The Power of Poppy Pendle Read Online Free Page B

Reynolds’s eyes, a sadness that made her wonder just how happy Madeline had been here at Ruthersfield. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to be a witch either? Maybe her parents had forced her to study magic when what she really wanted to do was study opera? Sighing heavily, Poppy sketched a cupcake on the corner of her notebook, wondering what had gone wrong in Madeline Reynolds’s life to send her over to the dark side.

Chapter Five
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    The Rescue of the Pink Sneakers
    M RS. PENDLE WAS DELIGHTED WHEN Poppy GOT AN A ON HER BIOGRAPHY PROJECT. “Anoriginal, in-depth essay,” Miss Jenkins, the history teacher, had written in her comments. “Unusual but intriguing—congratulations!”
    “Well done, sweetheart!” Edith Pendle said, smoothing out the crumpled pages Poppy handed her. She was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of lukewarm tea. “Can’t wait to show this to Daddy, although I still don’t understand why you didn’t choose Granny Mabel for your report.” Mrs. Pendle glanced up at Poppy. “I mean, she’s family after all, and that Madeline Reynolds was evil.”
    “I think she was sad more than evil,” Poppy tried to explain. “Apparently, she loved opera.” Then, in a softer voice, Poppy added, “But her parents thought singing was a waste of time.” Mrs. Pendle made a huffing sound and scraped at a blob of dried-up cake batter that was smeared across the first page of Poppy’s paper.
    “You’re lucky Miss Jenkins didn’t take a mark off this for presentation,” she said. “It may be well written, but it’s a complete mess.”

    There was one thing Poppy did enjoy about Ruthersfield, and that was basketball. Ever since babyhood she had been gifted with the strange ability to jump unnaturally high, and from her first term at school, Poppy played on the basketball team. She was an excellent scorer, getting quite a reputation for her slam dunks, but because Poppy was as klutzy on the court as off, her legs were constantly covered in bruises. Even when her shoelaces were double knotted, she somehow managed to trip over her own feet. Still, Poppy loved the game, and it stopped her from thinking about magic. During recess she would practice shooting hoops, which meant she didn’t have to hang about with Megan, Fanny, and the other girls, getting teased.
    After most basketball practices, Poppy brought along something she had made as a snack. Her jam tarts and coconut cupcakes were popular, but it was the chocolate melt-away cookies that the team loved best.
    “You must use magic in these!” Sandra Willis said, every time she ate one. “I’ve never tasted anything so good.”
    “No magic,” Poppy would always say with a smile. “Just real vanilla essence and French cocoa.”
    One Thursday afternoon Poppy was walking home from school after practice. She stopped in front of Patisserie Marie Claire, as usual. There was something comfortingly familiar about the place, and Poppy had always felt drawn to the little French bakery, although she had never actually gone inside. She wanted to more than anything, but looking through the window was as far as Poppy got. She knew her parents would disapprove. They always bought their bread from Super Savers Market, sliced white loaves that had no taste. But it was more than that. Poppy also knew that if she opened the door and stepped into the patisserie, it would show her a world she could never be a part of, and that was too painful to think about.
    A tempting selection of cakes and breads was displayed in the window, and Poppy pressed her face against the glass. She liked to watch the woman behind the counter, carefully wrapping up pastries in fancy white boxes. It would be wonderful to work in a shop like that, and Poppy sighed as the lights in the window went out. She had a physical ache in her chest, wanting so badly to learn how to make the cream-filled