The Superstar Sister (3 page)

“Yuck!” B said. “Stop, S-T-O-P, stop!” The pom-pom vanished. She was glad no one was around to hear those embarrassing story attempts. The Young Witch Competition was just three days away, and B was nowhere near ready. She sighed and sank down into a chair.

A movement near the window caught her eye. It was Mozart, standing on his hind legs in his tank and waving frantically to B. She opened the lid to his tank and lifted him out. B and Mozart had shared quite a few adventures since B found her spelling magic. She always had a soft spot for the cheeky little furball.

He snuffled around in the palm of her hand, then gazed at her, his whiskers twitching, his beady eyes shining.

“What is it, fella?” she said.

Mozart blinked at her. His meaning was obvious.

“I really shouldn’t make you talk,” B said. “Mr. Bishop wouldn’t like it.”

Mozart blinked again.

“Oh, okay, just for a minute,” B said. “S-P-E-A-K.”

“Phew! It’s about time, missy. I’ve been waving at you for days but do you notice the lonely hamster? Noooo!”

“Hiya, Mozart,” B said, grinning. “It’s nice to see you, too.”

Mozart jumped up and down in B’s hand. “I’ve been stuck in that box all week, listening to kids yammering about the TV people and the talent show. Lemme go see it, will ya? I could be a star.”

“Holy cats, Mozart, do you realize how dangerous that would be?”

The hamster twitched his whiskers at her. “C’mon, missy, don’t
you
realize how
boring
it is to live in a cage and watch all the fun pass you by? The
kids come; the kids go. You smell their lunch on their fingers when they come back from eating, and all you get is hamster chow. You hear them talk about cool things they do, but all you can do is dig in sawdust and run on your wheel.” He thumped his tiny paw on his fluffy chest. “I’ve got dreams! I was made for better things! I’ve got as much talent in my little finger” — he held up his nearly microscopic claw — “as that nasty freckle-face boy has in his whole body.”

“Jason Jameson?” B said. “That’s a fact. I’d pick you any day over him.”

“That’s not saying much.” He blinked at her once more. “Pretty please, missy? Just one little peek at the talent show. That’s all I ask.”

B hesitated. Mozart had a point. Didn’t he? She would hate to be stuck in a tank, missing out on everything. What could go wrong?

A lot, actually. But, still … B
really
wanted to watch George and Dawn audition. Her magical practice sure wasn’t making any progress. She’d have to be stealthy and absolutely quiet.

“You’ve got to promise me you won’t run off or cause any trouble,” B said.

“Hamster’s honor,” Mozart said.

“And you’ll keep quiet?”

“Quiet as a mouse,” Mozart said, “though where that saying came from, I don’t know, because the mice I know, you can’t get a word in edgewise around them. Talk your head off, a mouse will. I’m more the strong, silent type.”

B grinned. “Is that so? Well, come on, Mozart. Let’s check out that talent show.”

All the doors to the auditorium were locked. Peeking through a crack between one set of doors, B could barely make out the aspiring contestants seated in the front half of the auditorium, and a singer clutching a microphone on the stage. How could she get in without attracting attention? Her transportation spell didn’t always work as well as she’d like. There was usually no telling where she’d land. And she didn’t want to sit in the audience and get mistaken for a contestant — that would be awful! She needed a place to watch that was completely inconspicuous.

Carefully, soundlessly, she tugged on a backstage door, but it, too, was locked. She checked from side to side to make sure no one was watching, then
spelled, “U-N-L-O-C-K.” The bolt slid aside and the handle turned gently when she tried it.
Good thing I’d never be a thief
, B thought, suppressing a little smile.

She slipped inside. At first B couldn’t see anything past the dozens of curtains in the wings, blocking her view. She tiptoed forward, still holding Mozart cupped in her palm, until she had a glimpse of the stage. B peeked into the auditorium and saw rows and rows of kids all waiting their turn to audition. A girl in a tutu was bowing, and the judges, seated behind a long table at the far side of the stage, clapped halfheartedly. The man seated at the middle of the table wore sunglasses and a leather jacket, and his hair was all spiky. It was Clifton Davro!

As the ballerina left the stage, Clifton Davro conferred with Ms. Andrews, the school drama teacher, who seemed to be telling him about the next contestant as she took the stage. B noticed Ms. Andrews’s cheeks were pinker than usual, especially when Clifton Davro leaned closer. Two other
judges sat at the table, one on either side of Clifton Davro and Ms. Andrews, but B didn’t recognize either of them.

