The Glitter Trap Page 7

  ROAR! ROAR! The engine keeps revving. I try to jump off, but my rear end feels glued to the seat.

  And then the moped starts to move. I must have hit the gas by mistake! I take my hands off the handlebars, which is not a good idea. It lurches forward, and I’m jerked back so far I’m almost lying flat on the seat.

  The front wheel turns all by itself, and the moped charges at Paige like an angry bull. Even though I’m pumping the brakes, it doesn’t slow down. “Watch out!” I shout.

  When the moped barrels toward Paige, I’m sure she’s going to be roadkill, so I close my eyes. There’s a loud THUMP, and I let out a shriek. This is awful!

  I peek out of one eye and see Paige riding on the handlebars. She got scooped up the way Katarina got scooped up by the skateboard.

  ROARRR! The moped goes even faster, zooming us straight toward the brick wall of the fire station across the street. I scream, and Paige sings, “GLO! OH-OH-OH! OH-OH-OH! RIA!” It’s the only sound she can make.

  The brick wall is inches away. But we don’t crash, we drive straight up the side of the wall. Let me say that again: we drive up the side of the wall! Straight up! Like it’s nothing! Who made this thing? Spider-Man?

  No, I did. I can’t wait till Katarina wakes up so I can tell her about it.

  Then we reach the roof, and we’re back to boring old horizontal. Well, it would be boring if we weren’t heading straight for the other side of the building.

  I SCREAM. Paige is too scared now even to sing.

  As we fly off into nothing, I feel like I left my stomach back on the roof.

  And then we come down in a surprisingly soft landing. If this were an airplane, all the passengers would be applauding right now. We rush on, passing cars on the street in an apple-red blur.

  The moped barrels toward the Shop ’n Save market and its big plate-glass windows. I brace myself, expecting to go straight up the wall again. What if the glass breaks and cuts us into hamburger?

  At the last moment, the moped zigzags, and we shoot through the automatic doors and into the store.

  WHUMP! We crash through a pyramid of potato chips.

  THUMP! We send two hundred loaves of bread flying.

  KERCHUNK! We knock the birthday cards from aisle six into aisle thirteen.

  WHOOSH! We blow through the swinging doors in back, soar off the loading dock, and blast down another street, going what seems like a million miles an hour. Have you seen those pictures of astronauts going so fast that their cheeks are all pulled back? Well, that’s us right now. I want to scream again, but the wind pushes the sound right back down my throat.

  We head straight for a house, and I brace myself. What’s it going to be? Up the wall? Through the door? Down the chimney?

  SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!! The moped stops right in front of the house and the jet sound fades away into a friendly little putt-putt-putt. We’re parked on the front porch as if this were exactly where we were supposed to be.

  This place looks familiar…

  …because it’s Paige’s house. Door to door by apple core. There’s a friendly “beep-beep” from the moped, and I can’t help patting it. “Uh, thank you!” I tell it. The putt-putting sound becomes a happy purr.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” I say. Then Paige turns around, and her face is completely covered with splattered bugs, some of them still wiggling. Ewwwwwww. She’s been my windshield for the whole ride.

  Paige is surprisingly calm. (I guess you don’t get to be queen of the school by being a wuss.) Then she looks down and sees her bug-splattered self for the first time.

  And totally freaks out.

  She leaps off the handlebars and jumps. And twitches. And flicks. And runs around in circles. The whole time, she’s singing, “GLO! OH-OH-OH! OH-OH-OH! RIA!” which I translate into Get them off me! Get them off me! GET THEM OFF ME!

  When I try to slap the bugs off her, she starts slapping me back. Ow! I step away and fall into the flower bed while Paige runs around in circles and swats at herself. She’s lost it. I’ve got to do something!

  So…I spray her full in the face with icy cold water from the garden hose.

  I’m not trying to be mean or anything, I’m just trying to help her stop freaking out. And it seems to work. She quits running around and stands as still as a statue. I spray her for a little while longer and get most of the bugs off.

  Paige stands there, shocked and shivering. I wave my hand in front of her eyes. Nothing. She has brain freeze. “Paige? Talk to me. Or sing something.”

