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

thought about not having enough money to buy a pencil before I saw that. It’s a tearjerker of a scene, and after we saw it the first time, Stella and I both took our entire allowance and stuck it in an envelope and mailed it right off to them, along with my favorite Crazy Kitten pencil case packed with as many supplies as we could stuff in there.
    â€œWell, that’s not what my source said, so I guess you don’t really have anything to add,” Jonie grumbles. And then there’s a click.
    Is this some kind of joke? She was asking me about me ! And I told her the truth and she didn’t even care. And now she’s going to print her evil article full of lies, and there’s nothing I can do about it? It’s so totally not fair.
    This is almost exactly like that time at Sacred Heart when somebody started a rumor that Sally Keester had six toes on her left foot. Nobody even knew how the rumor started, but it sure did spread like wildfire. As if it wasn’t bad enough having to go through life with a last name that’s another word for backside, that poor girl walked to school in the snow wearing sandals all winter, just so people could count her frozen toes for themselves. (There were only ten. And she asked me to count them, for your information.) Even after Sally nearly got frostbite, kids still said she had one little piggy tucked underneath the others. Some of those kids still call her Six Toe Sally to this day. Why are some people mean for no good reason? It should be against the law.
    I look at Vi helplessly and hand her the phone. A tear slips out of the corner of my eye. Vi sits down next to me.
    â€œSweetie, this is all part of being a star, you know that,” she says, hugging me. “People are going to say what they’re going to say and think what they’re going to think, and all you can do is keep being you. You know as well as I do that this will only make headlines until she makes up something even worse about somebody else. Until then, all you can do is ignore it. Besides, who cares what a bunch of strangers think? Those of us who know and love you are the only ones who matter, anyway. Right?”
    I nod and look down at my lap. Vi stands and slips quietly out of the room. Who knew being a rock star would be such a roller-coaster ride?

I try to take my mind off the Jonie Lake disaster by thinking about food. I am so hungry I could eat a hot dog, which may not sound like much, but I haven’t eaten a hot dog in four years. That was when I nearly choked to death on one at the Sacred Heart Harvest Carnival. Tiffany Treadmore said that’s what I got for trying to eat on the Whirly Bird, but I think she was just mad because some of my ketchup flew onto her Rocking Rolls T-shirt when that Bird started Whirling.
    Knock, knock .
    â€œCome on in,” I call.
    â€œYou ready for dinner?” Vi asks, peeking her head back in.
    â€œIs water wet?” I ask.
    Violet laughs. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better and that you didn’t let that Jonie Lake thing get you too down. We need you to be on your game tonight and not be worrying about that crusty old toad.”
    Vi’s right, there’s nothing I can do. I’m not wasting another ounce of brain space on dinosaur-face. Right now, I’m thinking about dinner—as in real, solid food that I get to eat. Pretty please with pineapple on top, let it be something good.
    I follow Vi out to the living room of the bus to find a silver domed plate waiting for me. I slide into my spot at the table and lift the lid. Yes! I’m staring at a plateful of spaghetti with meatballs the size of my head. I dig right in because you never know how long you’ve got to chow down around here.
    â€œAs soon as you’re finished eating, we’ll get you in for your final hair and makeup touch-ups and then we’ll do this deal,” Vi says. “You’ve got about twenty minutes