Fairy Mom and Me #3 Read online

  And then I spotted something else.

  “Look, Mom! There’s the traffic jam we were stuck in before. And that’s what was causing it!”

  Just around the corner from school, a tree had fallen across the road. Some people were trying to move it, but it was very heavy.

  “Wait a moment,” Mom said. “I can fix this.”

  Even though I wanted my shiny sticker, I wanted to help too. We dove down toward the tree and hovered in the air. I could tell that Mom was thinking. Then she pressed a code on her Computawand screen—bleep-bleep-bloop. She waved it in a circle and shouted, “Whirleridoo!”

  A whirlwind started to blow, around and around. It lifted the tree right up into the air.

  “Ooh!” cried all the people watching. The tree rose higher and higher, then came safely down to rest in a nearby garden.

  At once the traffic started moving again. All the people on the pavement cheered. One man cried, “It’s a miracle!”

  Mom looked pleased with herself. She patted her Computawand. “Maybe I should be a traffic cop,” she said.

  I smiled, shaking my head. Together, Mom and I floated down into the school playground. I was glad to have normal legs again. We both had sticky-uppy hair from whooshing around in the sky, but luckily Mom had a hairbrush in her bag.

  “All right,” she said. “Let’s go and get that sticker.” She waved her wand, pressed a code—bleep-bleep-bloop—and said, “Stoperidoo!”

  At once, we weren’t invisible anymore. We didn’t have rocket blasters anymore. Then Mom said, “Toffee apple,”…and she wasn’t Fairy Mom anymore. She was just Mom.

  We walked into school and to my classroom. None of my classmates had arrived yet. My teacher, Miss Amy, looked up and gave me a big smile.

  “Hello, Ella,” she said. “You’re the first to arrive today! You get the special shiny sticker!”

  She gave me a sticker with pink sparkles, and I put it on my sweatshirt. I felt so, so happy.

  “Everyone else has been stuck in a terrible traffic jam!” Miss Amy said. “Didn’t you get stuck too?”

  Mom looked at me, and I looked at her.

  “We did,” Mom said. “But then we managed to get out. We were lucky.” She winked at me. “I’d better tell Dad that he needs to take the car to the garage. It’s always breaking down in the wrong place.”

  Mom kissed me and went off to work. I sat down at my desk and started doing some coloring. Then Zoe came dashing into the classroom. Her cheeks were pink and she ran in so fast she didn’t see me.

  “I’m first!” she said. “Everyone else is stuck in traffic, but we left the car and ran all the way! I’m first! I’m first, Miss Amy! I’m going to get the special shiny sticker!”

  “Actually,” Miss Amy said, “Ella was first.”

  Zoe went all quiet. She turned around and saw me. Her cheeks grew pinker. She looked at my sticker and her eyes went very big—then small and mean.

  “How did you get here?” she asked. And I knew she was really, really mad.

  “We went a different way,” I said.

  “There isn’t a different way!” Zoe shouted. “There isn’t! There’s just one way. And it had a traffic jam!”

  “There must be,” Miss Amy said. “Because look—Ella’s here. Now sit down, Zoe, and please stop shouting.”

  Zoe sat down, but she still looked grumpy. She banged her bag on the table.

  I didn’t say anything else. I just kept coloring. I thought about Mom and the flying car. I thought about being invisible and the jelly legs and the bull and the rocket blasters. I thought about me and Mom saving everyone from the traffic jam, and what Dad would say when he saw the car. I drew it all in my book. And I stroked my special shiny sticker and smiled.

  My best friends, Tom and Lenka, were coming to my house on Saturday, and I was so excited! At school on Friday, we made a plan for the playdate. Lenka was bringing her puppet theater, and we were going to put on a show. The story was about a princess and a prince and a scary dragon, because those are the puppets Lenka has.

  Tom said he would be the scary dragon. But Lenka wanted to be the scary dragon too, and so did I. We all started to get frustrated—until Lenka said, “Why don’t we take turns being the scary dragon?”

  Lenka is good at fixing arguments.

  Then Zoe came past. She tossed her head and said, “Your stupid playdate sounds really boring.”

