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takes a look, she can tell you. She should be home right now.”
    I take a deep breath. What have I got to lose? I shrug and say, “Fine. I’ll give you one last chance. Let’s go.”
    Stella’s house looks like every other house on the street from the outside. It’spretty average on the inside too, until we hit the kitchen. Walking in there is like stumbling upon a vegetable war. Not only is the floor lettuce green, the walls are radish red and the cupboards are carrot orange. Plus, there are actual plants everywhere. Bundles of plant matter hang from ceiling. Bowls overflow. Garlands of garlic are draped over the windows. And then I see her—Baba. Standing at the stove is a tiny old woman wearing a polka-dot apron, a flowered dress and an enormous hat. A bunch of plants are sticking out of the hat. It’s like she’s camouflaged in there.
    â€œAh, Stella!” she says. “You’ve brought a friend. How nice!”
    â€œHi, Baba,” Stella says. “This is Lizzie. From next door.” She tosses a quick look in my direction and adds, “The one I told you about, remember?”
    The baba’s eyes narrow. She lifts a long bony finger and points it at me. “This is her?”
    I laugh. I can’t help it. “Yes. Ha ha. It’s me.”
    â€œAnd you’re wearing my hat,” the baba says. “Why?”
    â€œOh! Ha-ha. Just because.” I have to get out of here.
    I start backing up, and a totally creepy voice says, “I see through your clothes.”
    I open my mouth to shriek, but something more like a squawk comes out. And the voice squawks back.
    â€œOh, honestly, Angela,” the baba says, “how many times have I told you not to say that to guests?”
    Stella reaches up into a tall plant and when she pulls back, a glossy green parrot is perched on her arm. “This is Angela,” she says. “Say hello, Angela.”
    The parrot remains silent.
    Stella rolls her eyes. “She’s just being difficult.”
    â€œTrue,” says the baba. “But I have a feeling there’s more difficulty here than her.” She eyes me and asks, “The hat? Are you hiding something?”
    She’s sharp, I’ll give her that. I look at Stella and she nods. I remove the hat.
    The baba slaps a hand to her breast and whispers, “Holy Mother Earth! What have you done, child?”
    In a small voice, Stella says, “It’s my fault. I told her how to cast a spell. But I didn’t explain the laws properly. Can you fix it?”
    The baba clucks her tongue and says something like, “Ay yi yi!” She steps closer to me, squints at my forehead and closes her eyes. “This,” she says, “is very bad. I haven’t seen pox like these for many years.”
    â€œPox?” I ask. The very word sounds scary. “What are pox?”
    â€œNo, Baba,” Stella says. “They’re just zits. Pimples. Blemishes.”
    The baba narrows her gaze. “You are certain?”
    â€œI, um, gave one zit to another girl,” I say. “I didn’t ask for her to get pox.”
    â€œI see.” The baba purses her lips, studies me again, then says, “Sit. There.” She points to a chair beside a small round table. I sit.
    She starts mumbling in some strange language, and I think, Okay, good, she’scasting the reverse spell. But then she grabs a towel from a drawer, dips it into a pot on the stove, wrings it out and hands it to me. “Put this on your forehead,” she says.
    â€œThat’s it?” I ask. “I put this on and it’s all better?”
    She laughs. “Don’t be silly. That’s just some Epsom salts and calendula oil. I was going to soak my feet, but you go ahead. It’ll help draw the pus.”
    I almost gag. “Pus?”
    â€œYou haven’t seen these zits recently?” she asks.
    â€œNot for a few