B scooched in closer. “Dawn Cicely,” an announcer called. “Let’s see if
You’ve Got It!
”

Dawn! B felt a flutter of sympathetic nerves for her sister. But Dawn strode out onto the stage like she was born there. She struck a pose with one leg crossed over the other as she waited for her music to start, one hand tipping the brim of her pink hat low over her forehead. She looked like a star, and her act hadn’t even started!

The sound system guys seemed to be having a hard time finding the music. Dawn waited, keeping her pose straight.

“What’s the matter?” B heard Jason Jameson yelling loud and clear from the auditorium. “Waiting in line for the bathroom? Try the boys’ room. There’s never a line.”

Why didn’t they disqualify him then and there? B couldn’t believe they let people heckle like that.
But Dawn didn’t bat an eyelash. For all anyone could tell, she’d never even heard.

The opening beats of “Swagger” filled the auditorium, and Dawn launched into a perfect twirl. B had to admit, it was pretty neat watching her sister dancing like a pro to a song sung by one of her best friends for a TV judging panel.

“That’s my sister, Mozart,” B whispered. “Isn’t she great?”

“Sure, yeah, she’s got some moves,” Mozart said.

Dawn didn’t miss a single step. Even B, who had watched Dawn’s recitals for years, was impressed. Her sister was electric today. B could tell the judges and the audience agreed.

“Swagger” finished with Dawn doing a perfect break-dance spin on the stage. The audience erupted with applause, and B grinned. She couldn’t clap while still holding Mozart, and of course she wasn’t supposed to be there at all, so she kept quiet otherwise.

Clifton Davro jumped to his feet and raised his
sunglasses. “You’ve got it!” he yelled, giving Dawn a huge thumbs-up. Dawn blushed pinker than her hot-pink hat, bowed, and ran off the stage.

The announcer called for Frankie Hotchkiss, an awkward sixth-grader wearing suspenders and a red bowtie. B heard snickers of laughter run through the audience. Frankie heard them, too, but he faced the microphone with a grim sort of courage that made B vow to go out of her way to say hi to him from now on. She had a feeling she knew just how scared he was, and she had to hand it to him for trying anyway. His music began, and more kids laughed. It was a well-known song from a movie popular with little kids. Frankie opened his mouth and began to sing.

Then the laughing began in earnest. Frankie Hotchkiss might sound all right singing in the shower, but his was not a voice meant for show business. Jason Jameson’s familiar, mean laugh rose above the others. B felt even more upset. Poor Frankie. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t sing well. Jason had no business being cruel to him.

“Listen to the pork chop try to sing,” Mozart squeaked. “He sounds like a pencil sharpener chewing through a metal pen.”

“Hush, Mozart,” B hissed. “No talking! You’ll get us in trouble.”

“You’re right,” Mozart said. “He sounds more like a school bus driving away with its parking brake still on.”

“Quiet! And stop being mean, too. One more peep out of you, and I’m taking you back to your tank.”

“Aww, you wouldn’t do that to your old pal Mozart, would you? I’ve only heard one song so far, and this rotten kid singer doesn’t count.”

“Amazing!” said a voice behind her.

B felt a chill of terror run down her spine. She looked up to see a tall woman peering down at her. She wore a headset and carried a clipboard, and her steel gray hair was coiled up in a tight bun.
I’m in big trouble
, B thought. Then she saw where the woman’s eyes were fixed.
It’s worse than I thought!
The woman couldn’t take her eyes off Mozart!

“I could have sworn that gerbil was actually talking!” the woman said.

“Hamster,” B said, her stomach sinking.

“You’re quite the little ventriloquist. My name’s Nancy. I’m the director of the show,” the woman said. “You shouldn’t be back here, you know. You should be in the audience with the other contestants. What’s your name? Where are you on the list?”

“My name’s Beatrix Cicely, but I’m not on the list,” B began. “I’m just …”

“Well, we’ll fix that,” Nancy said. “Let’s not wait. This act is about to finish, and we’ll get you right on. Cliff’s gonna love you.” She frowned. “But you haven’t got a costume. Hmm.” She snapped her fingers. “I know! Where’s that trunk …?” She reached around a curtain and pulled out a tall silk top hat. Without a word, she clapped it onto B’s head.

