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

pry my eyelids open. There’s my polka-dot chair in the corner, and my zebra striped rug and the purple vanity table that I helped my mom paint. I swing my feet around and they land on the floor with a loud plop that startles me . Why am I wearing a dirty, scuffed-up old pair of—
    The MMBs.
    The whole day—all of it—comes rushing back to me in a flash. The bus, falling out of bed, Vi and her clipboard, the breakfast tent, Chaz and the hair extensions, Lisbeth and her tweezers, mean old Gory Rory, the Superdome, the fans, hanging out with Justin Crowe… It was real. I was her and it was real and now it’s over. I jump off the bed and race over to my mirror. I don’t look any different. Am I different? I’m not sure yet.
    â€œHang on, Stella,” I shout, pulling off the boots and shoving them back into my closet, up on the highest shelf I can reach. I unlock my door, and Stella practically knocks me over in her rush to get in.
    â€œHonestly, Maggie, are you sick or something?” Stella wants to know, pushing my stuffed animals aside so she can plop down on my still-warm bed. She has her laptop with her and she fires it up. I slide in right next to her.
    â€œI mean, HAPPY TWELFTH BIRTHDAY !” Stella announces all official-like with big ta-da hands. She puts the plate of doughnuts in my lap and starts clicking away at her keyboard. “Anyway, check this out: Becca and Justin are boyfriend and girlfriend. ”
    â€œUm, I don’t think they are—” I start to say, but Stella interrupts me.
    â€œThey are too, it’s all over the web,” she points to the supposedly true news story that has a picture of Becca and Justin hugging.
    â€œI think they’re just good friends,” I say. “I wouldn’t believe everything you read.”
    â€œYou got a better source?” Stella asks.
    â€œWell, no, but—” I stammer.
    â€œAnd get this,” she says, all excited. “Check out this picture of Becca yelling at some poor guy that works for her. She must have a real temper. Or maybe she’s becoming one of those total divas. It happens in Hollywood all the time, you know.”
    I look at the picture. It’s Becca looking steamed all right. And the guy she’s steamed at? None other than mean old Gory Rory.
    â€œWell, that’s because—” I stop myself just in time. “I mean, that guy is probably some big jerk, and she’s yelling at him because she’s sick of him being totally rude to her all the time. Or something.”
    â€œIt says here that she fired him!” Stella gasps. “What did I tell you? Diva!”
    â€œYou never know—” I say, but Stella interrupts me again.
    â€œLook at this ,” she says, scrolling down the page. “Here she is lounging on the beach in Mexico. Life is so totally not fair. I mean, she gets to lie around all day and sing for a couple of hours at night. Tough life. Where do I sign up?”
    â€œI bet it’s not as glamorous as you—er, we —think,” I say. “I mean, she probably has to be on the road a lot, driving from show to show and all, and think about what goes into a concert! The lights and the equipment and the microphones… There’s so much that can go wrong, it must be really stressful. I’ll bet even all that fussing over your hair and makeup gets old after a while…” I decide I’d better stop talking before I blow my own cover.
    â€œIf it makes you feel better to pretend Becca Starr has this really awful, miserable life, knock yourself out,” Stella says, snapping her computer shut. “I’m pretty sure her life is perfect.”
    â€œLike my mom always says,” I tell Stella, “you don’t know what you don’t know until you spend a day in someone else’s shoes.”
    And boy, do I know.

My alarm startles me awake to the sound of disc jockeys laughing way