Spells & Sleeping Bags: Magic in Manhattan Series, Book 3

I'm pretty sure my camp backpack is not supposed to be levitating off the sidewalk of Fifth Avenue. Whoopsies. I make a (somewhat) discreet lunge for one of its red straps and plant it back next to my feet.
Tee hee.
My mother, who is fortunately too busy eyeing the parked camp buses lining the street to notice my infraction, asks, "Do you know where you're going?"
"Yes, Mom," my sister says, rolling her eyes. "We know how to read. We're both on the same bus. The sign says 'Girls grades seven thru nine,' and since that's both of us, that's where we're going. Unfortunately."
Miri is not happy about being shipped off to Camp Wood Lake in the Adirondacks for seven weeks. She'd much rather stay in the city, free to spend the summer as she pleases, helping the homeless. That's her cause du jour. Unfortunately for her, she can't help the homeless when she is being sent to a summer camp filled with spoiled rich kids. Those are her words, not mine. I'm perfectly happy to spend the summer with spoiled rich kids. No, wait. That didn't come out right. What I mean is I'm perfectly happy to be going to camp, because I'm perfectly happy doing anything these days. Deliriously happy. Jumping-on-couches-like-they're-trampolines happy.
Why? Because I'm finally a witch!
No, not witch as in mean or cranky. I don't pull my sister's hair or rip off her Barbies' heads. (Not that either of us still has Barbies. Okay, fine. Not that I still play with them. Sure, they're in a bag at the back of my closet, and I sometimes take them out just to see how they're doing, but that's it, I swear.) I have powers, like Hermione and Sabrina. Like my sister. And my mother.
We found out in February that my sister is a witch. My mom, who chose to live her adult life as a nonpracticing witch, had never mentioned anything about this particular family trait because she was hoping her powers would somehow skip over her kids. And for a while it looked like they had with me. But oh no, they didn't. Both of us are witches. Finger-snapping, broom-riding, spell-canting witches. Yes! And since I am a witch, nothing that could possibly happen this summer can burst my bubble of glorious happiness. I mean, hello? I finally have magical powers! I can zap up anything I want. More handbags? Presto. Tastier food? Kazam. Friends? Zap! Nah, I probably won't cast spells on any possible friends, since enchanting individuals is so morally wrong. But I could if I wanted to.
Why? Because I'm a witch!
But even if nobody in my bunk wants to be my friend this summer--and I don't see why they wouldn't, since none of them goes to my school, and therefore they don't know anything about my previous social mishaps (we were a bit wild and carefree with Miri's powers in the early days)--I won't care.
Why? Because I'm a witch!
Even if Raf doesn't fall in love with me this summer--yes, Raf Kosravi, the hottest guy in my class and, I should mention, the love of my life, is going to be at Wood Lake too--so what? It will be his loss.
Why? Because I'm a witch!
Okay, that's a lie. Not the witch part (yay!) but the part about Raf. I'd care a lot if he didn't fall in love with me. But you get my point.
My ego has gained about seven hundred pounds since I discovered my magic at prom last month. My mom and sister were thrilled for me, of course. Thrilled that I was happy--and thrilled that they would no longer have to listen to me complain about not having powers.
For the first week after prom, I could not resist zapping everything in sight. Lights. The television. Miri's stuff....