to our dog, Chester. Dopey died during the writing of this novella, which is ironic in a way because the character of Mrs. Purr was already in full force as a combination of Dopey and Flirt. In Mrs. Purr, part of Dopey will always live on. Part of Flirt, too. I don’t believe in abracadabra magic, but there is no denying that after Dopey died, Flirt (who is a year younger than Dopey) started taking on many of Dopey’s behaviors—behaviors Flirt had never done. Who knows, maybe magic does exist.

Thank you to all my readers. I mean everyone, including the people who have bought my books and the people who take the time to review them and/or email me. I owe a special debt of gratitude to my editorial readers as well as my beta readers. They include my wife and then (in no particular order!) Dar, Nicki Wachner, Lee Fitzsimmons and Linda S. North.

I also owe a bunch of thanks to Leigh Ann Britt, who has always been there for last-minute cover jams. She’s helped me out of quite a few tight spots! Thank you, Leigh.

Ride the Rainbow Books

www.ridetherainbowbooks.com

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead or actual events is coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced without the permission of the author.

Love’s Spell

Copyright © 2012 by Q. Kelly

Cover image copyright © Hasloo Group Production Studio via Shutterstock

Q. Kelly on the Web:

http://qkellybooks.com

Email: yllek_q@yahoo.com

Q. Kelly's Novels

Waiting

Strange Bedfellows

The Odd Couple

All in the Family

Switch

Third

Q. Kelly's Novellas

The Girl Prince and Her Princess

Love’s Spell

Q. Kelly's Short-Story Collections

Cupid Pulls a Prank and Other Lesbian Tales

The Old Woman and Other Lesbian Stories

Miss Lucy Parker and Other Short Stories

Table of Contents

Blurb

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Check out Q. Kelly’s Other Works

CHAPTER ONE—AVA’S TURN

I didn’t believe in magic, especially the type of magic necessitating a mixture of eye of newt, sheep gut, thistles of grass, slime of toad, wart of wench, that gross stuff. Yet here I was, about to try a magic spell. Why the heck not? The spell wasn’t nasty, and trying never hurt. Besides, I did believe in hope. In possibilities.

Worst case: my life would stay the same. Best case: James Friedlander would fall in love with me, and we’d live happily ever after.

“Wish me luck, Grandma,” I muttered, lifting my gaze to the ceiling. My grandmother, Harriet Bynes, died last year and left me the spell. She wouldn’t have done that if she believed the spell was bogus.

Alas, Grandma did not beam benevolently at me from above. A brownish water spot did. It welcomed me when I started at Leviston Elementary three years ago. You’d think someone would’ve gotten rid of it by now, but no. Instead, the spot had expanded in all directions and acquired a certain level of blobness. I called it Bob. You  know, Bob the Blob. Blobby Bob.

I pasted on a smile and peeked into James’s classroom. He sat at his desk—probably marking papers. “Hey,” I called.

James looked up and flashed his trademark dimpled smile. “Hey!” Normally, his smile and his voice caused my knees to go weak. Not now. Not when anxiety threatened to shut my stomach down. Escaping into my own classroom, next to James’s, would be easy. Too easy. A coward’s way out. Students had gone home fifteen minutes ago, and the time to cast the spell was now or never. I willed my jumbling nerves to straighten, but they rocked and knotted more. In a way, I enjoyed the sensation—the feel of a giddy adventure to come.

“What’s up?” James asked, and I stepped into the classroom. James and I were Leviston Elementary School’s second-grade teachers. He was incredible with kids, the best teacher I had met—better than even myself. It took me a while to get used to a man teaching such young kids, but no creepy aura surrounded James. His wife died a few years ago, and emotion still choked James’s voice when he talked about her. He was a man who would treat the woman he loved right.

Plus, the guy defined drop-dead gorgeous. Sandy blond hair, twinkling green eyes, a smooth, white smile showcasing dimples. Gym workouts and running kept his thirty-five-year-old body hot and humming. I’d treated him to dinner and a movie twice last school year. Not dates. Not technically. They couldn’t be because I suggested them, paid for everything and got nary a kiss for my efforts. Yeah, sue me. I’m old-fashioned. I like someone to woo me, to court me, to pay for me.

No wooing occurred. I didn’t interest James—apparently.

“Just checking up,” I said. “You know. The email. You doing okay?”

James rolled his eyes. “I refuse to let Louise Avery get to me. We met for one minute last week. One! If she wants to base that kind of decision on such a short meeting, that’s her loss.”

“Good for you. It really is her loss. Harley’s, rather.” School policy dictated placing twins in separate classrooms, but earlier that day, Mrs. Louise Avery, mother of Haley and Harley, had shot off an email to James, me and our principal, Libby Lubbock: I’m uncomfortable with a man teaching my seven-year-old daughter. Let’s talk about placing Harley with Haley.

“I have a surprise,” I said. “Hope it cheers you up.”

James beamed. “You’re the best.”

Now for the spell. It was quite simple. All I had to do at this point was recite the words: I want this person to fall in love with me, o gods, please have this person fall in love with me forever and ever. I could say the words out loud or mentally. Didn’t matter. Then I had to touch the person of my desire in the next minute—before I touched anyone else. Before anyone else touched me.

I proffered my surprise, a package of Reese’s Cups. “Ta-da!” I stepped forth and ran through the words in my head: I want this person to fall in love with me, o gods, please have this person fall in love with me forever and ever.

CLICK CLACK! Tight, smart high heels sounded behind me, and the principal, Libby Lubbock, swept into the classroom.

“Perfect! You’re both here,” Libby said. “We need to talk about Louise Avery and set up a meeting.” Libby’s arm brushed my arm, a slight brush of her skin against mine. My brain whirred. Blared. Big time. Libby gliding past me, our arms touching, the…

My legs wobbled. No. Oh no. Not Libby.

I rushed over to James and jammed the candy into his hand. I didn’t care if the touch was obvious. Please, please! Spell gods, whoever you are, I’m touching James now! This man, not Libby, is the person I want to fall in love with me. Listen! Listen!

*****

When I got home, my cat, Mrs. Purr, non-greeted me. All Mrs. Purr does is sleep, eat and poop. Forget about greeting. Yeah, I love that fleabag.

“Oh, Mrs. Purr,” I moaned, scooping the plump twelve-year-old tuxedo cat into my arms. “Good thing I don’t believe in magic, huh?” I carried the cat into my bedroom and set her on the bed. Grandma left me not just the spell, but also her beloved Mrs. Purr. Out loud, I hated the cat’s name. I would never name a pet Mrs. Purr! Secretly, I loved it. Tacky beyond belief. In other words, typical Grandma.

I opened the bottom drawer of my nightstand and shoved aside a few self-pleasure toys. Yeah, sue me again. I masturbate.

Okay, confession time. I’ve never had an orgasm with someone else. Alone, yes, sure. Easily. No problem. But when I’m with someone, my mind clamps up. My body, too. I can’t let go. I worry about stuff like: Should I touch him here now? Should I kiss him now? Is he having fun? Once, I had a boyfriend who loved going down on me. Mostly, I worried about if his jaw was getting tired and why the sensations didn’t feel all that great. After five to ten minutes, I faked orgasm.

Yeah, sue me a third time. I fake in bed.

I drew out the letter explaining the spell. I read and re-read the instructions, hoping a simpler “undo” element would somehow appear. Nope. Same words as always, same convoluted undo method:

My dear Ava,

You always wondered how your grandfather and I had such a happy marriage. Luck, I told you. Luck and hard work. That’s partially true, but what I could never reveal is that there’s more. Much more. My great-great grandmother was a witch. She left a love spell to my grandmother, who in turn left it to me. The spell only works if the person who previously enacted it is dead, so you see how skipping two or three generations at a time serves it well.

You and I never talked about magic, and I doubt you believe in it. In fact, I’m not sure I do, except for this one spell. Your grandfather couldn’t be bothered to pay one iota of attention to me.

Until the spell.

It works, my dear. It certainly does work.

You have so much love to give, and yet your heart keeps getting broken. Here is the spell to remedy all that.

Above all, remember: Choose carefully and kindly. This is a person who will truly be in love with you. You’d do well to not break up any marriages. Karma’ll get you.

The morning of the day you wish to conduct the spell, you must either bathe or shower. Doesn’t matter, but get wet all over to purify your body. Sometime in the next twelve hours, get near the person you wish to spend your life with. Say these words (can be in your head or aloud): “I want this person to fall in love with me, o gods, please have this person fall in love with me forever and ever.”

Then touch the person within sixty seconds. Has to be skin to skin. Touching his clothes doesn’t count. The quantity or quality of the touch is a nonissue as long as some part of your skin touches some part of his skin. Be careful, for if another person happens by and touches you first…

The wrong person will fall in love with you. More on this later.

The spell takes one week to go into effect. So, one week exactly after you touch the person, he will fall head over heels in love with you.

I wish you the best of luck, my dear. If, for some reason, you wish not to use this spell and want to give it to someone else, you must give it to a woman of our blood. Otherwise, it won’t work. Alternatively, if you decide this spell is best never used again, I trust your judgment in burning these instructions and leaving this secret forever in the past.

I hope you don’t, though. This can be a gift of happiness through a long line of our women.

I love you, Ava Elizabeth Van Dorn. Live long, live happily and prosper.

Find the love of your life.

Fondly,

Grandmother Harriet

P.S. If the wrong person touches you or you accidentally touch the wrong person, the spell can be undone. You will then have ONE MORE TRY. Only that one more shot, so be careful.

Steps to undo the spell: ACT QUICKLY! Remember that the spell takes one week to go into effect. After it is in effect, IT CANNOT BE UNDONE.

First, you and the wrong person must set aside a block of alone time—at least twelve uninterrupted hours that include nighttime/sleeping time. First, you’ll exchange gifts. You give him an item of sentimental value to you, and vice versa. This is a forever exchange.

Afterward, you and the wrong person spend the night together. This doesn’t mean sex, though that can happen. It simply means you sleep in the same bed together. In the morning, awaken, get naked if you’re not already, get in water for purification (bath or shower) and kiss while reciting in BOTH your heads: “I want the spell broken, o gods, please break this spell forever and ever.”

Obviously, you must have the wrong person’s cooperation.

Why all these crazy steps? My great-great grandmother, the witch, strongly believed that things happen for a reason. This time with the “wrong person” will help determine if the wrong person might be the right person, after all.

Other undo and reverse spells will not work.

“Mrrrrow!” Mrs. Purr.

“Yeah, yeah. Be right with you.” I folded the instructions, shoved them back into the drawer, and changed out of my school clothes. Today was a Thursday, the second day of school with students. It’d passed in a whirlwind, both because of the chaos of kids and because of my nervousness about the spell. The spell I had spectacularly screwed up.

Mrs. Purr followed me into the kitchen, where I kept her food and water. Both bowls were half full, but Mrs. Purr was a picky cat. Freshness was important to her. I dumped her old water and added new, cold water. I also emptied the cat food into its larger container and scooped a new bowlful.

Mrs. Purr got to eating and drinking happily, and I flopped onto the couch.

Libby.

Freaking Libby Lubbock, of all people!

I could no longer avoid thinking about her. To say we had a checkered history might be an understatement. Okay, maybe not. Our history was something thousands of other pairs had in common. In high school, we were friends. Not best friends, but okayish friends. More of friends of friends, and we hung out in groups. However, we almost always sat together. Almost always had our legs touching. Our hands touching, even if just a little. We laughed a bit harder at each other’s jokes than at other people’s jokes.

Then one night, Libby came to my house. She said she liked me. More than liked me. She’d fallen in love with me, and she asked if I liked her back.

Well, hell. What was I supposed to say? I was seventeen years old, had all this new information to process, and my poor, addled brain wasn’t up to the task. However, my body knew I liked being with her and touching her. So, I replied: “Y-yes.”

Her eyes lit up. She tried to kiss me, and when my brain did catch up, I pushed her away in the middle of our kiss. I called her a lesbian. A dyke. A whore. A freak.

Our friendship was over. Libby stopped hanging out with the group.

I suppose surprise, confusion, stupidity and youth are decent excuses, but still. Fast forward twenty years, and these high school days lingered like trip wire between me and Libby. Unspoken, invisible, always there.

There—last year when I realized who she was, this new principal with the blond hair and blue-green eyes. There when she realized who I was, there when she extended her hand and said: “I’m Libby Lubbock,” and I replied: “I’m Ava Van Dorn. I teach second-grade. Nice to meet you,” and we played strangers in front of all these people.

There—in our silent exchange: We’ll pretend and not speak of it.

There—every time in a staff meeting when I watched her instead of the person speaking at the moment. There when she caught me watching her. There in the subsequent, slight narrowing of her eyes, there in the way I quickly diverted my gaze.

There—in the way we e-mailed when possible rather than meet in person.

There—in our brisk and abrupt conversations when we did meet in person.

There—in the way the two of us were never alone with each other in the break room.

There—because I didn’t have the stones to apologize for calling her a dyke, a freak and a whore.

Her mouth had been on mine. My tongue had been on hers. And then my mouth and tongue hurt her inexcusably. But hell if we would ever admit it.

Or maybe I was projecting my thoughts, my insecurities onto her. Maybe she’d moved on long ago, and no true need existed for me to apologize.

Libby’s face was lean, thin, her jawline well defined. All the roundness from high school, both on her face and body, had disappeared. The principal was a good-looking woman: long blond hair she usually kept in a bun, wire-rimmed glasses, overly professional attire always. Maybe Libby had turned out to be a lesbian. Or not. I had no idea and doubted any of the teachers did. Libby kept a practiced distance between herself and us. She was a stickler for rules and fairness. She showed me no disdain or hostility. No genuine warmth, either. She treated me the same as she treated the other teachers: crisp, cool and professional all the way. Working under Libby required adjustments that carried a lot of unspoken communication, but it was what it was. At least Libby was consistent. No surprises with her.

Until now. Until the momentum of Libby’s steps caused her arm to brush mine.

Libby Lubbock in love with me in one week? Not just that, but in love with me…again?

My stomach tightened. How could this be happening? How could I hurt her like this a second time? Did the universe hate us or something?

Rrrring!

Rrrring!

The display on my cellphone showed that my best friend, fifth-grade teacher Kimberly Noyans, was calling. We started at Leviston the same year and had been thick as thieves since.

“Hey, Kimmie,” I said.

“How did it go?” Kimmie’s question came in a rush of breathless excitement. She was thirty years old and married her sweetheart right out of high school. They had three kids ages eight, six and four. Kimmie professed to love Brian, her husband, but I could tell no spark remained in their marriage.

“I messed up,” I admitted with a sigh.

“Messed up? No way! You had it all planned. Even the candy.”

“Yeah, well.” I kept replaying the burn of Libby’s arm against mine. And twenty years ago, Libby closing her eyes and bringing her mouth to mine. “I had the, you know, the Reese’s Cups. I said the spell in my head, and I was walking over to James. Then all of a sudden, Libby gusts into the classroom and touches me.”

Kimmie gasped. “Principal Libby? Skin to skin?”

“Her arm brushed mine,” I confirmed, never gladder that Kimmie had no idea of my history with Libby.

“Wow. That’s…” Kimmie laughed. “Libby, huh? Interesting. Well, hey. You know the spell wasn’t real. Nothing would’ve happened. Nothing will happen.”

“I wanted James to fall for me.”

“I know, hon. And he will. You’ll just have to lure him the old-fashioned way. Take him out a third time and kiss him! Assert yourself. Knock him over the head and drag him home.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Kimmie chuckled. “Look on the bright side. If Libby falls in love with you, you’ll get monster pay raises, monster bonuses and monster vacation time. You can be late whenever. Jet overnight from Paris, show up at school a minute before the bell rings.”

“That might work if traffic cooperates,” I said dryly. Don’t get me wrong. I loved teaching at Leviston, which is in Arlington, Virginia. But I didn’t love the traffic and the D.C.-area drivers. I kept to my comfortable home and school radius as much as possible. Otherwise, I took the Metro, which presented its own long list of cons.

“You’ll have your own jet and private airport right next to school,” Kimmie teased.

“Gee, thanks. Never realized principals got paid so well. Maybe I’ll name my private plane The Libby.”

“There ya go! That’s the spirit. Look, the undo method isn’t too bad. Spend time with Libby, get naked and kiss, right? I bet Libby’s hot under all her uppity clothes. Girl, you could’ve done worse. Much worse.”

A hammer thwacked away at my conscience. Oh, Kimmie. If only you knew about me and Libby in high school. “Libby would sooner fire me than get naked with me. She wouldn’t understand. She’s the principal!”

