The Runaway Spell by Lexi Connor Page B

George said when they had almost finished cleaning up. “I’ve got a favor to ask you.”
    B sat back down in the beanbag chair and scratched Butterbrains’s ribs with her toes. “What’s up?”
    George sat on the couch opposite her. He gestured to his shirt, on which a silk-screened soccer player with a streak of white hair was racing toward an invisible goal. “I’ve told you about Sergio Vavoso, right?”
    “The, uh, Italian zebra?” B asked.
    George beamed. “That’s right.
La Zebra Italiana,
because of the stripe in his hair. The best soccer player ever in the whole world.”
    Of course B knew about the soccer player. George had been wearing his La Zebra sweatshirt every day since the weather had gotten cooler.
    “What about him?”
    “I know you can’t do everything with magic.” George bounced on the couch cushion. “But could you … could you … turn me into him?”
    B slipped off the vinyl beanbag and landed on the floor. “Turn you into an international soccer star?”
    George bit his lip. “Yeah. Then I’d be the most unstoppable soccer player in the whole league. The championship game would be no sweat!”
    “You don’t want me to try that,” B said, picking herself up and sitting back on the beanbag. “It’s, like, the magical equivalent of, I dunno, surgery. And I have trouble with the simplest spells.”
    George had started bouncing his soccer ball on his forehead. “Come on, B,” he pleaded. “You don’thave to
literally
turn me
into
him … just make me a little more like him. You know?”
    She shook her head firmly. “I’m not ready for that kind of magic.”
    George gazed at B. His sad-eyed look could be more pathetic than Butterbrains’s. “You can do it, B! You’re amazing. Look at all you can do!” He gestured to the toys.
    B waved away the compliments, but her friend persisted.
    “This Thursday is the championship match. We can’t lose! And I’ve been off my game lately, even Coach is saying so. I’ve got to turn it around or he may bench me. How would it look for the team captain to be sitting on the bench?”
    B drummed her fingertips on her knees, thinking hard. Poor George! Was there some way she could help him? Oh, but it was risky. Did she dare try?
    “I just need a little taste of what it’s like to be him. Then I’ll be ready for Spirit Week and be able to get psyched for the championship game.”
    B knew she could do some temporary spells, like a bag-cauldron spell. She’d never done one on her own before, but maybe she could try it?
    She got up and began foraging around the basement, looking for things.
    “Whatcha doing?” George asked, following her.
    “Thinking.” She found an empty shopping bag and set it on the floor. By the door to the garage, she found George’s cap that had the Italian soccer team’s crest embroidered on it.
That’ll be perfect for my spell,
she thought. She scratched her head, then marched into Mrs. Fitzsimmons’s basement laundry room, rummaged through a basket of dirty clothes, and pulled out one of George’s long, orange, smelly soccer socks.
    “Pee-yew!”
    “Come on,” George said. “Tell me what you’re doing!”
    B put her hands on her hips. “Be patient! I’m figuring out my spell.”
    “Wahoo!” George said, doing a happy dance.
    “I’m going to try a bag-cauldron concoction. Have you got a picture of this Zebra guy of yours?”
    George pulled a pack of sports trading cards out of his back pocket. “A bag
what?”
    “A bag-cauldron concoction is a little bit like a potion — it’s a spell you make by mixing things. You make potions in a real cauldron, then you drink the brew, but bag-cauldron concoctions just produce the magic. There’s nothing to drink. And you can assemble them in almost any container. A bag, a purse. I’m using this shopping bag. Make sense?”
    George polished his glasses on his sweatshirt. “I guess so.” He handed B a trading card. “Here it is. Limited edition