by Lexi Connor
B Magical
The Superstar Sister
By Lexi Connor
To Shirley
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Preview
POISON APPLE BOOKS
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter 1
Beatrix, or B for short, slid onto a kitchen stool and watched her mother work her magic. A brick of cheddar cheese shredded itself into a pile while an invisible knife diced a juicy red tomato. Her mother stood behind the counter, muttering spells under her breath.
“Tacos tonight, Mom?” B asked.
“Taco salad,” Mrs. Cicely corrected. “Guacamole … let me think … Ah. Here we go.
Chips, sour cream, refried frijoles,
All we need is guacamole.
Mash garlic with avocado,
Onion, and a ripe to-mah-to.”
And before B’s eyes, two avocados peeled themselves in midair. They spat out their large round stones, plopped themselves in a bowl, and blended in with a swirl of garlic, onion, and tomato. Mrs. Cicely added a dash of salt, and B scooped up some of the finished guacamole with a tortilla chip. Delicious! Her mom definitely had a talent for cooking.
A loud drumbeat rattled through the kitchen ceiling, shaking the hanging lamps. B recognized the intro to “Swagger,” a recent single from the Black Cats. They’d been her favorite band long before meeting her friend Trina, who turned out to be the lead singer. Trina had an amazing voice — and was also a witch, like B.
B pinched another chip and pointed it at the ceiling. “What’s up?”
“It’s your sister,” Mrs. Cicely said. “She’s been in her room ever since she got home from school, practicing her act for the talent show.”
The whole city was buzzing with the news that the TV show You’ve Got It! was hosting auditions in B’s school auditorium. The show was even bringing out its mega-famous host, Clifton Davro, to judge the auditions.
“Of course.” B tried to snag more guacamole, but her mother whisked it away before she could reach the dish. “Everyone I know seems to be going crazy trying to find a winning act. George nearly choked on the bus trying to sing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ while eating Enchanted Chocolates.”
Mrs. Cicely made a face. “That can’t have been nice to watch.”
B laughed at the memory of her best friend George’s face smeared with chocolate, singing, “Jo se can oo lee.” At least that was what it had sounded like.
“Have you done any practicing for your performance?” her mom asked.
“Hah.” It was B’s turn to make a sour face. “My only talent is messing things up. I’m in no hurry to do that on national television. I’m pretty sure I don’t have it.”
“I didn’t mean the talent show,” Mrs. Cicely said. B could hear the edge of a lecture creeping into her mom’s voice. “I was thinking of Friday’s Young Witch Competition.”
B’s spirits drooped. All the excitement since the announcement from You’ve Got It! had almost made her forget about her opportunity for humiliation at the annual witching event. B hated being up onstage, and this competition would force her to compete in front of a huge crowd. While all the other witches would be making up original rhyming spells for the contest, B’s magic was different. She cast spells by spelling words, and sometimes they had unexpected consequences. But the worst thing about the competition was that her sister had won it when she was eleven.
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” B said, “but I haven’t gotten far.” She knew she needed something U-N-I-Q-U-E and A-W-E-S-O-M-E but hadn’t come up with anything better than a spell about the weather.
“Oh, there are so many possibilities,” Mrs. Cicely began. “I have an issue of Spellbound Monthly somewhere….”
“Mr. Bishop has offered to help me and Trina prepare. Tomorrow, after school, during our magic lessons.”
Mr. Bishop was B’s English teacher, but when B visited him after class for extra study help, the tutoring didn’t involve literature, or essays, or grammar. It involved potions, and spells, and magical travel to wonderful places. Lucky for B, she didn’t need extra help in English. It was already her best subject.
“Make sure you make good use of your lesson time, then,” Mrs. Cicely said. “Mr. Bishop can really help you out.”
“Help out with what?” Mr. Cicely appeared in the doorway and set down his laptop bag. He smelled, as always, like a walking, talking cup of cocoa. It wasn’t possible to work at the Enchanted Chocolates factory all day long and not have a little of it rub off.
“We were just discussing Friday’s Young Witch Competition,” Mrs. Cicely said.
“Ah.” He sat down and kicked off his shoes. “B will clobber everyone else. I know she will. It runs in the family.”
“That’s what Geo …” B bit her lip. She almost let it slip that George knew about B’s magic! It was a major rule of the Magical Rhyming Society to never let any nonwitches know about the existence of magic.
“Hm? What was that?”
“Uh …” B couldn’t think of what to say.
“Now, Felix,” B’s mom said. “Hands off that guacamole. And B isn’t going to ‘clobber’ anyone. That’s not what the Young Witch Competition is about.”
Mr. Cicely abandoned the guacamole and went for the cheese sauce instead. “’Course not. ’Course not. Not about competition. It’s about … er … teamwork.”
“It’s about learning,” his wife corrected him. “And doing your best. So long as B works hard and tries hard, she’ll have nothing to fear.”
“Absolutely.” Mr. Cicely scooped more guacamole when his wife’s back was turned.
B was unconvinced.
