Paige’s eyes shine. “What a beautiful cake.”
“I helped decorate it!” Madison says.
And the cake really is pretty. Big pink roses. Delicate green vines. And in the center, a plastic butterfly with beautiful wings.
Wait a minute. That’s not a plastic butterfly—it’s Katarina, who stands still as a statue, with a fake smile plastered on her face and a Get me out of here, you idiot look in her eyes.
Dad says, “Madison found the decoration. Doesn’t it look like Aunt Ginny?”
Paige and Sunny, realizing that the butterfly is Katarina, start to giggle. Madison says, “She’s really Lacey’s hair clip. She tried to bite me, but I wouldn’t let her.”
“Good for you, honey,” Mom says as she cuts the cake.
“The hair clip told me when she gets her wand back she’s going to turn me into a toe. Why would she want to do that?”
“You’re sure she didn’t say, toad?” Sunny asks.
Madison loves this idea. “Cool!”
In my bathroom that night, it takes me forever to wash the dried icing out of Katarina’s wings.
“I’ve never been so humiliated!” she sputters. “I came this close to getting my wings burned off!”
“But you didn’t. We’re almost done. One more night and you can fly away.”
“Don’t count your Cinderellas before they hatch.”
“But you think we can do it, don’t you?”
“We have to. You may enjoy the prospect of being an animal pariah, but I have no intention of ending up as a dryer fairy.”
I’m not sure what a pariah is, but I don’t like the sound of it. Then I tell myself we’re doing good so far. What could go wrong?
Saturday, the day of the play and the day of the full moon, starts out just fine.
Katarina and I go over to Paige’s house with the wand, just like we did yesterday and the day before. I chant, “Paige should, sing good,” and toss the spell at her. A gorgeous singing voice, no problem.
I don’t know it yet, but this will be the last no-problem moment today.
We all stand near the stage watching Mr. Griffith open a big FedEx box—it’s Cinderella’s ball gown, straight from Broadway. He says, “Let me show you what a professional can do!”
Mr. Griffith reaches into the box and pulls out some crinkled, dirty-brown packing material. He rummages around in it, searching for the dress, but this is all there is. He speed-dials a number on his cell phone. “Hello, Deirdre? I just opened the package. I can’t find the dress.” He listens and turns pale. “This is it? It’s so drab and brown.… It looks like a rock.”
He’s right. The dress, if that’s what it is, looks exactly like a rock. A big, shapeless, brown rock with armholes.
Paige stares at the dress in disbelief. A moment ago she was so happy and excited. Now she looks like somebody just punched her in the stomach.
Mr. Griffith sputters, “Deirdre, I know I said rock opera! But it’s still Cinderella! I don’t care how conceptual it is, the dress can’t look like a rock! You’ve got to whip something up and ship it to me before seven tonight!” He pulls the phone away from his ear and looks at it in disbelief. “Don’t you hang up on me!” he shouts.
There’s a voice from my pocket, so faint that only I can hear it: “I told you so. I told you so. I told you so.”
I thought I’d seen Mr. Griffith have meltdowns before, but those were nothing compared to this. He grabs the rock costume and tries to rip it to bits. But it won’t tear, not even a little. (Deirdre makes a really high-quality costume. Ugly, but high-quality.)
He throws the dress on the floor and stomps on it. The dirt from his shoes makes the dress look even more like a rock. Finally, he stands there panting and announces, “Listen, everybody. I’m sorry, but we cannot go on tonight. The play will be postponed till spring.”
Spring! I can’t wait till spring!
I blurt out, “NO! We have to go on tonight!”
Mr. Griffith looks at me sadly and says, “Oh, you remind me so of myself when I was young and my ideals had not yet been crushed. But we have to face facts.” He looks down at the ugly dress on the floor: “No dress, no Cinderella. Everybody, go home.”
And he drags himself into his office and shuts the door behind him. Again.
For a moment, we’re all too shocked to say anything. Then Scott Dearden pulls on his jacket. “Well, you heard him. It’s over.” Everyone else starts talking at once.
