Survival of the Sparkliest! Read online

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One: Exclamation Points and Capital Letters

  Chapter Two: French Toast with a Side Order of Bad News

  Chapter Three: Catching Up with Angelica and Fawn

  Chapter Four: Magical Mayhem

  Chapter Five: There’s Always a But

  Chapter Six: May the Best Godmother Win!

  Chapter Seven: The Worst Sparkle Disaster Ever!

  Chapter Eight: Back to the Basement

  Chapter Nine: The Official Story of the Unhappy Princess, According to Grandmomma. Plus, Something Even Sadder (If You Can Believe That).

  Chapter Ten: The Very Best Plan to Find Mom

  Chapter Eleven: Distractions!

  Chapter Twelve: The Scene of the Crime

  Chapter Thirteen: Pep Talk Plus Pity Party

  Chapter Fourteen: More Serious Than Ever Before

  Chapter Fifteen: Sisters! A Very Short Chapter.

  Chapter Sixteen: A Chapter with a Whole Lot of Mothers!

  Chapter Seventeen: What Sparkles Can Do

  Chapter Eighteen: So Close to H.E.A. We Can Taste It

  Chapter Nineteen: Extravaganza Time

  Chapter Twenty: The Last Chapter, Plus a Promise

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Sneak Peek

  Copyright

  Dear Trainees,

  We are SO VERY HAPPY to welcome you to your final level of fairy godmother training. Thank you for everything you accomplished!!! We CAN’T WAIT to see what you do next!!! We believe in you!

  —the Bests

  Isabelle had never seen so many exclamation points or capital letters in one note.

  Never before had the Bests thanked her for anything.

  Never before had the Bests been excited to see what she could do.

  Never before had the Bests ever even hinted they believed in her.

  But today they did all three.

  Before she could consider all the fairy godmother rules about early declarations of victory (or, in other words, overconfidence), Isabelle leaped on top of her bed and started dancing. She felt like a princess whose wishes had all just come true. The Bests liked her! They really liked her!

  Becoming an official fairy godmother was in the bag!

  For extra luck, Isabelle slipped on the bracelet that Nora, her friend and first practice princess, made for her when Isabelle (illegally) visited her summer camp. Then she got the shiny ring she’d found dangling on the girlgoyle’s toe at the end of Level Two. Isabelle was 99.9 percent sure the ring had once belonged to Mom. Because Nora had a similar (non-magical) ring, she also believed that the ring meant something important.

  But so far, she couldn’t figure out what that was.

  Her sister (and the fourth-best fairy godmother), Clotilda, didn’t think she should waste her time thinking about trinkets and other non-magical coincidences. She told Isabelle (too many times), “There are no shortcuts to becoming a great fairy godmother. If you want to pass Level Four, you have to be prepared.” In other words: Learn all the rules.

  This was the problem with having an older, smarter sister who knew everything. It was also the problem with not studying. And skipping the fine print. And it was the problem with daydreaming when she should have been paying attention. Isabelle was really disorganized. Even on this most important morning, she couldn’t remember where she left her books. Or her glasses. Or, for that matter, her wand.

  She didn’t need Clotilda to tell her she’d better find them fast.

  First, Isabelle checked the obvious places, like her nightstand, under the covers, and the floor near her bed. Then she tried less obvious spots, like behind the headboard and in the laundry basket. And when she still hadn’t found them, she looked in the places they would never be, like next to the toilet and in her underwear drawer.

  In the fairy godmother world, just as in the regular one, it is hard to find lost things when you can’t see clearly. But it is easy to find things you aren’t looking for.

  In this case, Isabelle stumbled on a couple of cookies from her last sleepover with her fellow trainees, Angelica and Fawn, as well as a crumpled-up copy of W.A.R., the manifesto written by the Worsts (officially now the Grands) that had led to the strike in Level Three. She almost tripped over a whole bouquet of balloons, mostly still inflated, from last night’s Extravaganza/birthday party, which were sitting on top of a large stack of … there they were! Her books! And her glasses, too.

