Mrs. Franchy's Evil Ring And The Six Months That Changed Everything

By Johanny Ortega and Vijendra Singh Vesle

Isla Delgado is only nine years old, but she has already been through more than most kids her age. When she's forced to live with her dad and his new wife for six months, Isla's anxiety worsens. She's convinced her stepmom is an evil witch.

Determined to protect herself, Isla sets out to expose her stepmom's true nature. But as she gets to

• Language: English
• Publisher: Have a Cup of Johanny
• Release date: Jan 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798986982656

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

It should be illegal for parents to make kids be friendly and respectful to far-removed family members they don’t even know. Why do we have to ask por la bendicion from someone we've never seen? Evelissé should not put up with a whole FaceTime with strangers. Watching her, my hand immediately goes to the snake-like scar on my neck. That didn't turn out so well for me when I was five.

Mami’s laptop churns as if it’s cutting grass and choking on it. The shadows evaporate, her evil eyes disappear, and I snap out of my daymare that almost swallowed me. I blink and watch Evelissé across the alleyway. She’s pacing and looking hella uncomfortable. Her eyes dart from the phone she’s holding and back to me. I keep looking at her, and soon Evelissé is a robot. But the joints around her mouth are rusted because when she mouths ‘yes,’ her lips barely move. And when she smiles, it barely reaches her eyes.

No! My friend’s unfamiliar family has turned her into a robot, and I can’t do anything about it. I’m backed up with homework I don’t know how to do, and my mouth is as rusted as Evelissé’s right now because whenever I have to say anything that raises eyebrows, it doesn’t work. This is not right; I need to stop being a robot.

I squeeze my suddenly cold fingers and open my mouth. Evelissé's gaze catches mine. My throat swells, but finally, I get my lips to move. Just then, Mrs. Perez opens Evelissé's door. Words buzz inside my head. All the words. But then it's like a traffic jam—a word traffic jam in my head.

Cold air sweeps my tongue, and I realize my mouth's still open. I sigh before I close it and watch Evelissé and her mom disappear behind my breath fog. Nothing. I didn't say anything. It’s like this magical spotlight turns on over my head whenever I have to say something, which makes everyone look at me, and that's not all. I've seen how when Evelissé says something, grown-ups ask her a ton of questions afterward. It’s like they don’t believe her. So, she has to explain herself even more! No. I can’t do it. Being a fourth grader is hard enough. I can’t take the pressure.

I clean my fog off and try hard not to stare at Evelissé. Her mom takes her phone back and is wagging her finger at her. My stomach twists. Outside, tiny pellets of snow and icy rain smack my window. Tick, tick, tick, they say.

Cold air slides inside. The towel Mami rolled up against my window does nothing, and I shiver. Daddy Leon says cold air slithers inside because the window is not sealed, and our landlord won’t do anything about it. Because landlords are not here to help, they are only here to get money. He used to get mad about it, but now that Mami is pregnant, and she likes it cold, we all have other things to be angry about, like a whole pandemic, not being around my friends, and having to use Mami’s cranky computer to go to school.

Evelissé waves at me before she closes her door, and I wave back. She probably has to do chores now. I bite my lip. She can't help me if she's doing chores. So, I walk over to my bed.

This is what Mami doesn’t understand about virtual school. From a computer, I can’t look at Evelissé’s work, her face, or how her hands move when explaining things. It’s like I’m only seeing things through a peephole, and nothing makes sense. That’s it. Virtual school is like looking at my best friend and Mrs. Jenkins through a peephole, and I hate it.

Mami doesn’t think so. She says all I need to do is ask Ms. Jenkins, but Mami forgets how fourth grade is. I can't just ask questions. The more questions I ask, the worse fourth grade gets. Especially with Melissa, who thinks she knows it all.

"You don’t know how to read that word?" she’d say. I don't know why that makes me feel so tiny.

All the other kids stare and join in when she says things like that. Not Evelissé. She always says something, and even that makes things worse because they will say the same mean things, only behind Evelissé’s back so she won’t tell Mrs. Jenkins.

Plus, even though Evelissé is super intelligent, like reading-since-she’s-been-four-smart, sometimes her clap backs are not the best. Like, I don't think Melissa cares about bullying facts. I think she does it because it's fun for her, and I don't think Mrs. Jenkins needs the entire rundown on how it all went down, either. She tells Mami, who would then tell the whole world, which means everyone would know my business. So, this helpfulness is like rolling a snowball down Sullivan Hill. It will start small and end up a massive mess.

And that’s my life, a massive mess.

