Sylvie leapt into the air as if she were sailing up a half-pipe, knees bent, shoulders set.Bam!She sent the box flying.
“You brat!”
Sylvie spun around, trying to see where it landed. There was no time.
Fernand lunged for her.“Tu es à moi!”
Sylvie had no idea what this meant, but the look on his face was unmistakable:I’m going to kill you.
Sylvie yanked the top off the FizzleFott’s soda and shoved the Mentos inside. She hoped magic sodas worked the same as Coke.
Blurp! Blurp!
Foam bubbled up.
The bottle started to tremble.
Fernand took a step back.
“Ever made a soda geyser?” asked Sylvie. Before Fernand could answer, she took aim. A violent tsunami shot into the air. She tried to hold on, but it was like gripping an out-of-control fire hose. Sylvie spun around, caught in a sticky downpour.
Fernand flailed his arms.
Thwak!
The pan of rose meringues flew off the table. A bevy of brambles shot up.
Georgia yelped and dodged between the unruly vines.
“I shall cook you like a pheasant!” snarled Fernand.
Sylvie didn’t know how long her trick would last, but one thing was certain. Fernand wasn’t bluffing.
She dropped the bottle. A jet of soda spewed onto the floor.
Flora grabbed it and shot Fernand backward like a ball.
“That’s one way to make an exit,” cried Georgia.
Sylvie felt her courage mount. “Come on!”
The girls sprinted toward the chain of vines twisting through the air.
Sylvie reached for the ledge. A sharp thorn pierced her leg. The next thing she knew, she was lying face down in a sticky pool.
“Now you’re finished!” Fernand’s eyes turned cold.
A vine twisted up Sylvie’s leg. Higher and higher. She tugged on it, trying to get loose.
But like an animal tangled in a snare, she was trapped.
If You Can’t Handle the Heat, Get Out of the …
“HOLD STILL,” CRIEDFLORA. SHE LIFTED HERBLADE INTOthe air.
Whack!
The thorny creeper went slack.