“Show her your grandma’s letter and explain. She might agree to an undo.”

I scoffed. “Nah. Like you said, the spell isn’t real. I’m gonna keep my mouth shut. I should’ve never tried it in the first place.”

CHAPTER TWO—LIBBY’S TURN

A hearse greeted me as I steered my Camry into the garage. Shit! Shit! Ellen and her impeccable timing. I muttered more curses under my breath and peeked into the back of the hearse. Empty. Good. No bodies in my garage, thank you very much.

Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against dead bodies. I don’t think they’re going to rise and BOO! me. My garage isn’t the place for bodies, simple as that. And okay, maybe I lied. Maybe a tiny irrational part of me fears they’ll grab me and strangle me. Ellen admitted once she has that fear. Said it makes her job as a funeral director more exciting.

Yeah.

Give me my principal job any day. Bring on the crazy!

Today at work had been nuts, no doubt. Only the second day of school with students, and a long list of problems presented itself. The most sticky issue: James Friedlander and Louise Avery. I hoped the meeting tomorrow after school would proceed smoothly. I felt bad for James. He was a great guy, one of my best teachers, and Louise seemed like one of these parents who…

No.

I refused to think negatively about my students’ parents. Louise Avery simply needed to get to know James.

My resentment at Ellen and her hearse escalated as I turned the doorknob to the house. I had been planning to de-stress for a few minutes before going back out. I deserved to de-stress, didn’t I, considering I was coming home at five-thirty? Ellen didn’t live here anymore. How could she think she possessed the right to park her hearse in the garage and sashay into the house?

“Ellen!” I hollered as I entered. My gaze landed on a heart-shaped box of chocolates and a card propped on the kitchen counter. And then on Ellen, her blue eyes shining.

“Libby. You’re home, finally.”

I willed myself to ignore these eyes I knew all too well, these eyes I fell in love with ten years ago. “Ellen, what are you—you know you can’t be—the hearse!”

“Libby.” Ellen reached for my hands, but I drew back. And took pleasure in the flinch that crossed Ellen’s expression.

Ellen took a deep breath and tried again. “Sorry about the hearse, but my car’s in the shop. I went to the store and bought chicken and stuff. I figured I’d grill and cook you a nice dinner so you could relax after a long day at work.” She peered into my face. “It was a long day, wasn’t it?”

“You let yourself in my house.”

“My name’s on the title too,” Ellen protested.

“We agreed that you wouldn’t—”

“I know,” Ellen said in a rush. “I just…I love you. That’s never gone away, and it never will.”

“Excuse me a moment.” In my bedroom, I changed into jeans and a polo shirt. My heart furled and unfurled in a sort of angry love. I’d met Ellen Abernathy ten years ago on a blind date, and we fell in love hard, fast and furious. Then last year, I arrived home a day early from a seminar out of town.

I caught Ellen in bed with another woman. I kicked Ellen out, and Ellen tried to make a go of it with the other woman. Eventually, though, just when I was about to stop crying every day and just when my heart thought it might heal, Ellen came back and begged for another chance. I wanted to say no, no, no, but my heart wouldn’t let me. People make mistakes, and Ellen was a wonderful woman. I’d erred my share in the relationship, too. For example, I went back to school to get my doctorate so I could become a principal. Many days, I was too busy to pay attention to Ellen. We rarely talked. I took her for granted. So, I dug within myself for the grace and the desire to give Ellen a second chance.

I told Ellen maybe. I said we’d try becoming friends first and see where that went. Except now Ellen and her hearse had snuck on my damn property. And Ellen planned on cooking me dinner. Sweet, kind of, but not something a friend would do. Besides, I had plans with true friends.

I tossed the clothes I’d worn earlier that day into the laundry hamper. What to pick for school tomorrow? I settled on a pair of black pants and a green V-neck shirt that would bring out my eyes. It’d add oomph to my chest as well. I wanted to look extra good for the meeting with Louise Avery. Not because of Louise or James, but because of Ava Van Dorn.

Ava Van Dorn who broke my heart in high school.

I hated that I worked with her. Hated, hated it. I wouldn’t have applied for the principal job if I knew she taught at Leviston. But I guess we both had the same nostalgic thought: work at the elementary school we attended as kids.

I’d moved on from what happened in high school, sure, but who wants to spend day after day with a woman who broke her heart and called her names?

What really ticked me off: some of my old feelings for Ava had returned since my breakup with Ellen. Pathetic, really, but Ava was so cute. And eager to please. With her silky blond hair and deep brown eyes, Ava continued to be one of the most beautiful women I had met, not to mention incredibly brilliant. She did what I asked, no questions. She wasn’t the same person from high school. At least, I’d thought so until today. Now I knew for sure she hadn’t changed. She’d just gotten better at covering up her homophobia.

I couldn’t believe I’d touched Ava earlier. My damn impulses, my damn unconscious. The brush of my arm against Ava’s had filled me with electricity, but Ava drew a sharp breath and fled to James. Shoved Reese’s Cups into his hands. So, obviously, she hadn’t changed, not if the possibility of catching lesbian cooties from an arm touch scared her.

Good thing I hadn’t gotten my hopes up for something to happen between us. For one, I wanted nothing to happen. Ava’s personal involvement in my life stopped the minute she called me freak and whore and didn’t apologize. For two, Ava equaled untouchable. She was an employee and straight. Heterosexual. A batter for the other team. A woman who desired penises. Chubbies. One-eyed snakes. No doubt Ava crushed on James. Seemed every woman at the school did. Every woman except me.

I did wish that Ava would stop looking at me during meetings. What was the point? She hadn’t wanted me back then, and she didn’t want me now.

Except, well. You know. She did want me back then. During the past months, I’d placed hazy memories under a microscope, sharpened them, filtered them, and reached the same conclusion I had in high school.

There was a reason Ava sat with me in groups. A reason she sought me out, a reason she looked at me that way and nudged our hands and legs together. A reason that seventeen-year-old me thought I was safe expressing my feelings to her.

She’d denied me out of fear or whatever. But, yeah, she did want me back then. And now? No, probably not now, but the fact remained that she watched me a lot. If her sexuality confused her, if she’d never reconciled that part of herself, she was woefully mistaken if she thought I’d volunteer for test subjecthood.

“Straight women,” I muttered. “More trouble than they’re worth.”

I strode into the kitchen, purpose and confidence filling me. “Don’t push me, Ellen. We have to do this slow, and you must respect me.”

Wide blue eyes from Ellen. “I wanted to surprise you. Keep you from overdosing on microwave dinners.”

I sighed. “I know. I know, baby, okay? But the timing is wrong.” Baby? No. No.

“I’m heading back out,” I continued briskly. “It’s Richard’s birthday, and I’m meeting him, Miguel and some others for dinner.”

“Oh.”

Oh. Such a simple word conveying a multitude of complexities. My resolve crumbled a bit. I took a step toward Ellen and then another, until we stood only inches apart. “I appreciate the thought. Maybe another night.”

“Sure.” Ellen opened the refrigerator and piled food into plastic bags.

“I’ll keep the chocolates,” I said. “Thank you.”

Ellen’s lips formed a tight goodbye smile. “Hope you like the card. Have fun tonight.”

My thoughts raced. I couldn’t believe I was sending Ellen away, Ellen whom I’d loved ten years and whom I would probably never stop loving in my own way.

But I let the woman who might be the love of my life get into her hearse and drive away.

*****

Dinner went pretty well. Miguel, Richard’s boyfriend, presented him with a gift certificate for a day at the spa, just the two of them. I wondered sometimes where good ol’ cynical Richard had gone. Did my longtime friend from college lurk somewhere inside lovey-dovey Richard? The man used to be pretentious and haughty in his confidence that love and relationships were for suckers. That was a big reason he never warmed to Ellen—she turned me into goo ten years ago. Then three years ago, Richard met Miguel and claimed love literally at first sight. “I saw him across the room,” Richard recited dreamily many times, “and my heart knew.”

At least Richard hadn’t turned into one of these setter-upper people after my breakup with Ellen. My mother was one of these people. Lib! My friend’s daughter’s cousin would be perfect for you! Here’s a picture of her. How about a date, eh?

How many times did I have to explain that I was not ready for a new relationship and might never be? I did value my work and my own space. Maybe a reason lurked behind work encroaching on my life with Ellen. Maybe I wasn’t meant for relationships. They had a way of sapping identity and individuality. Casual sexual encounters and the occasional fuck buddy seemed appealing.

Of course here I was, trying to give Ellen a second chance. And I hadn’t told my mother and Richard. They’d kill me. Ah well.

When would Richard and Miguel break up? Perhaps never. They might live together the rest of their lives, apparently happy on the surface, but at some point, their relationship would crack and die inside. It might start with a handsome, strapping new co-worker, or it might start when Richard tired of Miguel leaving his socks around, or when the excitement of sex vanished.

Happen one day, it would. Like with me and Ellen.

So why in the world was I contemplating a second chance with Ellen? Hope? Hope that perhaps, just perhaps, Ellen and I would beat the odds? After all, if a woman has nothing to look forward to, nothing to hope about, what is the point of living? Maybe that also explained the return of my feelings for Ava. Sure, nothing would happen. But what-ifs prove tantalizing.

*****

When I got home, I opened the card from Ellen. WORLD’S BEST PRINCIPAL! the front bleated. Inside, Ellen had written: You really are the world’s best principal. The kids are lucky to have you, and so am I—even if you’re just a friend. Being a principal is your calling. I see that now. I’m sorry I wasn’t more supportive when you went back to school for your doctorate. I love you, Libby. Always. Xoxo

I stuck the card in the trash and pretended my heart swelled with acid reflux and not love. Then I went for a quick jog. Afterward, I ducked in the shower. As the spray of water stung me, my thoughts found Ellen again. Her card, her hurt expression when she reached for me and I drew away. I did miss Ellen, no two ways about it. Maybe when I got a minute during the day tomorrow, I’d call her and suggest we try the dinner sooner rather than later.

After showering, I perused my closet. What had I been thinking, wanting to look extra nice for Ava? No. Wrong idea. Ava didn’t give a gooey, messy brown crap about me.

Ellen did.

I replaced the clothes I chose earlier with gray slacks, a white shirt and a plain black cardigan. I must never hint that Ava Van Dorn still interested me romantically. For sure, no more touches would occur.

CHAPTER THREE—AVA’S TURN

James poked his head in my classroom at seven-twenty, a few minutes before students arrived. “Hey, Ava. Good morning.”

“Morning.” I searched his expression for telltale signals that the spell was on its way to working. For signs that I hadn’t messed up with Libby. I saw nothing unusual, but then a person suddenly in love would struggle, right? If, big if, the spell had worked already on James, surely he wouldn’t drop to his knees, declare his love for me and propose marriage right then and there. He’d be feeling conflicted. Wondering where his sudden emotions came from.

I hoped that Libby wouldn’t ride such a roller coaster six days from now. Stop! Of course she won’t.

“Hope you have a good morning,” James said. “See ya at lunch.”

“Can’t wait.” A semi-sarcastic response. During the first week of school, teachers eat with the kids to make sure they behave, understand the rules and such.

“Thanks again for the Reese’s Cups. They make everything better, don’t they?”

“They sure do.”

The first bell rang, and before long, kids streamed and streamed into my classroom. I had twenty students this year. Pretty good kids, but then kids that age are. By middle school, or fourth grade even, all bets fly off.

I reminded the students where to hang their backpacks and to get their take-home folders out. I’d put coloring paper on the students’ desks to prevent idleness. The first week of school is vital in establishing classroom management, procedures and routines. Very little content is taught, but a good deal of pre-testing occurs.

Once the students were settled, I took attendance. Haley Avery could barely meet my gaze. She was a shy child, at least so far. James claimed that her twin sister was more outgoing. The family had moved to the Leviston district over the summer, and I hoped that if Harley switched to my class, Haley wouldn’t clam up even further. However, dynamics are crazy, sometimes unpredictable. Maybe far from clamming up, Haley would open up because she’d have a familiar anchor close by.

After attendance, I announced the day’s lunch selections (chicken nuggets and French fries or meatloaf and mashed potatoes), and took lunch count.

So far, so good.

*****

At one p.m., I guided my students into the auditorium for an assembly. Libby fiddled with the microphone on the stage, and I studied her: her breasts, her curves, the swell of her butt. In high school, she’d been gregarious. A jokester. Laughed a lot. What was Libby like these days with her friends? Did she have many? What was she like as a lover? I tried imagining her with a man but couldn’t. Libby would probably be with a woman, wouldn’t she? True, her attraction to me could’ve been a one-time thing or a phase or…well, whatever. Imagining Libby with a man simply didn’t jibe right now.

I likened my own romantic interest in women to Holland—a country no doubt gorgeous and a great place to visit. If, for some reason, I ever went there, I would probably enjoy the trip. But I possessed no desire to visit Holland. It was a far-off place with big windmills and hard, weird shoes. What’s more, I didn’t care enough to turn to Wikipedia or Google to find out if my perception of windmills and shoes was accurate.

You know what?

The fact that I’d gone as far as to analyze a non-entity—my lack of romantic attraction to women—should have told me something. Should have at least implied that I did possess such attractions but was too scared or too ignorant to face up to it. For example, do you ponder your lack of romantic interest in, say, keyboards or horses? No, of course not—and if you do, that probably indicates keyboards or horses do interest you romantically. You just don’t want to admit it.

Kimmie’s jaw would drop if she found out I’d glimpsed Holland with Libby. I should’ve let our kiss take its natural course. Should’ve reacted thoughtfully and kindly to Libby’s declaration of love for me. It had just been so…unexpected. It touched something weird and warm inside me. Something I didn’t like to think about even now. Libby startled me!

Now I was thirty-seven. More mature.

I imagined Libby with a woman.

Me.

I imagined Libby and me performing the undo. Us naked in the shower. Kissing our second and last kiss. Yeah, Libby was hot. A straight blind woman would know that. In a way, the distance between Libby and the teachers made her even hotter. Mysterious. Complicated.

I tried to look on the greener side. Undoing the spell provided the impetus I needed to apologize. It also would bring Libby and me full circle. Libby would get the kiss she went in for years ago.

But.

In order to apologize, I’d have to think about our high school kiss and my feelings for women. I’d rather go to Siberia and blindfold myself when the plane flew over Holland. I’d spent twenty years avoiding the fact that I said: “Y-yes” and meant it. I’d spent twenty years avoiding the fact that I loved the kiss. I’d spent twenty years telling myself that I liked men. Men only. And I did. Didn’t I? It wasn’t like my parents would hate me or anything if I came out as gay, so I really had no reason to “hide.”

Damn Grandma and her letter. Meddling from beyond the grave.

An ear-splitting squeal sounded, and I snapped to attention. “Bobby, don’t pull Jolene’s hair!”

“She started it!” Bobby cried.

Crackle. Crackle. The microphone. Libby beamed. “Good afternoon, students,” she said warmly. “Welcome back for a great new year! Are you excited? I know I am!”

*****

My last student got on his bus at two-thirty, and I breathed in relief. The Louise Avery meeting was in ten minutes, and then I could go home, blissfully home, and wallow in self-pity while Mrs. Purr ignored me.

Or, if Libby’s mood during the meeting seemed good, I could work up the guts to talk to her about our delicate situation. Whip out a nice, bland apology that didn’t require deep, Holland-ish thought.

I spied Kimmie near the last departing bus and sidled up to her. “Boo!” I said, nudging Kimmie in the ribs.

“Hoo!” Kimmie replied with a grin. “Walk back with me?”

“Sure.”

We ambled to Kimmie’s classroom. She closed the door behind us and gave me a sly look. “So, is our dear principal head over heels in love with you yet?”

I groaned. “Of course not. Remember even if the spell is real, it doesn’t take effect for a week.”

Kimmie shrugged. “You never know. Get one word wrong, and maybe she falls in love with you right away.”

“Libby Lubbock is not in love with me, Kimmie.”

Kimmie started erasing blue words on her whiteboard. “You’re gonna risk letting her fall in love with you because you’re too scared to ask for an undo.”

“Oh, Kimmie. She’s the principal. I barely know her. How do I ask her to get naked with me?”

Kimmie turned and winked. “Seems like that’ll account for half the fun.”

“Then you go after her.”

“Ah, I would, but…” Kimmie smirked and flashed her wedding ring.

Yeah. Being married. The answer to everything, good, bad and in between.

“I bet Libby could get you to come for once,” Kimmie said. “The big O.” She breathed in dramatically, panted, panted and heaved like she was, well, climaxing.

“Kimmie!”