  When she put them on, she found another surprise sticking out of the top book on the pile. It was a bookmark that looked like a magic wand. Written on the bookmark was a note from her sister. (She knew it was from Clotilda because the handwriting was full of fancy curlicues and i’s dotted with stars.)

  It said:

  If you want to have an easy peasy first day of Level Four (just as I did), please memorize the marked section. Do it right now. Then meet me downstairs. Love, Clotilda.

  Underneath was a PS: You can thank me later.

  And in very tiny letters underneath that, a PPS: If you pulled the bookmark out without marking the page, please turn to The Official Guide to the Spectrum of Sparkles.

  (Clotilda knew her sister well!)

  Luckily, The Official Guide to the Spectrum of Sparkles was a gigantic pullout guide in the centerfold of the rule book—so it was easy to find. It displayed in great detail every single sparkle shade, as well as a handy key to explain the magical properties of each and every color.

  There were tons of them.

  Colors like Razzmatazz (a shade of red pink that produces giggles), Plum Passion (a color that helps princesses compromise), and one she couldn’t even pronounce! It was a part-yellow and part-green shade called chartreuse, and according to the key, it helps princesses anticipate trouble.

  She was just thinking how great it would be to have a chartreuse sparkle for herself when Grandmomma appeared at the door. She was still wearing her robe and slippers. In her hand was Isabelle’s wand.

  Grandmomma did not look happy.

  Isabelle dashed to the door. “Good morning, Grandmomma. What a sparkly surprise! Thank you for bringing me my wand. How careless of me to misplace it.”

  This might seem overly formal, but Grandmomma (with the emphasis on grand) was the president of the Fairy Godmother Alliance; the editor of The Official Rule Book for Fairy Godmothers, now in its twelfth edition; and usually in the middle of some very important fairy godmother business, so she didn’t enjoy returning lost wands (especially when the careless fairy godmother was one of her granddaughters).

  Thankfully, she didn’t stay annoyed for long. “Did you have a fine evening last night?” she asked. “Did you learn anything new?” Before Isabelle could answer, Grandmomma patted her shoulder. “Are you ready to return to training and become an official fairy godmother?”

  Isabelle knew just how to answer that question. “Not just ready, but I’m feeling it!” She demonstrated her newest signature style: a flick of the wrist and an extra-large swooping figure eight with a bit of a kick for gusto. Then she tripped over her books, fell down, and sent those balloons flying.

  When the balloons hit the ceiling, Grandmomma took out her wand. “Would you mind if we straightened up a bit?”

  Of course, Isabelle didn’t mind. Fairy godmothers almost never used their sparkles for mundane tasks like cleaning.

  Even more exciting (and rare), Grandmomma invited Isabelle to put her own hands on top of hers. Then, together, with one long sweeping motion and a couple of flicks and jabs, loose papers zoomed around the room like paper airplanes. The blankets on Isabelle’s bed aired themselves out and tucked themselves tightly
into the corners. The whole room smelled of roses. Or maybe lilacs. Isabelle didn’t know the difference. Lickety-split, the rest of Isabelle’s books made their way to the desk.

  Isabelle’s hands tingled. “That was amazing!”

  Grandmomma flicked her wand one last time. “My dear, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You were born to sparkle.”

  A shiny gold paper appeared out of nowhere and floated to Isabelle’s now-clean desk. Isabelle smiled. “For me?”

  She hoped it was a magical gift (something to help her out in training), but it wasn’t. It was a practice quiz. On pretty paper.

  “Make an old godmother happy and show me how ready you really are,” Grandmomma said.

  Isabelle tried to concentrate and fill in all the blanks, but it was hard with a powerful godmother looking over her shoulder and staring at her.

  Still, she wanted to make Grandmomma proud, so she wrote down all the colors she could remember, including red for girl power, blue for loyalty, and yellow for fear, as well as:

  Green: leadership

  Orange: confidence

  Purple: trust

  Light blue: friendship

  Grandmomma’s hands quivered with enthusiasm. “Read through the spectrum one more time, then come to the kitchen. Your sister’s been up since dawn creating an extra-special good-luck breakfast. You definitely don’t want it to get cold.”