I’ve got to do something. “Wait, everybody! Wait!”
Nobody pays any attention to me.
“Please, everybody! Wait!”
Then Sunny does one of her insanely loud whistles, the ones she saves for professional baseball games. Everyone shuts up—a lot of people even cover their ears. Sunny’s that good.
This is my last chance. “The play is not postponed,” I say. “I have a dress at home that will be perfect! Everybody, relax and drink a protein shake—I’ll be back soon. Just don’t let Mr. Griffith leave!”
“How are we supposed to do that?” Scott asks.
“Nail the door shut if you have to!”
So now, ten minutes later, Paige, Sunny, Katarina, and I are back in the janitor’s bathroom. We’re here so much we should start paying him rent.
I look for the paper-towel dispenser, but there isn’t one, just one of those hot-air blowers. “Oh no!”
Sunny says, “What’s the matter?”
“There’s no paper towels! I need them to make the dress!”
Paige says, “You’re joking.”
When I run into the bathroom stall and come out with a streamer of toilet paper, Paige says, “Please tell me you’re joking.”
I say, far more confidently than I feel, “Fairy godmothers can make dresses out of anything. Katarina used to make dresses out of dirt! Beautiful dresses!”
Sunny and Paige look at Katarina, who’s standing on the sink. I’m expecting a snide comment, but she just nods and says, “It was the Dark Ages. We were lucky to have dirt.” Then she asks me, “You practiced while I was cocooned, right?”
Yeah, like I had time for that. “Of course I did,” I lie. There’s a hook on the back of the door, and I drape the toilet paper over it and step back.
Katarina asks, “And you remember the spell?”
“Yes, Katarina. ‘Out of litter make a dress that glitters!’ You made me say it fifty times.”
This impresses Sunny. “You must be really good by now!”
I pull the little wand out of my pocket and raise it above my head. I’ve done so much other magic this week I’m sure I can do this. I chant, “Out of litter make a dress that glitters!” and toss the spell.
Poof! The toilet paper turns into…toilet paper. Fluffy toilet paper, but still, toilet paper.
I try it again. And again. And again. I do manage to make a couple of dresses, but they’re all ugly. There’s not a sparkle to be seen.
After a dozen more of these wardrobe malfunctions, Sunny holds one up. “The back is nice on this dress.”
I grab it away from her. “That’s the front.”
Paige is about to cry, and I’m about to explode with frustration. I turn to Katarina. “Why can’t I do this? I turned an apple core into a moped. I should be able to make one stupid Cinderella dress!”
“That’s your problem: you think it’s stupid. I’ve been saying it and saying it—the dress is absolutely crucial. And you’ve been ignoring me.”
“I don’t think it’s stupid! I know the play can’t go on without it!”
Katarina is getting frustrated, too. “Face it, you’ll never be a good fairy godmother. You just don’t have it in you.”
Paige wipes her eyes and says, “Stop it! Lacey’s a great fairy godmother. She even crashed a pickle truck for me.”
Katarina says, “Hooray for her. But that doesn’t help with the dress. We need a dress that sparkles! Shines! Glitters!”
I feel myself turning red. That’s w
hat’s wrong with me—I don’t have the glitter gene. I’ve come so far, but I won’t be able to make a dress.
Because. I. Don’t. Do. Glitter.
On the verge of tears myself, I run out of the bathroom.
I run down the hall with the wand still in my hand. I just want to get away from them—from dresses, from friends I’m disappointing, from fairy godmothers who think I’m not good enough. I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry.
And actually, I’m NOT going to cry, because I’m mad! Boiling mad! Glitter is stupid! It’s fake! It’s pointless!
Storming down the hall, I mimic Katarina’s raspy little voice, saying, “Out of litter make a dress that glitters!” and toss the spell. At a garbage can. At a poster. At a sneaker somebody dropped in a corner. Zap! Zap! Zap!
I hate glitter! I hate fake! I LIKE REAL! How did I ever get myself into all this? Oh, yeah…Katarina got trapped in some dumb glitter in my hair. Glitter is evil!
