The Glitter Trap Page 3

  The song being played on the piano is pretty catchy. Not genius level, but hummable. Sunny and I get up and look through the open music-room window.

  Mr. Griffith sits at the piano, playing with his eyes closed. I guess he’s showing everybody he’s so good that he doesn’t even have to look at the keys.

  There must be about twenty kids in the room listening to him. Mainly girls, but some boys, too, including Scott Dearden, the cutest boy in middle school. He has longer eyelashes than anyone I know.

  Sunny whispers, “I guess we know who’s going to be Prince Charming.” After I nod in agreement, she asks, “Who do you think is going to be Cinderella?”

  “Well, we know it’s not going to be me.”

  “You could totally be Cinderella! You have a great voice!”

  “Me perform in front of people? No way! I’d barf!”

  “No, you wouldn’t!” Sunny thinks about it for a moment. “Oh, yeah. You would. The Girl Scout Fun-Time Sing Out…”

  “…where I had a solo. And instead of singing, I threw up beanie weenies all over the first three rows of the audience. Including your mom. She never forgave me.”

  “She forgave you. But she still can’t look at beanie weenies.”

  Sunny and I probably shouldn’t be standing here spying like this, but it’s too good to miss. It’s like a reality show being put on just for the two of us. We scan the crowd of hopeful girls. Most of them have come to the audition wearing some sort of costume. Three girls stand off to the side holding “magic wands”: a drumstick, a chrome baton with streamers on the end, and a plastic Star Wars Lightsaber. Sunny says, “Those have got to be fairy godmothers.”

  I wish I could tell Sunny that a real fairy godmother has smeary lipstick and a bad attitude. Instead, I point at the girl with the drumstick. “Chloe Martin’s gonna get the part for sure.”

  “Her wand looks stupid.”

  “But she does an excellent British accent. She’s watched Mary Poppins over eighty times.”

  Sunny half agrees with me. “Yeah. But they’re going to have to get her a better wand.”

  The rest of the girls are all wannabe Cinderellas. Some of them are the “before” version. One girl wears an apron. Another has artistically placed smudges on her face. A third is barefoot and carries a broom for cinder sweeping.

  Then there are the “after” Cinderellas. (Let’s face it, this is where the fun is.) One girl has a puffy hoop skirt that everyone keeps stepping on. Three girls wear tiaras. And seven girls are missing a shoe.

  But before or after, these girls are giving it their all. Every one of them is desperate to stand out.

  Then Paige walks in, late as usual, and the hopeful expressions vanish from every face. Paige doesn’t have a costume, hasn’t done a single thing special. She’s just Paige. But it’s like she has an invisible spotlight shining on her.

  I have to wonder: why does a girl with an invisible spotlight need a fairy godmother? Paige is already beautiful, popular, and a cheerleader. And now she’s going to get the lead in the school play just by showing up. It’s so unfair. I’m doomed, Katarina’s doomed, and Paige is going to be Cinderella without even trying.

  Mr. Griffith finally stops tinkling away on the piano and opens his eyes. He says, “So that was the music for Cinderella’s big solo after she leaves the ball. It’s called, ‘I Lost My Shoe and You!’ It’s the character’s big moment, and, frankly, it’s the moment that will make one of you into a star. If there’s a Hollywood talent scout in the crowd, you’ll be snapped up and on your way to international fame.”

  Mr. Griffith is insane. The only way a Hollywood talent scout would come to our town would be if he accidentally fell out of one of the jets that cross overhead on their way to L.A.

  But then I look at Paige again. With her luck, this is exactly what’s going to happen. One song, and she’ll go from queen of the school to movie star.

  Mr. Griffith stands up and passes out the sheet music. The other girls study the lyrics nervously, but Paige just gives them one quick glance. For her, this is so easy.

  “Let’s get started, shall we? Who’s first?”

  The rest of the girls look hopeful, but Mr. Griffith says, “Paige, why don’t you break the ice? Come stand by the piano and show us what you’ve got.”

  Paige glides over confidently, and Mr. Griffith plays the first few notes of the song. She opens her mouth and sings: “I lost my shoe and you! I can’t believe it’s true!”