A devilish grin. “Sorry.” Meaning she wasn’t sorry. What are best friends for if not to pick on your lack of orgasms during sex, right? So, I patted Kimmie on the shoulder, told her to work on her acting skills, and left the woman to her devices.

*****

Louise Avery’s perfume attacked my nostrils. Damn, give me a frightened skunk any day over that poison gas. Anyway, Louise Avery was a blonde. A blonde with suspiciously long, brown hair roots and suspiciously pert breasts. Her face possessed an unnerving stiffness. From Botox or one too many plastic surgeries? She reminded me of Stifler’s mom from the “American Pie” movies.

Tsk tsk. Perish these thoughts.

I hate when I judge. I really do, but I can’t help it. That’s because I don’t judge consciously. These views simply pop up in my head. They’re there, usually waving proud freak flags, before I can do anything about them.

Consciously, I said in my head: Sorry, Louise. Odds are I’m way more pathetic than you. Not that you’re pathetic.

James held out his hand. “Mrs. Avery.”

Louise allowed a slight smile and gripped his hand. “Mr. Friedlander.”

Libby indicated me. “I don’t think you’ve met Ava Van Dorn.”

“Hello, Mrs. Avery,” I said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Sorry we missed each other last week.”

“Well,” Libby said after the four of us were seated, “thank you for taking the time to come in.”

Louise glowered. “Harley’s my daughter. Of course I’d make the time for her.”

“Of course,” Libby echoed in a murmur. “Now, just to be sure that we understand your concerns, you think Harley shouldn’t be in James’s class.”

“That’s right. Why is it such a big deal? Is a meeting necessary?”

Libby measured Louise for a moment before answering. “Yes. As you know, school policy is that we place twins and siblings in separate classrooms. It allows them to develop, to grow, to explore the world more. Having your twins in separate—”

“Quadruplets.”

“Pardon?”

Louise sat back in her chair. “If I had quadruplets, or even triplets, what would you—pardon me, the school—do?”

Libby forced her lips to curl into a smile, and I thought: Oh, Louise. You’re going there? Really? Well, we’d rocket the extra child or two to the moon to be educated, that’s what we’d do.

“Mrs. Avery,” Libby said with an admirable degree of calm, “if you had quadruplets, logistics would force us to place two in each classroom.”

I added: And chasing them around would exhaust you so much you wouldn’t complain about a male teacher.

“So in some situations, you’re okay putting siblings in the same classroom,” Louise proclaimed.

“Yes, you’re correct. If matters call for it, we’ll do it. And I’m not saying we’re refusing to here. We want you to be comfortable with the people teaching your children, Mrs. Avery. But will you please give James a few minutes to explain why he became a teacher? Then we can discuss what I have in mind for Harley.”

Louise pressed her lips in a thin line. “Fine.”

“My mother is a retired teacher,” James began. “She was a single mom, and she kept saying that I should be a teacher because fatherless boys like me needed role models.”

I’d heard this story before, and my heart ached. Stupid me. Stupid Ava, messing up a chance with the perfect man.

James continued: “When I was a boy, you can bet being a teacher was the furthest thing from my mind. I wanted to be an astronaut. Or a cowboy. A baseball player. A teacher, pfft! Men weren’t supposed to be teachers. Or nurses. In college, I started dating a woman named Wendy, and she…” His voice dropped. “She was majoring in education. She and my mom got along great, and don’t you know it, they persuaded me to take one, just one education class. Guess what? I loved it! I ended up changing my major, and here I am.” His expression intensified. “Mrs. Avery, I realize a male teacher in elementary school is unusual, and I don’t blame you for being cautious. Look at all the scandals. Priests molesting boys and girls under their care. It’s awful. It’s shameful. But I’m not that guy. I love the kids, but I’m also aware what it means to be a male teacher. I keep my distance from the kids in a way Ava doesn’t have to. It’s a fact of the job.”

Louise nodded slowly. “What happened to Wendy?”

“How did you know something had?”

“Your face. Your voice. My husband died a couple of years ago.”

“I know. Your daughter talked about her father earlier today. She drew a picture. Let me see…” James plucked a drawing from his desk and gave it to Louise. “My Wendy died a few years ago, and teaching helps me honor her. I feel closer to her, like she’s with me. Like she’s teaching with me.”

Louise’s eyes widened. Her thoughts lay bare, at least to me. A man teaching to honor his dead wife! A man who had been so devoted to his wife he would never get over her. Music and a splendid challenge to the ears of a single heterosexual woman, surely.

Libby gave a little cough. “Mrs. Avery, this is what I’m thinking. Give James a week. You’re welcome to drop in anytime, unannounced. Come during school to observe him teaching. Meet with him after school, whatever. If, after a week, you’re still uncomfortable with him teaching Harley, we’ll move her to Ava’s class. Ava’s fine taking on an extra student, right?”

“Yep. And I can tell you, Mrs. Avery, teachers don’t come better than James. He’s great.”

Louise Avery quirked her lips. “All right. One week.”

Idle chitchat ensued for a few moments, then Louise got up to leave. She shook James’s hand again. She let the touch linger. Let her gaze linger, too. Just a bit overlong. James did the same. He liked Louise! Goodness knew why. Maybe because of her dead husband or the XXXXL breasts, or both. Whatever the case, I could tell from the extra shine in his eyes, from the crease in his smile, that James Friedlander liked Louise Avery in a way he didn’t like me. Teachers weren’t prohibited from dating students’ parents, but like teachers dating each other, the practice was strongly discouraged. Not that mere discouragement would stop anyone who wanted it enough.

My stomach sunk. Great, I thought. Crappity crap great!

*****

“Sorry,” Libby whispered as she and I walked out of James’s classroom. “I reckon you like him.”

The sympathy in Libby’s blue-green eyes stabbed my gut. After all I’d done to Libby, and that included not having the courage to apologize at any time this past year, here Libby was, lending me sympathy. Libby, my old friend.

Could we be friends again? Maybe, if I shaped up and apologized.

“Nah, I don’t like him.” Except, yeah, sure, yesterday I tried to cast a spell to make him fall in love with me.

A soft smile from Libby. “Well, I will see you later. Have a good long weekend. Enjoy Labor Day.”

Libby in love with me again, Libby in love with me again given a week…

“Hey, Libby,” I hazarded. “Do you have a minute before you head out?”

Libby put on her I’m-your-concerned-principal expression. “Yes, yes, of course.”

We stayed in the hallway, right outside my door. I cleared my throat, and our kiss haunted me. Vividly. I swear I felt Libby’s velvet softness, tasted the gum in her mouth, smelled the mint of her breath.

Ridiculous, right?

“Libby, about high school…”

She stiffened, and I fought to retain some of my pluck.

“I should have apologized earlier, but I didn’t know how to. We were friends, and then I ruined it. Us. I ruined us. Our friendship.”

Heat stole into Libby’s face. Impossible to tell if she was angry, embarrassed or something else.

“I want to say that I’m sorry for the names I called you. Very sorry. I shouldn’t have waited a year to apologize. Or twenty years.”

More heat in Libby’s face. “But you did.”

I glanced around the hallway. I hated the space all of a sudden, the cheerful yellows, greens, pinks and blues. I lifted my gaze to Blobby Bob, and the urge for a stiff drink overtook me. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. I waited.”

“Oh cripes,” Libby said. “That’s a horrible water spot. How have I not noticed it?”

“I kind of like it. I don’t think it’s hurting anything.”

“I should have maintenance look into it.”

“Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

Libby sighed. “All right. Well, thanks for…you know what? Don’t worry about it. It’s been a long time. We’ve moved on. Stuff happens in high school.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Libby offered a smile, but her eyes didn’t reflect the sentiment. “Okay. Thank you. Have a good weekend, Ava. Bye.”

“Libby, wait. How about—” I stopped, started again: “How about we go for a drink or two? My treat.”

Libby rolled her eyes. “You’re forgiven. Just keep doing the good work you’re doing here.”

“There’s something else. A serious matter.”

Libby snorted. “Of course there is. I knew there had to be when you apologized.”

Her words stung. The truth stings. No doubt. “Libby, yes, I’m a horrible person with ulterior motives. Now can we get a drink, please?”

CHAPTER FOUR—LIBBY’S TURN

I met Ava at Pleasant’s Bar and hoped I wasn’t making a mistake. With any other teacher, I would’ve replied with an impatient: “Tell me what it is.”

Instead, the weakness in me agreed to drinks.

I’d never been to Pleasant’s, a five-minute drive from school. The place was mostly empty and looked like a bar should. Dim, dark, pool table, darts, pleasant in its bar way. Hence the name?

Ava had arrived before me, and I joined her at the counter. She ordered a vodka and Coke.

“Water for me,” I informed the bartender.

He didn’t bat an eyelash. “Sure thing. H20 coming right up.”

“Water?” Ava wrinkled her nose.

I shrugged and smiled. I drink every once in a while, always socially, and I enjoy it. However, this wasn’t a time for me to consume alcohol—especially considering the identity of my companion.

The bartender brought my water, and Ava raised her glass in a toast. “To the new school year!” She took a long swig.

I sipped delicately.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Ava said, her gaze anxious over the rim of her glass.

“Doing my job. So, what’s wrong?”

Ava set her glass down. “I’m not sure if I should jump into it or…”

“Jump into it.”

Ava chuckled. “Okay. Okay. So, this is a strange question, but do you believe in magic?”

I blinked. “Magic? You mean when a child finally understands a concept, and light turns on in his eyes?”

“No, no. I mean the kind of magic with witches, wands, spells, abracadabra and rabbits disappearing and reappearing.”

I adjusted my eyeglasses. Where is Ava going with this? “I’d say no, but you know the famous quote that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic?”

Ava nodded. “Arthur C. Clarke.”

“Yes. Why do you ask? Do you believe in magic?”

“I’m not sure. My grandmother died last year—Grandma Harriet, you never met her—and she left me a spell. I doubt it’s real, but…” Ava dug through her purse. “This letter explains.”

I skimmed the letter, which was obviously photocopied. A love spell. A family love spell. “Interesting. But I don’t see what—”

Ava interrupted: “What you said earlier was right. I do like James.”

I kept my expression neutral. What about men drives women wild? I’d never understood, and I never would. I’d also never understand Ava’s nerve. She knew I’d been in love with her. Why would I want to hear about her feelings for James?

“It’s funny,” Ava said, her voice low. “Before the spell, I hadn’t noticed James that much. I mean, I thought he was cute and all, but that was it. Then Grandma died and left me the spell. I really began noticing James. Every man, actually. I evaluated them for suitability. Their looks. Their humor, their kindness. James is the cream of the crop, no question.”

“Do you have a point?”

Ava grimaced. Tapped her fingers on the counter. “Yes. Yes, Libby. Look, I tried casting the spell on him yesterday. I shouldn’t have. I know that now. See, what happened…you came into the classroom. You touched me before I could touch him.” Ava ran two of her fingers over a spot on her arm. “Your arm rubbed mine right here. And…” She pointed to a section in the letter. “See?”

Be careful, for if another person happens by and touches you first…

The wrong person will fall in love with you.

I replayed my unconscious impulse to touch Ava. The brush of my arm against hers. The electricity that had arched through my body. Ava’s intake of breath. Her rushing over to James. Nothing to do with homophobia, after all. Everything to do with Libbyus Interruptus.

Oh, shit. Oh, shit.

“So…” Ava, her eyes pensive, sipped from her vodka and Coke. “If the letter is to be believed, the spell is on you, Libby.”

I said nothing. Couldn’t even if I wanted to. Words proved impossible in this situation. Was I supposed to guffaw or act serious?

Inside, panic gushed freely. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Reminded me of the first time I met Ava.

“This is Ava,” one of my friends, Tommy, said.

“Hey, Ava. I’m Libby.” My tongue thickened, and I hoped I wasn’t blushing. This girl was…oh, sweet Jesus. I had confirmation right then and there that I was a lesbian. And when Ava touched me over the next few months, when she let me touch her, I couldn’t help but fall in love. Couldn’t help but yearn for more.

I forced myself to the present, to the bartender asking if we wanted more drinks.

“None for me, thanks,” Ava said.

I ordered another glass of water, but what I really wanted was a pool of vodka, a bathing suit, sunshine and sunblock.

A love spell inadvertently cast on me. By Ava! What in the world?

Ava tapped the copy of the letter. “Want to re-read this?”

I went over the letter again. Carefully. No skimming.

“Okay,” I said slowly after I finished.

“It’s probably nothing.” Ava’s voice was a whisper. “I mean, you know…magic? It’s…yeah. But just in case it’s true, I wanted you to know. I’m sure you don’t want to fall in love with me.”

“You’re right,” I replied immediately. “I don’t.” Oh boy, did I ever NOT want to fall in love again with Ava Van Dorn.

“Are you dating anyone?” she asked.

Ellen stretched languorously through my mind. Ellen, larger than life, her blue eyes larger than life. Her hearse larger than life in my garage. “No.”

Ava wound a hand into her hair. “I understand if you have to fire me. If you don’t, I will be grateful to you. So grateful. I’ll do anything. I’ll lead the committees no one wants. I’ll clean your house every week and do your laundry.”

I rubbed my temples and wished for the strength to get the hell up and leave the bar. “Ava, what are you saying?”

“I have no idea what to make of the spell. I never have, but at least with an undo, we can ensure nothing happens. Oh gosh. It’s awful. I know. And I am so sorry. I really will clean your house. Mow your grass. Anything.”

“Let me get this straight. You’re asking me to get naked with you and for us to kiss.”

“Yes. But so you won’t fall in love with me. Which you don’t want.”

“Yeah, yeah. Did your grandmother joke around a lot?”

Ava bit her lip. “No, and her mind was sound. Which is one reason why I…” She glanced away. “I don’t know what to make of the spell.”

I stared at the distressed woman across from me, the teacher with deep brown eyes and messy hair. The woman who used to be my friend, who called me lesbian, dyke, freak and whore twenty years ago. The woman who yanked away from me in the middle of a kiss.

The woman asking me for another kiss.

Ava and I.

Kissing.

Tongues entwined. Bodies slick. Hair slick. In the shower…

I won’t lie. My body reacted. My body wanted her. All of her.

In the next moment, dismay filled me. “Is this a prank? You didn’t get enough kicks in high school?”

“Prank? No! No! Believe me, Libby, no.”

I believed her. Gulped down water. What if the spell was real?

I met Ava’s pained gaze. “Um, what does your gut say?”

“My gut…it says Grandma wrote that letter because she believed in the spell.”

I surveyed the bar. Darts on one wall. A pool table in a corner. A couple of shifty characters huddled over a table in another corner.

Life. Regular life. Magic didn’t happen. True spells didn’t happen. And I didn’t get naked and shower with people who worked for me.

“No,” I told Ava. “No way. You’re crazy if you think I’m doing this.”

“But what if you fall in love with me?”

“I won’t.”

“What if you do?”

“Like I said, I won’t.”

Ava’s eyes sniped at me. “Libby, don’t let something that happened in high school control you.”

Anger boiled inside me. “You think this is about high school? You think this is because I carry a grudge against you?”

“Isn’t it?”

“No! I’m your principal. I can’t hop into the shower with you!”

“Yes, but—”

Exasperation took over. Anything to get Ava to shut up. To stop arguing. “Fine. I’ll do it. Then you resign, and I never want to see you again.”

Ava flinched. “Okay. I deserve that.”

“You haven’t changed at all. You’re going to wild lengths to ensure I won’t fall in love with you. ‘Cause if I do, oh gosh, it’s the end of the world again, isn’t it?”

A jaw clench from Ava. “Libby. No.”

“One year!” I cried. “We’ve worked together one year, and you apologize only because you don’t want me falling in love with you again! Sorry I’m not James. Sorry I touched you.” I grabbed the copy of the letter and my purse. I stalked out of the bar.

*****

No glimmering pool of vodka sprang up in my back yard, but a stout glass of brandy did its job. Helped me reinforce my course of action. Yeah, I gave in to get Ava to be quiet, but simply put, who cared if the odds of the spell being real were tiny? I refused to risk falling in love with Ava for the rest of my life. An unrequited love, no less.

I could control this. The undo.

At least, I hoped I could control it. I’d come close to a meltdown in Pleasant’s, and over something I thought I had moved on from. I had been a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. But can you really blame me? This girl from high school made me feel like a piece of shit a second time.

Tonight spread endlessly in front of me. My Friday nights normally were quiet. I jogged, watched TV, read good books. Tonight, though, I’d be obsessing and fretting over what was to come. Best to tackle the problem head on. Get to solving it as soon as possible. Show Ava I meant business, that I wouldn’t tolerate dawdling and crap from her.