  She just stares and shivers some more, so cold her lips are blue. I’ve got to get her inside and warmed up.

  But the front door’s locked. “Do you have the key?” I ask. She reaches into her pocket with one shivering hand. She pulls out a key and then drops it. “I’ll do it,” I say.

  I open the door and Paige walks inside with a slow, miserable, Frankenstein lurch. I start to follow her in—and so does the moped, which wiggles like a friendly dog. “You wait in the bushes till I come back,” I tell it, feeling stupid. Like a moped’s going to understand what I’m saying. But this one does. It droops a little sadly as it putt-putts into the bushes next to the house and parks.

  As I follow a cold and soggy Paige into the living room, I take a look around. This place couldn’t be less like my house. My house is shabby and cluttered, and there are photos everywhere: me and Madison, from age one minute to last week; my parents with funny haircuts; my grandparents with funny haircuts; my uncles with no hair at all; family pets; family cars; family everything.

  But Paige’s house looks like no one really lives here. The living room is as new and clean as the pictures in the decorating magazines my mom reads.

  Paige zombie-walks down a hallway into a bathroom, goes into the shower stall without bothering to undress, and turns the hot water on full blast. Her blue lips start to turn pink again.

  “I’ll go get you some clothes,” I say.

  She shakes her head no.

  “I don’t mind at all.”

  I go back into the hall and start opening doors. The first one leads to a home office with a lot of very fancy diplomas on the wall. Wow. Paige’s father is a doctor from Stanford University School of Medicine. That’s why they can afford such a nice lawn.

  I open another door. Just a closet.

  I open another door. And I’m instantly confused. It’s a kid’s room, but it can’t be Paige’s. There’s a chess set. Science-fair trophies. A planet mobile. A bookcase full of Nancy Drew mysteries and Baby-Sitters Club books. This is the bedroom of a geeky kid. I pick up one of the trophies and read the plaque at the bottom: First Place, Fourth Grade Science Fair—Paige Harrington.

  For the second time in a week, I gasp. This is more shocking than Sunny’s bangs. Maybe even more shocking than finding out that fairy godmothers are real.

  Paige Harrington, the most popular girl in the universe, is a secret geek!

  Paige suddenly appears at my side, wearing a bathrobe and looking furious. She tries to grab the trophy out of my hand, but I’m too fast for her. I have a five-year-old sister. I’ve got moves.

  “You are so busted,” I say. “I bet at your old school you were smart and not popular. And then you came here and faked it!”

  Paige grabs a pad of Post-its and scribbles: Tell anyone, and I’ll kill you.

  I check the room out some more. “You don’t need a fairy godmother. You’ve gone from geek to chic all by yourself!”

  Some of the anger fades from Paige’s face. Then she writes, I want to sing!

  “I know, I know. I’m working on it! But couldn’t you have picked something easier?”

  Paige writes, I sound good in the shower.

  I can’t help laughing, and then I worry that I’ve hurt her feelings. But Paige smiles a little. For the first time since I’ve met her, she doesn’t seem like Miss Perfect. She seems human.

  Paige writes, Do you really think you can make me a good singer?

 
; “You want me to be honest?”

  Paige nods.

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll do the very best I can. We need to work together. What do you say?”

  Paige grins and points at her throat.

  “Sorry. I forgot,” I reply.

  She reaches over and shakes my hand. I guess that means we’re working together.

  Suddenly, there’s a voice from the living room: “Paige! I’m home!”

  “Your dad?” I whisper, and Paige nods.

  A moment later, Paige’s dad comes into the room. He would be handsome if he didn’t look so exhausted. I don’t want him to find out about the angel-singing problem, so I wave. “Hi, Dr. Harrington! How are you?”

  He gives me a tired glance. “I’ve been covering shifts at the hospital for over thirty hours. How do you think I am? I’m going to bed. You can come back and visit some other time.”

  But I need to plan things out with Paige, so I wing it. “Would it be all right if Paige came over to my house for a sleepover tonight?”

  Paige looks surprised, but then she gives her dad a thumbs-up.

