Penelope Wildermuth.

Penelope Wildermuth moved to our town a month into the school year. It was an odd time to show up—we were neck-deep in multiplication and halfway through The Bridge to Terabithia. She walked in announced on a Tuesday morning, increasing the classroom population to an even eighteen.

Penelope Wildermuth had long black hair that was split down the middle of her scalp and twisted into two braids. She wore a long flowered skirt and cherry-colored high tops. When our teacher asked her to introduce herself to the class she spoke with great indifference.

“My name is Penelope Wildermuth. I have a cat named Mr. Enzo, I collect bobby pins, and I hate tomatoes.”

It wasn’t much to go on, but we were endlessly fascinated with her. I was practically over the moon when our teacher sat her next to me. She sat down without a smile or even a sideways glance to suggest that she might want to be my friend. It didn’t matter: she was sitting next to me and thus was my responsibility.

At noon she pulled out a fancy-looking lunch bag with three different compartments. Each was full almost to the point of exploding. I watched as she nibbled at a PB&J sandwich and sipped from a juice-box. She left the Pop-Tarts, apple, carrot sticks, banana, and granola bar untouched. I waited for her to let me take my pick from the leftovers, but she never did.

She offered to wield one end of the jump rope at recess but declined the invitation to do any actual jumping—not even when we switched from Miss Mary Mack to Ice Cream Soda. Later on in gym class she planted herself far in the outfield and never once laid a hand on the kickball. She also put herself last in line to kick.

On the walk home we concluded that she was weird. Tristan the Loudmouth told us her family moved into Ike Davies’ old place. That was a bad sign. Ike was an old bachelor who fell down his basement stairs and cracked his head open. He died down there. Anyone willing to live in a house where someone died is automatically off their rocker.

As the year wore on, the aura of insanity around Penelope Wildermuth grew. Crybaby Anna saw her walking down the street with a black cat in her arms. We all wondered if maybe Penelope Wildermuth was a witch. She had the long black hair after all.

Derik and Erik Manderly lived down the road from the Wildermuths and claimed Mr. and Mrs. Wildermuth were just as strange. The twins often saw them sitting cross-legged on their deck, eyes closed and hands resting on their knees. Sometimes they hummed while they sat, and Derik and Erik even heard them chanting one night.

Redface Regina swore she heard the whole family howling at the moon whenever it was full. She lived downwind from them, so the sound carried right into her open bedroom window. I was instructed to inspect Penelope Wildermuth’s arms for signs of excess hair. Her arm hair turned out to be much darker and thicker than mine. We wondered if it was possible to be a witch and a werewolf.

If Penelope Wildermuth noticed Crybaby Anna running away whenever she came close, or the whispers of the others, or the blatant staring, she never said anything about it. In fact, she never said much at all. I sat beside her for five whole months and only knew that she was good at math and terrible at spelling.

It came as a surprise the day her mother called mine. It was a Tuesday evening, and Mrs. Wildermuth asked if I was allowed to come over for a play-date on Saturday. Mom asked me if I wanted to go, and I almost strained my neck vigorously nodding. I was the first to procure an invitation to the Wildermuth house. Of course I had to go—I had to see what it was like.

My invitation made me something of a celebrity at school. Unfortunately the week couldn’t possibly have passed by any slower. But come Saturday morning I grew apprehensive. What if the Wildermuths were luring me in to eat my flesh or sacrifice me to some higher spirit? Maybe they wanted to drink my blood—Nadine Burke caught Penelope Wildermuth with a red stain around her mouth one day. Plus she was very pale. I thought about faking sick, but I knew too many people were counting on me.

The Wildermuth’s porch steps were sturdy and didn’t even creak on our way up. The doorbell wasn’t altogether ominous, and there was no grim-looking servant to greet us. Instead we were welcomed by a redheaded woman who wore blue jeans and carried a pair of gardening gloves.

Mom talked with Mrs. Wildermuth and I overheard the red-haired woman say that she was a bank teller and Mr. Wildermuth was a contractor. They moved here from Indiana to be closer to Mr. Wildermuth’s ailing mother. Yes, Mrs. Wildermuth was finding the climate here a bit different. No, she hadn’t been to the library yet. Penelope Wildermuth appeared out of nowhere and offered me a tour of the house. I eagerly accepted and said goodbye to Mom.

The house was rather ordinary. There were no ripped clothes lying around to suggest a midnight transformation; no bloodstains, cauldrons, or vials labeled with a skull and crossbones. We passed by a door that was introduced to me as the way down to the basement, and I paused in front of it. There was no noise—no scratching, or moaning, or wailing—to indicate that Ike was still down there.

I saw a cross hanging on one of the walls and a sleeve of garlic in a bowl on the counter. A black cat ran around my feet when we arrived in the living room, and I had to bite down on my tongue to stop myself from screaming. It turned out to be a friendly cat and purred and rubbed up against my leg.

We built a blanket fort and put on a play with Barbies. Mrs. Wildermuth fed us oatmeal-raisin cookies and apple slices and then watched us perform an air-guitar rock concert. Mom arrived later that afternoon to find a temporary butterfly tattoo on my cheek and several tiny braids in my hair.

I said goodbye to Penelope and promised to be her buddy for Monday’s field trip. Mom thanked Mrs. Wildermuth and suggested that Penelope come over to our house the next weekend.

We walked down the driveway, and I was plagued with the distinct feeling that I had just been massively cheated.