At eight o’ clock, I called Ava.

“Libby!” Ava said, more enthusiastically than she should. Brownnoser.

“How are you?” Ava continued.

“We’re doing it right now. Tonight, and I want your letter of resignation on my desk first thing Tuesday morning. Say you’re leaving on September 20.”

“O-okay. You mean we’re doing the undo tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Ava whispered. “Okay, absolutely. Do you have a gift?”

“I’ll find one. Where do you live?”

*****

I surveyed the books I cherished. I also had a few autographs, some stuffed animals from my childhood and my baby blanket. A necklace from my great-grandmother as well.

Only one of the items struck a truly sentimental chord in my heart. The baby blanket. So—the blanket it was. I’d been saving it in case I became a mother. My child using the same blanket I had at his or her age would be fitting.

No child would happen, though. Not when I was thirty-seven years old and content enough in life. I didn’t need a child.

I hated the thought of the blanket going to Ava, but this undo would happen the right way. No half assing it by giving a gift that meant nothing to me.

I placed the blanket in a box and wrapped it. “Bye, Blanky,” I whispered. “Hope Ava takes good care of you.”

*****

At almost nine o’clock, I knocked on Ava’s door. “Hey,” Ava said, a nervous smile crinkling her eyes. “Come on in.” Her hair was neat, freshly brushed. Looked great. A yellow shirt and jeans hugged her body. I struggled not to stare.

“Hi.” I kept my voice a monotone while my heart bounced on a trampoline of giddiness no matter how many times I told it to quit. A night with Ava. A whole night in bed with her, listening to her breathe, perhaps touching her, and then seeing her naked in the morning. Kissing her…

Ava led me into the living room. She took my gift and overnight bag. “Want a drink? A snack? I just made a pitcher of pink lemonade, but I have—”

“Mrrrow!” Not Ava, but a black and white cat.

I smiled and crouched to rub the cat behind its ears. “Who are you, huh?” I missed cats. They’d been a big part of my life until Ellen. Ellen and her allergies. I ought to go to the SPCA tomorrow and let a cat pick me out. Get my mind off Ava.

“This little lady is Mrs. Purr, and don’t you dare laugh. I didn’t name her. She was my grandmother’s.”

“Mrs. Purr is a cute name.”

The feline pressed contentedly into me.

“That was quick,” Ava remarked. “She likes you more than she likes me.”

“I doubt that.”

Ava laughed. “Mrs. Purr doesn’t let me pet her. Yet here she is, letting you scratch her head.”

I looked up into Ava’s dark eyes, and my heart fluttered. I also reached a decision. Come naked time, I would be a cool, swift customer. I wouldn’t become all red-cheeked and stumble over my words. I’d get naked in a straightforward manner. Nudity did not have to be a big deal, and I’d act accordingly. Boobs. Belly buttons. Buttocks. Beavers. Simple enough. Women saw each other naked all the time, and it meant nothing.

“Do you want Mrs. Purr?” Ava asked. “She can be my sentimental gift to you. Nah, I’m kidding. I love Mrs. Purr even if she doesn’t give a flying squirrel about me. So, want a drink?”

I drew myself up to my full height, and my chest hurt. Don’t you dare fall for her again, Libby Lubbock. She wants James. She doesn’t want your fine beaver pelt. Or maybe she does, but she’s the type who will always choose a man over a woman. She won’t listen to her heart.

“Pink lemonade sounds great,” I said.

Five minutes later and a few sips of too-sweet lemonade later, Ava said: “Libby, I want you to know—”

“No.”

“No what?”

“No apologies. No platitudes. I don’t want to hear them. I am here on business. Business only. You did something on school property that you shouldn’t have, and I’m helping you clean up your mess.”

Ava picked at her cuticles. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Like what?”

“To thank you. Show my appreciation.”

“No. You have the letter Tuesday. That’s all I ask of you.”

Ava’s eyes grew large and liquid. Her chin trembled.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

Luckily, she didn’t.

“Let’s exchange our gifts,” I suggested.

Ava opened my gift first.

“That’s the baby blanket I had when I was a child,” I explained, omitting the fact that I had been saving it for my own maybe-child.

Ava held up the blanket, which was blue and featured a fat bird in one corner. “It’s beautiful.” Her gaze swept approvingly over my face. Perhaps dreams of the baby she and James would have one day filled her head. “Thank you, Libby. Are you sure you don’t—”

“I’m sure.”

Ava’s gift to me was a Mickey Mouse hat—the kind with Mickey ears. “My parents bought this for me when I was five. It’s my first memory. My favorite hat.”

“I remember it.”

“You do? But how could you…” Ava paused. And paused. Memories returning to her. “Oh. Oh. Sorry.”

I laughed to cover up my unease. These damn ears. When I’d decided to tell Ava I loved her, I went to her house. She let me into her room, and we stood awkwardly for a few seconds.

It was our first time alone, with no security blanket of friends around. The Mickey Mouse hat sat on Ava’s dresser, and I said: “Cool ears.”

She grinned and explained the story behind them. We sat on her bed, and I touched her knee. Rubbed gentle circles, and she sighed a long sigh.

“Does that tickle?” I asked.

“Yes. But I like it. Don’t stop.”

I told her then: “I like you, Ava, I like you a lot, I like how we are together, I like when we touch, I think I’m in love with you, and uh, yeah, I know it’s a lot and it’s kind of crazy but I’m just wondering, you know, do you like me back? Because it’s totally okay if you don’t, I know this is weird.” Examining her reaction, seeing the yes answer in her eyes but wanting to hear her say it. “So do you? Like me back?”

Damn Ava and her: “Y-yes.”

“Forget the ears,” Ava said now. “I’ll dig something else up.”

“Geez, Ava. They’re ears. High school was high school. I really have moved on.”

Ava’s expression remained torn. “What, uh, what…you stopped hanging out with us. I hope you weren’t too upset.”

“I got over you quickly,” I lied. Quickly doesn’t mean crying for weeks, quickly doesn’t mean heartache for weeks, quickly doesn’t mean old damn feelings returning.

I reached for the TV remote and smiled as big as I could. “Let’s watch something!”

So, we watched TV. Don’t ask what we watched. I have no idea.

“You’re not dating anyone,” Ava proffered hesitantly after an uncomfortable hour. We hadn’t been sitting together. Not even close: me on the reclining chair, her on the couch.

“Not seeing anyone.” On purpose, I kept my reply terse.

“By choice or…I can’t imagine you’d have a hard time finding dates.”

I changed the channel and increased the volume. “I’m not discussing my personal life with you, Ava. I’m your principal, only your principal.”

CHAPTER FIVE—AVA’S TURN

I’m fortunate in that I don’t have much of a sweet tooth. A bit of sugar goes a long way, and the lemonade should have taken care of that part. So it was a bit odd that, right before Libby and I were supposed to go to bed, cravings for cake attacked me. Any kind of cake, every kind of cake: angel, apple, banana, pound, Boston cream pie (okay, maybe not a cake), carrot, cheesecake, chocolate, coffee, red velvet, molten chocolate, birthday cake (complete with a thick layer of blue frosting and sprinkles of every color), rum cake and and and…

Okay, no, not odd. Not at all. Tears had threatened to overwhelm me all evening. I feared that the dam would break loose once Libby and I got in bed.

I’d been fired. Pretty much.

I’d reopened big ol’ wounds.

Humiliated Libby a second time.

And I was crazy nervous about my impending bedtime with Libby, even though we wouldn’t be nude until morning. I hadn’t been naked with another female since elementary school. The good old days, when my girl friends and I didn’t give a second thought to undressing in front of each other. My gut pricks every time I remember the night in sixth grade when Heather Adamson told me to turn around.

“Why?” I said.

She narrowed her eyes. “Just turn around and don’t peek!”

I followed orders but with the feeling I’d erred somehow.

Now, years later, I knew I didn’t have cake at home, so I got to thinking about cookies. Chocolate chip, peanut butter, oatmeal, sugar, seven-layer, gingerbread.

And guess what? I remembered that I most likely had a box of stale Barnum’s Animal Crackers stuffed waaaaay back in a cupboard.

“Want animal crackers?” I asked Libby. “Gotta warn you, they might be a little old.”

“Aren’t we going to bed?”

“Me and my sweet tooth!” Please play along, Libby. Please play along.

Libby’s blue-green eyes took me in, probed me. I’d noticed a few things about her during the past couple of hours.

- She touched her eyeglasses a lot. A nervous tic, maybe. One she didn’t have in high school.

- She smelled good. One of these scents I could luxuriate in all day. Nothing like Louise Avery’s skunkiness.

- She was wonderful with Mrs. Purr. Grandma would’ve loved Libby.

Now, Libby touched her eyeglasses again and licked her lips. “Sure. Sounds good.”

“I bite off the heads first.”

Libby cracked a small smile, perhaps her first of the night. “Me too.”

Try as I might, I couldn’t avoid bedtime forever. After the beheadings of innocent but stale cracker camels, elephants, tigers, giraffes, gorillas and more, I showed Libby into my bedroom. I’m generally a neat person. I vacuum, dust and mop the house every two weeks, so the place hadn’t needed much straightening before Libby came over.

I had tidied up, anyway. Changed the bed linens. Quickly vacuumed and dusted the bedroom. Sprayed soap scum remover on the shower tiles—not that the tiles needed it. Squeezed Clorox into the toilet and scrubbed with the toilet brush.

All that in about thirty minutes, then I washed my hands and made the pink lemonade.

Crap, I thought all of a sudden. Do I stink? No. No. You’re fine. You didn’t break a sweat.

“Nice.” Libby indicated the purple yin and yang tapestry on the wall behind my bed.

“Thanks.”

Libby moved her gaze over my collection of jigsaw puzzles, which decorated the far wall. Solving jigsaw puzzles and gluing the pieces together used to be a hobby of mine. There was a puzzle of a skull, a couple of Mario Bros. puzzles, a Hello Kitty puzzle and a puzzle displaying the skylines of Paris, London, New York City and Rome.

“You still do puzzles,” Libby said softly. “It’s a nice bedroom.”

“Is it what you imagined?”

Libby gave me a sidelong glance. “I didn’t imagine anything, Ava.”

Speaking of imagination. Did I imagine something in Libby’s eyes? The same burning intensity from high school when she told me she loved me?

I plumped the pillows out of nervousness rather than necessity. “What’s your bedroom look like?”

“Boring.” She chuckled. “Thank my ex.”

“Your ex?”

Libby opened her mouth. Closed her mouth. Ah! Gotcha. She was comfortable enough to slip. Personal stuff coming up.

Libby moved closer to the jigsaw puzzles, which weren’t framed. She ran a finger over one of the skeleton’s eye sockets. “My ex took the interesting bedroom stuff when she moved out.”

She. She. I let that part pass without comment. “Why did she move out?”

Libby’s face turned dark. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I… you know what? I’m going to brush my teeth. I’ll change into my pajamas. You feel free to do the same in here.”

“Fine.”

“Do you want to brush your teeth after I finish? Did you remember your toothbrush?”

“Yes. And yes.”

“I hope you like Crest. And Listerine? I have Cool Mint.”

“Okay.”

Then, for some reason, I blurted out: “Sorry I won’t be much to look at in the morning.”

Libby’s responding squint was sharp and immediate. Yes, a squint can be sharp. Apparently. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. I just meant...”

“Tell me.” Stern, no-nonsense principal Libby.

“You know how it is. How it was in high school. I’ve always been plain. I’ve never been…I mean, I look decent. I’m pretty enough. But nothing wow special. You’re…I can tell you work out. You’re very pretty. More. Beautiful. And your ex. What does she look like?”

Libby stepped toward me. I thought she might reach for me, but she kept her hands to herself. “Don’t criticize your appearance. Just don’t. Okay?”

I jerked my head in a nod and grabbed my pajamas. I fled and secured myself in the bathroom. Door locked, grenades at the ready, fort walls yay high.

Libby hadn’t said what her ex looked like. Course not. The damn woman was probably perfect and athletic.

I wet my toothbrush. Behind the closed bathroom door was my former friend, now my boss, my principal. My good-smelling, hot female boss. My good-smelling, hot female principal who more or less had fired me. I would get naked for her in the morning.

It was ridiculous. Crazy. Awkward. I should’ve never told Libby about the spell. It couldn’t be real. I ought to be in bed by now, fighting Mrs. Purr over possession of my pillows and eventually letting Mrs. Purr have them.

Pillow Series so far: Mrs. Purr, 345 matches won. Ms. Ava, 0 matches won.

Libby. Mrs. Purr. Libby. Principal. Boss. Principal Libby.

A realization dawned on me. I’d barely paid a thought to James. James with his dimples, his manly hands, his no-doubt smashing ass. James, who was supposed to have been my husband. Who still could be, if I tried the spell again.

My gut whispered that James wouldn’t do this for me. He wouldn’t take the letter and Grandma seriously. He’d dismiss her as a crazy old loon. So, what did that mean about James? About Libby?

*****

I wanted to flog myself as Libby and I got into bed. How could I have been so wrong about James? Why try to force a man who didn’t like me all that much to fall in love with me?

I stared at the ceiling. Pretend Libby isn’t in bed with you. Pretend you couldn’t touch her if you reached sideways. Clarity had arrived. Everywhere. Around me, inside me, above me, below me. I picked James because he was an ideal man. I’d told Kimmie I liked James. A lot. I listed his attributes and probably truly believed I was in love with him.

I was not in love with him, though. I loved a fantasy. I’d talked myself into it, and now Libby was in bed with me.

“You never said what your ex looks like,” I whispered.

“It doesn’t matter, Ava.”

“Why?”

“Because it simply doesn’t matter if she’s thin or fat or in between or short or tall or half goat.”

“Hm. It might matter if she was half goat. Bestiality charges and all.”

“Yeah, true. True. Well, then, call 911 on me.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Ava, I’m not interested in discussing my personal life with you.”

I chewed on my lower lip. I wanted to touch Libby. The gesture might convey more than words that I was sorry, very sorry, for what I’d done.

Aw, hell. I’d do it. I’d touch her. Why not? Not like Libby could fire me a second time.

I reached out and grasped her hand. Squeezed it.

She jerked her hand out of mine. Immediately. Like I was some foul, disease-ridden creature.

Clarity whooshed over me yet again. Libby sweeping into the classroom, the momentum of her steps, me right between the doorway and James, me right in her path.

I’d assumed she touched me accidentally. Basically, she had no reason to touch me.

But she did have a reason. It was why I’d been too scared to apologize the past year. Because I still liked her, because she still liked me. There, I admitted it in black and white, no fudging, no ink smears. I returned Libby’s feelings in high school, and I did now.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Libby demanded to know.

“I…sorry. Sorry. Good night.” I reached out and turned off the bedside lamp. Pulled the bedcovers over me. “Mrs. Purr might jump up in a few minutes and try to steal your pillow,” I said.

“Fine. Whatever. Why were you looking at me like that?”

I closed my eyes, but my new insight had ignited something inside me. My heart trembled. My stomach trembled. Even my kidneys trembled. I felt seventeen again, the way I did when Libby kissed me: confused, panicked, on edge, delicious, tingling. Ecstatic.

The incredible, beautiful Libby still liked me.

“Ava? Why were you—”

“You’re so pretty, and I’m an idiot,” I whispered. “That’s all.”

I yearned to take Libby’s hand again, and I did so in my mind. Also in my mind, I kissed her, she moaned, and I wound my way down her stomach to that area between her legs.

The night would be long.

CHAPTER SIX—LIBBY’S TURN

At some point during the night, Ava whispered: “Libby? You awake?”

Mrs. Purr slumbered on my chest, and I didn’t answer.

You’re so pretty, and I’m an idiot.

You’re so pretty, and I’m an idiot.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Not that I’d ask. Thank goodness for Mrs. Purr. She was my excuse to stay stiff, unmoving. Quiet.

“I can’t sleep,” Ava said.

Join the club, missy.

The expression on Ava’s face right before she turned the light off…hard to explain. Something like awe. The wonder of a realization.

Or the acceptance of a long-denied truth.

“Libby? Could we maybe try to be friends again after this? After I leave Leviston?”

Irritation cut through me. No, crazy woman. I’m not gonna be your sexuality science experiment.

“I’m going to touch you,” Ava whispered. “Is that okay?”

My brain recoiled in horror: No. Not okay. My heart, my body, plunged forth in soft gasps and cries: Yes, yes, please.

Touching in the dark is different. It just is. It’s more thrilling. Forbidden. Hidden. You’re between two worlds. You can fake being asleep and pretend in the morning that nothing happened.