Upstairs Trina’s recorded voice belted out the chorus to “Swagger” for the third time straight, while Dawn’s fancy footwork thumped with the beat. “Do your best” scarcely seemed like enough when your older sister was overloaded with both talent and magical skill.
“Dawn, come down for dinner!” Mrs. Cicely called up the stairs. “Dawn! Dawn! Oh, never mind.” She wiped her hands on a dish towel. “We’ll save her a plate. There’s no stopping her practicing. She’s one focused kid.”
B kept her face aimed down at the table. There was that lecturing tone creeping into her mother’s voice again.
“I’m sure that when B focuses on the Young Witch Competition, and decides what she wants to do, she’ll put together a performance we’ll be very proud of.”
“Yeah.” B swallowed a mouthful of dinner. It was bad enough having to demonstrate her magical skills to an audience and panel of judges — that would inspire enough stage fright to render her clumsy and speechless for a week. But living up to Dawn was impossible, plain and simple.
“Why the long face, B?” her dad said.
“Oh, nothing,” B said. “Pass the nachos, please.”
Chapter 2
B entered the school building the next morning and wondered if she’d stumbled onto a Hollywood film set by mistake. Guys strummed unplugged electric guitars in front of their lockers. Two girls practiced their hip-hop dance while an eighth-grade boy belted out a roc
k ballad. Several cheerleaders practiced their backflips down the corridors, nearly annihilating an innocent sixth-grade bystander. A pimply boy walked around with his head tilted back, balancing a bowling pin on the bridge of his nose.
B ducked her head down and dodged the crowd until she reached her locker. She didn’t notice her friend approaching until Trina slid her arm through B’s.
“Hey,” B said, “what’s going on around here?”
“Everyone’s all wound up about the auditions,” Trina said.
“But they’re not until tomorrow.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Trina replied. “Clifton Davro’s coming. That’s all anyone can talk about. This hubbub sort of reminds me of being on tour. All the road crew running around, the dancers and backup singers practicing all over the place …”
“You haven’t considered doing the talent show, have you, Trina?”
B’s friend shook her head. She looked each way to make sure no one could hear them. “Even if it didn’t conflict with the Young Witch Competition, I wouldn’t do it. I already get to perform on TV. It wouldn’t be fair for me to take someone else’s chance away.”
“Yeah.” B grinned. “And I wouldn’t do it because I’m a chicken.”
“You are not!”
B just shook her head and finished putting her things away in her locker.
“Anyway,” Trina said, “I just saw Mr. Bishop. He said he’s looking forward to us showing him what we’ve prepared for Friday night.”
“Ugh,” B groaned. “None of my ideas are any good. I’m so not ready.”
“Well, don’t worry,” Trina said. “Mr. Bishop can help. You’ll see.”
The bell rang, and B and Trina headed toward their homerooms. A freshman ambled past them, letting out an earsplitting caterwaul.
“What was that?” B said.
Trina grinned. “Yodeling, I think.”
All through art, history, and English classes, B’s teachers battled bravely to keep everyone’s attention, but B’s classmates were far too interested in tomorrow’s talent show auditions. Even Mr. Bishop, who usually kept his classes spellbound with his comical teaching and his rabbit-in-the-hat-style “magic” tricks, gave up trying to discuss vocabulary words from Harriet the Spy. He threw up his hands in despair, and assigned his students an extra essay on what they would do with the prize money if they won the national You’ve Got It! talent competition.
Lunch was in an uproar with everyone using every spare minute to practice their talents. After B, Trina, and George had eaten their food, they left the cafeteria early and headed down to the gym. George said he had something he wanted to show them.
The gym was empty when they arrived. George steered Trina and B toward a far corner, half-obscured by the collapsed bleachers. The overhead lights were off, so the room was only dimly lit by the overcast sky peeping through the skylights.
“Perfect,” George said. “No one should see us here. I want you guys to tell me what you think of my act. I practiced for hours last night.”
“Cool,” Trina said. “What are you doing?”
George pulled a loop of climbing rope from his backpack. “First wrap me around and around with this, will you, B?”
B started tying George up.
“Careful! Don’t cut off my circulation,” George yelped. “Okay, Trina, would you take this padlock and fasten the clips of the rope together? Make sure the lock’s behind my back.”
B and Trina fussed with the rope and the lock until George was all trussed up.
“All right, ready? Here I go!” George began bouncing up and down, leaping high in the air and twisting. “I decided …” jump … “to be the bouncing …” jump … “joking …” jump … “escape artist.” Jump.
“Oh, my goodness,” Trina said. “That’s quite a combination.”
“I call myself …” jump … “Jumping …” jump … “Joking …” jump … “George.”
“Let’s hear some jokes, then,” B said.
George kept on bouncing. “Well, I tried to think of some good ones,” he said, “but I’ve been pretty tied up lately. Get it? Tied up?”
B and Trina groaned.