  Dr. Harrington asks me, “Are your parents all right with this?”

  “Sure! It was their idea! They say a house isn’t a home without a sleepover.” Paige gives me a kick. I guess that was a little much.

  Dr. Harrington seems too worn out to notice. “Fine. Make sure to leave contact numbers with my answering service.” He turns and leaves the room.

  I can’t believe how easy that was. No matter how tired they were, my parents would have smelled something fishy. But Paige doesn’t seem at all surprised; she starts putting clothes in her backpack.

  I suddenly think of something: “Do we need to ask your mom, too?”

  Paige shakes her head and keeps packing.

  We walk out the front door, and Paige leaps back, terrified, when the bushes rustle and the moped rolls up to us. I have to admit it was a pretty wild ride for her, being a windshield and all.

  I say to the moped, “Can you take us home? No going up walls or through stores. And you’ve gotta go slow.” I swear it looks disappointed, but it gives a couple of short beeps that seem to mean yes. So I get on the seat, and Paige hesitantly climbs on behind me.

  When we arrive at my house, I’m surprised to see Sunny waiting on the porch. Her mouth drops open as the moped pulls up and we get off.

  She looks at me, hurt and angry: “So this is why you’ve been ditching me? You moped-riding double-crosser!”

  I say, “It’s not what it looks like.”

  “Really? ’Cause it looks like you’re out having fun with your new best friend and not even caring how I feel!”

  “That’s not it.” Now that Sunny’s talking to me again, I can finally tell her the truth. So I take a deep breath and say, “I accidentally hurt Paige’s fairy godmother. So now I have to be Paige’s fairy godmother. And this moped is really an apple core. I can do magic!”

  Sunny looks even more hurt. “You liar!” She stomps away. I don’t know what I was expecting. Paige didn’t believe it, either, at least not till the moped.

  The moped!

  I say, “Moped, fetch Sunny!” It waggles happily and zips off.

  Sunny sees the driverless moped roaring up to her and SHRIEKS. She runs, and the moped chases her like a friendly red dog going after a stick.

  Finally, the moped bumps her from behind, tosses her onto its seat, and zooms her back to the porch.

  Shocked speechless, she looks at it, at me, and at Paige.

  Paige pats Sunny’s shoulder sympathetically and sings, “GLO! OH-OH-OH! OH-OH-OH! RIA!” which clearly means I totally understand what you’re going through.

  Sunny finally finds some words: “Lacey, you’re telling the truth! You can do magic!”

  “Yes!”

  She gives me a hug, back to her old self.

  “We’re having a sleepover,” I say. “You want to ask your mom if you can stay?”

  Since it’s a school night, Mom and Dad take a little convincing about the girls’ staying over, but when we promise to be in bed by ten, they’re okay with it. They’re curious about Paige and start peppering her with questions, so I tell them she can’t talk because she’s strained her voice from two hours of cheerleading practice and three hours of play practice.

  Paige, Sunny, and I go to my room. And with Paige texting and me talking, we get Sunny up to date on what’s been happening. This is a lot of work, so we decide to wait till midnight, when Paige’s voice comes back, before making any more plans.

  It doesn’t take long for Mom, worried about Paige’s throat, to come in with tea and lemon. Dad’s worried, too, so he brings her a scarf. And a moment later, Madison shows up with a storybook, insisting, “This is a special book for sore throats.” It’s actually Barbie Princess Playtime, but Madison likes any excuse to read it.

  I roll my eyes at Paige to show that I know how weird my family is and that she doesn’t have to pay any attention. But Paige smiles like she doesn’t think they’re weird at all.

  We’re pretending to be asleep in my bedroom when the clock hits midnight, which is when my angel spell should wear off. Sunny and I both look at Paige. “Say something!” Sunny says.

  To my extreme relief, Paige can talk again. The first words out of her mouth are: “I just want to know one thing.…”

  “How we’re going to fix your voice?” I ask.

  “No, not that.” Paige turns to Sunny. “What did you do to your bangs? They look terrible!”

  “Lacey was supposed to come with me, but I had to go to the salon on my own!”