Zap! Zap! Zap! I’m so mad I toss the spell at everything I see.
I finally stop, in front of the stairwell window. Shouting about hating fake and liking real isn’t going to do me any good. I’m not mad anymore, just sad that I’m such a failure. I am not going to cry. I am not going to cry!
I put my head in my hands and sob.
Sunny calls from the other end of the hall: “Lacey!”
“Go away!” I say without even bothering to raise my head.
“Look at what you did!”
“I know what I did. I made a big mess.”
“No, look.”
I’m getting mad again. I know I’m a failure! Why can’t Sunny just leave me alone? I turn around, ready to tell her that.
And then I see what I’ve done.
Beautiful, glittery dresses float all up and down the hallway sparkling in brilliant colors. Green and red and blue, a gleaming dress for every zap. Sunny, Paige, and Katarina stare at the dresses in amazement. I do, too.
Paige walks from dress to dress, and every time she touches one, it spins and sparkles in the light. “How can I ever choose? They’re all so beautiful!”
And they are beautiful. I say, “Wow! I did glitter!”
“I don’t think so,” Sunny says.
“What do you mean?”
“This isn’t glitter. These are real.”
“Real what?”
“Emeralds and rubies and sapphires.” Sunny spins a dress that’s shining with white gems, and it catches the light like a billion fireflies. “I think this dress is covered with diamonds.”
“Ooooh!” Katarina flies over to the dress.
“Ooooh!” Paige gently touches it. “This is my favorite!”
Sunny says, “There’s gotta be thousands of real diamonds here.”
I say, “There’s no way those are real.”
Sunny gathers up the hem of the dress and rubs it against the window, leaving behind tiny scratches. She looks at me smugly. “Only diamonds scratch glass like that. I saw it in a movie.” She looks back at the dress again. “At least until midnight, this dress is worth about a zillion dollars. Lacey, you’re good!”
“But how could that happen? I wasn’t even thinking about the spell. I was just…doing it!”
Katarina tells me, “That means the spell came from your heart and not your head. What was in your heart?”
“I don’t know! I was mad. I wanted things to be real, not fake.”
Sunny points at all the jewel-covered dresses. “Well, that’s what you got!”
Paige says, “I don’t care if it’s real or fake. It’s the most wonderful dress I’ve ever seen!”
Katarina touches the diamond dress and smiles. “I do have to admit, this isn’t half bad.”
The other kids are all twiddling their thumbs and drinking protein shakes when Paige makes a grand entrance into the auditorium. As she poses and twirls in the diamond dress, even the boys ooh and aah. It’s funny the effect a zillion dollars’ worth of diamonds has on people, even if they don’t know they’re real. With this dress, Paige’s invisible spotlight is back on, shining as bright as the sun.
“Is Mr. Griffith still here?” I say.
Scott points toward Mr. Griffith’s office.
“You didn’t really nail him in, did you?”
“We didn’t have to. He’s been in there the whole time.”
I go up to the office door, about to knock. Then I hear Mr. Griffith singing, “I lost my shoe and you,” in a slow, sad howl, like a country singer who’s been run over by a truck.
Scott tells me, “He’s been doing that since you’ve been gone. He’s lost it!”
I knock on the door. “Mr. Griffith? It’s Lacey. I found a dress.”
More sad wailing from inside: “I don’t know what to doooooooooo.”
“Mr. Griffith? It’s going to be all right, really!”
“I can’t believe it’s truuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuue!”
“MR. GRIFFITH! PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER! WE’VE GOT A PLAY TO PUT ON!” I push the door open to find Mr. Griffith sitting at his desk, a big bag of Oreos in front of him, and his mouth encrusted with dark brown crumbs. He’s not handling the whole canceling-the-play thing very well.
“Lacey, shut the door and go away!” he says, washing down several more Oreos with a big swig of protein shake.
But then he sees Paige in her diamond dress, and his mouth drops open, full of cookie goo. He leaps to his feet. “Ooooooooh!”
Suddenly all business, Mr. Griffith wipes the crumbs from his mouth and looks out at the kids. “What are you standing around gawking for? There’s work to do! We’ve got a performance in three hours!”