“Nice hat,” Mozart said.

Frankie’s song ended, and he bowed his head to acknowledge the trickle of applause that came his
way. His face shone with sweat, but B was too terrified to pity Frankie Hotchkiss now.

“Thank you, er, Frankie, for that number,” Clifton Davro said. “You have a unique voice, and you should definitely, um, keep plugging away at your practicing.”

Frankie nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

“It’s not quite the tone we’re looking for at
You’ve Got It!
” Davro said with a pleasant smile, “but keep your chin up and try again, all right?”

Frankie nodded and walked off the stage, looking relieved.

“Our next act is Jason —” the announcer began, but Nancy dragged B out onto the stage.

“Hold up a sec,” she said. “Slight change in schedule. Our next act is Miss Beatrix Cicely, a ventriloquist, performing with her amazing ‘talking’ hamster!”

“A ventriloquist?” Clifton Davro said. “We’ve never had one of those.”

“As a matter of fact —” B said, but Nancy cut her off.

“You have got to see this; she’s incredible!”

B turned to Nancy and pleaded, “Ma’am, I can’t do this!”

The director leaned closer and whispered back, “Sure you can, honey. Don’t be shy. Just do what you showed me backstage. They’ll be crazy about you.” She patted B on the shoulder and walked away, her high heels clicking on the wooden floor.

B felt the silence of the audience and all eyes on her. This must be a nightmare. B closed her eyes and opened them again, but nothing had changed.
What could she do? What if someone figured out that B wasn’t really throwing her voice? She’d blow the secret of witches existing, not just to her entire school, but maybe even on national television!

She had to get out of there. She was about to just plain bolt for the wings, when a stagehand moved Frankie’s microphone right over to where B stood, still holding Mozart.

“Nice hat,” Clifton Davro said. “All right, then, Miss … What was it?”

“Beatrix,” Nancy called from the wings.

“All right, then, Miss Beatrix, show us what you’ve got.” The celebrity talent judge leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head.

B closed her eyes and leaned toward the microphone. “I’m really sorry,” she began, but jumped at the echo of her voice playing back at her through the speakers. “There’s been a mix-up, and …”

“Darn right!” Jason’s voice yelled from the audience. “It was a big mix-up letting you in here. People with
real
talent are waiting to go on.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mozart cried. “Zat you, Freckle Face? You’re mixed up in the
head
!” The microphone caught his squeaky voice and blared it through the auditorium. A ripple of surprise ran through the crowd.

B couldn’t help smiling, just a little. “Not now, Mozart, okay? Let’s go.”

“Wait a second,” Mozart said, sniffing the microphone. “Does this thingamabob make it so all you kids out there can hear me?”

“Yes!”
the audience yelled.

“All righty, then.” Mozart rubbed his paws together. “Listen up, cuz I’ve got a long list of stuff I’ve been wanting to tell you bozos, and now you’re gonna hear it.”

B wished she could disappear. But that would draw even more attention to her magic than a talking hamster. How, oh,
how
did she always get into such trouble? B saw the judges grinning and whispering to one another. Mozart was a hit.

“Did you know that a middle school hamster sees about fifteen kids a day pick their noses when
they think no one’s looking? Ain’t no gold up there, folks, no matter how you dig!”

The audience laughed.

“And there’s usually a kid or two who doesn’t care if anyone’s looking or not. Not gonna be named Peter Popular, if you know what I mean.”

More laughter.

“And don’t get me started on the pickers and eaters!” Mozart squeaked, waving his little paws high. “People: I got something to say to you. Three words. Wait. For. Lunch!”

The audience was howling now, with a bunch of “Eeew, gross” remarks mixed in. No doubt about it. Mozart was a hit.

If they thought B was a ventriloquist, she might as well play the part — and get off the stage as quickly as she could.

“Now, Mozart,” she began. “Isn’t it time for your nap?”

“Naps are for sissies,” Mozart retorted. “Speaking of lunch, see these teeth? Nature made these teeth to chew through anything! No more of the
dusty kibble food, okay? A carrot now and then wouldn’t hurt anybody. Or one of those chocolate bar thingies I see you sneak at your desks when the teacher’s not looking. Think of the hamster now and then, eh?”

“That’s enough, Mozart,” B said. “We’ve taken too much of their time. Let’s go back to your tank.”