Free The Sisters Club by Megan McDonald Page A

curtain fell. The audience clapped for a long time. Alex used one of the play props, an old umbrella, to hobble out at the end and take a bow. She got a standing ovation, and I got to take two curtain calls with her. I know the clapping was mostly for Alex, but a part of it was for me, too.
    Alex even gave me flowers. (The ones she had sent to herself!) She kept the ones Mom and Dad gave her.
    Dad used to say to me, “You’re a member of the Reel family. You better start acting like it.” I know it’s corny, but that’s Dad.
    I guess I’m a real member of the Reel family after all.

 
    Can I just say, Broken-Foot Alex is much nicer than regular Alex?
    The week after the play, Alex sent Joey and me a note (not a Silent Treatment note — a real invitation, in writing, with glitter!) that said:

     
    I guess she couldn’t help bossing on that last line. But the rest of it was so cool. Especially the part that said to Bring Your Own Sleeping Bag.
    “She UN-quit!” said Joey. “Alex is back in the Sisters Club!” She was spinning. That’s Joey — Human Merry-Go-Round.
    I had some surprises of my own in mind, too!

     

 
    When we got to Alex’s room that night, it was dark, but the ceiling shone with glow-in-the-dark stars, giving off an eerie green light. Candles, real candles, flickered all around the room. It was just like stepping into a magical scene from The Twelve Dancing Princesses.
    “We don’t have to put on another play, do we?” I asked.
    “No, Princess Smarty-Pants,” said Alex. “Just sister fun!”
    “Yippee!” said Joey. “Are we sleeping over? For real?”
    “For real,” said Alex.
    “A sleepover,” said Joey. “Under the stars, just like pioneers! Can we eat funny food and have a pillow fight and tell fortunes and scary stories and play the Remembering Game and stuff?”
    “Whatever you want, Duck. This is your night. Our night. Just us sisters.”
    First Alex gave us each a pillowcase with our name on it, so we could each have our own pillow for the pillow fight.
    “You actually sewed this yourself, as in embroidered?” I asked.
    “Who knew?” said Alex.
    “Wow!” said Joey. “This is good. My favorite color, too.”
    “All colors are your favorite, Duck,” I told her, and we cracked up.
    “Well, Mom showed me the stitches,” said Alex. “Taping her show isn’t taking up as much time now that she’s getting used to it.”
    “Mom?” I asked.
    “Mom?” Joey repeated.
    “Our Mom? The one who stirs her coffee with a pencil?” I asked.
    “And makes spaghetti in a blender?” Joey added.
    “Just ’cause she can’t cook doesn’t mean she can’t do other stuff like sew. Don’t forget she made your pioneer dress, Joey.”
    “OK. I have something, too,” I said, handing her a box. “From Joey and me. And Dad, too, sort of. I hope you like it.”
    Alex opened the box. Inside was a new fuzzy blue sweater, but instead of a star in the middle, it had a peace sign.
    “It’s almost just like my lucky sweater! I LOVE it.” Alex put it on over her pj’s.
    “Are you sure? ’Cause I couldn’t find the one with the star.”
    “It’s really cool. Thanks, you guys!”
    “Dad helped us!” said Joey.
    “Really?” asked Alex. “Dad hates the mall.”
    “He said it wouldn’t kill him to see how the other half lives — whatever that means,” said Joey.
    “Whatever you do, don’t cut the tag out,” I told her. “And DO NOT let me wash it. Ever. Unless you like that spaghetti-in-a-blender look.”
    We played Blink and Spit and Steal the Pile and, best of all, the Remembering Game. Joey remembered the Macaroni Disaster, I remembered Suds-O-Rama, and Alex remembered when I was Beauty in the play. It made me feel good that she knew how hard it was for me to get up there in front of the whole entire world.
    I think it was her way of thanking me.
    We painted each other’s toenails with glitter nail polish. (Alex actually let us use her stuff without doing a