The Superstar Sister by Lexi Connor Read Free Book Online Page B

experimented with different combinations. Finally she combined a dangly earring, a blusher brush, a Black Cats fan pin, and a black mock railroad-worker’s cap. What to spell? Aha. She found the perfect word.
    “A-T-T-I-T-U-D-E.” She breathed in a smidgeon of the pink potion. And before you could say, “Black Cats,” B’s clothes transformed once more. She looked like one of Trina’s backup dancers, decked out in camouflage cargo pants, a hot-pink T-shirt, and a leather vest, with purple high-top sneakers, and glittery bangles clinking at each wrist.
    “Awesome,” B whispered. She poured the potion from the makeup bag into a little plastic vial, andslipped it in her purse so she’d remember to put it in her pocket tomorrow. “Potion’s done, anyhow,” she told herself — and Nightshade, in case he was listening.
    Just then Dawn stuck her head through the door. She looked like she was about to say something, but at the sight of B’s fashion getup she stopped. “What’s all this?”
    B felt sheepish. “Oh, I was just working on a potion for tomorrow’s Young Witch Competition.”
    “A makeover potion?” Dawn said. She spied the makeup pouch in B’s hands. “A bag-cauldron concoction? My special trademark? That’s what you’re doing?”
    “Well, you made it look so cool, and it was all I could think of,” B said, feeling awful.
    “What else are you going to steal from me?” Dawn snapped. “First you sneak into the tryouts and try to cheat and use magic to win. Now you steal my recipe for a makeover potion?”
    “Not your recipe,” B said. “Just the general idea. And Dawn, I wasn’t trying to audition …”
    “I don’t want to hear any more about it.” She pulled the door shut.
    B sighed. She hated having Dawn mad at her. But what could she do if Dawn wouldn’t let her explain?
    B practiced her storytelling spell until her mom called her down for dinner. B tried hard to keep plot, character, action, theme, setting, and motivation all clearly in mind each time she cast her spell. She’d gotten to the point where her spell could tell a passably decent fairy tale each time, even if somebody usually got eaten by a troll. But, B figured, fairy tales were sometimes like that. Maybe she really did have a shot at winning the competition.
    B went downstairs to the kitchen table to find a skillet full of sizzling onions, peppers, and chicken strips, and a plate of steaming tortillas. Fajita night! Her mother’s Mexican cooking kick clearly hadn’t run its course yet. Everything smelled delicious. Her mom, who never ceased muttering rhyming spells to herself when cooking, spoke some words that made a pan of black beans, and another of Spanishrice, magically transport themselves onto the table. The family sat down to eat.
    “This dinner,” B’s mom said, snatching her magical chopping knife before it could dice the tomatoes too fine, “is an early celebration of Dawn’s talent competition tomorrow night and B’s Young Witch Competition. You’ll both do a wonderful job, I’m sure. We’re so proud of you.”
    B’s dad helped himself to a tortilla and loaded it up with fajita fixings. “I just can’t believe both competitions happen on the same night,” he said. “Of all the rotten luck! Two superstar daughters competing, but I only get to see one.”
    “Yeah,” Dawn said, taking a mouthful of rice. “Who’s going to go see which competition?”
    Their mother’s face fell. “Oh, it’s such a shame that we have to choose,” she said. “Your father and I finally flipped a coin. Dawn, your father will be there to watch you compete, and B, I’ll come to the M.R.S. to watch you.”
    B dug into her dinner. She felt torn between being sad that her father couldn’t come watch herand wondering if she wanted
anyone
there. That storytelling spell … Was it reliable enough to demonstrate in public?
    “Now, remember, both of you,” Mr. Cicely said, “whatever happens tomorrow, your