  Zoe always says mean things like that, which is why she is my Not-Best Friend. I ignored her, because Mom says it is always best to ignore mean people. But then Zoe added, “Ella’s house is really weird. Her whole family is weird.” And she wrinkled her nose as though she could smell something bad.

  I got really mad then. “My house is not weird!”

  “Yes it is. It’s weird and strange,” Zoe said.

  Then Tom stepped in. “You’re weird and strange, Zoe.”

  Lenka and I giggled, and Tom started laughing too. Zoe’s eyes went very small and angry. “I’m telling Miss Amy on you!” she screamed.

  Then she ran off, but I knew she wouldn’t tell Miss Amy, because then we would tell her who started it.

  Once we stopped giggling, Tom turned to me. “Are we still having spaghetti at your house this weekend, Ella?”

  “Of course!”

  I had told Mom lots of times that Tom and Lenka’s favorite food was spaghetti, and she had promised to make it. I love spaghetti too. (Except not when it has cheese on it.)

  “Yum!” Tom said. “I’m going to bring my special spaghetti fork. It has a battery and it twirls around and around and it’s awesome.”

  I couldn’t wait to see Tom’s spaghetti fork and I couldn’t wait to put on the puppet show. It was going to be the best playdate ever!

  * * *

  —

  On Saturday I woke up really early and gazed at my unicorn poster for a while. I love my unicorn poster. Then I got up and looked around the house. It didn’t look strange or weird—but it did look messy. So I decided to do something about it.

  “Come on, Wardrobe!” I said. “We’re going to clean up.”

  Wardrobe is my magic pet wardrobe. I’m training it to do what I say. It’s a bit like having a dog, except Wardrobe is more wooden than a dog and doesn’t say “Woof.”

  Wardrobe followed me around the house on its little legs. I picked up books, toys and odd socks off the floor and threw them into Wardrobe. Wardrobe helped by swinging open its doors to catch things and shuffling things along with its feet.

  Just when everything was tidied up, Mom came out of her bedroom holding my little brother, Ollie. She said, “Good morning, Ella! Good morning, Wardrobe!” And Wardrobe made a loud noise: Burrrp.

  “Wardrobe! That’s rude!”

  “Wardrobe sounds full to me,” Mom said. “I’ve bought some delicious sausages for your playdate, Ella. We can make mashed potatoes too.”

  I stared at Mom in shock. I said, “But what about the spaghetti?”

  Mom stared back, then hit her forehead. “Spaghetti!” she said. “I forgot. Well, don’t worry, Ella. I’m sure we’ve got spaghetti.”

  But when Mom emptied the spaghetti packet into a pot, there was only one lonely strand. It went ping! as it landed. Then it broke in two.

  “Oh no,” Mom said. “I think we need some magic.”

  “Or a trip to the store?” I suggested, because sometimes Mom’s magic doesn’t work.

  “Nonsense!” she said. “A spell will be much quicker.”

  She stamped her feet three times, clapped her hands, wiggled her bottom and said, “Marshmallow,”…and POOF! She was a fairy, with glittery wings and a crown.

  “We need some drinks too,” she said. “What would you like?”

  “Tom likes orange juice,” I said.

  “Easy-peasy,” Mom
said. She pressed a code on her Computawand—bleep-bleep-bloop—and said, “Orangeridoo!”

  At once her face and arms turned orange.

  “Mom!” I said. “You’ve gone orange!” Then I looked at my arms. “So have I!”

  “Weezi-weezi-weezi!” said Ollie, who had turned bright orange too.

  “Oops,” Mom said, peering at her Computawand. “I don’t know how that happened.”

  Just then Dad came in. His face was orange as well.

  “I’m orange!” he said. “I look like a carrot!”

  “Never mind,” Mom said. She pressed another code—bleep-bleep-bloop—and said, “Normeridoo!” At once our skin went back to normal.

  “Phew,” Dad said. “Maybe that’s enough magic for today.”

  “No!” Mom said. “I need to make spaghetti. I promised Ella. Don’t worry—spaghetti is a very easy spell.”

