Read Spells & Sleeping Bags #3 for Free Online Page B

trying to come up with rhymes. Not that spells have to rhyme, but all the coolest spells in A 2 are in verse, and I'm not about to take a chance with my wardrobe. Now, what should I try? I want to zap my clothes into being folded neatly. The way they look on a store shelf. What rhymes with zap?
    Wrap? Tap? Map?
    I got it! I open my bag and shove all my stuff into the cubby; then, when the room has pretty much emptied out, I stand right in front of my cubby (blocking any potential snoops), close my eyes, focus, ram my hands inside the cubby, wiggle my fingers, and say:
    “With this zap,
    Let my clothes look like they do at the Gap!”
    Here comes the rush of cold air . . . and presto!
    I step back and study my creation. Omigod! My clothes are folded into flawless squares and, oh yes, color-coordinated, too. From light to dark, like a rainbow.
    Yes!
    I unfold a flattened shirt. It's a pale green and white striped short-sleeved V-neck top. That doesn't belong to me. That doesn't have my Rachel Weinstein camp label.
    Instead, a price tag is dangling from its neck.
    Um . . . did I poof up new clothes?
    I look at my now empty duffel bag with longing. Where art thou, oh, favorite jeans? What am I going to do? Are they all gone forever? Even my cute new bikini?
    Although . . . maybe these clothes are even better! Designer clothes! I shake out the shirt with excitement.
    A glance at the label tells me that the shirt is a women's large. I hunt through the clothes, looking for a piece of clothing that might fit.
    Oh good, here's something smaller. Much smaller. It's a size 1 girls' jean dress with a lace trim.
    A toddler size 1.
    I said Gap, not BabyGap, didn't I?
    I frantically search through my cubby, looking for something—anything—I can wear. A linen maternity skirt? No. Boys' cargo pants? Also no. Men's black and white checkered boxer shorts?
    Definitely not.
    I wish I had my old stuff back. But since the world of magic tends to like exchanges, my real clothes are probably heaped in a big mess on a shelf at a suburban shopping mall.
     

     
    I'm making my new bed (a brand-new top of a brand-new bunk bed—oh joy) when a voice comes from the sky. “Attenthion all camperth and counthlorth. Attenthion all camperth and counthlorth. Pleathe head to the meth hall for thupper.”
    “What was that?” I ask.
    “It's Stef,” Alison says.
    “Or Thtef,” Morgan says.
    “Don't be mean,” Alison says. “It's not her fault she has a lisp.”
    “You mean lithp?” Morgan says.
    “Stef is the head counselor's sister,” Alison explains. “She's been running the office and doing the announcements for years.”
    I look down at my new Gap jeans (with rolled-up cuffs, because they are two sizes too long) and my too-tight scooped-neck shirt. The girls are giving me weird looks, but there's nothing I can do until I can get Miri to swing by with a spell reversal—which she hopefully can . . . if she brought the enchanted crystal to camp. I was kind of wanting to look my most gorgeous for my first Raf sighting, but this is the best I can do.
    Changing in front of all the other girls was completely humiliating. They all threw their clothes off like they were starring in some kind of camp porn movie. I kept my eyes on the dusty floor and changed quickly and furiously.
    “Let's bust a move, girls!” Deb hollers while stomping and clomping through our bunk.
    I follow my bunkmates onto the porch and down the tree-lined gravel road to the mess hall. Along the way, we pass a few green cabins on our right and the waterfront on our left. Even when it's calm, the lake scares me. As do the tied-up sailboats. At some point I'll probably have to mention my nautical inexperience to Deb. But one issue at a time. First I have to make my way to the mess hall.
    The chaotic, earsplitting, overwhelming mess hall.
    Our bunk's table is all the way in the rear, by the back window. The kitchen is near the entrance. “Why are we so far from the food?” I