  “She didn’t go with you? Everyone knows you have to have a spotter when you get your bangs cut. Or else…”

  “…they turn out like this.”

  Paige says, “Lacey! How could you do that?”

  “I had wand lessons!”

  “So, use your wand to fix Sunny’s bangs!”

  “They’d only be fixed till midnight, and I’d have to do it every day.”

  Sunny says, “I’m okay with that. Fix my bangs!”

  I’m a little tempted. Sunny’s hair does look bad. “I could try, but what if I just make them worse?”

  Sunny says, “They couldn’t be worse!”

  “You could be bald. Or you could have snakes for hair.”

  She covers her hair with her hands. “That couldn’t happen, could it?”

  “It wouldn’t be on purpose. But I didn’t make Paige sing like an angel on purpose, either. Anyway, we have to stop talking about bangs and start talking about making Paige’s dream come true. There’s the Ann Estey problem—”

  My bedroom door suddenly opens, and Mom comes in, wearing a bathrobe. “Girls! Less talking, more sleeping! Go to bed!”

  I dive into bed, and Sunny and Paige scramble into their sleeping bags on the floor. “Good night, Mom!” I say. “Good night, Mrs. Unger-Ware,” Sunny and Paige both say.

  Mom looks at Paige. “Your voice is better! I knew honey and lemon would do the trick.” She turns out the light. “Good night, girls. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” And she closes the door behind her.

  Turning on my flashlight, I notice a funny expression on Paige’s face. I tell her, “We don’t really have bedbugs. She just says that.”

  Paige nods. “I know. My mom used to say that.”

  Sunny pats her on the shoulder. “Did your folks split up? My dad lives in Vancouver now.”

  “No. My mom died last year.”

  Oh. I didn’t know that, and I’m sure Sunny didn’t, either. Sunny puts her hand out to pat Paige on the shoulder again, but stops herself and folds her hands in her lap. A pat’s not enough; nothing would be enough. There’s a long silence in the room. Finally, I say, “What was she like? Your mom, I mean.”

  “She was amazing! So pretty… Everybody said so. And she was good at everything and had a million friends. Nothing like me.”

  Sunny is shocked. “What are you talking about
? That’s exactly like you!”

  “No, it isn’t. Mom was special. She would have gotten the lead in Cinderella without even trying. I want to be special.”

  I think about the way Paige has transformed herself from science geek into cheerleader—and how much she wants to be in the play now. She wants to be like her mom!

  Before I have a chance to ask more questions, Paige changes the subject. “So what are we going to do about Ann Estey?”

  Sunny asks me, giggling, “Why don’t you turn her into a frog?”

  “Not so loud,” I say.

  Sunny whispers, “If Ann’s a frog, she can’t be in the play, and Paige can get the part.”

  I whisper back, “But that’s so not fair. She’s really good, and she’s really excited about it.”

  Sunny says, “They can’t both be Cinderella.”

  “I know! That’s the problem! But I don’t want to do something bad to Ann.”

  Paige’s eyes light up. “So, do something good to her.”

  Sunny and I look at her questioningly.

  Paige explains, “Being Cinderella’s good, but there’s gotta be something better. You could make Ann a movie star.”

  Sunny nods. “Or get her a trip to Paris!”

  But I already see problems: “I don’t think I’m a good enough fairy godmother to do any of that. I know I could make her a dress out of paper towels, but the rest sounds pretty hard.”

  Sunny hasn’t heard this part before. “Really? You can make dresses?”

  “Only ugly ones. Spells are tough. I could try to make her a star, but what if she turns into a real star? You know, a gigantic burning ball of hot gas…”

  Sunny grins. “You mean, turn her into Mr. Griffith?”

  Paige and I can’t help snickering, but this is no time for jokes. I say, “I could send her to Paris, but there’s a Paris in Texas and probably a million other ones.”

  Paige says, “Well, you just need to be really, really, really specific.”

  “I tried to do that with your voice. And you sang ‘Gloria’ all day. The spells need to rhyme, too. Like ‘For a change you’ll sing like an angel.’”