Fifteen minutes before showtime, the play seems just about perfect. With a little luck, Paige will get her dream, and so will I.
I peek out through the curtain at the nearly full auditorium. My dad, my mom, and Madison are off to one side, and Sunny’s mom is in the front row. (Sure enough, she’s got eight cameras and a dozen roses, even though Sunny only helped with the sets. She’s a good mom.)
The “orchestra” sits just below the stage. It’s actually the Mellowtones trio from the Marriott Hotel, whom Mr. Griffith hired for the night.
Paige comes up behind me, wearing rags and artistically placed soot. “Do you see my dad?”
“Not yet. But it’s so crowded I might have missed him.”
Mr. Griffith strides out to the middle of the stage, clapping his hands for attention. “Circle ’round, everybody! We’re about to embark on that most sacred of voyages, the one that takes place from curtain-up to final bows. The heart of every member of the audience is in your hands. And the thing that you must tell each one of them is—BLLEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”
He throws up Oreos and protein shake all over the stage.
Gross!
Mr. Griffith’s face is a weird shade of green. But he wipes his sweaty forehead and tries to continue. “I’m fine, I’m fine! And the show must go on!”
Then, BLEEAAHHHH!!! He throws up again. A moment later, he runs out of the auditorium, groaning.
I look at the other kids, and they’re all green, too. Some are pale green. Some are purplish green. Scott Dearden is almost leaf green.
They clutch their stomachs and try not to look at the upchuck on the floor. Chloe Martin says, “I don’t feel so good!” She covers her mouth with both hands and races out the emergency exit.
A moment later, there’s a stampede as all the kids, cast and crew alike, follow Chloe out the door.
The only ones left onstage are me, Sunny, Paige, and Katarina, who crawls out of my pocket and sits on my shoulder.
“What just happened?” Sunny asks.
I suddenly remember the icky video my dad made us watch about food safety, and how it only takes a tiny bit of bacteria to make people really, really sick. I look at the mess on the floor and say: “Food poisoning. I bet anything it was the protein drink!”
Then the Mellowtones strike up the opening bars of the overt
ure. The play can’t start yet! The entire cast and crew are in the parking lot, puking! I’ve got to stall for time.
When I slip out through the curtain and stand at the front of the stage, there’s applause, because people think the show has begun.
Madison jumps up and down in her seat, shouting, “That’s my sister! Yay, Lacey!” She gets a laugh from the audience, and it takes a second or two for them to quiet down enough to hear what I’m saying.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Cinderella, the Rock Opera! There will be a short delay before the show starts. But it won’t be long, I promise!”
The Mellowtones stop playing and look at their watches.
I poke my head inside the curtain and find Sunny and Paige staring at me like I’m crazy. But Katarina looks surprisingly calm.
“What are we going to do?” Paige asks me.
“What are we going to do?” I ask Katarina.
“Girls, keep your bloomers on!” Katarina says. “You’d be surprised how often this happened in the Middle Ages.”
“A play starting late?”
“No, food poisoning. There was no refrigeration, you know. It was a very messy era. Glorious, but messy. The things I could tell you…”
I shout, “Katarina, there’s no time! What are we going to do?”
“A simple antinausea spell. They’ll be as good as new with one stroke of the wand.”
I sigh with relief and head for the door.
Two minutes later, we’re outside the auditorium, where the kids are still barfing in the bushes. Katarina has told me what to say, so I chant, “Vomit free you shall be!” and toss the spell.
The kids straighten up and turn around. They look a lot less green, and they’re not throwing up.…
…but they still look pretty sick. They collapse to the ground, exhausted.
“Come on, Scott! It’s showtime!” I try to pull him to his feet, but he just flops down on the grass and holds his stomach. He says in a low, sick voice, “I’ll be fine in a couple of hours.”
Katarina looks bewildered. This is not the expression I want to see.
“Why didn’t it work?” I ask.
Katarina says, “You didn’t have enough magic left to change that many people at once.”
The Glitter Trap Page 11