  Normally, Isabelle wouldn’t have hesitated. (Clotilda never made breakfast for Isabelle.) But then she remembered the girlgoyles and decided to check on them first. Last night, she had given them each a shriveled blue sparkle (the ones that had been stored in her ring), so she grabbed her book and slippers and climbed to the top of the tower to the cozy spot to see whether anything magical had occurred overnight.

  To her disappointment, the girlgoyles’ hands were empty. More disappointing, nothing seemed different. The girlgoyles looked the way they always looked—friendly statues made of rock.

  Isabelle did not know that last night those sparkles had worked—if only for a few moments.

  The girlgoyles had come to life. Their names were Francoise and Bernadette, and they were French and sort of funny. They chatted and high-fived and tried very hard to get her attention with fireworks. This was because they had to tell her something—and obviously, it was something that was really important.

  Unfortunately, since Isabelle had been extremely tired, she went to bed before they could tell her anything. She didn’t get the hint when they made fireworks in the sky.

  This might sound sad, but because she didn’t know what they said or what she missed, she didn’t feel mad at herself at all. Instead, she did what she always did when she sat between her friends. She admired the green grass, the blue sky, and the shining sun that got energy from every single color in the spectrum of sparkles. Then she listened for birds and also frogs and mice, too. She also thought about Nora, and what she might wish for.

  And then she did something new: She opened her book and read through the entire spectrum, four complete times.

  Last, she thought about Mom. Wherever she was. She still hoped that someday she would see her. And that when that happened, Mom would be proud of her.

  More than ever, Isabelle wished she could make everything right between Mom and the fairy godmother world. (No matter what everyone else said, she did not believe that her mother was the worst fairy godmother ever.) Maybe now that Isabelle was in Level Four, she would finally find out what had really happened. And why.

  When she stood up, Isabelle could feel strong magic in the air (or at least, she thought that’s what that breeze meant). Even though confidence alone wasn’t a good thing, she had it! And she could feel it growing.

  This was it!

  Her final level of training.

  No one could ruin her mood now!

  No one, maybe, except Clotilda.

  When Isabelle slid down the shiny banister toward the kitchen, her sister waited for her at the bottom in a glittery blue apron. Her wand was neatly tucked into her topknot bun.

  “Thanks for your note,” Isabelle told her sister. “But you don’t have to worry. I’m more than ready for Level Four.”

  “I don’t want to scare you, but Level Four is challenging,” Clotilda said, looking more than a little bit skeptical. “It isn’t called Survival of the Sparkliest for nothing.”

  “ ‘Survival of the Sparkliest’? ” Isabelle’s stomach did backflips. “You’re joking, right?”

  When Clotilda insisted she never joked (this was true), Isabelle reached into her pocket for the note from the Bests, the one with all those exclamation points. “They didn’t say anything about survival.” Even though it wasn’t nice to brag, she added, “Read the whole thing. They said they believed in me.”

  Clotilda rolled her eyes. “We sent that note to everyone.”

  That was a disappointment. But that didn’t make it untrue. So even though Isabelle was less hungry than she had been before talking to her sister, she piled her plate high with French toast with ribbons of chocolate, perfectly cooked scrambled eggs (slightly soft in the middle), berries with mint, and tiny servings of peach sorbet—one scoop for each bit of advice Clotilda had to offer.

  She always had plenty of that.

  “Level Four is called Survival of the Sparkliest because it’s the Bests’ last chance to oversee your wish-granting abilities … to watch you listen, plan, and use your sparkles … without making careless errors,” she said, probably because Isabelle had already made her fair share of those. “Every single detail counts. So take my advice: If you aren’t sure of something, ask. Always use formal language. When you address one of the Bests, bow your head first.”

  “Bow my head?” Isabelle said, nearly choking on a berry. “Even at you?”

