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Informationen zum Autor Meg Cabot is the author of the #1 New York Times bestsellers All-American Girl and The Princess Diaries books, two of which have been made into major motion pictures by Disney. She is also the author of The Mediator series, the Airhead series, and many books for adults. She currently divides her time between Key West and New York City with her husband and multiple rescue cats. Find out more at MegCabot.com. Klappentext Jess Mastriani wants everyone to think she has lost her powers! but when the father of a missing girl begs her to help! she can't refuse. Leseprobe Chapter One I don't know why I'm doing this. Writing this down, I mean. It's not like anybody is making me. Not this time. But it seems to me like somebody ought to be keeping track of this stuff. Somebody who actually knows what really happened. And it isn't as if you can trust the Feds to do it. Oh, they'll write it down, of course. But they won't get it right. I just think there needs to be one truthful account. A factual one. So I'm writing it. It isn't a big deal, really. I just hope that someday somebody will actually read it, so I won't feel like it was a complete waste of time...not like the majority of my endeavors. Take, for example, the sign. Now that's a classic example of a wasted endeavor if I ever saw one. And if you think about it, that's really how it all started. With the sign. Welcome to Camp Wawasee Where Gifted Kids Come to Make Sweet Music Together That's what the sign said. I know you don't believe me. I know you don't believe that in the history of time, there was ever a sign that said anything that stupid. But I swear it's true. And I should know: I'm the one who'd painted it. Don't get me wrong. I didn't want to. I mean, they totally made me do it. They handed me the paint and this giant white cotton sheet and told me what to write on it and everything. Their last sign, see, had met with this very tragic accident, in which someone had folded it up and stuck it in the pool house and some noxious chemical had dripped on it and eaten through the fabric. So they made me make a new one. It wasn't just that the sign was stupid. I mean, if you got a look at the kids standing under the sign, you'd have known right away that it was also probably libelous. Because if those kids were gifted, I was Jean-Pierre Rampal. He was this famous flutist, by the way, for those of you who don't know. Anyway, I had seriously never seen a whinier bunch of kids in my life. And I've been around a lot of kids, thanks to the nature of my, you know, unique gift and all. But these kids...Let me tell you, they were something else. Every last one of them was all, "But I don't want to go to music camp," or "Why can't I just stay home with you?" Like the fact that they were going to get to spend six weeks away from their parents was some kind of hardship. If you had told me, at the age of ten or whatever, that I could go somewhere and be away from my parents for six weeks, I'd have been like, "Sign me up, dude." But not these kids. I suppose on account of the fact they were gifted and all. Maybe gifted kids actually like their parents or something. I wouldn't know. Still, I tried to believe in the sign. Especially, you know, since I'd made it. Well, with Ruth's help. If you can call Ruth's contribution help, which I wasn't so sure I would. It had consisted mostly of Ruth telling me that my lettering was crooked. Looking at the sign now, I saw that she was right. The letters were crooked. But I doubted anyone but me and Ruth had noticed. "Aren't they cute?" That was Ruth, sidling up beside me. She was gazing out at the children, looking all dewy-eyed. Apparently she hadn't noticed all the screaming and ...
