The Sisters Club: Rule of Three by McDonald Megan

Author:McDonald, Megan [McDonald, Megan]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Candlewick
Published: 2011-03-22T04:00:00+00:00

At dinner that night (which I did not have to cook, thank you very much), I had not even tasted one bite of Dad’s famous peanut-butter noodles because I was so excited, chattering on about the audition to my family.

“Then Mr. Cannon asked for callbacks, and I couldn’t believe my ears when he called my name. He had us sing twenty-four bars of ‘Opening for a Princess,’ then something from ‘Shy’ and one I didn’t know. Then he asked me to sing parts of ‘Happily Ever After’ by myself.” I stopped chattering when I saw that Alex had closed her eyes and was breathing hard. But Joey said it for me.

“That’s Winnie’s song!” said Joey. The lead.

Alex’s fork clattered to her plate. Eating stopped. Chewing stopped. Dad paused his napkin in mid-wipe. It was like church on Thursday, the room got so quiet. Everybody stared at Alex.

“What? So I dropped my fork.” She picked it up, stabbed her noodles, twirled them in a mini-tornado, then stopped halfway to her mouth. “Can we please just talk about something else?” she pleaded.

I fell silent, biting back my enthusiasm. I looked hopefully from Mom to Dad and back. Nobody seemed to know what to say. I guess it was up to me, Stevie the Peacemaker, to say something, anything, that might break the tension.

“Alex was great today. You should have seen her. I don’t know how you can get up there, in your pajamas, and not feel self-conscious. And the song, with the shampoo thing —”

“Yeah, right. My voice was literally shaking.”

“I couldn’t tell. It sounded like you had some good vibrato.”

“I said [stab], can we please [stab] not talk about it [stab-stab-stab]?” She was attacking her noodles again.

“How’re things going at the station?” Dad asked Mom, careful not to cause any more noodle deaths.

Mom looked relieved for the change of subject, but it wasn’t good news. “Ratings are still down. We’re going to finish taping the spring season, but I think it’s only a matter of time till Fondue Sue gets the ax. I’m sure they’re not going to renew for fall.”

“Why not?” Joey asked.

“There’s been such an explosion of cooking shows lately, it’s hard to compete.”

“I like that funny guy who goes ‘Bam!’” Joey flicked her napkin over her shoulder, imitating the guy.

“Iron Chef is my favorite, hands down,” said Dad. “That Morimoto is one lean, mean cooking machine.”

“What about the woman who does all the thirty-minute meals? I like her Crunchy Chicken Toes. Yum!” I added.

“See? My own family. You’re all traitors,” Mom teased.

“You can say that again,” Alex mumbled, squinting at me.

“And the latest is,” Mom continued, “the Bus-Riding Gourmet.”

“He cooks on a bus?” Joey asked.

“If you can believe it, it’s a guy out of Portland who rides around on a free bus, stopping at restaurants along the city bus line to interview chefs and cook with them.”

“All you need is a bus,” I joked.

“The Fondue Sue–mobile,” said Joey.

“Mom,” I said, “maybe if you thought up a way-good original idea, the station wouldn’t be able to say no, and they’d have to let you do some more shows.

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