Ava curled into me and wrapped one of her arms around my hip. Her mouth came to rest near my neck, and her breath blew hot and arousing.

“Mrrrow! Mrrrow!” Mrs. Purr expressed her indignation at having to share my body, and Ava shoved the cat off.

I waited to see what Ava would do next. I, me, moi, Libby Lubbock, had turned to putty. If Ava started to fuck me, I suspected I’d go along. Happily. For one thing, I was starved. Raring to go, ready to be with a woman again. The last time I had sex was with Ellen a little more than a year ago—a couple of days before I left for that out-of-town seminar. Ellen insisted that she and Mavis, the woman I caught her with, hadn’t been carrying on an affair. They were friends for a while, and I busted their first time together. If that was supposed to make me feel better, it did not. Chalk up another success to Libbyus Interruptus, right?

I tried not to remember that day. But such a task proved impossible, even as Ava nuzzled my neck. “You feel good, Libby. You smell so good. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I was an ass in high school. I was scared. I liked you a lot. I liked you back. You know that, don’t you?”

I remembered texting Ellen that I’d be home early because of a water pipe break in the hotel/conference center. No answer from her. Me arriving home, hearing the…

And then opening the bedroom door and just staring. Watching. Heart in my throat.

Ava’s nuzzles turned to kisses, increasingly hard and desperate ministrations. She moved from my neck to my earlobe. She climbed on top of me and switched to my other earlobe.

Whatever she did, she had better not kiss me on the mouth. I could rationalize sex as long as no mouth kissing occurred. Hey, give me a break, all right? It was late at night, and my thoughts were all over the place. Ava and I were about to have “relations,” and I was grasping at ways such an occurrence would maaaybe be okay, meaning emotionally impartial. I would need to square the sex with myself in the morning.

I moaned. Ava moaned. My hips moved of their own accord. My arms, too, clamping Ava to me, pinning her to me.

Turned out I had rationalized that I couldn’t rationalize sex with Ava. My body was still putty, but my brain had recovered some of its senses. It wasn’t about to let Ava run rampant.

“Stop,” I growled.

“What? Stop?” The sound of her pant pant pant caused delicious shivers in my pussy.

“Stop,” I repeated. “Don’t move.”

“But—”

“Ava! Stop. Just stop. Shh. Don’t move.” I kept one arm secure around Ava and moved my other hand into my underwear. Okay, so not ALL my brain cells functioned optimally. This was the best compromise the little grays could scrabble together at this point.

“Ohhh, Libby,” Ava said in a combined moan-groan once she realized my plan. No doubt she would feel all of my movements, so closely pancaked were our bodies.

I worked quickly and wetly; I’d had years of practice. I dug two fingers deep inside me and rubbed my clit with my thumb. Lost myself in the sweet heaviness of Ava atop me. I yielded to the rhythm, the aliveness of her breath on my neck. The rhythm, the aliveness of her squirms and her little noises of excitement.

A wave. I came. Screamed. Loud. Gasping. Heaving. Sweaty.

Declined an easy, cozy aftermath. “Finished,” I said softly but business-like. Meaning: Roll away. We’re done here. Nothing to see. Move right on.

Ava replied with no words. She adjusted her position and her hands. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to know she was touching herself as I had touched myself. The warmth of her, the closeness of her, the intimacy of her moans, the sharpness of her shudders, roused me. I came again, a little, secret orgasm with her not-so-secret orgasm.

Afterward, I kept my arm around her.

And she stayed right where she was.

*****

I awoke to sunlight floating around me and to Mrs. Purr head-butting me quite determinedly.

Also, bladder.

Bladder about to detonate.

I glanced over. Ava and I obviously had separated during the night, but I felt again the curve of her body with mine as I climaxed.

What had I done?

Oh sweet Jesus, what had I done?

“It was a dream,” I muttered. Wasn’t, but uttering the words aloud made me feel better. The official stamp was out there, the verdict everlasting: A DREAM. A dream in which technically no sex happened. Nothing to feel bad about.

I denied myself further looks at Ava. No absorbing. No feeling. I had to pee, check the time, hope it was close to nine a.m., rouse Ava, wrap up our business, and get the hell out of Spell Land.

I’d memorized the undo lines on my drive over to Ava’s house:

I want the spell broken, o gods, please break this spell forever and ever.

I want the spell broken, o gods, please break this spell forever and ever.

It was a dream. That’s the official story.

It was a dream. That’s the official story.

“Mrrrow! Mrrrow!” Head-butt. Head-butt. Head-butt. Head-butt.

Okay, I also needed to figure out where Ava kept Mrs. Purr’s food.

After peeing, I washed my hands and checked myself over in the mirror. Hair fashionably messy. Okay to leave alone. I squeezed toothpaste onto my toothbrush. I wandered into the kitchen and found Mrs. Purr’s food dish.

“Mrs. Purr! You have plenty of food,” I mumbled through my toothpaste.

She scowled and meowed.

I checked the time on the microwave. Eight-thirteen. Damn close enough. By the time Ava and I finished with our shower, the twelve hours minimum would be up.

I returned to the bathroom and rinsed my mouth. Stared at myself again in the mirror. The very near future played out: Ava and I naked in the shower, Ava and I kissing. Me devouring her neck, sucking her nipples. Us moving to bed. Having sex, real sex, none of that jilling ourselves off crap from last night.

Me falling in love with her all over again, her being wishy-washy: Oh gosh, Libby, I thought I liked you, I really did, but now I’m not so sure. I DO like men, you know.

More heartbreak for me.

The woman in the mirror wasn’t who I wanted to be, wasn’t who Libby Lubbock wanted to be.

I was no longer an upstanding, moral principal.

I was a principal who let emotion win over reason and logic. This principal spent the night in bed with one of her teachers, masturbated in bed with one of her teachers. This principal entertained the possibility of a genuine magic spell when, let’s admit it, none of that shit exists.

An early story in the Bible goes like this: Adam and Eve used to be like children. They walked around naked, innocent and unaware. Then they sinned and became keenly, ashamedly aware of their nakedness.

That was me. I’d sinned last night. I’d transgressed by allowing my feelings, past and present, for Ava to sucker me into this fantasy.

Another harsh truth slapped me. Ava and Kimberly Noyans spent a lot of time together at school—sat together at meetings, chatted their heads off, giggled a lot. No idea if Kimberly knew about me and Ava in high school, but surely she knew about me and the spell. Or she would. And she appeared like a woman with a flapping big mouth. Before long, the entire school would probably know this: their principal was weak, into masturbation and fell for a spell shtick.

I kept staring at this not-me self in the mirror. Deep shame, deep revulsion overtook me. Infiltrated me. I swayed drunkenly. I’d been in a haze and not myself since Pleasant’s Bar. Who had I become? This wasn’t high school, and I wasn’t a silly teenage girl playing stupid pretend games.

Me: Libby Lubbock, thirty-seven years old.

Me: Not getting naked, not getting in the shower with Ava and kissing her.

“Shit,” I muttered. “Shit, shit.” I tiptoed into the bedroom and grabbed my overnight bag.

On the kitchen table, I left a note:

Ava,

It hit me this morning. I’m sorry it took so long. The spell isn’t real. It can’t be real. Nothing against your grandmother. She probably did believe in it, and I’m sure your grandfather loved her. She just ran into a lot of coincidences.

I’ve gone home. No need to call. Have a good long weekend. Don’t forget the letter of resignation.

- Libby

*****

I showered after I got home. Cold water. Purposefully. As punishment. I needed to shiver. I needed to feel something else than this damn shame and horror.

This damned dreaded feeling that I’d let myself down.

I’d broken my deal with Ava, so maybe it wasn’t fair I still asked her to resign. Too bad. She shouldn’t have asked what she did of me in the first place. Shouldn’t have been stupid enough to attempt a spell on school property. Shouldn’t have tried to sex up her damn principal.

I inhaled deep breaths, but fear continued to jostle at me. The fear of losing everything I’d worked years for, most of all my professional respect. All over fleeting lust for a pretty teacher. How would I react if or when rumors and smirks from other teachers began?

Ava had better keep her mouth shut.

I went for a jog, got hot again. Checked my cellphone when I got home. Two messages from Ava. I deleted them without listening.

CHAPTER SEVEN—AVA’S TURN

Kimmie called about noon Saturday while I read Libby’s note for the eighteenth hundredth and fifth time.

“What ya doing?” Kimmie asked.

“Nothing.”

“Good. Dylan and I are coming over.”

Kimmie arrived fifteen minutes later with her youngest child, four-year-old Dylan.

“Hey, Dylan!”

“Where’s your cat!” Dylan shrieked. Not a question in any way.

“Probably hiding from you,” I informed the boy. “Can you be gentler with her today?”

“Yes! I promise!”

“Oh, hush. Leave the poor cat alone,” Kimmie said. “We brought Dylan’s toys. Go sit on the floor and play.”

“Mommy, but—”

Kimmie gave her son the evil-mother stink eye, and he slunk off with his bag of toys. He plopped on the floor in the middle of the living room.

“Had to get out of the house for a little,” Kimmie said vaguely.

“Another fight with Brian?”

She sighed. “Anyway, so. What have you been doing?”

I let the matter drop. I suspected that Kimmie and Brian fought a lot, but she rarely talked about the fights. In some ways, she was a very open woman. Not so much in other ways.

“I’ve been hanging around the house,” I replied. “Nothing special.” The note from Libby—and the baby blanket—were safely ensconced in my bedroom. Kimmie and I hadn’t talked since yesterday at school, so she had no clue Libby spent the night.

Much less that we had…

What?

Had sex? But had we? No, not really, but as of that point, it’d been the best sexual encounter, pseudo, real or otherwise, of my life. Maybe that’s sad, but consider this:

A. Libby reached orgasm.

B. I reached orgasm. ME! ME! Me who never had been able to with another person. True, I’d never tried masturbating in front of anyone else, but the point remained. I’d climaxed with another person present.

C. My brain had not once fretted and worried about if I was doing something wrong. Libby touching herself had allowed my senses to open up, to enjoy, to take in, to absorb.

D. The intimacy was there, heightened by the shroud of the “forbidden.” Our bodies had been together. We’d felt each other’s heartbeats, each other’s minutest movements. But we’d been separated too. It was perfect.

I could have talked to Kimmie about the developments with Libby, but three things stopped me. First, it wasn’t Kimmie’s business. Wasn’t anyone’s business but Libby’s and mine. Second, I was still wrapping my head around what we’d done. What I’d initiated. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it and of Libby leaving, not returning my calls.

Third, I didn’t want to say out loud that my days at Leviston were numbered. Sure, I could whine to Libby that because she ducked out early, I no longer had to resign. Ha! That would be stupid. Idiotic. Time still remained for us to break the spell, and being combative would serve no purpose. Besides, considering what I had done, both in high school and recently, finding employment elsewhere was wise. I’d work on the resignation letter tomorrow, but for now, I preferred to not think about it.

I lied when Kimmie looked right at me and said: “You still not gonna tell Libby about the spell?”

I smiled, composing my expression into a picture of truthfulness. “The spell’s hokey. It was a stupid thing to try. Of course I’m not telling her about it.”

Inside, doubts rolled and swelled. The spell could very well be genuine. Come Thursday about two forty-five p.m., Libby Lubbock might pass the point of no return and fall in love with me forever and ever.

Unless I coaxed her into another undo try.

The prospect filled me with mouth-watering and pussy-watering thoughts. Libby touching herself again, me touching myself again…

I shuddered. Had to focus on Kimmie, allow her to take my mind off Libby. To minimize my obsessing.

Libby must have been scared off. Did she actually believe there was no chance the spell was real?

If only she’d return my calls.

*****

Tuesday morning on my way to work, I passed Krispy Kreme Doughnuts as usual. On impulse, I screeched a U-turn into the parking lot. I’d give Libby a doughnut or two to munch on while she read my resignation letter. It was the least I could do. Show that I had no hard feelings. Never mind that I’d spent the weekend thinking constantly about our maybe-sex and her abrupt departure.

Also thinking constantly about…

Her smoking-hot body.

Her blue-green eyes.

Our aborted long-ago kiss.

Her wuh-wuh-wuh-wuh breaths right before she came.

The fact that my first orgasm during sex or maybe-sex was with her.

The fact that I assessed men based on categories (looks, suitability for me, hobbies, good with kids, etc.).

The fact that I was drawn to Libby from somewhere deep inside me, somewhere that had nothing to do with categories.

I’d always been good at ignoring fluffy pink elephants, and somehow, I managed to go at least twenty years thinking I was a hundred percent straight. The love spell had forced me to admit otherwise. Not that I’d say so aloud. Not yet. Too scary a prospect. But at least I was opening dialogue with myself about it.

How I floundered in such denial is difficult to explain, but I’ll try. Imagine you’re a married man. You love your wife and kids. One night, you slip and have sex with your secretary, or your maid. Someone. Nine months later, the woman bears a child. You tell yourself the child belongs to the woman’s husband. The child can’t be yours. No way. The child grows and grows. You see the woman’s husband in the child. At least, you pretend to. Then one day, the child is thirteen years old, and all you see is yourself. Your nose. Your brow. Your eyes. Your laugh.

This child is your son. Will you face up to him or continue pretending?

*****

Ten minutes later and several deep breaths after Krispy Kreme, I knocked on Libby’s office door. “It’s Ava,” I called. The old principal, Mr. Gates, usually got to school when the students did. Not Libby. First in, last out.

“Come in,” Libby called back.

She was watering plants. Cacti and bamboo plants, to be more precise. Interesting.

I proffered the doughnuts and tried to catch her gaze. No success; the woman was being slippery today. “Good morning, Libby. Do you like Krispy Kreme with your resignation letters?”

Displeasure flashed across Libby’s expression. It was gone a nanosecond later, replaced by a smooth smile. “Ah, Ava. You know I can’t accept gifts from the teachers.”

I placed the doughnuts on Libby’s desk and fished my letter out of my backpack. “Can we talk?”

“School’s about to start.”

“Not for fifteen minutes.”

“No.”

“Pleasant’s Bar. Three o’clock? Please?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Libby paused. Then added with a pensive shimmer in her eyes: “I hope you can be counted on for discretion.”

Contradicting statements, indeed. Discretion. And nothing to talk about.

“Libby, don’t worry. No one knows what happened.”

“I’m sure Kimberly Noyans knows.”

“She knows about the spell but not about you. That won’t change. I promise. We—Libby. Why did you leave? We were so close to finishing.”

“Like the note said, something hit me that the spell can’t be real. Think about the brain. How does gobbledygook magic wriggle its way into the brain? The gray cells? The chemicals? It doesn’t happen. It’s impossible.”

Here was the time for me to agree and make a graceful exit. Instead, I stayed rooted to the carpet. My pulse raced, swelled, coursed. I hated the pain in Libby’s expression and lacked the energy for another day, another month, of unspoken feelings. “I like you a lot, Libby. Can we have sex again?”

Libby drew a sharp breath and narrowed her eyes. “What?”

I stepped backward, so unnerving was the fury on her expression. “I…I mean a date. Dinner? No sex.”

“Get to class, Ava. Take the doughnuts.”

“Pleasant’s. Three o’clock. We have to take care of this spell. At least, we have to talk about it.”

“No.”

My gaze fell to the doughnuts. “I saw the store and thought, ‘Hey, I bet Libby would like doughnuts.’ ”

“Goodbye, Ava.”

A flash of loneliness stabbed me. “I really did like it,” I whispered. “Didn’t you?”

“Have a good day.”

I clenched my fists. Fine, Libby. My turn to be mad. “Why should I resign? You broke our agreement.”

Libby snorted. “Why should you resign? You really need me to tally the reasons? You conducted magic on school grounds. Doesn’t matter if the magic is real or not. The intention matters. Trying to cast a spell on James, how is that not sexual harassment? That’s coercion! Trying to get me to undo the spell, that’s coercion too—along the lines of damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”

I held my hands up. “Got it, got it.”

“Good.”

I slid my backpack on. Walked to the door and rested my fingers on the knob. “I hope the letter’s okay. I’ll be at Pleasant’s.”

*****

I read and re-read my copy of the resignation letter while I waited at Pleasant’s. I’d kept my words simple. Had to. I’d gone through many variations, most of which included pouring my heart out.

The simple ol’ letter:

Dear Principal Lubbock:

I regret to inform you that I am resigning from my position at Leviston Elementary School. My last day will be Friday, September 20.

Thank you for the support and the opportunities that you have provided me.

Sincerely,

Ava Van Dorn

I gave up waiting for Libby at four o’clock and went home. I Googled “undoing magic spells.” A long, and from the looks of it, useless list, resulted. Eh. Whatever. My heart wasn’t in it. I’d try again later.