  “Especially at me.” Clotilda dropped her voice to a whisper, just in case Grandmomma was snooping. “So if I were you, I wouldn’t remind anyone that you waited so long to read the book. Or about the sparkles you stole and gave to Nora. Or what you did with Angelica and Fawn during the strike—if you know what I mean.”

  Isabelle was pretty sure “if you know what I mean” meant the orange sparkle Clotilda had given Isabelle. But maybe she meant that Isabelle shouldn’t tell them about the science Clotilda had shown them. Or that she’d been to the basement to see the frogs. Or stolen a box marked DO NOT TOUCH. Or that they’d used the sparkles they found in the box on helpless boys.

  “Is Grandmomma going to join us?” Isabelle asked. (There was a lot of food.) “Or did she already leave for the center?”

  A sudden burst of sparkle dust filled the air. “I’m not going to training,” Grandmomma said.

  Both Isabelle and Clotilda jumped. Grandmomma might be old, but she still had the ability to sneak up on her granddaughters when they were least expecting her.

  “What do you mean, you’re not going?” Isabelle asked.

  Grandmomma put a huge stack of papers on the table. “When the terms of the negotiation were announced, a flurry of godmothers applied for retraining.” She dabbed her eye. “And when I say a flurry, I mean too many to ignore for even a season.”

  Isabelle should have been over the moon, but she hadn’t forgotten what a disaster it had been for her the last time Luciana was in charge. “You’re the best teacher there is. Can’t someone else help with retraining?”

  Grandmomma didn’t want anyone else to help. “Actually, I think this is the perfect solution. Those old godmothers can’t wait to get started. And you don’t need me to watch over you. Not anymore.”

  Clotilda gave Isabelle another extra-thick piece of French toast. But Isabelle had lost her appetite. “What makes you so sure?”

  “Isabelle, you helped end the strike. You know plenty of colors. And those godmothers want me.” Grandmomma’s hands quivered again, probably from excitement. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t like waiting.” Then she asked Clotilda, “Why don’t you help your sister spiffy up?”
>
  With a flick and a swoosh, magenta sparkles (for inner and outer beauty) filled the room. Isabelle began to spin, first slowly and then quickly, like a top. When the magic was finished, she was dizzy and a little bit sick to her stomach, but she looked perfect.

  Now Isabelle wore a fancy new dress, slightly tight around the waist. Her hair was styled in a topknot, just like Clotilda’s. And, of course, there were new shoes. (Shoes were Grandmomma’s favorite accessories.) In this case, her sister created brand-new green-and-yellow lace-up sneakers.

  Clotilda tapped her wand to produce a full-length non-magical mirror so all three of them could marvel at her magic. “Would you look at that!” she said. “Maybe Grandmomma was right. You look cinnamon-sugar wonderful!”

  Or in other words, just like Clotilda.

  In the fairy godmother world, just as in the regular world, brand-new clothes can help you feel confident. Unless they’re itchy. And too tight.

  (Like these clothes.)

  “Ow,” Isabelle said. “This topknot hurts.”

  “It always hurts in the beginning,” Clotilda said, in an annoyed tone. “Stop being a cranky pants. If it’s not tight, it won’t stay put. And if it doesn’t stay put, you won’t look official.”

  Isabelle wanted to look official. “But it’s giving me a headache.”

  When Clotilda rolled her eyes, she looked exactly like Grandmomma. “I can loosen it a little, if you promise not to touch it.”

  Isabelle promised. But it didn’t help that much. She could feel a blister forming on her big toe. Her stomach itched from the dress.

  She considered asking her sister to make the sneakers a tiny bit bigger, but Clotilda was in a rush. She wouldn’t want to stop to do magic. She had a meeting with the Bests.

  So Isabelle tried her best to keep up and stretch out her toes at the same time. She ignored her itchy skin. She did not play with her hair.

  “It’s so easy for you,” Isabelle told her sister. She didn’t add, “And so hard for me.”

  Clotilda laughed. She loved flattery. “It wasn’t always. But I worked hard. I didn’t compare myself to everyone else. It’s what I keep telling you. Learn the rules, and you will make magic.”