“Did your friend decide to stay in Franklin Grove?”
“Not yet,” replied Ivy.
“Aw.” Miss Everling kicked the ground with one of her tight leather knee-length boots. “I was sure that presentation would work.”
“We still haven’t given up, though,” Sophia added resolutely.
“That’s the spirit,” Miss Everling said. “How can I help?”
“Do you have the local want ads?” asked Brendan.
“We’ve got all the county and state papers,” Miss Everling said with a smile. “To the periodicals!” she commanded.
A minute later, Miss Everling had left the five of them gathered around the latest edition of the Franklin Grove Gazette, splayed open on a table.
Camilla was bent over the paper, calling out jobs. “Construction consultant... insurance salesman...vacuum mechanic—”
“I bet that job sucks,” Brendan joked. “...cat groomer... window washer... house cleaner... bond broker—”
“Aren’t there any design jobs?” Ivy interrupted.
Camilla scanned the column. “Here’s one,” she said. “Denture designer. What do you think that is?”
Brendan coughed. “Hey, this reminds me of a joke. What’s black and white and red all over?”
“A vampire having a midnight snack?” Camilla guessed innocently.
Olivia’s heart skipped a beat, and she could swear that the three vamps around the table turned a shade whiter.
“I was going to say a newspaper,” Brendan mumbled weakly.
After a few more minutes, Olivia had to agree with her friends that there were no openings that seemed right for Mr. Vega.
“So much for Plan C,” said Ivy with a sigh as the bell for the end of lunch rang.
“Fortunately,” Olivia said, “there are still twenty-three letters left in the alphabet.”
After school, Ivy leaned close to the science hall bathroom mirror and carefully applied Olivia’s shimmery eye shadow. At the next sink, her sister scrunched up her face and sprayed herself with a can of Pale Beauty whitener.
Ivy shifted from one sneaker-clad foot to the other and wriggled herself around in Olivia’s stone-washed jeans. They were going to have to spend the whole night as each other, because by the time Wicked was over, it would be too late to get away and switch back.
“You know this is going to be our trickiest switch yet,” said Olivia as she reached for Ivy’s thick eyeliner. “We have to fool our parents for hours.”
I don’t know if I can be perky for that long, Ivy thought. “What if we get caught?” she said.
“Think of it this way,” Olivia said, blinking dramatically at herself with her freshly blackened eyes. “If you get grounded for a month, you can’t leave the house to go to Europe.”
“There are some things you’ll need to know if you’re going to convince my dad you’re me,” said Ivy. In the mirror, she practiced smiling so her teeth showed.
“Like what?” said Olivia.
“Things that might be hard for you to, um, digest,” said Ivy. She watched her sister’s reflection for a reaction, but Olivia didn’t notice her choice of words.
“Trust me, nothing could be worse than flying monkeys,” said Olivia. She flattened her lips to apply Ivy’s deep plum lipstick.
“Good,” said Ivy. She turned and flashed her sister her best Olivia-like smile. “Then you’ll be happy to know Marshmallow Platelets is your favorite cereal.”
“Oh, gross!” Olivia cried.
An hour later, Ivy did her best to skip up to the front door of the Abbotts’ split-level home. Even after Olivia’s in-depth briefing on life in her house, she couldn’t keep from being a little nervous. Stick a bat in a bunny hole, she thought, and sooner or later it’s going to flap its wings. Still, she’d just have to do her best. It would all be worth it to see Wicked and help her sister.
Ivy swung her ponytail around, moistened her pink lips, smiled as brightly as she could, and rang the doorbell. Soon enough, the door swung open to reveal Olivia’s mom, Audrey Abbott, wearing a dark blue skirt and pearls.
“Hi, Mom!” said Ivy.
“Hi, Olivia,” said Mrs. Abbott. She craned her neck to look past Ivy into the street. “Everything okay?”
“For sure,” Ivy chirped. “Why?”
“Don’t you have your house key?” Mrs. Abbott asked.
I rang the doorbell of what’s supposed to be my own house, Ivy thought, horrified. There go my bat wings: flap, flap!
Ivy smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. “I must have forgotten it,” she said. “Sorry, Mom.”
“It’s okay, honey,” Mrs. Abbott said. “You’d better go upstairs and change, though. We’re leaving for the show in half an hour.”
Luckily, Ivy made it to the theater and into her seat without saying anything else that might give her away. The first act of Wicked was killer. When the lights rose for intermission, Ivy couldn’t take her eyes off the stage. The performances, the music, the story—everything was seriously spectacular. The name of the wicked witch echoed in her head.
“Elphaba...Elphaba... Elphaba! Olivia!” Mrs. Abbott was shaking her arm. “Olivia, are you okay, honey?”
“This show sucks,” Ivy whispered in awe.
Mrs. Abbott’s face fell. “You hate it?”
All at once Ivy remembered that she was supposed to be her sister. Flap, flap!
“I mean,” she scrambled, “it sucks in a good way. It’s slang. I totally love the show!”