Hailey Twitch and the Wedding Glitch (7 page)

My mom is very mad at me. She gave me the silent treatment all the way home. She is probably going to think up a very bad punishment for me. On account of how I wore my dress to school. And on account of how I ripped that headdress.

I decide that I will do something very good to make up for it. First I clean my room all up. I put all my toys away. I put all my books on my shelf very neat. I pick up all my clothes and put them in my hamper. I even put all my puzzles away very perfect, instead of just shoving them into their boxes in a big jumble of a mess.

Then I sit down at my desk.

Here is what I pull out:

One piece of plain white paper.

One bottle of silvery glitter.

One glue stick.

Some sparkly heart stickers.

Four gel pens.

“I AM SORRY” I write on the front of the paper. Then I fold it in half to make a wonderful card. And on the inside of that card I write “I LOVE YOU, FROM HAILEY.” I put some beautiful sparkly red heart stickers on it. And then comes the very best part.

I cover that whole card with my glue stick. And then sprinkle sparkly silver glitter all over it.

“What is that?” Maybelle asks. Some glitter is flying up in the air and getting all over her wings.

“That is an ‘I'm sorry' card for my mom.” I am getting glitter all over the place. I brush it off my hands. Glitter goes flying up and up and up into the air. Maybelle has a big sneeze.

“Ah-choo!” She waves her hand in front of her face.

“It is the most perfect card I ever made,” I tell her. “My mom will be so happy when she sees it. She will forget all about that headdress. And then she—”

I do not get to finish what I am saying. Because all of a sudden, there is a flash of blue lightning! A flash of blue lightning that can only mean one thing!

“Mr. Tuttle!” I say as he pops right up in my room. “What are you doing here?” I am getting a little bit nervous. Mr. Tuttle looks like a principal. He has a big stomach and glasses and a mustache. And he is in charge of Maybelle. He is not very fun or funny.

“I have come to tell Maybelle she will be going back to the castle on Saturday.” Mr. Tuttle makes a mark right down on his clipboard. He is always writing important facts down on that thing.

“Saturday is impossible,” I tell him. “We are going to a wedding on that day, thank you very much.” I shrug my shoulders. “Sorry, it is out of my hands.”

“Maybelle can go to the wedding,” Mr. Tuttle says. “But she will be leaving right after that.”

I go over and sprinkle some glitter right onto his bald head. “There you go,” I say, patting him on the shoulder. “You need a little sparkle in your life.”

Mr. Tuttle does not like that. “I will be back on Saturday,” he says.

“If you say so,” I say. “But if I were you, I would keep an eye on that Maybelle. She is turning into a disaster with her magic.”

“What do you mean?” Mr. Tuttle is raising up his eyebrows and looking very interested in this.

“I mean that she glued some shoes right onto my cousin Angela's feet.”

“Is that true, Maybelle?” Mr. Tuttle seems very shocked.

“Yes,” Maybelle says. “My magic is a big mess.”

She is a very good actress, that Maybelle. She should be a movie star for sprites.

“Well, I will be keeping an eye on you,” Mr. Tuttle says. “And if you have a good handle on your magic, then you will go back to the castle with me on Saturday.”

And then he is gone.

“Don't worry,” I tell her. “You will get to stay. You just have to keep doing bad things. Now let's go give this card to my mom.”

• • •

My mom is very happy about that card. She loves it more than anything in her whole life. She is very glad that I said I am sorry.

But she still says I am going to have to have a punishment. And then there is more bad news. And that bad news is sitting right on the kitchen table.

“What are those?” I am wrinkling up my nose at those plain shoes that are sitting there. They are white. With no sparkles. No glitter. Not even one bow!

“Those are the shoes you and Cousin Angela are going to be wearing in the wedding,” my mom says.

“First of all, shoes are not allowed to be sitting on the table, thank you very much.” I put those shoes right on the floor. “And second of all, I am going to be wearing sparkly shoes only.”