I switched tacks to a job search and found a couple of nearby, open positions. Slim pickings indeed, but better than I thought. I’d expected all jobs to be filled this early in the school year.

Tell you something. Filling out teacher applications is awful. A lot of busywork. More so than applications for other jobs. I clicked on the link for a fourth-grade teaching position at Claybrook Elementary. Like a good little robot, I started keying my information. Name. Address. Where I’d gone to college. Where I was licensed and in what. My employment history. Yadda yadda.

About halfway through, I saved the application and exited the program. Pity party now, application later.

I hauled a tub of ice cream from the freezer and settled on the couch with Mrs. Purr. “Horror? Or comedy? Drama?”

“Rowr!”

“Horror it is.”

As the opening credits for a zombie film played, I told Mrs. Purr: “My day was awesome, just awesome. How was yours?”

She blinked severely: How dare you speak to me like that, plebian? Don’t you know to bow at my paws and to call me “Your Utmost Majesty”?

I ignored Mrs. Purr’s rebuke and expanded on my day. Despite herself, Mrs. Purr leaned into me and cocked her ears.

Example one of how school had been (sarcastically) awesome: During math in the morning, Joseph Chambers, a sweet, sweet boy, whipped out the word cunt. As in: “Daddy don’t let Mommy do math because she’s a dumb cunt.”

Yeah. The joys of teaching.

Example two: Right before lunchtime ended, James pulled me aside and asked what I thought of Louise Avery.

“She seems nice,” I said.

He grinned shyly. “I want to ask her out.”

“Good for you, James. Hope it goes well.”

“You okay?”

I gritted my teeth. “Fine.” You’ll be gallivanting with Louise while I’m waiting for Libby to come to her senses.

He turned to leave, and I called after him: “James, wait.”

“Yeah?”

I swallowed and approached him. I felt myself on Libby, felt Libby pinning us together. Heard her heavy, labored wuh-wuh-wuh-wuh. “What about me that…what does Louise have that I don’t?”

James frowned. “Come again?”

“Why do you like her and not me?”

“A-Ava, I didn’t know you liked me.”

Incredulity flooded me. “I took you out twice. I paid for you!”

“Well, yeah, but…oh, wow.” James ran a hand through his hair. “Ava, I didn’t get that vibe from you.”

I sighed. “Whatever. Okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“Let me…” He squeezed my shoulder, his expression pleading. “Forget Louise, okay? Let me take you out. You’re great. I’d love to date you, but I thought you were with Libby.”

Shocked by the sudden turn of events, I stared into his eyes. “Libby?” I squeaked. “Principal Libby? What gave you that idea?”

He fidgeted. “Like, uh…like…” More hand-running through his hair. Furiously red cheeks. “Like in meetings, okay? You’re always watching her, and when she catches you, she does this pretend-mad thing with her eyes that…I don’t know. I thought it was cute. Really sorry, Ava. I thought you guys were together. Shit, I blew it, didn’t I?”

My heart sunk. James watches me. What have I gotten myself into? “I sit with Kimmie in meetings. I talk with her. I don’t…”

“I understand now,” he said in a rush. “And don’t worry. I didn’t tell anyone. I don’t do rumors.”

“Okay.”

He proffered a grin. “When do you want to go out? What’s your favorite restaurant?”

“Uh. Uh, James, let me get back to you on that.”

By the time I told Mrs. Purr all this, she was in “ignore” mode. “Ignore and bathe” mode, actually. I sighed and tried to focus on the zombie movie. Braaaains! Braaaains! Braaaains!

CHAPTER EIGHT—LIBBY’S TURN

I ate Ava’s doughnuts. Had to. Like Louise Avery’s breasts in my face, the doughnuts in all their creamy, sugary, fattening goodness were too present. So, I ate ‘em. And for a second, wished I was eating Ava. Either way, I’d end up with white stuff smearing my lips.

I read the resignation letter as I ate. Damn, I thought. Ava went bare bones. Not even that. Just bare, no bones. I folded the letter back up and inserted it in the envelope. The principal side of me hated to see Ava go; regardless of her misdeeds, she was a quality teacher. The personal side of me…well. No use thinking about that.

My cellphone buzzed. A text from Ellen: When can we have dinner?

“Once this shit with Ava is over,” I muttered. My mind had been on Ava constantly. Not on Ellen. Nope, definitely not on Ellen. Three o’clock at Pleasant’s beckoned, but I already knew I would not go. Nothing more could happen with Ava. I’d only be setting myself up for heartbreak. At her core, Ava had been trying to make James her husband when I messed it up. Maybe she did like me, liked our sexual encounter, but the fact remained: scant days ago, she wanted another person to be her partner for life. This turnaround, her profession to like me, only served to further illustrate her flightiness.

Asking Ava to resign was the right choice.

I got on the phone with human resources and informed a coughy, sneezy representative of the resignation. “Let’s open for applications as soon as possible,” I suggested.

*****

I couldn’t sleep that night. My brain raced. Worry and anxiety shivered through me. If I didn’t know better, I’d might believe that the spell rampaged full blast through my veins. My mind was Ava this, Ava that. Her big brown eyes, the doughnuts, the invitation to Pleasant’s that I snubbed. Her “I like you a lot, Libby. Can we have sex again?”

Even after I’d taken a vibrator to me and reached orgasm, my mind continued being Ava this, Ava that. I wished she was atop me. I wanted her hot breath on my neck. It would be a long few weeks before she left, and I hated being passive. I was a woman of action, and only one thing might allow me to sleep.

I didn’t care anymore if Ava and I screwed full on. Actually, that probably was best. Certainly better than a jilling-off tease. I’d accept whatever as long as it exorcised Ava from my system. We’d fuck, and I’d look into her eyes and say: “Wow! That was great, but that’s it. We’re done. No more. Now you’re out of my head and my heart.”

And then I could re-commit fully to Ellen. That was what I wanted. She was who I wanted. What we had, these ten years of history minus the past horrible year, was salvageable. I’d finish up with Ava, and then Ellen and I would sit down again for a talk, this time without the pain that accompanied our screaming, crying matches in the days following her betrayal. Calmly and seriously, armed with the perspective that time and distance brings, we’d discuss exactly why she cheated, what we’d both done wrong, what we’d both done right, and how we needed to reshape our relationship so the bad things wouldn’t happen again.

At four a.m., I did it. Sent Ava a text: The undo: tomorrow (Wednesday), your place. 5 p.m. to 5 a.m. Do we need another round of gifts?

I received an immediate reply: Thank you, Libby. To be safe, yes on the gifts, if that’s OK.

Seemed like I had a companion in the land of the awake.

*****

The next morning at school dragged by, and at eleven, Louise Avery arrived unannounced to observe James.

“Can you stop by for a little chat before you leave?” I asked.

“Will do.”

The job of principal is basically a manager job. And manager jobs entail paperwork. Lots of paperwork. I usually didn’t mind. Today, though, I couldn’t focus on all the e-mails and documents awaiting me. Ava, Ava, Ava. I should’ve stayed Saturday morning and gotten a genuine screw over with. Oh well, it’d happen tonight.

Once I decided paperwork would be fruitless, I dropped by a few classrooms to observe teachers. Then I met with Louise in my office.

“How did it go?” I asked.

“I feel…” She sighed. “I like James. He doesn’t talk down to the kids. He takes their questions seriously.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Louise smiled. “I acted too hastily. Let’s keep my daughters right where they are.”

*****

I left school at three o’clock. At home, I showered, shaved, checked my nether regions and took extra care cleaning them.

My phone buzzed. Ava: I’ll cook dinner. We shouldn’t have anything delivered because that might break the “alone” time. What do you want?

Me (wondering if Ava genuinely believed this spell stuff, wondering if I did): A frozen pizza is fine. Cheese and pepperoni.

Ava: Are you sure?

Me: Yes. See you soon.

I did not want Ava cooking for me, thank you very much. Cooking implied emotional involvement. A frozen pizza indicated, well, a frozen distance.

I dressed slowly. Jeans, a green shirt. A pink worm named Wally, one of my favorite stuffed animals when I was a kid, beamed at me as I wrapped him. No doubt he would end up entertaining Ava and James’s future baby. At last, I muttered: “Here goes nothing.”

Right on time, I knocked on Ava’s door, and she let me in.

“We need to discuss your resignation,” I said without preamble. Without greeting. Without letting myself stare into Ava’s deep brown eyes.

“Uh,” she said. “Hello to you, too.”

“I’ll announce it tomorrow via e-mail. What reason should I give?”

“Tomorrow?” Ava’s nostrils flared. Her brown eyes reached out and performed an exquisite act of visual strangulation. Her beauty, her passion, made me want to grab her and kiss her. Hard.

More eye-strangling of me. Guess her resignation hadn’t quite set in until now.

“Can you wait until Friday so I can tell Kimmie and some other people myself?” Ava asked.

“Fine, fine. Friday. What reason do I give in the announcement?”

Ava shook her head, her fingers fluttering to her neck. Her anger diminishing. “I don’t know. I don’t…it’s so early in the school year, and most the positions are filled. I did apply for a fourth-grade job at Claybrook. So maybe something like I want to explore the challenges of teaching kids a bit older. That’s one of the reasons I put on my application.”

The anguish on her face.

I felt like a right jerk, but I told myself to move on. No feeling, no absorbing.

“Okay,” I responded gruffly. “We’ll go with that. Good explanation.”

Ava reached out and brushed her hand against mine. “Thank you for coming.”

I wished a thrill didn’t shoot up my spine at the contact, or at the promise in Ava’s eyes, but it sure did. Shot and stayed up there. So did my hand with hers, at least for a few seconds.

*****

During gift exchange number two, Wally Worm earned a soft smile from Ava.

“He’s adorable,” she said.

“Yep. Sure is.”

She ran her fingers over Wally’s toothy grin. “Do you want your blanket back? You, uh, you left the Mickey Mouse ears here Saturday morning, so I figured you’d want your blanket back.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Ava’s gift to me was one of the jigsaw puzzles that had hung on her bedroom wall. The skull. “You seemed to really like it,” Ava pointed out. “It’s my favorite puzzle, so…” She chuckled. “If you want to make your bedroom less boring. Or not. You probably don’t want any reminders of me after tomorrow, huh?”

“Thank you,” I said, dodging her last comment. I visualized the puzzle in my bedroom. No denying it’d improve the place, but more likely I’d stick it in the basement. You know, due to my mantra: no feeling. No absorbing. Besides, putting Ava’s puzzle in my bedroom when I was trying to reconcile with Ellen would be dumb.

Ava sighed and wrapped Wally Worm around her neck. “Guess I’ll stick the pizza in the oven. You want extra cheese?”

CHAPTER NINE—AVA’S TURN

I slid the pizza in the oven and itched for the vodka in my cabinet. Five shots would hit the spot exactly. Five shots to shove right back into my throat, five shots to help me careen down the happy liquor slide into Drunkville. Drunkland? Drunktown? Well, whatever. That place where your troubles linger out of arm’s reach.

It had become real. I had resigned. I’d have to face my work friends tomorrow, including my best friend, and lie about why I was leaving.

Tomorrow, I thought. That’s tomorrow. Worry about Libby now. She’s here.

In the living room, Libby was petting Mrs. Purr.

“Twenty-five minutes until the pizza’s ready,” I said. “I rented a couple of DVDs if you want to watch them. I also have Netflix streaming.”

“All right.”

“Lib? Could we talk for a second first?”

Libby kept petting Mrs. Purr, but I detected a slight tensing in her fingers. I hadn’t called her Lib in a long time. Hadn’t meant to just now. “What about?” Libby asked, her voice flat.

“A lot. Everything. What we might do tonight and what we did the other night.”

Something flickered in Libby’s gaze. Whatever it was, it thrilled me. Scared me too. Paralyzed me. I wanted to go to her and kiss her. Let the kiss do the talking for me. But, like an idiot, I kept still. Only my dumb, fat mouth moved, and it messed up as usual: “Just…James said yesterday that he likes me. He always did, but he thought you and I were together. Our body language in meetings. You’d catch me watching you and do that thing with your eyes.”

Mrs. Purr purred, but Libby’s frown, a deep splice, spoke for her. She set the cat down.

My stupid mouth rushed on: “I set him straight that you and I aren’t together. And he asked me on a date.”

Libby permitted  herself a withering stare before walking to the entertainment center. “Happy for you. Are these the DVDs you rented?”

“Lib. Libby. That came out wrong. I didn’t mean to imply…” Disarray imploded in my brain: squares rammed themselves into holes, birds flew into windows, dogs tried to mate with their owners’ legs, and people locked themselves out of their cars.

I forced myself to move. I kissed Libby. Should’ve been on the mouth, but my lips landed on her cheek. “I don’t like James,” I whispered as I drew back. “Not in that way. I was wrong to think I did. You and the spell have helped me realize that I’ve been in denial a long time.”

“Oh, Ava,” Libby said. Disbelievingly. But her eyes. Her eyes. They hoped. No other way to put it. Churning, nervous blue-green eyes that added to my anxiety.

Again without thinking, I put my hand on Libby’s breast. Quite inelegant, yes. But blunt. Got the point across. Not that I felt much. Only bra. Thick, solid bra, nothing like the fancy, lacy red bra I wore.

“Louise Avery has big breasts,” I blurted out.

Libby giggled, an unexpected—and gorgeous—sound. “Yes. Yes. She does.”

“Twin suns,” I continued, wanting to make Libby giggle again. “Planets orbit them. Ten planets each. Gas giants. Perfume gas giants.”

Libby quirked an eyebrow. “You like her suns, huh?” Her voice was sly, playful.

Nervousness slipped back to grip me. “Yours are more my type.”

“Is that right?”

I leaned in to kiss Libby again. Miraculously, my mouth found the corner of hers. No cheek blunder this time. My heart thudded once, twice, thrice. Her mouth… so soft. Crazily soft. Her skin, smooth and…just smooth. Smooth, smooth, smooth. Even the most clean-shaved man I’d dated had not been this perfect.

I loved the feel of Libby the other night, and I loved it still.

I moved to expand, to deepen, the kiss, but Libby pulled away. Walls whooshed back up around her. “Ava, I…I…shit. I wasn’t going to tell you this, didn’t think I needed to, but my ex, you remember me talking about her?”

I knew this couldn’t be good. Ex talk during an attempted kiss, nope. Never good. Keep it light, girl. “The half-goat responsible for your uninteresting bedroom?”

Libby chuckled. “Yes, that’s the one. Her name is Ellen. And, uh, well, what happened is, she cheated on me a year ago, and we broke up. A couple of months ago, she asked for a second chance. I said we’d try being friends and see where that went. It’s been slow going, really slow going, but…”

Tension stretched my body. Is Libby dumping me before we even got started? Smile, girl! Smile! Process.

I smiled. So hard I hurt. “Are you still…deciding where it’s going?”

Sympathy lay naked in Libby’s eyes, which made me feel shittier. “We’re in the ‘barely friends’ phase, but I think I do want to try again with her. Ellen and I were together nine years. She’s a great woman. We both made mistakes. We…we’re good together. We need to get past this big roadblock, and we’ll be all right.”

“Oh.” My tongue tasted like gall. My thoughts tasted like gall. I could say an “I’m sorry,” but it would be of no use. And I wasn’t sure what I was sorry for. Rotten timing? Me being an ass? Ellen asking Libby for a second chance? Libby telling me about Ellen now instead of in the morning—and therefore denying me one grand night before Libby reached into my chest and seized my beating heart?

“Well, thank you,” I said. “Thanks for letting me know. I sure do appreciate it.”

Sarcasm. Lots of sarcasm. And pain.

“Ava,” Libby implored.

“Why did you let us do what we did Friday night?” I asked accusingly.

“Ellen and I are not dating. Not technically. And…” Libby clenched her teeth. “Geez, Ava. I don’t know. I’m not perfect. I haven’t had sex in more than a year, and I like you. You know that. I’ve liked you a long time. It took all I had to…to not let things progress like they would have Friday night. I thought you were kind of experimenting. Questioning your sexuality. Aren’t you? Look, no offense, but I’m not a science project.”

I scoffed, mostly to cover up the fact that tiny tears stung my eyes. “Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? You and the spell helped me realize some things.”

“I appreciate that. I do, really. However, maybe a week from now, or a month from now, or a year from now, you’ll realize otherwise. I’m thirty-seven. I’m too old for these kinds of risks. These kinds of games.”