  Every single person in the room stares at her in astonishment.

  And it’s not because of how perfect she sounds. Paige sounds…

  …bad.

  Bad like fingernails on chalkboards. Bad like screeching cats. Bad like…bad!

  Sunny and I look at each other in disbelief. This can’t be right.

  Mr. Griffith stares at Paige, as shocked as everybody else. “Wrong key, Paige. My fault entirely.” He hits a note on the piano. “Let’s try it again, a little lower.”

  Paige studies the sheet music, and there’s a tiny bit of doubt on her face. But she straightens her shoulders and nods to Mr. Griffith that she’s ready. She sings again: “I lost my shoe and you! I can’t believe it’s true!”

  I don’t know how it’s possible, but she’s even worse than before. The other kids laugh and cover their ears. One boy even clasps his hands together and trills in a high squeal, “I can’t believe it’s true! No one sings worse than you!”

  Everyone guffaws. And it’s sad, but he actually sounds a lot better than Paige did.

  Paige looks over and sees even Scott Dearden, who is usually as nice as he is cute, trying to hide a grin.

  Mr. Griffith tries to calm everyone down. “Quiet, everybody! This project is about exploration. It was very brave of Paige to put herself on the line like this.” He turns to Paige again. “Have you thought about trying out for one of the dancing mice? They don’t sing. They squeak.”

  The kids all make high-pitched squeaking sounds and laugh even louder.

  Trying to keep some of her popular-girl dignity, Paige pretends she’s above it all and looks out the window—where Sunny and I stand gawking at her. And we are gawking. You would be, too.

  But seeing us is the last straw for Paige. She’s had enough. She bursts into tears and runs out of the room.

  The other kids can’t stop laughing. In school, it’s always kind of exciting to see one of the popular crowd take a fall. This might sound odd coming from a girl who was going to post Paige’s zit on Facebook, but I feel kind of bad. Paige put herself on the line and got shot down. Me, I expect to be shot down. Most of us get used to it. But I don’t think it’s ever happened to Paige Harrington before.

  I think I’ve just discovered why Paige needs a fairy godmother.

  On Thursdays, Sunny has karate class, so I walk home from school alone. Walking home from school is usually my favorite part of the day, but now I can’t stop thinking about what happened to Paige. Katarina would say that what happened at the audition was all my fault, but I’m not the fairy godmother, Katarina is. According to her, I’m just a glitter-trapping monster.

  I pass the house where Mr. Anderson and his dog, Barnaby, live. Barnaby is a sleepy old basset hound who’s almost too lazy to move, but he always gets off the porch and walks up to the white picket fence so I can scratch his ears. He’s a sweetie. But today…

  ROWF! ROWF! ROWF!

  Barnaby lunges at me from behind the fence, like I really am a monster.

  “Barnaby! What’s wrong with you?”

  ROWF! ROWF! ROWF!

  He keeps barking and growling so much that I’m worried he’s going to drop dead from a heart attack. So I walk away, but can’t help wondering what’s up with him. Maybe he ate some bad Alpo.

  When I walk past the little park near my house, Mrs. Garcetti is sitting on one of the benches throwing bread crumbs to the pigeons like she always does. The pigeons love her. “Hi, Lacey!” she calls.

  “Hi, M
rs. Garcetti!” I call back.

  There’s a big flock of happy, cooing pigeons around her. But when I walk past on the sidewalk, they get quiet all at once.

  Thirty-four pigeons turn and stare at me.

  This is weird. The pigeons seem kind of mad, as if I’d been saying mean things about them behind their backs.

  “Come on, babies. Aren’t you hungry? Eat for Mama.” Mrs. Garcetti throws another big handful of bread crumbs, but the birds don’t even notice.

  They can’t take their eyes off me. And I can’t take my eyes off them. I take a step sideways…

  …and so do all the pigeons.

  I take another step…

  …and so do they.

  I lift one foot…

  …and all the pigeons lift one foot.

  Okay. This is officially creepy.

  I take off running, as fast as I can.