  She pointed her Computawand at the saucepot, pressed a code—bleep-bleep-bloop—and said, “Spaghetteridoo!”

  All at once spaghetti started filling up the pan. But it wasn’t dried spaghetti—it was cooked spaghetti, all soft and floppy. It quickly filled the pot, spilled over the top and began piling up on the floor.

  “What happened?” Dad asked.

  “Mom!” I said. “That’s too much spaghetti! We only need three platefuls!”

  “It’s cold,” said Dad, touching a strand. “Cold spaghetti. Oh dear.”

  “Weezi-weezi-weezi!” Ollie yelled joyfully. He grabbed some spaghetti off the floor and piled it on his head.

  “Oops,” Mom said, peering at the spaghetti. “I don’t know how that happened.”

  She quickly pressed a code on her Computawand, but it didn’t go bleep-bleep-bloop like it normally does. It just went bleep-bleep. She tried again—but it went bleep-bleep again.

  “Oh no! The button is stuck!” said Mom. She jabbed at the button again. “Come on, you silly Computawand!”

  “Hurry!” Dad said.

  Spaghetti kept pouring out of the pot. By now there was spaghetti all over the kitchen floor, and in the hall too. It was like a big, thick spaghetti carpet. Ollie was rolling around in it, laughing and kicking.

  Suddenly I remembered something I had read in one of Mom’s fairy magazines.

  “Mom!” I said. “You can use honey if a button on your Computawand gets stuck.”

  “Honey!” Mom said. “Of course. Well done, Ella.”

  She grabbed some honey from the cupboard and spooned a tiny bit onto the stuck button. At last it worked. She pressed the code—bleep-bleep-bloop—and shouted, “Stoperidoo!”

  The spaghetti stopped pouring out of the pot and we all looked at each other.

  “Well, at least it’s stopped,” Mom said.

  “Yes,” Dad said. “But I’ve never seen so much spaghetti in my life!”

  There was spaghetti everywhere. It was on the counter and the floor—some was even hanging from the lampshade.

  “What should we do with it?” I said. “We can’t eat it. Ollie has rolled and drooled all over it.”

  Mom looked at her Computawand. “I could do another spell,” she said.

  “Or I could get the wheelbarrow,” Dad said.

  “Yes,” Mom said. “Maybe that’s a better idea. Toffee apple!” And at once she was a normal mom again.

  Dad got his wheelbarrow and we carted all the spaghetti into the backyard. It took lots of trips back and forth. We made a pile and covered it with leaves. Dad said that when it dried out, we could have a bonfire.

  At last we went inside, puffing—and the doorbell rang. It was Lenka and her mom, holding the puppet theater.

  “Are we too early?” Lenka’s mom asked.

  “No!” Mom said. “Perfect timing! Come in.”

  Lenka and her mom came in and showed us the puppet theater, and Mom made some coffee.

  Suddenly Lenka’s mom gasped. “Goodness!” she said. “What an amazing costume!”

  Mom and Dad and I turned around, and we gasped too. Ollie had come into the kitchen covered in spaghetti. I realized what had happened—he had gone into the backyard and rolled in the spaghetti pile. And there he was, all wrapped up in spaghetti like a big round meatball.

  Lenka and her mom looked so surprised that I felt worried. Lenka would think my house was really strange and weird.

  “Is that real spaghetti?” she asked, and her mom laughed.

  “Of course it’s not real spaghetti, Lenka. No one has that much spaghetti!”

  “Actually, I think Ollie’s diaper needs changing,” Dad said quickly. “I’ll do it.” He picked him up and took him upstairs.

  Then the doorbell rang again, and it was Tom.

  While our moms all drank coffee, Tom, Lenka and I set up the puppet theater in the hall, next to Wardrobe, which had been cleaning up downstairs. We were just getting the puppets out when there was a loud noise: Burrrp.

  Lenka and Tom looked shocked.

  “Ella,” Tom said. “Did that wardrobe just…burp?”

  “How could a wardrobe burp?” I asked. I tried to laugh—but I felt worried again.

  “Your house isn’t like anyone else’s, Ella,” Lenka said. “It’s really cool.”

