The Superstar Sister (5 page)

“I can’t believe anyone would pay a buck for a piece of paper Jason touched,” B said. “Blaugh. I’d pay a dollar
not
to.”

George whipped out a sheet of paper from his notebook. “Here you go. That’ll be a dollar, B.”

B smiled. “Ha-ha. Very funny.”

“Jason’s ego was bad enough before this,” Trina said. “Now it’s dinosaur-size.”

“So what else is new?” George said.

“I hope your sister clobbers him at the finals on Friday, B,” Trina said. “I’ve heard a lot of people say her dance was amazing. Of course, she picked a great song!”

“I hope so, too,” B said. She took a bite of her sandwich. “But she’s still mad at me. She wouldn’t believe me when I told her my Mozart act was
an accident. I’m just lucky she never told Mom and Dad.”

“She’ll get over it,” Trina said. “Hey, B, go with me to the M.R.S. this afternoon?”

“What for?”

Trina’s eyes widened. “Madame Mel is hosting a review session — to help all of us prepare for tomorrow’s competition.”

B pushed her sandwich away again. Ah. She’d been trying to forget about that one. Now she really had no appetite.

“Oh,
that
meeting,” B said, trying to sound relaxed. “Sure. I’ll meet you at your locker.”

B and Trina arrived at the Magical Rhyming Society just as the Young Witch Competition meeting was starting. They tiptoed through the doors to the tall, circular library and snuck into seats at the nearest table.

“Greetings, Trina, Beatrix,” Madame Mellifluous said. “Nice of you to join us.”

Shoot. So much for slipping in unnoticed.

Madame Mel, the Grande Mistress and Head Librarian of the Magical Rhyming Society, climbed onto a short pedestal and held out her arms, making the sleeves of her lavender robe flap like wings. Her robes were festooned from collar to hem with thousands of tinkling silver charms — visible proof of her countless magical triumphs throughout her career. Her purple spectacles sat perched on the tip of her long, skinny nose, and her powder blue hair was in a tight bun.

“Welcome, young witches, to the Magical Rhyming Society. I’m sure you’ve all been practicing for weeks and are ready and eager to show this illustrious society what you can do at tomorrow’s competition.”

B’s stomach flopped. Why did it seem like every other witch here was full of confidence, whereas B felt none?

“I’m sure I need not mention to you bright young magical scholars the long and proud tradition of this competition.” Madame Mel’s keen eyes swept
the room. “For over two hundred years, the Magical Rhyming Society has held this competition to recognize and promote the achievements of our young witches. It’s even older than this grand building in which we sit.”

B’s eyes wandered to the tall, curved bookshelves lining the walls of the library. Glittering volumes inserted themselves into place, or whisked neatly off the shelves by magic, floating through the air to the hands of waiting librarians.

“Many of this society’s most esteemed witches are listed on the roster of past winners,” Madame Mel went on. “Rozmilda Runce was an early winner. Hugo Thistleweed first caught the notice of the M.R.S. at a Young Witch Competition.” She coughed modestly. “Even I, myself, am proud to wear a prize charm from my own Young Witch Competition.”

My sister, Dawn, won when she was eleven,
B thought.
Does that mean Dawn will become a great and famous witch someday?
Even if Dawn was mad at her at the moment, B admired her big sister.

Up till now, the competition had been something B dreaded, something her parents nagged her to prepare for. Only here, listening to Madame Mel, did she realize how important it was to practice and develop her magic, to show the witching world what she could do.

Now B wanted to try. She only hoped it wasn’t too late.

“As you know, the competition is divided into three phases,” Madame Mel said. “The first is Quickfire Questions. Each contestant will stand before the judges and answer three questions. Answers must be quick, thorough, and accurate. They will cover a variety of magical subjects including potions, charms, spell-casting, the Three High Dictums, witching history, and general magical knowledge. You will all do well on the questions, I’m sure.”

Some of the witches at nearby tables looked like they weren’t as convinced as Madame Mel.

“Next comes the Special Spell,” she continued. “This is where you cast for us a spell of your own creation that showcases your unique magical flair. On Friday, judges will be most impressed by spells
that show evidence of careful planning. And the last portion of the competition will be a potion exhibition. Any potions that result in foul smells or bodily injury to the judges will be disqualified.”