  I want to warn you that this next part is really gross. And if you’ve got a weak stomach, you should skip ahead to Chapter 10 right now. I’ll give you till the count of three.

  One.

  Two.

  Two and a half.

  Three.

  Still here? Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I even gave you a “half,” which I didn’t have to do.

  I run with all my might toward my house. And the pigeons near Mrs. Garcetti fly up with a big whoosh of wings and follow me.

  Suddenly, dozens of pigeons are in the air right over my head, with more arriving every second. If you were standing across the street, it would look like I was running under a big, dark rain cloud.

  Rain clouds. And flocks of pigeons… Well, there’s no nice way to say this. Flocks of pigeons…poop.

  Splat! A big, wet, white plop of pigeon poop lands on the sidewalk right next to me. Splat! There’s another plop. Then another. Then another. I keep running.

  EWWWWWWWW! Pigeon poop hits my shoulder.

  There’s a covered bus shelter down the street. For once in my life, I run faster than any of the kids on the track team and make it under the clear plastic roof just in time.

  Ker-splat! Ker-splat times a thousand! Pigeon poop showers down on the bus shelter in buckets.

  This is so gross! Unbelievably gross! And I have pigeon poop on my favorite sweater. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew.

  The poopstorm seems to be slowing down, and I think the worst is over. But then hundreds more pigeons fly in from every direction, just like somebody texted them to come join the fun. I’ve got to get out of here. But how?

  There must be something I can use as a pigeon-poop umbrella. The bench is bolted down, so that won’t work. The garbage can is one of those open-lid kinds, so that won’t work. But someone has taped a big poster-board yard-sale sign on the back wall of the bus shelter. It’s pretty flimsy, but it’s all I have. I put the yard-sale poster over my head—and RUN.

  The gigantic flock of pigeons follows me all the way to my house. But the yard-sale sign works great. A few more steps and I’ll be safe inside the front door, and pigeon-free.

  Uh-oh. To turn the front doorknob, I’m going to have to use my hand, which means putting down the sign, which means…

  …the pigeons will get me for sure. Poopageddon!

  Kicking the door with my foot, I shout, “Let me in! LET ME IN!” But no one comes to my rescue, since no one’s home. Duh. But your brain wouldn’t be working correctly right now, either.

  Maybe I can get in the back door. I sure can’t wait around on the front steps all day with a gazillion crazy birds.

  I sprint around to the side of the house and skid to a stop. There’s a big maple tree in the backyard, and every square inch of it is covered with pigeons. And every one of them is waiting for me. The maple tree has so many birds on it that it’s not green, it’s pigeon-feather gray. There’s no way I’m going under that tree.

  But I don’t have to. With an amazingly loud FRRIIIIPPP! of fluttering wings, every pigeon on the tree takes flight and heads straight for me.

  And there are just as many pigeons coming at me from the other direction. I’m trapped! I don’t know if pigeons eat people, but these look like they might.

  I spin sideways. There’s a high fence blocking my way. On the other side, the wall of the house blocks me.

  FRRRRIIIIIPPPPPP! The fluttering pigeons almost reach me. I look to my left: Madison’s bedroom window is closed tight. I look to my right: there’s my window. And it’s open! I drop the poster board and grab the windowsill.

  Bird wings engulf me as I desperately hoist myself inside the window and slam it shut. Then, as quickly as they arrived, the pigeons fly off in a million directions.

  Except for the white trail of bird poop leading to my window, it’s as if the pigeons were never there.

  After the window dive into my bedroom, it takes me a while to catch my breath. I’m about to wipe my sweaty forehead with my sleeve when I see that it’s covered with poop. Ew! My sweater goes straight into the trash.

  Then I hear a crunch…crunch…crunch sound.

  OH NO! There’s a pigeon in the room!

  But the crunch sound isn’t coming from a pigeon, it’s coming from Katarina, who sits on my dresser calmly chewing on the Frosted Mini-Wheat I left her. (It’s almost as big as her head.) She looks at me with fake sympathy. “Had a hard day, dear?”

  “Yes, I had a hard day! Pigeons chased me!”

  “Interesting. Anything else out of the ordinary?”

