Free The Only Thing Worse Than Witches by Lauren Magaziner

window. “See you tomorrow, Rupert!” And then she slipped into the darkness and was gone.
    Rupert closed the window, walked upstairs, and sat at the kitchen table. He read
The Unabridged History of the Oxford Comma
— a book that Mrs. Frabbleknacker had assigned his class — until he heard the front door open and shut again. His mother came in, carrying an enormous tub of ice cream.
    â€œMom!” Rupert said, rushing to give her a hug.
    â€œMy, my! If only I got this type of greeting every time I came home from work!”
    â€œSorry . . . I’ve been busy,” Rupert said.
    His mother sniffed, and Rupert knew what was coming next. Sometimes he felt like his mother had extrasensory powers and was instantly able to tell whenever Rupert was sad about something. His mother plopped the ice cream on the counter. “What is it?” she said. “What’s wrong? Wait! Hold that thought!” His mother ran into the pantry and grabbed two bowls and two spoons and scooped out two enormous helpings of Mr. and Mrs. Gummyum’s new flavor: carrot ice cream.
    She set the bowls on the table and sat next to Rupert.
    â€œWhat’s going on, Rupert?”
    Rupert took a deep breath. He twiddled his spoon between his fingers. “Do you think . . . am I a bad kid?”
    â€œThat depends,” his mother teased. “What did you do?”
    â€œNothing,” Rupert said, taking a big spoonful of ice cream. “Hmm. So this is what a vegetable tastes like?”
    â€œFunny.”
    â€œCarrot flavor . . . not bad.”
    â€œI agree,” his mother said, wiping her lips with a napkin.
    Rupert sighed. “Mom, I have this friend. But sometimes I feel like we shouldn’t be friends because — ”
    â€œOh, Rupert, I loved your little friend. What was her name again?”
    â€œMooooom,” Rupert whined.
    â€œI’m sorry . . . finish your story.”
    â€œAnyway, there are a lot of people who think we shouldn’t be friends,” Rupert said, thinking of Mrs. Frabbleknacker, the Witches Council, Nebby, Storm, and his mother. “But I like her. She’s a good friend, and she makes me happy. . . .”
    â€œThere’s your answer, Rupert,” his mother said. “If you like her, that’s all that really matters. No one else has the right to tell you who you can or cannot be friends with.” His mother paused. “That would be a great fortune cookie — let me write that down.” She grabbed a small notebook and a pen from her purse and scribbled it down.
    â€œAre you even listening to me, Mom?” Rupert asked.
    â€œHold on . . .
can or cannot be friends with,
” his mother recited. “Okay. Sorry.”
    Rupert drummed his fingers on the table. “Mom, what if an adult told me not to be friends with her?”
    â€œAdult, kid, squirrel — it doesn’t matter, Rupert. You just be friends with whoever treats you well and makes you happy, and that’s all you can do.”
    Rupert smiled. His mother always knew exactly what to say to make him feel better.

Once Upon a Time in Gliverstoll
    E VERY DAY FOR THE NEXT FOUR DAYS, R UPERT invited Witchling Two over. And thanks to the talk with his mom, he didn’t even feel guilty about it.
    But on Thursday night, she decided to practice the WHATs by herself, which worked out well because Rupert needed to make a poster about the history of processed potatoes for Mrs. Frabbleknacker’s class. Rupert was working on the assignment in his room when he heard a tapping noise at his window. He turned around to see Witchling Two bobbing up and down outside on a broomstick.
    â€œPSSSST!” she shouted. “LET ME IN! BUT BE QUIET!”
    Rupert ran to the window and opened it enough so that Witchling Two could fly into his room and crash-land on his bed.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” Rupert