Free Maggie Malone and the Mostly Magical Boots by Jenna McCarthy and Carolyn Evans

thing—so for once in this crazy rock star life, I know what to do. I bow at everyone and they all bow back. It’s hard to keep a straight face.
    Vi shuffles me through hair and makeup. Chaz only has a mini freak-out when he sees my windblown hair and gets it back into place pretty quickly.
    There’s a red convertible parked in the middle of the fake city street. The guy in charge comes over to Vi, motions toward the car, and says something in Japanese. It’s kind of hilarious when he says the thing in Japanese because he gets this super excited look on his face. Vi nods and comes over to me.
    â€œOkay, so here’s the deal,” she explains. “You’re gonna get in the car, they’re gonna get the fans blowing, paparazzi are going to swarm the car flashing bulbs, and you’re going to say, KONO IWA ! You know, with lots of feeling and excitement.”
    â€œWait, do they know I’m not old enough to actually drive a car?” I ask, because I’m just twelve, and Becca’s only fourteen!
    â€œYeah, they don’t care,” Vi says. “Repeat after me, KONO IWA !”
    â€œKONO IWA,” I echo back.
    â€œAgain,” Vi says.
    â€œKONO IWA,” I say again. “Wait, what does that even mean ?”
    â€œWhat?” Vi says, looking up from her clipboard. “Oh, I don’t know. I can find out, if you’d like.”
    â€œWell, don’t you think we should know what I’m saying?” I ask. “I mean, what if they’ve got me saying I LOVE HULA-HOOPING POLKA-DOTTED PANDAS or something?”
    â€œListen, Bec,” Vi comes in close, whispering into my ear. “They’re paying you two million dollars to say two words—that’s a million dollars a word. I think it’s something like ‘this car is awesome!’ but I’ll find out if you want me to.”
    â€œYes, please,” I say with a smile. It just seems like the responsible thing to do. And just as I start to feel the tiniest bit thirsty, somebody puts a cool soda in my hand.
    Vi comes back from talking to the man in charge. “It means THIS ROCKS! Okay, are we all good?”
    â€œAll good!” I say and step into the car. They start up the music and the fans and the photographers get into position around the car. Vi points to me when it’s time for me to do my thing.
    â€œ KONO IWA !” I say with as much feeling as I can muster in a foreign language I don’t speak. The bowing man says something to Vi.
    â€œAgain, Bec!” Vi says from the side of the set. “With a little less excitement—more rock star attitude, please!”
    I squint my eyes and turn my head a little to the side and say, “ KONO IWA .”
    The guy in charge is waving his hands, trying to explain to Vi what he wants. “That’s better, Bec!” Vi yells, “But they want a little more everyday American teenager vibe.”
    I say THIS ROCKS! in Japanese at least sixty different ways and finally get it right.
    We walk out of the warehouse and I can’t stop saying it: “ KONO IWA !”
    â€œYou love doing commercials, don’t you, Bec?” Vi asks, putting an arm around me.
    â€œYeah, that was really fun!” I say.
    â€œYou know what else is really fun?” she asks me, sliding into the limo. “You did such a great job, they just gave you that car !”
    â€œBut I can’t even drive !” I remind her.
    â€œYeah, like I said,” Vi reminds me, “they don’t care!” And we laugh together—until Vi gets another call, of course.

We make it back to the bus in record time.
    â€œOkay, Bec, you’ve got thirty minutes of downtime to chill,” Vi says. “I’ll be back with your dinner.” I nod, and she closes the door to my bus-bedroom.
    I unload the necklaces and bracelets lining my neck and arms, peel off the sticky leather jeans, and pull on some stretchy