has already started. I’ve got to get back to the M.R.S!” She took a deep breath. She’d made it here, but solved nothing. Jason Jameson was still on the loose. “Keep an eye on Jason for me, will you?”
B left through a backstage door and ran down the school corridor until she was far from where anyone could see her. “T-R-A-V-E-L,” she said, and her transportation spell whisked her to the M.R.S. She tried to return to the couch where she and Trina last were, but instead she arrived outside the door to the ladies’ restroom. She had to sprinthalfway around the great circular building to find Trina and the other contestants.
“Where have you been?” Trina whispered. “I was worried that I might have to go find you. Special Spells has started. Someone’s out there now doing a spell to make flowers grow. It’s taking a while.”
B collapsed on the couch, too out of breath to say much.
“You’re all red in the face,” Trina said. She fanned B off with her competition program. “Did you see anything? Has Jason sabotaged Dawn’s act?”
B shook her head. “Not yet,” she said. “I saw the end of his act. The judges loved it. Dawn hasn’t gone on yet.”
From inside the M.R.S. library, they could hear the sound of polite applause. A tall, sad-looking young witch left the stage clutching a pair of nearly empty flowerpots. Uh-oh.
“I’m up next,” Trina said, “and you’re after me. Wish me luck.”
“You’ll be great, Trina,” B said. “Your spell is amazing.”
Trina smiled nervously, then strode onto the stage like the experienced performer that she was. B peeked through the doorway to watch.
Madame Mel gave Trina a nod, and Trina sang her song-casting spell. Her voice reached into every corner and crevice in the great library. B saw people seated on the upper mezzanines crane their necks for a better look. That was the kind of voice she had.
When she’d finished singing, her spell swirled around Madame Mel, teasing loose some strands of her blue hair. A jazzy, big-band-style tune began to play, and a baritone singer sang a song about dancing shoes.
The audience clapped and laughed, especially, B noted, the older ones. Madame Mel’s face flushed beet red as the magical music video showed a tall, thin woman with shiny black hair, looking suspiciously like a much younger Madame Mel, dancing at an old-fashioned nightclub with a tall soldier in his dress uniform.
B shook her head and smiled. Trina’s spell didn’tjust write songs; it wrote love songs that brought back people’s most tender memories. Jumping jinxes, that was good magic.
B was so caught up in Trina’s spell that she forgot that she was next, until Trina ran off the stage and gave her a friendly high five. “You’re up, B!”
B headed out into the bright lights once more. Now was the time for her story spell. Now or never.
Madame Mel dabbed her eyes with a tissue and nodded for B to begin. B licked her lips but they felt as dry as sandpaper. She took a deep breath. She closed her eyes.
She thought about the library — the library where she now stood, and all the libraries she’d ever loved. She thought of the couches, the beanbag chairs, her bed, and all the places she’d ever spent happy hours curled up with a book. She let her mind wander through book after book, like a phantom spirit passing along the shelf, from stories of home and stories of school and stories of lands far away. She felt the places, the characters, the danger, theexcitement, the romance, the suspense, the indulgence, the delight.
“S-T-O-R-Y,” she said, and as she did so, she knew for the first time just what a glorious, powerful, magical word it was.
A warm, pleasant, crackly voice began to tell a story. It sounded a bit like B’s own Granny Grogg. Books slid out from their library shelves and began dancing in midair around the great round library room.
“Once upon a time,” the voice said, “in a forest, high in the mountains, a
B left through a backstage door and ran down the school corridor until she was far from where anyone could see her. “T-R-A-V-E-L,” she said, and her transportation spell whisked her to the M.R.S. She tried to return to the couch where she and Trina last were, but instead she arrived outside the door to the ladies’ restroom. She had to sprinthalfway around the great circular building to find Trina and the other contestants.
“Where have you been?” Trina whispered. “I was worried that I might have to go find you. Special Spells has started. Someone’s out there now doing a spell to make flowers grow. It’s taking a while.”
B collapsed on the couch, too out of breath to say much.
“You’re all red in the face,” Trina said. She fanned B off with her competition program. “Did you see anything? Has Jason sabotaged Dawn’s act?”
B shook her head. “Not yet,” she said. “I saw the end of his act. The judges loved it. Dawn hasn’t gone on yet.”
From inside the M.R.S. library, they could hear the sound of polite applause. A tall, sad-looking young witch left the stage clutching a pair of nearly empty flowerpots. Uh-oh.
“I’m up next,” Trina said, “and you’re after me. Wish me luck.”
“You’ll be great, Trina,” B said. “Your spell is amazing.”
Trina smiled nervously, then strode onto the stage like the experienced performer that she was. B peeked through the doorway to watch.
Madame Mel gave Trina a nod, and Trina sang her song-casting spell. Her voice reached into every corner and crevice in the great library. B saw people seated on the upper mezzanines crane their necks for a better look. That was the kind of voice she had.
When she’d finished singing, her spell swirled around Madame Mel, teasing loose some strands of her blue hair. A jazzy, big-band-style tune began to play, and a baritone singer sang a song about dancing shoes.
The audience clapped and laughed, especially, B noted, the older ones. Madame Mel’s face flushed beet red as the magical music video showed a tall, thin woman with shiny black hair, looking suspiciously like a much younger Madame Mel, dancing at an old-fashioned nightclub with a tall soldier in his dress uniform.
B shook her head and smiled. Trina’s spell didn’tjust write songs; it wrote love songs that brought back people’s most tender memories. Jumping jinxes, that was good magic.
B was so caught up in Trina’s spell that she forgot that she was next, until Trina ran off the stage and gave her a friendly high five. “You’re up, B!”
B headed out into the bright lights once more. Now was the time for her story spell. Now or never.
Madame Mel dabbed her eyes with a tissue and nodded for B to begin. B licked her lips but they felt as dry as sandpaper. She took a deep breath. She closed her eyes.
She thought about the library — the library where she now stood, and all the libraries she’d ever loved. She thought of the couches, the beanbag chairs, her bed, and all the places she’d ever spent happy hours curled up with a book. She let her mind wander through book after book, like a phantom spirit passing along the shelf, from stories of home and stories of school and stories of lands far away. She felt the places, the characters, the danger, theexcitement, the romance, the suspense, the indulgence, the delight.
“S-T-O-R-Y,” she said, and as she did so, she knew for the first time just what a glorious, powerful, magical word it was.
A warm, pleasant, crackly voice began to tell a story. It sounded a bit like B’s own Granny Grogg. Books slid out from their library shelves and began dancing in midair around the great round library room.
“Once upon a time,” the voice said, “in a forest, high in the mountains, a
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