“No,” my mom says. “You are not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you are not. And if you make a fit about it, you are going to get a bigger punishment.”

What a disaster of a wedding.

The rest of that week goes by very slow. It is going slow, slow, slow, slow, slow up until that wedding.

But on Friday in music class we are allowed to have free music again. And this time I am running up and grabbing those bongo drums right out of the box.

“Did you get your sparkly shoes yet?” Natalie Brice asks. She is using the pipe instrument. That is the second best instrument to have.

“Not yet,” I say. This is not even really a lie. Because I do not have them yet. But I will figure something out. I am good at figuring things out right at the last minute.

“But you're getting them, right?”

“Of course I am getting them. What kind of wedding do you think this is?”

“Sometimes you lie about things. A lot of things.”

I give her a mean look. “Well, I am not lying about this.”

We all fall into a line. And we make wonderful music all together as a class.

Then Mr. Green says, “This is our last day of the music unit. So please put your instruments back into the bucket until next year.”

This is wrong. We are supposed to be able to keep those instruments for our own selves! Just like last year's class. And I need those bongo drums. So that I can make music at the wedding. And if I put them back in that bucket, that mean one Natalie Brice will snatch them right up.

So I just sit real quiet in my seat. Everyone else is putting their instruments back in the bucket. But I will not do it. I am going to keep these perfect bongo drums right in my lap, thank you very much.

“Hailey Twitch,” Mr. Green says. “Will you please put the bongos back into the instrument bucket?”

“No, that is okay.” I set those bongos down very carefully on my desk. This is so Mr. Green will know that I am going to take very good care of them. They are going to a great home.

“No?” Mr. Green looks very confused. He does a big frown, and a big wrinkle comes on his forehead. Then he sighs and smooths his hair back. “Would you like to tell me why not, please?”

“Because I am going to bring these bongo drums home,” I say. I hold them up and play them.
Boom, boom, boom.
That beautiful sound is music to my ears.

“Hailey,” Mr. Green says. He closes his eyes like he cannot even deal with this. “You cannot take those drums home. They belong to the music department.”

“But when we are done with the instruments, we get to take them home,” I tell him. “And I would like to pick these bongo drums, please.” I give him a very good smile.

“No, you do not get to take them home.”

“Last year they did.”

“That is because last year we got all new instruments. And so the students were allowed to take the old ones home. Now please return the drums to the instrument bucket.”

This whole room is acting very quiet. No one is talking. Or whispering. All they are doing is staring. Right at me. They are staring right at me while I am getting up from my desk. They are staring right at me when I am walking over to the instrument corner. They are staring right at me when I am putting those drums back into the instrument bucket. They are staring right at me when I am walking back to my desk.

Except for Natalie Brice. She is staring, too. But she is also laughing.

• • •

“That Natalie Brice thinks she is the boss of everything!” I yell to Maybelle when I am walking home from the bus stop. “She is a no good traitor.” I am not exactly sure what a traitor is. But I know it is something very, very bad.

“Hello, Mr. Frisk,” I say when I am walking by his house. Mr. Frisk is our neighbor. He has very bushy eyebrows. And he is bald. He is very nice. But sometimes I bother him. And then he puts a sign on his door that says
Please Do Not Disturb.
That is how I know that I am not supposed to knock on his door. Mr. Frisk likes his quiet time.

“Hi, Hailey.” Mr. Frisk is sitting out on his porch and drinking a cup of coffee. But I do not have time to see him today. That is because I have to go to the important rehearsal dinner tonight.

A rehearsal dinner is when you practice the wedding. So that nothing bad will happen.

“I am ready to go to that rehearsal!” I yell as I go bursting into my house. “Get out the dress! I am ready to put it on.” I tear off my coat and throw it on the floor.

“Hailey,” my mom says. “Please pick up your coat and hang it in the closet.”

I go and pick my coat up. I hang it in the closet real careful.