Isla, you better be doing homework, Mami yells from the living room.

My eyes trail to the closed laptop on my desk.

Oh, oh, Devon says.

Across from me is the crib Daddy Leon dropped off last night after work. Behind me, by the door, is Devon and all his Lego puzzles. When I look at him, he goes from regular old Devon to a mighty good pirate. He has a clear eye patch, so I can still see his big dark brown eyes and long lashes. His hat has an apple instead of a skull, and he stands with his head and chest high on top of his purple ship, which is still not put together.

The image fades away, and I ask, You are not done with your puzzle?

Uh uh, Devon says, shaking his head.

The Devon I imagine in my head can make complete sentences, and everyone understands him. He's a lovable and popular pirate. In real life, Devon goes to speech therapy and is a pirate part-time whenever he finishes his pirate ship puzzles. The Devon in my head is the real one, and that's how I draw him.

Sometimes he's impatient, so I draw him with tick marks around his head and pursed lips. Devon and Evelissé take up a good chunk of space in my Blick Sketchbook. They make me happy. But sometimes, shadows creep in my head with memories I'm not supposed to have, and I draw those too. My sketchbook is close to full.

I skip all the sad drawings and find the one I did of Devon with an H pencil. It was the first time I drew on point, and it didn’t turn out badly.

I show it to him.

That’s me, he says.

I guess Devon sees himself as I see him: kind and mighty. I smile. But then I hear heavy footsteps outside the hallway, and my smile drops. I scramble to close my sketchbook and shove it underneath my pillow.

Shoot, I mumble.

Mami says I have one job and one job only—to get good grades, but I wish my job would be to draw dope pictures. For sure I would be acing it.

My door swings open. Devon and I gasp.

Isla!

Mami is a fire-breathing pregnant dragon standing in my doorway. In front of me, she grows green scales and spikes down her back, her nostrils flare, and the heat from the fire almost reaches my bed. I pull the strings on my hoodie until it squeezes my cheeks.

Oh, oh, Devon says.

I agree with Devon. This is an oh-oh situation. Mami’s green, fury-filled eyes scan the room until she spots it—my sketchbook sticking out from underneath my pillow. ¿Pero eh verdad?

Suddenly, I turn into a robot.

Oh, oh, I mumble.

CHAPTER 2

Her gaze trails over to my sketchbook, and my stomach flips twice.

It’s for homework, I tell her.

She shakes her head oh so slowly while narrowing her eyes. Cabeza dura. I keep telling you to do your homework right after school when it’s still fresh in your head.

I was born here in Massachusetts but not Mami. She was born in the Dominican Republic and came to the U.S. when she was eleven, two years older than me now. Sometimes when she’s mad, her English doesn’t sound like mine. Lately, she’s been sounding extra Dominican.

Mami rolls her eyes. When she opens her mouth, I see the ball of fire looming, waiting to burn my sketchbook into ashes.

I gulp.

But then her gaze changes direction. For someone with a whole baby in her belly, she moves from the door to my desk in two seconds flat.

Wait! I go from my bed to the desk by the window. I reach for Mami's computer, but my fingers grasp the air. I look up.

Mami is balancing the laptop on her belly and opening it. Even though it’s like a refrigerator in my room, my armpits get swampy. I take four steps and then lean toward her laptop.

Wait, what? Mami swings the laptop to the hip furthest from me without breaking eye contact with the screen. She scrunches her brows while looking at who knows what.

Are you going to get your eyebrows done? My voice trembles.

I heard her tell her friends she hasn’t gone this long without doing them, and it’s worth a shot. A yellow balloon filled with hope lifts me off the ground.

The pregnant fire-breathing dragon side-eyes me. Don’t distract me.

Mami’s words pierce my balloon, and I come crashing down.

She clicks around the keyboard. I can’t see what she’s doing, but I’m sure it’s nothing good. Read this passage and answer these three questions, she reads, already sounding annoyed.

I peek towards the window to see if Evelissé is back, but she’s not. Besides Mami’s laptop churning on her hip, Devon keeps repeating ‘Double D’ over and over. He heard it from one cartoon I put on months ago and repeats it when he's nervous.

I… My mouth is dry, and I sound like a toad. I was waiting for Evelissé to be done.

Mami lets out a painful sigh and throws the laptop on my bed. It bounces and almost falls but doesn’t. I don’t get that lucky.

Isla, she says as if it pains her to say my name.

My chin trembles like a mini-earthquake. My eyes are like volcanoes waiting to spill molten lava.

I need you, she clasps her hands before her as if praying the rosary. I need you to do what you are supposed to do. You go to school, so what do you think you should be doing?