“I’m not the only jumper in my family, you know,” George went on. “I’ve got a pair of twin brothers. The neighbors couldn’t believe it when my parents named them both Jack. But how else could we call them Jumping Jacks?”
Trina and B exchanged a look. In spite of herself, B started to giggle.
“See? See? I’m making you laugh!” George said. “But these ropes aren’t getting loose.”
“Maybe that’ll be enough for the judges,” Trina said. “You look pretty funny, anyway.”
“Help me get out of this, will you?” George said. “I guess I need to work more on the escape part of the act. Either that, or I need someone to tie me up more loosely.”
B and Trina started tugging at George’s rope.
“We’d better hurry,” Trina said. “The bell’s about to ring.”
Just then, a movement from the opposite side of the gym caught B’s eye. She turned just in time to see somebody duck behind the bleachers against the far wall.
“That dirty rotten sneak,” B muttered to her friends. “He’s spying on us.”
“Who is?” George craned his neck to look.
“You might as well come out of hiding, Jason Jameson,” B yelled across the gym. “We can see you.”
Jason poked his freckled face out, then sauntered across the gym to where they stood.
“What’s this little outfit, George?” Jason said, pointing to the rope. “Wait — let me guess. You’re practicing your act. Are you going for the ‘Biggest Idiot’ award?”
“How could he,” B fired back, “when you already hold the world heavyweight title?”
But Jason only smiled his nasty smile, showing all his braces. He tried to peek behind George’s back, but George twisted and maneuvered to keep the padlock out of sight.
“Are you trying out, Jason?” Trina asked.
“I’m not just trying out,” Jason said. “I’m going to dominate the competition. Nobody else will even dare compete after they see my act.”
“Ooh, we’re scared,” B said.
“You should be, Bumblebee,” Jason said. He was always calling B bug names. “After they’ve seen my act, the judges will probably cancel the rest of the auditions.”
The bell rang. Other kids from their gym class began pouring through the double doors. George scooched back out of sight and worked harder to escape from the rope.
“I pity you, George,” Jason said. “Your act is so lame! The judges are gonna boo you right off the stage.”
George’s voice sounded worried. “He’s right, isn’t he?”
B’s anger at Jason flared higher. “No way,” she said. “Don’t you dare let that rotten Jason make you feel bad about your act. It’s … unique. You go for it. We’re behind you all the way.”
Chapter 3
B and Trina arrived together at Mr. Bishop’s classroom a few minutes after the last bell rang.
“Come in, come in,” he cried, beckoning toward them. “We have so much to cover today. Are you both ready with your special spells for Friday’s Young Witch Competition?” He smiled. “Or has Clifton Davro–mania infected you, too?”
“Not me,” B said. “Can you see me on a TV talent show? No, thanks.”
“Me neither,” Trina said. “I’ve met Cliff Davro a bunch of times. I’m much more interested in the magical competition. I’ve been working hard on my spell.”
B looked down at her shoes. She’d been working hard, too. She’d stayed up late the night before, brainstorming and practicing different ideas. But none of them had worked out.
“Let’s see it, then,” Mr. Bishop said. “Show us what you’ve got.”
“You first, Trina,” B said.
Trina removed the treble-clef-shaped charm necklace Mr. Bishop had made for her. Trina’s magic was different, too.
Trina sang her rhyming spells in order to create magic. Without the treble-clef amulet, anything she sang made magic happen — a dangerous problem for a pop star! But now Trina wanted her singing magic to work. She planted her feet, threw back her shoulders, and took a deep breath. Her rich singing voice filled the classroom as she sang her spell for Mr. Bishop.
“For you, compose a melody;
Let magic make the harmony
And match the music perfectly
To what you love to hear.
Lilting lyrics reach down deep,
Make memories you’ll want to keep.
A song to soothe you, help you sleep
While picture-dreams appear.”
“Wow,” B said. “That was so pretty.”
“Wait,” Trina whispered. “Listen.”
At first it sounded like it came from far away, but gradually the sound swelled. It felt as if there was a live acoustic band playing right here in the classroom, with a virtuoso guitarist picking out the intricate chords and runs of a lively yet gentle song. The guitarist was soon joined by a mandolin, a fiddle, and a flute. The song had a folksy feel to it, but it was the kind that anyone would like. Each movement in the music sent waves of color shimmering up in the air, like drifting silk scarves, in front of Mr. Bishop. The images changed into an oceanfront scene, and then a field of grasses and wildflowers. B realized she was swaying back and forth to the tune.
Then an invisible lead vocalist, a woman, began to sing.
“Do you remember
Far, far away,
Do you remember
Our Summer’s Eve day?”
A woman’s face appeared. She had kind eyes and long, wavy brown hair, and she gazed fondly at Mr. Bishop. His eyes widened, and his face turned red. B felt a twinge of guilt, watching him, but she was too amazed and curious to stop.
“I still remember.
I can’t forget
Our walk on the dunes.
My heart is there yet.”
The music circled to a close, and the magical images faded. Mr. Bishop wiped his eye with a fingertip. He and B clapped enthusiastically.