  “What more do you want?” But then I think a moment. “Barnaby barked at me. And Seymour wouldn’t come out of his tree. What’s happening?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? It’s your dream not coming true.”

  “What?”

  Katarina talks very loudly and slowly—exactly the way my grandma speaks to people with accents, like she’s going to make them understand through sheer lung power: “IT’S. YOUR. DREAM. NOT. COMING. TRUE!”

  “I’m not talking about my dream! I’m talking about pigeons! What does my dream have to do with pigeons? Or Barnaby? Or Seymour?”

  “Think about it. They’re all animals, and they all hate you. You’re going to have a little trouble being a zoo intern if every animal in the world despises you on sight.”

  “How did you know I wanted to be a zoo intern?” I ask, getting scared. “Can you read minds?”

  “No, I read your essay. There was a copy in the trash can.”

  My knees suddenly feel weak, so I sit on the bed. Animals hate me? This is awful! “There’s gotta be a way we can fix this!”

  “That’s exactly what Marie Antoinette said to my cousin Maude just before…” Katarina makes a slashing motion across her neck. “Maude lost her wings and got demoted to wood fairy.”

  “She lives in the woods?”

  “No. She chops it. Night and day. Day and night. Chop, chop, chop.”

  “But if animals hate me, I won’t ever get to be a veterinarian, either!”

  Katarina just yawns and crawls into the jewelry box. “Right! Paige won’t get her dream, and you won’t get yours. ‘We’ll all live unhappily ever after. The end.’” She starts to pull the lid over her, but I hold it open. Katarina covers her face with her hands and pretends to snore. “Sleeping here. Go away.”

  I’m so annoyed that I turn the jewelry box upside down and shake her out. Katarina lands on the dresser with an angry yelp. “Now you’ve done it!” She pulls out her wand and shouts, “Boils and sores! Oozing pores!”

  Yikes!

  Katarina starts to raise her wand, but her injured shoulder makes her bend over in pain. “Ow!” The wand drops to the dresser, and I pick it up, thinking.

  “Give me that!” she says.

  I ignore her. There’s nothing very complicated about this, it’s really just a little stick. Suddenly, an amazing idea comes to me—an idea that could fix everything! I shout, “I’ll be Paige’s fairy godmother!”

  Katarina snorts and grabs for the wand, but I keep it out of her reach.

  I say, “Think about it!
Paige’s life is practically perfect already. I know what her wish is. She wants the lead part in the school play. I’ll use the magic wand to fix her voice and get her the part. Voilà! Her dream comes true, and all our problems are solved.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about! I had over a century of training at the Academy before I was assigned my first case! You can’t be a fairy godmother!”

  “Sure I can!” I start waving the little wand around. Then I wave it some more. And a little more. “Nothing’s happening.”

  “Of course it’s not. Give me that.”

  I think about how Katarina uses the wand. Or used it, when her wand arm was still working. I point the wand at my unmade bed and say, “Make the bed.” Nothing happens.

  Katarina rolls her eyes. “Told you so. You’re not godmother material.”

  I lower the wand and chew my lip, thinking some more. Maybe it’s got to rhyme. Aiming the wand at my bedspread, I chant, “Bed’s a disgrace! Put it in place!” One corner twitches a tiny bit, but you wouldn’t even notice it if you weren’t looking for it. And that’s all that happens.

  Katarina says, “I can’t believe it!”

  “You don’t have to be sarcastic. I know it was pathetic.”

  “It wasn’t pathetic, it was magic. Only one girl in a million has any magic in her at all.”

  For a second I still think she’s making fun of me, but she actually does seem impressed. I’m one in a million? My dad always says that, but he’s just being my dad.

  Katarina looks at me thoughtfully. “There’s a teeny tiny little chance your scheme might work. Maybe you could be Paige’s fairy godmother and get us out of this mess.”

  “I can do it! I know I can!”

  Katarina’s still thoughtful. “No, it’s impossible.”

  “Don’t say that! It’s possible! I, Lacey Unger-Ware, will be Paige Harrington’s fairy godmother. No matter how hard it is, no matter what it takes. But I can’t do it unless you help me.”