Then I walk very calm over to where my mom is sitting on the couch. “I am ready to put my dress on now,” I say. I sit down next to her very soft. I cross my hands over my legs. That is so she will know I am not too overexcited and hyper.

“I'm glad you're ready for the rehearsal,” my mom says. “But it is not until seven o'clock. And you are not going to be wearing your dress.”

I jump off that couch right away. “What do you mean about that dress?”

“You won't wear the dress to the rehearsal,” my mom says. “You will only wear it tomorrow at the wedding.”

“But this dinner is supposed to be like a practice. And I need my dress to practice.” I wonder if my mom has ever heard of this thing called a dress rehearsal. It is when you get all dressed up in your outfit and you practice. I did it once for this play I was in called
The
Gingerbread
Princess.

“You cannot wear your dress,” my mom says. “And that is that.”

• • •

The rehearsal, it turns out, is not going to be very fun or funny. We are not allowed to wear our flower girl dresses. And we have to sit in a very fancy room. And everyone has to be very quiet. And eat this very fancy dinner. And that is all before we can even practice walking down the aisle. This is a very big waste of time.

I have to sit at the end of the table. With Cousin Angela.

“Something very bad is going to be happening at this dinner,” Maybelle says. She is drinking some apple juice out of a very fancy glass.

“I do not like this food,” Cousin Angela says.

“Me neither.” I am poking at the food. It is some kind of big piece of meat. And it looks very slimy and gross.

“That is filet mignon,” Cousin Harold says. Cousin Harold is Cousin Genevieve's brother. He has a lot, lot, lot of freckles, and he is as skinny as a flagpole. He is sitting right across from us.

“What's your name again?” Cousin Angela asks him. She is kneeling up on her chair instead of sitting flat. “I forget your name.”

“That's Cousin Harold,” I tell her. Then I roll my eyes at Cousin Harold. “Aren't kids just the cutest?” I ask him.

“I WANT ONE OF THOSE ROLLS!” Angela says.

Cousin Harold passes her one.

“What are those spots all over your face?” Cousin Angela asks Harold.

“Those are freckles,” I tell her. “They are very beautiful orange spots.”

Cousin Harold's face goes very red, red, red. But you can still see those orange spots.

“Your face is turning red,” Cousin Angela says. She opens up her roll and licks some butter right out of it.

I am keeping my roll closed in half while I eat it. I am crossing my fingers for someone to notice that I am eating very neat. Then they will see that I am very mature and ready to be a flower girl. And that Cousin Angela is very much too young to be doing such an important job.

“I am glad that I am not licking butter out of my roll!” I say real loud.

“This meat is yucky.” Angela pushes her plate right out of the way. “It is bloody meat.”

Cousin Harold gasps. Then he turns away from us and starts talking to the person next to him.

“You are right,” I tell Cousin Angela. “That meat is gross. Maybe you should ask for a hamburger and make a big fit about it.”

“Why?” she asks. She is looking at me very suspicious.

“Because it is bloody meat. Like you just said.” I wrinkle up my nose. I make a very gross face at her. So she knows that meat is yuck, yuck, yucky. “Time to have a good tantrum!” I say really happy.

That is called encouragement. Encouragement is when you tell someone they can do something. Like in gym class when we run the three-legged race. I am always partners with Russ Robertson. And I say to him, “Come on, Russ, let's go! We cannot let that mean one Natalie Brice beat us!”

Sometimes encouragement does not work. Like when Russ tries to go faster. And his legs get tangled up, and we fall on the gym floor, and he gets a bloody lip.

“I do not want to have a fit,” Cousin Angela says. “I just want chicken nuggets.”

Maybelle gets a very happy look on her face. Then she points her wand right at Cousin Angela's plate. And before I even know what is happening, there are chicken nuggets on it! And French fries. And one glass of soda. It looks very delicious-o.

“Maybelle,” I whisper. “Please make me some of those nuggets, please.”

But Maybelle gives a shrug of her shoulders. “Sorry, Hailey,” she says. “But I cannot control my magic.”