The more Madame Mel talked, the more B’s stomach felt like it did when she looped-the-loop on the MegaCoaster after helping George finish a bag of Enchanted Chock-o-Rocks. By the time orientation ended, the only spell B wanted to cast was one that would make herself disappear.

The next day at school, B and George stepped off the bus to even more film crew commotion. Now that contestants were coming from all the nearby cities, the number of technicians seemed to have tripled. Excitement was high, because the winner would perform on live network television. Students were drawn to the cameras like flies to melted slushies. Every time a cameraman looked through his viewfinder, he inevitably found kids staring back at him and sticking out their tongues or making faces.

Things were no different at lunchtime. It was
“breakfast for lunch” day, and the cafeteria smelled like sausages and pancakes when B, George, and Trina arrived in the cafeteria and found a film crew there, taking some footage of the lunchroom scene.

“What’s this for?” George asked a man fiddling with the buttons on his camera. “You’re not auditioning for talented eaters, are you?”

The man paused and turned to look at George. “Heh. You’ve got a good sense of humor,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“George.”

“Listen, George,” the man said. “I need to interview a kid about the show. It’ll be part of a little intro segment. Why don’t I interview you?”

George shoved his glasses up his nose. “Really? Me? Sure!”

“My name’s Ed,” the cameraman said. “Let me just get this configured right, and then we’ll start. Got a few minutes?”

“You bet,” George said. He turned to B and Trina and whispered, “I’m going to be on TV after all!”

B grinned.

Ed positioned George in a seat and trained the camera on him.

“So tell me, George, how does it feel to have Clifton Davro and the whole
You’ve Got It!
crew here at your school?”

Ed asked the question while still squinting into his camera. It took George a second to realize that it was his turn to talk.

“Oh, um, it’s fantastic. Yeah, people are really excited about it.” George looked to Ed for direction on what he should do next. When he didn’t say anything, George went on. “Clifton Davro is completely awesome and his show is the best thing on TV!”

B smiled. George’s second comment was sure to please the show’s producers.

“Did you audition for the show?”

George hesitated. “I did audition, but I didn’t make it past the first round. But I sure had fun trying!”

“Lots of people who miss out on the national show still go on to be successful,” Ed said. “Keep on plugging!”

“It’s okay,” George said. “Some people have a talent for dancing or singing, but I’m best out on the soccer field.”

“Good for you,” Ed said. “That’s a great sentiment for the show’s viewers who might not have made it themselves. Thanks, George! Great sound bites.”

George beamed.

“What are you up to, Ed?”

B turned to see Nancy, the show’s director, behind them.

“Just taping some interviews to open this region’s live show,” Ed replied. “George here has been helping me out.”

“Thanks, George,” Nancy said.

B slid behind Trina and tried to make herself inconspicuous. She didn’t want Nancy to remember her from her top-hat-and-hamster gig.

Then Jason Jameson popped up. “
I
think you should do an interview with the favorite contestant,” Jason said in his most annoying, teacher’s-pet voice.

Nancy frowned and looked around. “The
favorite? I don’t see her here. What was her name? The pretty dancer — Dawn something.”

Trina gave B’s arm a squeeze. Apparently Nancy hadn’t remembered Jason’s face, which now looked like an angry thundercloud.

“I’ve got to get to the stage,” Nancy said. “Let’s get the rest of the cameras tested before we shoot.” Ed followed Nancy out, giving George a thumbs-up as he went.

“That showed you,” B said to Jason.

Jason scowled. “There’s no way Dawn will win,” he said. “It’s going to be me. You’ll see.”

B, Trina, and George finally ate their lunch, still talking about
You’ve Got It!

“I still can’t believe I was interviewed for a TV show,” George said. He wadded up a piece of tinfoil and lobbed it into the trash. “Did you see that? Three point shot by George Fitzsimmons, Sound-Bite Star!”

B was glad for George. After yesterday’s disastrous audition, he deserved a boost like this. But she couldn’t get her mind off the look on Jason’s face just a moment ago.

“Do you think Jason was just bragging?” B said. “When he said he was going to be the winner? ‘You’ll see’? It sounded to me like he had something up his sleeve.”

“Knowing Jason, he probably does,” said Trina. “He’s always up to something.”

“Look,” George said. “He’s going back into the kitchen with his backpack on. I wonder why.”