  “Yeah,” Tom agreed. “It’s cool.”

  Happiness whooshed through me. I knew our house was different from other people’s—and now I felt proud of it.

  Then Dad came downstairs holding Ollie. All the spaghetti was gone. He winked at me and said, “I’m going out to buy some more spaghetti. Who wants ice cream?”

  Tom and Lenka shouted, “Yay!”

  * * *

  —

  That afternoon, after Tom and Lenka went home, I sat in the kitchen drawing pictures of everything we’d done. I drew the puppets and Tom’s twirling spaghetti fork. Then I drew our kitchen covered in spaghetti and I started to laugh. I showed my picture to Mom, and she laughed too.

  I said, “Our house isn’t like anyone else’s, is it?” and she said, “No, Ella, it certainly isn’t. And we are not like anyone else.”

  I drew a picture of Wardrobe and colored it in. Then I said, “Zoe thinks we’re strange and weird. But Tom and Lenka think we’re cool.”

  Mom kissed me on the head and said, “What do you think we are?”

  I thought for a bit, and then I said, “I think we’re cool.”

  “I think we’re cool too,” said Mom. “I think we’re super-cool.”

  “We’re super-super-super-cool,” I said. And I looked up at her and smiled.

  One day I was watching Mom having her magic lesson with Fenella on FairyTube. She was learning about the Rainbow Effect.

  The Rainbow Effect is very powerful and mysterious. When there is a rainbow in the sky, fairies have to be careful because their spells are extra strong and very hard to control.

  That’s why there’s a Rainbow App on every Computawand. The app tells you when a rainbow is coming. All fairies have them except Granny. She doesn’t like apps or Computawands. She says, “Just look at the sky, dear.”

  When Mom finished her lesson, I turned to her. “I wish I could have magic lessons.”

  Mom smiled. “You can’t have magic lessons yet, Ella. But guess what. You’re going to start dancing lessons!”

  “Yay!” I said, excited. “Dancing!” I started to dance around the room, whirling my arms.

  “Weezi-weezi-weezi!” Ollie shouted. He whirled his arms too, and knocked his breadsticks all over the floor.

  I couldn’t wait for dancing lessons. I went shopping with Mom and we bought pink ballet shoes. I wanted to buy a pink tutu with a frilly skirt, but we were in a hurry, so Mom said maybe another time.

  When we arrived for the first lesson, there were lots of children there. One of them was Zoe, my Not-Best Friend from next door.


  “Oh look,” Mom said. “Zoe does dancing too. That’s good, isn’t it?”

  Sometimes Mom doesn’t understand about Zoe. It wasn’t good—it was bad, because Zoe is always mean to me. But luckily she didn’t see me. She was in the front row, doing very high jumps with pointy toes.

  I tried to copy her—but I fell over.

  “Never mind!” Mom said. “It’s never easy when you start, Ella. But keep trying. I know you can do it. Have fun!”

  Then Zoe saw me. She came over and said in her mean voice, “Oh, Ella, you’re here. I’m really good at dancing. I’ve been coming here forever. I bet you’re really bad.”

  “I bet I’m not,” I said.

  I decided to try my best at dancing. I watched the teacher, Miss Evans, demonstrate. We raised our arms. We did a special jump called a cat jump. I said, “Meow!” when I jumped, because it made me feel like a cat.

  At the end of the lesson Miss Evans said, “We have a special treat today. Zoe’s cousin Sally is here. Sally is a real grown-up ballerina, and she is going to show us her dancing.”

  Sally was wearing a lovely swishy skirt. She told us how she practiced dancing every day. Then she danced on her tiptoes. She did twirls, around and around. We all clapped and cheered. I wanted to do a twirl so, so badly, but I didn’t know how.

  On our way out we all thanked Sally for showing us her dancing.

  “I wish I could do a twirl,” I said.

  “I’m sure you will one day!” Sally said. “Keep trying!”

  But Zoe was standing nearby. She came close so no one could hear, then said, “You’ll never do a twirl, Ella. You can’t even point your toes the right way. You’re bad at dancing.” And she laughed her horrible laugh.