Read Online Kelly McClymer-Salem Witch 03 She's A Witch Girl by Kelly McClymer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kelly McClymer
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spell I’d cast on her and Brent. I would have done it then and there, but I wasn’t sure exactly how to reverse it. You’d think I could have made something up, but one thing magic school has taught me is that you better get your spells right or the consequences may be way worse than you’d ever foreseen. And I didn’t want to cause another problem trying to erase the first one. After all, I wanted to get revenge on the little poach-crusher with a clear conscience.
That was kind of hard to plan, though, watching her cryher eyes out on the bed where we’d talked about boys and passed countless secrets between us.
It did help when Maddie’s phone rang again and she stopped crying. “Hey, Chezzie. Whassup, girl?”
Whassup, girl?
Maddie
was
in bad shape to be so lame.
“Sure, come on in.” Maddie sat up and wiped her eyes. “My mom’s out with the boy toy. Just punch in the code and come straight up.”
She hung up and ran into her bathroom. I could hear the water running, and I knew she was trying the cold-water trick to get rid of the signs of crying. When she came out of the bathroom, she looked perfect—just like the old Maddie with a mom and dad who lived together and thought she hung the moon.
Chezzie took my old place on the end of Maddie’s bed and sprawled out like she’d always had that spot. Like I’d never existed. “We need to start getting ready for Nationals. Do you have any more of Pru’s old routines lying around?”
“I gave you her notebook. They were all in there.”
Chezzie sighed. “But what if she tries to use the new ones?”
“She won’t.” Maddie was sure of me. “Pru likes to stand out. To be different. She won’t use any of those routines because she knows we might.”
Okay, so she was right. I had always tried hard to be fresh and Prutastic—one reason I would have been the first juniorhead cheerleader at my old school. So Maddie still knew
me
well enough, even if I didn’t recognize her.
To-Do started to struggle out of my back pocket. “Action step required: Study for transubstantiation test for the next two hours.”
I looked at him. With a regular PDA, I could reschedule something. I’d forgotten to ask Samuel how to reschedule To-Do.
“I’m on it, To-Do.” I materialized my notes, but I was paying more attention to what was going on outside the closet than on studying.
To-Do pinched my hip, unconvinced by my pretense at studying. “Action step required: Study for transubstantiation test for the next one hour and fifty-nine minutes.”
“Fine!” I popped back to my room, knowing I needed a new plan. Another new plan—this one for finding time to create routines so killer, they’d get a standing O to beat all standing O’s.
I was getting really good at coming up with new plans ever since we’d moved to Salem. But I was getting darned tired of it.
It was all too soon, after practicing like mortals until we were bruised and battered, that we got the chance to feel the competition magic all over again. This time, we were competing, though, not sitting in the stands. Talk aboutthe witch-mortal divide? That’s nothing compared to the spectator-performer divide. Spectators feel about one-zillionth of the adrenaline rush the performers feel. Of course, they don’t-usually-end up bruised and battered, either. Thank goodness for endorphins-they keep us from feeling any pain until the day
after
the performance.
Tara clapped her hands. “Okay, Witches, I need your attention, please.” After every squad on the floor knew she was head cheerleader-and only after-she turned to me and nodded. “Okay, Pru, run the girls through the drill again.”
It felt great to be trusted, finally. I pulled out the book I’d done for the routine-we’d been using my drawings during practice, but they’d been bigger, glowing, and suspended against every wall in the gym so they’d be easier to read. Magic really does have its uses. But we had to use the book here
That was kind of hard to plan, though, watching her cryher eyes out on the bed where we’d talked about boys and passed countless secrets between us.
It did help when Maddie’s phone rang again and she stopped crying. “Hey, Chezzie. Whassup, girl?”
Whassup, girl?
Maddie
was
in bad shape to be so lame.
“Sure, come on in.” Maddie sat up and wiped her eyes. “My mom’s out with the boy toy. Just punch in the code and come straight up.”
She hung up and ran into her bathroom. I could hear the water running, and I knew she was trying the cold-water trick to get rid of the signs of crying. When she came out of the bathroom, she looked perfect—just like the old Maddie with a mom and dad who lived together and thought she hung the moon.
Chezzie took my old place on the end of Maddie’s bed and sprawled out like she’d always had that spot. Like I’d never existed. “We need to start getting ready for Nationals. Do you have any more of Pru’s old routines lying around?”
“I gave you her notebook. They were all in there.”
Chezzie sighed. “But what if she tries to use the new ones?”
“She won’t.” Maddie was sure of me. “Pru likes to stand out. To be different. She won’t use any of those routines because she knows we might.”
Okay, so she was right. I had always tried hard to be fresh and Prutastic—one reason I would have been the first juniorhead cheerleader at my old school. So Maddie still knew
me
well enough, even if I didn’t recognize her.
To-Do started to struggle out of my back pocket. “Action step required: Study for transubstantiation test for the next two hours.”
I looked at him. With a regular PDA, I could reschedule something. I’d forgotten to ask Samuel how to reschedule To-Do.
“I’m on it, To-Do.” I materialized my notes, but I was paying more attention to what was going on outside the closet than on studying.
To-Do pinched my hip, unconvinced by my pretense at studying. “Action step required: Study for transubstantiation test for the next one hour and fifty-nine minutes.”
“Fine!” I popped back to my room, knowing I needed a new plan. Another new plan—this one for finding time to create routines so killer, they’d get a standing O to beat all standing O’s.
I was getting really good at coming up with new plans ever since we’d moved to Salem. But I was getting darned tired of it.
It was all too soon, after practicing like mortals until we were bruised and battered, that we got the chance to feel the competition magic all over again. This time, we were competing, though, not sitting in the stands. Talk aboutthe witch-mortal divide? That’s nothing compared to the spectator-performer divide. Spectators feel about one-zillionth of the adrenaline rush the performers feel. Of course, they don’t-usually-end up bruised and battered, either. Thank goodness for endorphins-they keep us from feeling any pain until the day
after
the performance.
Tara clapped her hands. “Okay, Witches, I need your attention, please.” After every squad on the floor knew she was head cheerleader-and only after-she turned to me and nodded. “Okay, Pru, run the girls through the drill again.”
It felt great to be trusted, finally. I pulled out the book I’d done for the routine-we’d been using my drawings during practice, but they’d been bigger, glowing, and suspended against every wall in the gym so they’d be easier to read. Magic really does have its uses. But we had to use the book here
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