They all looked at one another. “Let’s go see,” B said. “I’ve got a funny feeling about this.”

“We can’t just follow him,” Trina said. “He’ll see us, and then he’ll stop doing … whatever it is he was planning on.”

“I’ve got an idea,” B said. “Let’s go!”

They dumped their trash and exited the cafeteria, then stood in the hallway next to the kitchen, where the beginning of the lunch line formed. The halls were empty, since all the sixth-graders had already gone through the line.

“I’m going to make us smaller,” B said, “so we can sneak in there and listen to what he’s saying. We’ll be like little mice.”

“Um, B,” Trina said nervously. “Remember how this didn’t go so well last time? At the Enchanted Chocolates factory?”

Trina had a point. Last time they shrunk themselves, it took some fancy magical footwork to return Trina to her proper size. But B brushed her concern aside. “It’ll work better this time,” she said. “I learn from my mistakes.” And, thinking hard about the three of them, she spelled, “M-I-N-I-A-T-U-R-E.”

The hallway around them grew larger and larger, as they got smaller and smaller. When they stopped shrinking, B realized she was about the height of one of the small ceramic tiles on the wall. Awesome!

“B?” Trina said. “People call me Kat. They don’t ever call me Mouse.”

B grinned. “Good one, Trina. I …” She stopped when she’d taken a closer look at her friend.

She’d sprouted mouse ears and a tail! George, too.

B felt her own scalp, and, sure enough, poking out from her own head was a pair of mousey ears. A long tail swished behind her when she turned to look.

“At least it’s only ears and a tail,” B said, feeling sheepish. “Look at the bright side.”

“I hope this doesn’t last as long as the time you turned me into half-boy, half-zebra,” George muttered.

“I’ll fix it,” B said. “But if we don’t hurry, we’ll miss whatever Jason’s got planned. Let’s go!”

They ran as fast as they could through the kitchen door and climbed into the base of a brass post supporting the cordon rope that marked off the flow of the lunch line. Surely no one would notice them there.

“Lunch was delicious today,” Jason was saying. “Waffle day is one of my favorites.”

“We served pancakes today,” Mrs. Gillet, the cafeteria manager, said.

“Er, right,” Jason said. “Um, when do you think you’ll serve waffles next?”

“It’ll be listed on the menu.”

“Well, do you think you could check? Right now?”

B, George, and Trina exchanged glances. Jason was trying to get rid of her.

“We’re all kind of busy here, getting ready for the seventh-grade lunch,” Mrs. Gillet said.

Jason began to sniffle and rub his eyes. “I … I just … I just really like waffles….” B and George and Trina gaped at one another. Crying? Nobody would buy that.

The cafeteria manager rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay, it’s all right. Wait here a sec and I’ll go look at the monthly menu.” She wiped her hands on her apron and disappeared into the rear of the kitchen.

Jason’s tears dried up immediately. He smiled, smug as anything, and popped behind the serving counter.

“What’s he doing?” Trina peeped in a tiny voice.

“He’s getting something off a shelf and stuffing it in his backpack,” B said. “I can’t see what it is, but he’s taking two — no, three of them.”

“Lousy thief,” George muttered. “Why does he
need to go robbing a school cafeteria? What’s he after, ketchup?”

“Ssh! Here he comes!” B hissed. Sure enough, at the sound of the cafeteria manager’s returning footsteps, Jason bolted out from behind the corner and stood as if he hadn’t budged an inch.

“Waffle day is two weeks from tomorrow,” Mrs. Gillet said. B peered around the brass post for a closer look at Jason, in case she could get a view of his backpack.

Mrs. Gillet continued, “We’ll be serving sausage links, hash browns, and —
aaaiiiiiieeeeee!
”

B jumped at the shrill, unexpected scream.

“Mice!” Mrs. Gillet screamed. “Right there!”

And she pointed a shaking finger toward where B and her friends were hiding.

Jason screamed and bolted out of the kitchen doors.

“Run!” B squeaked.

She, George, and Trina took off after Jason, but at four inches tall, three yards felt like a mile to all of them.

“Take
that
!” Mrs. Gillet jabbed her broom at them. The bristles brushed B’s tail. But Mrs. Gillet swung with such force that she overbalanced and crashed onto her bottom.