My tiny tears enlarged. Time for another pity-party hoedown. Noise makers, red hats, pony rides, cake, ice cream, scary-ass clowns. Maybe I was questioning my sexuality, maybe I wasn’t. Bottom line, I liked Libby. I liked that one beautiful, smart woman. Did other stuff really matter?

Yes. Apparently.

“Know what’s sad?” I muttered.

“What?”

“Friday night was the best sexual encounter of my life.”

Libby blinked. “Really?”

“I can’t, I can’t…I can’t come with someone else. I’ve never been able to. I can’t lose myself. I always have to focus. Like, I’m doing this now, what should I do next, step A, step B, step C, that kind of stuff. But I never tried the…what we did Friday. I came with you. I lost myself in what you were doing. My brain didn’t get in the way. That’s huge to me. You have no idea.”

Libby nodded slowly, my confession no doubt scaring her shitless. The good ol’ TMFI—too much freaking information. “Well…good. I’m glad, Ava. I’m glad you got that.”

“Why are you here? You don’t believe in the spell.”

“Maybe I should go.”

“No. Just tell me why you’re here.”

Libby shifted her gaze to the far wall, but that didn’t prevent me from taking her expression in.

“I need you out of my system,” Libby mumbled. “For me. For Ellen.”

“Guess Friday didn’t do the job.”

Libby’s lips tugged up wryly. “Not even close. But maybe I ought to leave. Maybe we should stop here and…we had Friday. I’ll be okay with time.”

Heck, no. Let Libby leave? Crazy. Think about this a moment. Me and Mrs. Purr in bed, Mrs. Purr like a fine fat old hen on my two pillows, leaving me pillow-less. Libby nowhere close, her absence like a wound in my side. Yeah, no. If tonight was all I could get with her, I’d take it. Besides, maybe Libby should be with Ellen, but I didn’t have to accept that on face value.

“Please stay,” I said. “I’d like tonight with you.”

*****

“What’s Ellen like?” I asked over a slice of cardboard pizza. My first and last slice.

Libby bit into her pizza. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I do.”

Libby sighed. “She’s a funeral director. She…obviously, because of that, she works a lot with grieving people. She’s sweet. She’s kind.”

“How’d you meet?”

“Blind date. We fell hard.”

“And she cheated last year?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“How did you find out?”

Munch, munch, munch. “I caught Ellen and the other woman in bed when I was supposed to be out of town. A water pipe break sent me home early, so...” Libby shrugged. “The other woman was…her name’s Mavis. Ellen oversaw Mavis’s mother’s funeral, and they became friends. Then more.”

“I’m sorry.”

Libby chuckled and reached for a second slice. “It happens. Enough about me. What about you? Have you been cheated on? Or been the cheater? Both?”

I tussled with a long string of cheese. “I’ve probably been cheated on. Don’t know for sure. Haven’t had much in the way of relationships. One of my boyfriends loved going down on me. He was probably my most serious relationship. We were together three years.”

“Why did it end?”

“We were together less and less. Called each other less and less. We never actually broke up. Never said goodbye.”

“After three years?”

I grinned. “Yeah. Maybe he’s technically still my boyfriend.”

“So he went down on you a lot, and no…” Libby gestured vaguely.

“No. My mind couldn’t let go. I faked with him. With all of them. I was a shitty girlfriend.”

Libby drank from her Coke. “Don’t beat yourself up. We’re all shitty girlfriends at some point.”

“I worried constantly. That their jaws were hurting. That I smelled down there. That I was too wet. Or not wet enough.”

Libby took her eyeglasses off, set them on the table. Rubbed her nose. “I’m sure you’re fine,” she said gently. “Perfect. But maybe I shouldn’t try to, ah…get you off tonight. It might be too much.”

Too much, yeah. Too much if it worked, if I came, and that was that, I couldn’t have Libby again because her loyalties lay with a damn funeral director. Perhaps Libby spoke for herself too—too much for her, too meaningful to her as well. Or maybe Libby did intend to try to get me off, but she thought that without such an expectation in place, my mind would be less burdened.

Agh! Ack! See how much I think, how much I plan? This was me during sex most of the time. Worse, actually.

“Then what will we do?” I asked.

A smile trembled over Libby’s lips. “We’ll figure something out.”

“You want to repeat what we did Friday night?”

“We could. Or kissing all night is…it’s nice. It’s really nice. Doesn’t matter. We can cuddle and just be together.”

Oooh. Kissing Libby all night. Me likey. “I’ve  never done that. Will it be enough to get me out of your system?”

Libby’s responding grin was tight. Strained. “Yeah. Should be enough.”

*****

I kissed Libby after dinner. Had to. I was about to explode.

I loved that she kissed me back. Tentatively, though. Nervously. Not fully. My mind let my body take over, if just for a bit, and I pressed myself into her—my breasts into hers, my mouth with hers, my lips parting hers, my hands cupping her face, all of me marveling at the smoothness of her cheeks—such a phenomenon!—her skill at kissing, my body rioting for more, more, more.

‘Twas better than sex. We kissed. A lot. Slowly. Sensually. Goofily. Like crazy. Mostly fun, wet, wild tongue kisses. One of the best times of my life. Having no expectations placed on me proved interesting, good interesting. No pressure to perform, no pressure to react.

Men want. They just do. They want to claim, to possess. Nothing wrong with that, per se, but Libby wasn’t out to claim me or possess me. She allowed me to, for lack of a better phrase, be myself. She allowed me to be comfortable in my own skin.

Her mouth could be delicate and punishing at the same time, like a rose. Delicate petals, punishing thorns. Kissing her reminded me of eating cotton candy. Deliciousness melting in your mouth, soft, soft sweetness.

I loved how Libby kissed, like a flower blooming and exposing layer after layer, petal after petal. We melded. We became one.

She could get me to reach orgasm if we tried. Easily.

*****

“Libby?” I whispered. “You awake?”

No answer, no movement, from the prone figure next to me, so I glanced at my nightstand clock. Last time I checked, it read 3:36. Now it read 3:37.

Ugh. Ugh. I rolled out of bed and padded down the hallway. I sat at my kitchen table and cupped my face in my hands. I wasn’t sure how long I sat like that. All I knew was that when I looked back up, there Libby was. Libby with her concerned blue-green eyes. Libby, lovely, beautiful and stunning with her bed hair.

Libby, her shorts and long pajama shirt concealing her body. We had yet to see each other naked.

“What’s wrong?” Libby asked.

“Can’t sleep.”

Libby chuckled. “I gathered that.”

“Was it good? You liked it? Our kissing?”

Libby took a few tentative steps toward me. “Yes. Yes, of course. Let me kiss you again.”

I let Libby pull me upright, let Libby run her fingers through my hair, let Libby kiss me, hard and urgent. I let her lead me back to bed, and there, she let me do two things.

She let me take her hand. She let me guide her hand between my legs.

She didn’t speak, didn’t question the appropriateness of this new turn. She crooked a finger inside me, sighed a sigh to let me know what she found quite pleased her, and painted my clit with my wetness.

My body and my heart were more than ready.

I came fast.

Afterward, I kissed her, and when she said: “Do me, Ava,” I did her—meaning I tugged her shorts off, I put my mouth on her pussy, I licked her, inhaled the sweet tanginess of her and wanted to cry. Her clit pulsated, throbbed, her hips shook and shook, and I wanted to never let her go.

“Come here,” Libby whispered when we were finished. “Let me hold you.”

*****

Sorry to say, the shower scene proved anti-climactic. Maybe because the shower was an ending of sorts, an intruder of sorts. Libby and I undressed, and my stomach fluttered. My heart, too. I could see Libby naked every day for as long as I lived, and I’d never get used to the exquisite sight. The ripe, supple breasts, the rosebud nipples, the slight down of hair between her legs…

I wanted to claim her, to possess her, to plant a flag reading: “Property of Ava Van Dorn; funeral directors not welcome” on her pussy.

I checked the warmth of the shower water. “Do you have the undo line memorized?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Me too. Water feels okay.” I contemplated not reciting my undo line. That might solve the funeral director problem, provided the spell was real. But it was the wrong approach. I knew that. Still, a tiny, petty, petulant part of me wanted to skip the line. However, knowing my luck, not saying the line would make the funeral director problem worse. The spell didn’t specify that the person I chose would be in love with ONLY me. I didn’t want Libby torn. Didn’t want Libby dragging me into some crazy three-way relationship.

“Libby?”

Contemplative, nervous, avoiding blue-green eyes. “Yeah?”

I fought the overwhelming urge to wrap my arms around Libby. “You’re sure about Ellen? She’s who you want? You know  that without a doubt?”

Libby sidestepped the question, saying: “Let’s finish the undo.”

So we did. We finished.

*****

When I returned to my bedroom after the damned undo, I did so with the air of a woman who was alone. I tossed Libby’s towel in the laundry hamper. Let Libby continue to see me, my ass, my breasts, my whatever. As long as I could pretend she wasn’t looking. As long as I could pretend I didn’t burn all over.

Ellen. I hated the name. Hated the damn woman. Hated all funeral directors.

My stomach growled. Dinner was so tiny and so long ago.

“Hey,” Libby said. She’d re-dressed in her pajamas.

“Hey yourself.”

Libby smiled. “Guess I’ll go home and get ready for school. See you soon?”

I pulled underwear on. “Sure. See you.”

“Ava?”

I forced myself to meet Libby’s face and snapped out a: “What?”

Libby wet her lips. “Nothing. I just…nothing. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

I felt empty. Like a giant hole puncher had thwacked its way into my stomach. But I grinned. Even managed a little laugh. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Lib. I asked you for an undo. You gave me the undo. We kissed lots, we had sex, you don’t trust that I’m gay, and you’re not available. Pretty simple.”

Libby winced. “Ava.”

I held my hand out. “No hard feelings. You really did nothing wrong. It’s my fault.”

Libby shook my hand. And didn’t let go, so I had to.

*****

I got to school a bit early and found Kimmie in  her classroom. Told her that I had resigned, that my last day was September 20.

Kimmie’s jaw scraped the floor. “Ava! Why?”

She’d see through any excuses bullshit right away, but I had to try. I said: “I applied for a job at Claybrook. It’s teaching fourth-grade kids. I’m ready for a change.”

“It’s the spell! You told Libby, and she went berserk.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Kimmie, okay? Libby’s sending out an e-mail tomorrow announcing my resignation, so please keep it to yourself. I’ll be fine.”

“But. But.” Kimmie’s mouth seesawed. “But, Ava. Libby can’t force you to resign over…over…what happened exactly?”

“I’ll tell you later. Gotta run to class.”

A note and a couple of roses awaited on my desk. My heart lurched happily. Libby. Libby!

Alas, no.

The card read:  May I have the pleasure of your divine company tonight? – James

I ran my finger over James’s firm, well-formed letters. One week ago, I wanted him to be my husband. If Libby hadn’t tornadoed into his classroom when she did, he might have been. Life would be swell, but I’d still be hiding. Pretending to be someone I was not.

With a heavy heart, I picked up the pen closest to me. I wrote in blue ink: I’m resigning. Leaving Sept. 20. Ask Louise out. Y’all will be cute together.

“Ava!”

I looked up. Dimples. Sandy blond hair. James. Happy. James genuinely desiring me unlike Libby and her damn funeral director.

“What do you say? Tonight?” he asked with a grin.

Okay, I thought. But only so I can explain I’m resigning and that he should ask Louise out.

CHAPTER TEN—LIBBY’S TURN

I stopped at Krispy Kreme on the way to school. Probably the same one Ava stopped at the other day. The undo had progressed as expected. As written. As instructed. That’s what I kept telling myself, anyway.

I shivered and ordered a classic doughnut and water. Ten minutes later, I entered my office at Leviston. Kept replaying the undo. Kept replaying Ava and me kissing all night, Ava’s tongue between my legs. After a minute or so of hesitancy, she went to town.

I loved it.

I replayed me telling Ava about Ellen, the hurt in Ava’s eyes, in her voice.

I sat in my office chair and pressed my lips to the doughnut. Kissed it, swirled my tongue around it, like Ava kissing my need. But only for a second or two.

What had I been thinking, suggesting to Ava that we kiss? The experience was delicious, sure. Wonderful. Perfect. And therein glared the problem. I should’ve skipped the foreplay and let Ava fumble her inexperienced straight-woman way around me.

Me and my 20/20 hindsight.

Ava whirred around my system. Ricocheted. She was nowhere close to being extinguished.

I texted Ellen: Dinner tonight? Maybe that would solve the problem. Being with Ellen again, kissing her again, making love with her again, our skin sweaty and together together together… that’d help me forget about Ava.

Ava Elizabeth Van Dorn who?

Yep. I could do it.

*****

Meetings after lunch kept me busy until four forty-five. At last, I latched my briefcase and turned my office lights off. If the spell was real and if Ava and I had messed up the undo somehow, it would be apparent by now, right? Love would convulse and shriek through my veins. I would want want want to search Ava out right this moment instead of wanting to avoid the hell out of her.

It wasn’t farfetched that Ava and I had botched the undo. Possibility one: Ava had gotten out of bed in the middle of the night, and we were supposed to spend the entire night together. The spell might be crazy literal, crazy-overly specific.

Possibility two: Maybe Wally Worm wasn’t a sentimental-enough gift.

Possibility three: Maybe Ava hadn’t said her undo line. Or she’d said it incorrectly. I’d said mine right, though. Pretty sure I had.

Damn, I thought. Something convulsed through my veins, no matter how much I wanted to pretend otherwise. Maybe not love. Or partly love, partly lust. And I sure did want to search Ava out as much as I wanted to never see her again.

One of my fantasies about Ava unfolded thus: She stalked into my office, angry about some matter or the other. Fury flushed her cheeks and heated her exclamations. To calm her down, I pressed her against the wall, she writhed in glee, and I whipped a magically appearing dildo out of my pants. I had my way with her, fucked the freak out of her, better than any of her men with their real penises did. Afterward, she used the dildo to have her way with me.

Then she left my office as angry and as passionate as she was when she entered.

In non-fantasy land, I locked my office door behind me. Walked down the hallway. Approached Ava’s classroom. Cringed at that hideous water spot on the ceiling. I’d put in a maintenance order, and the spot was scheduled to be taken care of next week.

Ava’s classroom door jutted open. Lights on. I swallowed and poked my head in. Ava hunched over at her desk, her hair blocking my view of her profile. I called a soft: “Hey.”

She glanced up. Grinned widely, eyes lighting up. “Hey. Hey! I’m glad you’re here.” She bounced over to me. “I’ve been waiting for your meetings to end.”

“Why?”

“The spell. Did it…do you...”

“I feel the same. No change.”

Disappointment creased Ava’s face. “Would you tell me if you did? You wouldn’t try to hide it?”

“I don’t know.” I forced myself to grin and searched Ava’s face. “You said the undo line, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

Silence sprouted and lengthened between us. I wished for a magical dildo to go crazy on one of us, or both of us, but…nothing. Nothing.

“Hey.” Ava leaned into me, put one of her arms around my waist. Made my stomach tingle. “Let’s do something tonight,” she said. “I don’t have anything I can’t cancel.”

I ached to say yes, but my brain raced ahead of my heart. My brain wouldn’t let me get hurt. Sincere Ava now, yes, but indecisive Ava later. Probably.

“I have dinner plans with Ellen,” I explained more brusquely than necessary.

Ava let go of me. “I’m out of your system that quickly, am I?” she whispered.

I turned to leave. “Have a good night, Ava.”

“Claybrook got in touch,” Ava called. “I have an interview tomorrow after school. They need someone to start as soon as possible. I might have to leave earlier than September 20.”

I cleared my throat, pretending not to be affected. “Sure. Whatever happens is fine.”

*****

“What happened?” I asked Ellen over hamburgers and French fries at Wendy’s.

She furrowed her forehead. “Pardon?”

“Why did you cheat?”

Ellen set her hamburger down. Exhaled a heavy breath. “Libby, uh…we talked about this.”

“Months ago when we weren’t in our right minds.”

“Is this really the place?”

The restaurant buzzed around us. Prime dinner time, a fat rainbow of hungry customers. Families, moms and pops, kiddies, a pop and a pop and a kid (yay for gay daddies!), teens with Mohawks, teens with nerd glasses (my kind of teen).

“We have to talk now,” I insisted. “Otherwise, I’m afraid we never will. We’ll chicken out and keep sweeping what happened under the rug.”

Ellen inhaled a French fry. “I see.”

“Okay, okay. Look, stuff wasn’t good between us. I get that. I took you for granted. I know why you cheated, and what I’m really asking is, how do we make sure it doesn’t happen again? How do we make sure we don’t drift apart again?”

She shrugged. “Set aside a time every week to communicate? And actually communicate?”

