Read Online Kelly McClymer-Salem Witch 02 Competition's A Witch by Kelly McClymer - Free Book Online
Authors: Kelly McClymer
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second-listed Harvard.”
Twenty-five seconds
.
He nodded, as if there were no inconsistency. “Second-listing Harvard’s for my mom. Berkeley—and acting—is for me.”
It was my turn to grin. “If you think your mother has your life planned out for you, wait until you have an agent and a manager.” Which was nothing but the cold, hard truth. No one could live within spitting distance of Hollywood and not know that fact.
His voice lowered, as if he was overwhelmed that I wasn’t trying to talk him out of driving down from Berkeley for Hollywood casting calls. “So you think I’d be good enough to attract an agent?”
I thought so. I thought he’d be a big-screen superstar if he wanted to be. There was an unavoidable magnetism to him when he turned it on. But did I want to admit that? Sure, why not? “There are more smoking hot guys per square foot in the L.A. area than anywhere else. But I think you’d have a chance.”
Twenty seconds
.
“Thanks.” He looked genuinely pleased at my assessment that he fit right in with the smoking hot crowd, as if living in Beverly Hills made me an expert. At last, someone in Salem thought I knew something. Too bad he was mortal.
Ten seconds
. I held up the empty glass. “Would you like more?”
“Sure.” Just like last time, when he came to visit with his mom, I didn’t want to say good-bye.
I knew the clock was ticking and I
had
to go.
Now
. Or there would be some alarms going off, one worried mother popping in out of the blue, and some serious mind-wiping to be done. And still … I thought of a solution. “Come on in and I’ll add cookies.”
Oooh. The dimple appeared, making me feel like a genius for thinking to offer food. “I never turn down cookies.”
I hurried toward the house, counting down the seconds. “What’s your favorite kind of cookie?”
Angelo followed, a little behind, probably because he had no idea what would happen if we didn’t get into the living room—where I was almost positive the Dorklock would be playing video games—in just under five seconds. “What are your favorite?”
“Peanut butter with a Hershey’s Kiss center, but I’m an equal-opportunity cookie consumer,” he said, grinning.
I opened the door and let him into the house without a second to spare. The Dorklock was indeed busy with hisvideo games. For about five more seconds I held my breath, wondering if Mom had accounted for the presence of a little brother who didn’t give a toad croak what his big sister was doing. Happily, she had forgotten that little loophole, because, other than the bing-buzz-bang of the video game, there was only the sound of an old house creaking and settling.
“Peanut butter with a Hershey’s Kiss center? Wow. It’s your lucky day.” I led Angelo back toward the kitchen. Leaving Tobias behind meant starting another countdown, but I had proved I could handle it without giving Angelo a clue there was magic happening under his nose.
“You have my favorite cookies?” he asked, surprised.
“We do.” Well, technically, we would by the time I opened the cookie tin. Little did he know he was going to get exactly the cookies he wanted just because he asked. For one second, I totally got why my mom had liked dating a mortal guy. Marrying him? That, not so much. But I long ago gave up trying to understand why my highly mismatched parents had stayed married way longer than most of my friends’ 100 percent certified mortal parents.
We were halfway through the house with time to spare when the Dorklock popped in and asked, “What are you doing?”
Angelo turned and blinked, as if he wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him.
I said, quickly so as to pass right by the whole appearing-from-nowhere thing, “I’m getting Angelo some cookies. He’s been taking care of the yard work that you usually do, twerp.”
Tobias had paled a little when he saw Angelo. I guess he really didn’t know what was going on around him when he
Twenty-five seconds
.
He nodded, as if there were no inconsistency. “Second-listing Harvard’s for my mom. Berkeley—and acting—is for me.”
It was my turn to grin. “If you think your mother has your life planned out for you, wait until you have an agent and a manager.” Which was nothing but the cold, hard truth. No one could live within spitting distance of Hollywood and not know that fact.
His voice lowered, as if he was overwhelmed that I wasn’t trying to talk him out of driving down from Berkeley for Hollywood casting calls. “So you think I’d be good enough to attract an agent?”
I thought so. I thought he’d be a big-screen superstar if he wanted to be. There was an unavoidable magnetism to him when he turned it on. But did I want to admit that? Sure, why not? “There are more smoking hot guys per square foot in the L.A. area than anywhere else. But I think you’d have a chance.”
Twenty seconds
.
“Thanks.” He looked genuinely pleased at my assessment that he fit right in with the smoking hot crowd, as if living in Beverly Hills made me an expert. At last, someone in Salem thought I knew something. Too bad he was mortal.
Ten seconds
. I held up the empty glass. “Would you like more?”
“Sure.” Just like last time, when he came to visit with his mom, I didn’t want to say good-bye.
I knew the clock was ticking and I
had
to go.
Now
. Or there would be some alarms going off, one worried mother popping in out of the blue, and some serious mind-wiping to be done. And still … I thought of a solution. “Come on in and I’ll add cookies.”
Oooh. The dimple appeared, making me feel like a genius for thinking to offer food. “I never turn down cookies.”
I hurried toward the house, counting down the seconds. “What’s your favorite kind of cookie?”
Angelo followed, a little behind, probably because he had no idea what would happen if we didn’t get into the living room—where I was almost positive the Dorklock would be playing video games—in just under five seconds. “What are your favorite?”
“Peanut butter with a Hershey’s Kiss center, but I’m an equal-opportunity cookie consumer,” he said, grinning.
I opened the door and let him into the house without a second to spare. The Dorklock was indeed busy with hisvideo games. For about five more seconds I held my breath, wondering if Mom had accounted for the presence of a little brother who didn’t give a toad croak what his big sister was doing. Happily, she had forgotten that little loophole, because, other than the bing-buzz-bang of the video game, there was only the sound of an old house creaking and settling.
“Peanut butter with a Hershey’s Kiss center? Wow. It’s your lucky day.” I led Angelo back toward the kitchen. Leaving Tobias behind meant starting another countdown, but I had proved I could handle it without giving Angelo a clue there was magic happening under his nose.
“You have my favorite cookies?” he asked, surprised.
“We do.” Well, technically, we would by the time I opened the cookie tin. Little did he know he was going to get exactly the cookies he wanted just because he asked. For one second, I totally got why my mom had liked dating a mortal guy. Marrying him? That, not so much. But I long ago gave up trying to understand why my highly mismatched parents had stayed married way longer than most of my friends’ 100 percent certified mortal parents.
We were halfway through the house with time to spare when the Dorklock popped in and asked, “What are you doing?”
Angelo turned and blinked, as if he wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him.
I said, quickly so as to pass right by the whole appearing-from-nowhere thing, “I’m getting Angelo some cookies. He’s been taking care of the yard work that you usually do, twerp.”
Tobias had paled a little when he saw Angelo. I guess he really didn’t know what was going on around him when he
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