My Name Is Evil by R.L. Stine

one more rub. “I hope Jilly and I can be friends again,” I said with a sigh.
    But Jilly cut me dead at the audition that night.
    She glimpsed me standing there in the auditorium aisle. She turned her head and kept walking.
    And when I followed after her, begging her to let me talk to her, she pretended I wasn’t there.
    I felt so bad. I had to fight back the tears.
    It was so unfair.
    One of my best friends hated me now. And it wasn’t my fault in any way.
    I could see that she had a slight limp as she climbed onto the bare stage and began to limber up. Her right toe shoe bulged, and I could see that her foot was bandaged beneath her tights.
    Ms. Masters, the dance adviser, waved to me to come up to the stage. Then she moved to a CD player on the floor against the curtain and put on some warm-up music.
    I sat down on the edge of the stage to tie my ballet slippers. I felt so awkward. I kept glancing at Jilly. She deliberately turned away every time I looked in her direction.
    There were only four girls trying out for the one opening in the dance company. Not a big crowd. Just Ms. Masters and four girls onstage. So it would be pretty hard for Jilly and me to ignore each other completely.
    My hands fumbled with the laces. I’m too upset to audition, I thought. I’ll just leave.
    I glanced at Jilly again. She was twirling on her bad foot, testing it.
    â€œHey, Jilly—looking good!” I called.
    She stuck her nose in the air and ignored me.
    This is ridiculous! I decided. She has no right to treat me like this.
    I’m going to audition. I’m not going to let Jilly drive me away. And I’m going to dance the best I’ve ever danced!
    I finished lacing my toe shoes and hurried onstage to warm up.
    Well … I didn’t exactly dance the best I’ve ever danced. But I didn’t embarrass myself, either.
    I was glad when Ms. Masters asked me to try out first. It meant I wouldn’t have to stand around and get more and more nervous watching the others.
    Jilly and the other two girls—Marci and Deena—had to watch me. And as I danced a short section from Swan Lake , I knew they were standing there at the side of the stage, arms crossed in front of them, watching my every move.
    But I concentrated on the steps and the music and shut them from my mind.
    Afterwards Ms. Masters clapped her hands and smiled. “That was very nice, Maggie,” she said. “I’m impressed.”
    Struggling to catch my breath, I thanked her and padded off, feeling light as a feather, trying to make my exit graceful.
    Yes, I knew I had slipped once or twice. And I got behind the music a few times. I guess I was concentrating too hard on the steps, on not messing up.
    But over all, I felt pretty good about it. The truth is, it’s not easy to get a compliment from Ms. Masters.
    Now I leaned against the stage wall and watched as Jilly stepped out, toe shoes tapping the floor so lightly, like little bird feet.
    Normally we would have wished each other luck. Normally she would have congratulated me on doing such a good job.
    But that was before today. Before …
    Ms. Masters started the music, and Jilly raised her arms, pasted a smile on her face, and started to dance.
    She’s a wonderful, graceful dancer. Moving so lightly, so effortlessly, her blond hair tied back, her arms so slow and lovely, she really looks like an angel onstage.
    My heart was still pounding from my dance. I wiped perspiration from above my upper lip and watched Jilly.
    Such perfect jumps. Such quick feet.
    I felt jealous. I couldn’t help it. I really, really wanted to be in this dance company. Jilly was into all kinds of activities and clubs and sports at school. But this was the only thing I wanted.
    My hands started to tingle and burn. I clasped them tightly together. Why did this keep happening?
    Marci, one of the other dancers, leaned close to me. “Wow,” she whispered, her eyes on