I searched Ellen’s blue eyes and urged my heart to feel something for her. To flap its butterfly wings. Just a teeny something.

Nope.

My heart had become all Ava. I wanted that “Ava who?” person.

Heck, maybe the spell was genuine. Case in point: the fact that Ava might not actually be gay bothered me less and less. The main points: She did like me, and we were great together. On these two counts, I harbored no doubt. Perhaps the person deserving a second chance with me was Ava, not Ellen. True, Ava remained my employee, but that would remedied soon enough.

Claybrook, hire Ava. Fast.

“What’s wrong?” Ellen whispered, lowering her gaze.

My pulse hammered in my ears. “Our chance is gone. We had great years, but we can’t get back to where we were. My motivation isn’t there.”

“You sure? Starting from scratch with someone new is hard. Really hard.”

I snorted. “Is that why you want to try again with me? Because it’s easy?”

“No, I love you. But—”

“It’d be hard with me,” I interjected. “Crazy hard. Harder than trying with someone new. And like I said, I don’t have the will for it. The desire for it. I tried and tried to. I wanted it. Really, I did. But wanting something and having it are very different. I’m sorry, Ellen.”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “Yeah. I’m sorry, too.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN—AVA’S TURN

“I can’t believe you’re leaving,” James said over dinner at a steakhouse. “Leviston won’t be the same without you.”

“I’ll miss it. And you guys.”

James speared a hunk of raw, bloody steak. “You want me to help you role play for the Claybrook interview?”

“Now?”

“Sure. Why not?”

The barely dead steak carcass mooed its way into James’s mouth. Ew. Just ew!

James chewed. And chewed. “Why are you leaving Leviston, Ms. Van Dorn? Why now? Why not last summer?”

I straightened and assumed my attentive, pleasant interviewee pose. “I love Leviston, but I’ve always heard excellent things about Claybrook. The SOL pass rates, for example. Claybrook is closer to where I would like to be geographically. I didn’t intend to search for jobs, but a friend sent me the link with the job opening. I figured I might as well try. I’m ready for the challenge of teaching students a bit older than second grade.”

Another piece mooed its way into James’s willing jaws. “Good answer.”

“Thanks.”

“But is it true?”

I grimaced. “Officially, yes.”

He wiped his mouth with a napkin. Reached across the table and clasped my hand in his. “What’s going on, Ava?”

I wanted my hand away from his. Didn’t want him touching me. Only Libby. Libby. Didn’t help that James’s hand was sweaty and clammy. And that his smile was too symmetrical, his eyes overly close to each other. Funny, I’d listed his attributes since Grandma died but hadn’t bothered to search for flaws.

How to answer him, how to answer him…

My phone, secure in my purse, held a log of texts and voice mails from Kimmie asking similar questions. I’d ducked her as much as possible during the day.

“You should ask Louise out,” I said, sliding my hand from James’s.

James blinked. “Huh?”

“The two of you will be cute together.”

“Why would you want me to take her out?”

Here we go. The big moment. Rip the words out. “I’m gay, James.”

“Gay?”

“I’m homo. Queer. Dykeish. I like women.”

“But I thought…didn’t you…Ava, wait. I’m confused.”

“I was confused for a long time, too. I thought I liked men. But I don’t. I’m sorry if I led you on.”

James laughed, no doubt to cover his annoyance. Also no doubt he had suddenly become glad, very glad, I was leaving Leviston.

*****

I called Kimmie when I got home.

“Okay, so what is going on?” she asked right away.

Deep breath. Deep breath. “I’m a lesbian, Kimmie.”

No answer.

No answer.

“Kimmie?”

“Y-yeah, I’m here. You’re a lesbian. Is that good or bad?”

“Good. It’s good.”

“Then I’m happy for you. Is that why you’re leaving?”

I told Kimmie everything. Libby and me in high school, Libby and me now, our kisses, our sex, Libby’s damn funeral director, Libby asking me to resign.

“I don’t blame her,” I said in conclusion. “She did what she had to. I just wish I didn’t…damn, Kimmie. I like her so much. I really do.”

“Then try the spell again. On her.”

I laughed. “I’m burning it. Damn thing is more trouble than it’s worth.”

“How can you say that? It helped you understand you’re gay, didn’t it?”

“Well, yes.” I sighed. “You’re right. That’s an excellent point. But what about Ellen? What if Libby falls in love with us both, and we end up in a bizarre three-way relationship?”

Kimmie snorted. “You’re insane, Ava. You know that? Libby and her ex won’t work out. These things never do. Trust me.”

*****

One week later

Most of me didn’t believe in magic, especially the type of magic necessitating a mixture of eye of newt, sheep gut, thistles of grass, slime of toad, wart of wench, that gross stuff. Yet here I was, about to try a magic spell for the second time. Why the heck not? The spell wasn’t nasty, and trying never hurt. Worst case: my life would stay the same. Best case: Libby Lubbock would fall in love with me, and we’d live happily ever after.

Today had been my last day at Leviston. I would start Monday at Claybrook. In two measly days. The clock on the wall said the time was five p.m., and my goodbye party had died down. Brownies, cookies, cake and punch swirled in the stomachs of teachers long gone, teachers restless to escape for the weekend.

James, understandably, had not attended my sendoff.

Now only Libby and I remained. Tension was thick as we circled each other and tossed plastic and paper and crumbs into the trash. We’d barely interacted the past week.

I checked the time again. Specifically, the position of the seconds hand. Wish me luck, Grandma.

I stepped toward Libby, and the words tumbled past mind gates flung open: I want this person to fall in love with me, o gods, please have this person fall in love with me forever and ever.

“I’ll miss you,” Libby said quietly.

I crumpled the empty Oreos package in my hands. “I’ll miss you too. I, uh, in case you were interested in knowing, I came out as a lesbian.”

“Did you? Congratulations.”

“It’s nice. Albatross off my back.”

“I bet. I have one off my back too.”

“You do?”

Libby grinned impishly. “Want to go on a date with me tomorrow? You’re not my employee anymore, so…”

Surprise, good surprise, filled my body. “Yes! But what about Ellen?”

“She’s the albatross off my back. We had our chance. You know? What’s done is done. Ellen and I are done. She’s not my future.”

My heart fluttered, and I glanced at the clock. Ten seconds before the minute was up, ten seconds...a long ten seconds.

Libby moved toward me. She brushed her lips against my cheek before I could edge out of the way, before I could warn her not to touch me. Then she wrapped her arms around me.

Maybe it was a good sign. Things happened for a reason.

“Let’s be naughty and send you off right,” Libby whispered in my ear. She locked the door and returned to me.

I pulled Libby in for a kiss, and she moaned. Didn’t take long for her to unbutton my pants, tug them and my underwear down.

Libby tasted me down there. “You’re…mmm. Sweet and salty deliciousness.”

“Better than Reese’s Cups?”

Libby laughed. “Oh gosh. Much better.”

I shivered in anticipation of what was to come. Me. I’d come. I’d shriek and yell and shake. And there was no need to inform Libby I’d cast the spell on her. No undo necessary this time.

THE END

CHECK OUT Q. KELLY'S OTHER WORKS

The Girl Prince and Her Princess: This fairy tale is set in the kingdoms of Athena and Qax. It’s a magical brew of a big ol’ juicy problem, generous dollops of secrets, castles, kings and queens, princesses and villains.

The king and queen of Athena have a problem. They desperately need a son to marry off to Princess Vexa. She is the unsightly daughter of their neighbor, King Magnatus of Qax. If no prince is born, Magnatus will take over the peaceful Athena and what the heck, kill all the people of the kingdom.

When Athena’s rulers finally produce an offspring, the queen dies in childbirth. The king finds himself faced with the greatest challenge of all—a girl! Boys are scarce, and no one is willing to give up their son to replace the infant girl.

The ruse is on. The sweet baby girl is named Alexandre and is raised to take on the manly duties of being a prince. Eighteen years later, it’s wedding time. Can the deception continue?

*****

Switch: Ellora Landry and June Blue Sky meet after they find out a nurse switched them when they were newborns. Ellora and June are forty years old and have led vastly different lives. June, raised by hippie parents, is an out lesbian who has not had the best experiences in the love department. Ellora, from a conservative family, is coming to terms with her lesbian identity and has just left her husband.

Ellora and June experience an undeniable attraction. However, they are reluctant to risk their hearts, especially since that means revealing secrets and telling the entire story behind half truths.

Will they realize that perhaps they were fated to be together since their births?

*****

Waiting:  Caris Ismay, 30, is falling in love with a woman she dares not pursue, and at exactly the wrong time. Caris knew that life after having her baby would be different, especially since her wife did not love her anymore. But Caris never expected post-baby life to be this difficult. Dale, her wife of three years, is in a coma that turns into a vegetative state. Lena, Dale's 29-year-old daughter, is put in the awkward position of revealing Dale's secrets to Caris.

Caris and Lena share a perfect, passionate kiss that they cannot stop thinking about. Plus, they can help each other in ways no one else can. They try to build a friendship, but their growing attraction gets in the way. Can Caris and Lena move past the taboo of their attraction and find their path together?

*****

Strange Bedfellows: What happens when the queen of the ex-gay movement decides to come out of the closet? The person who helps Frances Dourne with this enormous task is a call girl Frances hires. A call girl with a secret of her own. Can they learn to trust each other enough to find the love they seek in each other's arms?

Frances is grappling with something else, too. Her daughter, Marissa, has been gone eleven years. She was kidnapped by her father on her third birthday. Frances hopes her coming out will ease the way for Marissa's return.

*****

All in the Family: Allison Albrecht and Samantha Cannizarro are thrown together when their parents become engaged. Sam is deaf, so Allison begins to learn sign language. Allison is eager to please Sam and to make a good impression on her. Sam does not care about good impressions. She is a loner, always has been. She resents her new instant family, especially her stepmother-to-be. Sam is also reluctant to bond with three-year-old Allen. However, Allison and Allen gradually crack Sam's facade, and the two girls fall in love.

But life in a stepfamily is rarely easy. Throw in romance between two stepsiblings, and the ride is going to be bumpy.

*****

The Odd Couple: Morrisey Hawthorne and her four-year-old son, Gareth, have a pretty good life. Then one day they meet Charlene Sudsbury, who is trying to move on from the suicide of her son, JP, three years before. Gareth is nearly the mirror image of JP, and Charlene connects instantly with him. Not quite so with Morrisey, who can't escape fast enough after Charlene shows her a picture of JP. Charlene is convinced Morrisey is hiding something and sets out in search of the truth.

Despite the circumstances, the two women form an unusual bond and end up with a lot more than they bargained for. But when an old friend of JP's resurfaces, he challenges the fragile trust Morrisey and Charlene have been building.

Can these two women overcome the obstacles that separate them from the happiness they seek?

*****

Third: Tudor historian Helen Franklin is horrified when her dying scientist father leaves her a most unusual inheritance: Anne Boleyn. Yep, Anne Boleyn as in Henry VIII's beheaded queen. She is a time traveler and is having trouble adjusting to the modern world. Helen tells herself she does not have time for Anne. Yalia, Helen's wife, has been distancing herself from Helen for three years, and Helen needs to decide if she wants to save their marriage.

Then the unexpected happens. A romantic relationship develops among Yalia, Anne and Helen. Can the three of them figure out their lives together, especially when time might be running out for Anne?

*****

The Old Woman and Other Lesbian Stories: Nine short stories are in this compilation. The lead story is "The Old Woman."

The Old Woman: Jessica is a pretty good best friend, but she goes too far when she dares Rachel to ask an old woman on a date. Rachel has no choice; otherwise Jessica will do the asking, and Rachel has no intention of humiliating the old woman. Turns out maybe Jessica's idea was not so bad after all. There is a lot more to Ada than her age.

Funeral: Olivia takes a drastic step to combat lesbian bed death.

The Lesbian Curse: Becky and Katy are in middle school and tussling over a boy. Becky curses Katy, saying Katy will become a lesbian.

Polly Wanna Cracker: Polly is a bird. A parrot, to be exact. She follows the goings-on of her human family, especially Faye, the daughter, and Glenda, the mother. Polly knows their secrets too. Will Polly spill the beans when she finds herself able to talk after bonking her head against a window?

What Girlfriend?: Bobbie hopes her one-night stand won't pull the U-Haul trick.

Haunted: Haunted people? Sure, they're everywhere. Haunted houses? Oooh, spooky. Good movie fodder. Excellent for campfire scares. Haunted cars? They’re not unheard of. But haunted pens? Yep, they exist, as Linda and Victoria find out when such a pen brings them together.

Fortune: Best friends Jackie and Emma go to a fortune teller. Emma is shocked when the teller reveals to Jackie that Emma is her secret admirer.

Lili from the Future: It's a dream many people have; your future self visits you and fucks you.

Lizzie: Twelve-year-old Shel is not sure if her best friend means it when he says he's going to kill a person.

*****

Cupid Pulls a Prank and Other Lesbian Tales: Ten short stories are in this compilation. The lead story is "Cupid Pulls a Prank."

Cupid Pulls a Prank: Cupid pulls a prank to end all pranks. For the first time in American history, both the Republicans and the Democrats have female candidates running for president. The Republican is Alice Cowell, and the Democrat is Gillian Marshall. Cupid strikes them during a live, nationwide televised debate, and Alice's and Gillian's reactions shock even Cupid.

Roxanne and Ms. Winslow: When Roxanne Rogers was eighteen years old, she did a bad thing. A chance encounter at three a.m. may be the opportunity Roxanne needs to make amends.

Toasted: Lottie finds out that some women do get toasters for converting straight gals. And not just any old toasters, but toasters of all shapes, sizes and colors. Heck, there's a blue race car toaster, a zebra toaster and a full-sized purple unicorn toaster. Can Lottie win the toaster of her dreams?

Lesbian Speed Dating: Ginny Yost is intrigued when she sees an ad for lesbian speed dating. What happens is a comedy of errors. Will Ginny find the woman she's meant to be with?

The Jumper : Kim tries to talk a woman out of jumping off a bridge.

Mrs. Claus's Klondyke Secret: Candace Claus, a.k.a. Mrs. Santa Claus, is on her yearly two-week cruise with Santa after the madness of the holidays. She is tired of living in the shadow of a man who has gone from jolly to cranky, plus she will no longer deny her true self. The time has come for Candace to fess up to Santa that she's a lesbian.

Westinhoffer, Andrew Brian, 16: Elizabeth is reading the obituaries when one catches her eye. She thought she said goodbye to Andrew Brian Westinhoffer when he was a baby, but she must force herself to say goodbye again.

So This Woman Meets This Chick Online And...: A joke from the early days of the Internet goes like this: a young woman sets up a hotel rendezvous with a man she met online. They meet, and turns out he's her dad. Yep. They cringe in embarrassment and promise to never tell anyone what happened. Guess what? This happens to Jillian too, only she is gay, so the person she encounters in the hotel room is her mom.

Three Wishes: Evangeline is tired of being lonely. One day, she comes across a bottle. She rubs it, and out pops a genie. Evangeline can make three wishes. Her first wish is for a woman to be her friend, possibly her lover. But, alas, the path to true love is rarely smooth.

The Robot: Ramona is grateful when her scientist husband brings home a prototype for a lifelike maid robot his company is developing. Turns out the robot, Mya, is also functional in the bedroom. Very functional.

*****

Miss Lucy Parker and Other Short Stories: Seven short stories are in this compilation. The lead story is "Miss Lucy Parker."

Miss Lucy Parker: Miss Lucy Parker is a prim, proper elderly lady. When a Volkswagen Beetle—the new kind, and pink—PINK!—turns onto the winding road that leads to Lucy's farmhouse, Lucy is sure the car's occupants are lost. And that the car contains hippies, because hippies drive Volkswagen Beetles. Lucy plans to tell the hippies to get lost. She has no need for their odd speech, beads and marijuana aroma. Except hippies are not in the car. A woman is, a woman wearing a short, blood-red dress that hugs her body. Thus begins Lucy Parker's great adventure.

A Weird Situation: Karen does not believe her boyfriend when he tells her that he turns into a woman for seven hours every day.

The Interview: The person interviewing Debby has a giant booger. Should she tell him and risk not getting the job?

First Day at Work: A security guard's first day at a bank has repercussions for him and three workers.

Every Day: A man struggles every day to follow through on a promise to himself.

The Doctor: A doctor salivates at the prospect of delivering bad news to a twelve-year-old girl and her mother.

Guardian Angel: Gabriel fancies himself a guardian angel. But is he really?

Check Q. Kelly out at qkellybooks.com.

Email her at yllek_q@yahoo.com