I know the answer to this question. I just don’t like it. The word tastes like the sour candy from Halloween I don’t eat. Homework.

Devon stops saying Double D when he hears me. Next thing I know, he’s by my side cupping my cheeks, and his eyes staring into mine. You okay?

I’m his big sister, and I’m supposed to take care of him. I’m okay, I whisper.

Mami pulls Devon away from me. He glares at her and says something only I understand, which I won’t repeat because we’ll both be in trouble.

Go play, I tell Devon, and with one final glare at Mami, he does.

Mami rubs her face. What’s the reason, Isla? What’s the reason now?

She has her hands at her waist, but they don’t touch. Mami’s stomach peeks from underneath her shirt, and I can see the red lines there. Her nostrils flare, and the heat from the fire she’s about to throw my way graces my nose.

I told you already. I was waiting for Evelissé.

She lets out a long, harsh breath. Now you know that child has her own things to do.

Isla? Devon swings a leg over his bed.

I’m okay, I say, raising my hand at him.

He puts his leg back on his bed.

I scrub my nose. I know, but—

Do your work Isla. That’s all you have to do. How hard is that? You can have Evelissé check it later when she’s done. But really, Isla, that’s your responsibility, not hers.

My breath hitches. I suck at school, being a big sister, and now being a good best friend.

Look. Mami kneels in front of me. She cups my hands. We shouldn’t put our responsibilities on other people. They are our cross to bear.

Mami’s warm vanilla sugar body spray finds my nose. I remember the movie we always watch on Easter, where Jesus drags a cross around town and gulp at the thought of massive-cross-heavy responsibilities.

You understand, baby?

I nod. I blink a billion times, but molten lava falls on our hands.

Isla?

I pull my hand back, rubbing my eyes and my nose.

I know, I finally say.

I know you do. So go on and get your homework done. Don’t wait for Evelissé. Sometimes getting to know family takes a while.

I wanted to say so many things. How Evelissé doesn’t even want to know this person—that it should be Evelissé that makes the call if she wants to, and not her mom shoving the phone in her face and making her talk to the family she’s never even met. But I say nothing.

Instead, I look over my shoulder at Evelissé's empty room. Okay.

Mami lets out a long breath. Good.

I rub my hands on the side of my pajama pants until Mami turns towards Devon’s side of the room.

And you— Mami slides her chanclas away from my bed. It’s snack time.

Snack? Devon repeats all the words. But I think ‘snack’ is his favorite.

Yes. Mac and cheese. What do you think? Mami asks.

I wish I were five, and all I had to worry about was puzzles, snacks, and speech therapy. But then I remember what happened at five and take the wish back.

Mac and cheese? Devon repeats.

Mami nods.

Okay, Devon says without giving it much thought.

He stops halfway through putting his slippers on and looks at me.

I’m okay, I mouth to him and force my lips to turn up.

Once you are done, come eat some mac and cheese, Mami calls out from the hallway.

Okay, I mumble, knowing I won’t be done soon.

Love you, she says before her steps echo from my room.

Love you too, I whisper.

When my entire room is nothing but lava, I get up and pull the laptop open again. Its blue light glow goes straight into my eyes, and the screen turns into countless shades of blue. It’s like looking through a kaleidoscope. After two messed-up attempts, I rub my eyes dry and finally log in.

I can do it. I can do it.

My lips quiver.

I grab the corner of my blanket and blow my nose.

I can do it.

Put your finger on the first letter, Evelissé told me when she tried to help me before the world ended and virtual school started. And sound it out.

My hand shakes.

I can do it.

The screen is warm against the pad of my fingers. I open my mouth. The letter ‘S’ looks like a snake, and the letter ‘T’ beside it makes me mad. The ‘R’ is just making me angry. The ‘A’ and ‘I’ being next to one another makes it so confusing.

I can….

Staraheet? I finally say.

My cheeks grow warm even though nobody is watching. What is Staraheet?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing because it’s absolutely wrong. A slap of air hits my nose when I slam the laptop shut.

I can’t.

I can’t do it.

The alphabet is a lie! The ‘S’ is a sneaky snake.

CHAPTER 3

Hours later, Evelissé is finally done with her chores. Her face looks like she sucked on those sour candies I don’t like.

I don’t even know them, she says from across the alley through her half-opened window, shaking her head.

Evelissé doesn’t have any siblings like me, so she has a whole room to herself. I think it’s dope. She thinks it’s lonely.

At least you don’t have to stay with them, I say, watching the condensation billowing from