definitely does not have curls. Her hair is really long, almost to her waist — even longer than yours, Joey — and she has a long, tiny braid down one side.”
“Dare to be different,” I told my sister.
“I can’t. Zoe DuFranc is Larken, and she has dark curly hair, and we’ll look too much alike.”
“Well, you smell like an art project,” I snapped.
“And you look like a mop of wet spaghetti!” said Joey.
9:30
Dad suggested that Alex try sleeping with orange-juice cans in her hair (for curlers). The bigger the curler, the straighter the hair.
As much as I’d like to see Alex with orange-juice-can hair, she didn’t have time to sleep. The dress rehearsal was starting in a few hours.
“You could press your hair in the dictionary,” I told her. “Like we used to do with violets.”
“C’mon, Stevie, you have to help me.”
“Why me? What about Joey?”
“Don’t look at me,” said Joey. “Dad’s taking me to the Cascades Playhouse to check out their magic flying carpet.”
“Well, don’t look at me. I’ve got to get ready for the cake-off.”
“But your cake’s made, isn’t it? So you’re ready.”
“Don’t you get it?” I practically bit her head off. My eyes flashed with fury. “This is a big day for me, too, you know. Yours is only a dress rehearsal, but mine is like, like the Cupcake Olympics. ”
Alex just didn’t get it. She didn’t even seem to care that I was boiling mad. And to make things worse, by the time I woke up this morning, my enchanted castle looked more like a slumped-over Tower of London.
“But you’re not doing anything right this minute.”
“Yes, I am! I’m waiting for Olivia to call. She’s coming with me to the cake-off. Her mom’s going to drive us.”
“Well, I’m going with Scott and I’m going to be late —”
“Alex and Scott Towel, sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” sang Joey mockingly.
“Joey and Laurie, sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” I teased back, momentarily forgetting my anger.
“Laurie who?” Alex asked.
“You know. Laurie. The guy from Little Women . The one that likes Jo. Joey’s in love with him.”
“So? Alex is in love with Scott Towel and that Voice Man guy.”
“Let’s go, Joey!” Dad called up the stairs.
“I’m leaving, too. Good luck today, girls,” said Mom.
“Alex, you’re in charge,” Dad reminded her.
Alex in charge of me?
“And I don’t want to hear about any fighting,” said Dad.
That shouldn’t be hard. Since technically I still wasn’t speaking to her.
9:37
Alex barged into my room, waving Mom’s iron around. “Iron my hair!” she ordered me. She actually popped open the ironing board, laid her head down on it, and stretched out her long hair as if she were Rapunzel or something.
“You’re joking, right?”
“No! Dad said Mom used to iron her hair in high school. C’mon! Hurry up!”
“No way am I going to iron your hair!” I protested.
“You have to,” said Alex. “I’m in charge.”
9:41
I had never ironed so much as a sock, much less my sister’s hair!
If Alex knew how mad I was at her, she wouldn’t let me near her hair with an iron. . . .
I got the iron really hot. Huffing and puffing. I must have accidentally set it on Puff-the-Magic-Dragon, because hiccups of steam kept poofing out of the thing, even though I hadn’t added a single drop of water. I started by ironing Alex’s hair at the ends, about an inch at a time. Her hair is super-curly, and it took five minutes to iron one curl.
“Shouldn’t I be using a towel or something to put over your hair?”
“Just iron!”
Alex muttered lines she was rehearsing while practically leaning upside-down on the ironing board.
“Hey! I think it’s really working!” I said, surprised.
“Stop pressing the mist button,” Alex ordered. Ssssss! Steam hissed off of Alex’s hair, sending up cumulus-cloud puffs, like smoke signals.
I couldn’t help cracking up. “You look like one of
“Dare to be different,” I told my sister.
“I can’t. Zoe DuFranc is Larken, and she has dark curly hair, and we’ll look too much alike.”
“Well, you smell like an art project,” I snapped.
“And you look like a mop of wet spaghetti!” said Joey.
9:30
Dad suggested that Alex try sleeping with orange-juice cans in her hair (for curlers). The bigger the curler, the straighter the hair.
As much as I’d like to see Alex with orange-juice-can hair, she didn’t have time to sleep. The dress rehearsal was starting in a few hours.
“You could press your hair in the dictionary,” I told her. “Like we used to do with violets.”
“C’mon, Stevie, you have to help me.”
“Why me? What about Joey?”
“Don’t look at me,” said Joey. “Dad’s taking me to the Cascades Playhouse to check out their magic flying carpet.”
“Well, don’t look at me. I’ve got to get ready for the cake-off.”
“But your cake’s made, isn’t it? So you’re ready.”
“Don’t you get it?” I practically bit her head off. My eyes flashed with fury. “This is a big day for me, too, you know. Yours is only a dress rehearsal, but mine is like, like the Cupcake Olympics. ”
Alex just didn’t get it. She didn’t even seem to care that I was boiling mad. And to make things worse, by the time I woke up this morning, my enchanted castle looked more like a slumped-over Tower of London.
“But you’re not doing anything right this minute.”
“Yes, I am! I’m waiting for Olivia to call. She’s coming with me to the cake-off. Her mom’s going to drive us.”
“Well, I’m going with Scott and I’m going to be late —”
“Alex and Scott Towel, sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” sang Joey mockingly.
“Joey and Laurie, sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” I teased back, momentarily forgetting my anger.
“Laurie who?” Alex asked.
“You know. Laurie. The guy from Little Women . The one that likes Jo. Joey’s in love with him.”
“So? Alex is in love with Scott Towel and that Voice Man guy.”
“Let’s go, Joey!” Dad called up the stairs.
“I’m leaving, too. Good luck today, girls,” said Mom.
“Alex, you’re in charge,” Dad reminded her.
Alex in charge of me?
“And I don’t want to hear about any fighting,” said Dad.
That shouldn’t be hard. Since technically I still wasn’t speaking to her.
9:37
Alex barged into my room, waving Mom’s iron around. “Iron my hair!” she ordered me. She actually popped open the ironing board, laid her head down on it, and stretched out her long hair as if she were Rapunzel or something.
“You’re joking, right?”
“No! Dad said Mom used to iron her hair in high school. C’mon! Hurry up!”
“No way am I going to iron your hair!” I protested.
“You have to,” said Alex. “I’m in charge.”
9:41
I had never ironed so much as a sock, much less my sister’s hair!
If Alex knew how mad I was at her, she wouldn’t let me near her hair with an iron. . . .
I got the iron really hot. Huffing and puffing. I must have accidentally set it on Puff-the-Magic-Dragon, because hiccups of steam kept poofing out of the thing, even though I hadn’t added a single drop of water. I started by ironing Alex’s hair at the ends, about an inch at a time. Her hair is super-curly, and it took five minutes to iron one curl.
“Shouldn’t I be using a towel or something to put over your hair?”
“Just iron!”
Alex muttered lines she was rehearsing while practically leaning upside-down on the ironing board.
“Hey! I think it’s really working!” I said, surprised.
“Stop pressing the mist button,” Alex ordered. Ssssss! Steam hissed off of Alex’s hair, sending up cumulus-cloud puffs, like smoke signals.
I couldn’t help cracking up. “You look like one of
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