The Magic Half

by Annie Barrows

  He wasn’t convinced. “Yeah, and you did. So you should at least take something. Take the pin.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Ray, nodding eagerly. “The pin’s pretty.” He held it out to her. “See, it’s got a girl on it. You can have it. We’d probably have enough for the iPod without it.”

  “No. I don’t want the pin,” Miri said. “But guys. Don’t you think you should find out who it belonged to? Maybe they’re still alive.”

  They looked at her resentfully. “No way,” said Ray, after a moment. “This stuff has been here for almost a hundred years. Whoever it belonged to is dead for sure.”

  Robbie nodded. “Got to be.” But he didn’t sound quite so certain.

  “What if it’s only been, like, seventy years,” Miri argued. “The owners might still be alive.”

  “Nah, it takes at least a hundred years for metal to rust out like that. We did oxidation in science last year,” said Ray. Now he sounded like he had a college degree in rust.

  Miri puffed her cheeks full of air and let it out slowly. There was nothing she could say, nothing that would not reveal her secret journey to Molly’s world. “Well,” she said finally, “I found it, so I have some say in what happens to it. And I say you should ask Mr. Guest.”

  “Huh? Mr. Guest? That old guy? Why?” said Robbie.

  “ ’Cause he might know who the stuff belongs to,” said Miri.

  They stared at her, obviously wondering why she cared more about strangers than about them getting rich. Robbie’s eyes narrowed. “Mir,” he began, “really. How did you figure out where it was?”

  Uh-oh. Time to go. “I’m a witch,” said Miri. She rolled her eyes around.

  “You’re a loon,” said Ray. He turned to his brother. “Do you think Mom would really let us get an Xbox?”

  Miri stood up, and the glasses rattled down to the waistband of her shorts. Her hand in her pocket touched the thin strands of the pink gold bracelet. She had what she needed. It wasn’t going to be long now.

  Hope it’s not too late, said her brain. Shut up, she said again, walking across the lawn.

  CHAPTER

  12

  HORST BROUGHT HIS FACE close to hers. Thin streams of sweat leaked down from his oiled hair, and his flabby cheeks were grayish pink. Miri took a step back. She didn’t want his sweat to get on her glasses and wreck them. But he caught her T-shirt up in his fist and pulled her toward him. His slablips opened and he growled, “Who said you could take my stuff? Who?”

  Miri woke with a jump. Horrible! Her heart was thumping, and she peered anxiously into her dark room. Was he hiding in the shadows? Slowly, her mind limped back to the real world: it was just a dream. Horst had been dead for years. She hoped.

  She shivered and turned on the lamp next to her bed. What time was it? She couldn’t see across the room to her clock, so she padded to her desk. 4:45. The sun would rise soon. What a relief. She had been waking up all night long, chased by Horst from one dream to another. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the memory. Horst was worse than any nightmare monster in the world. Well, almost. Two Halloweens ago, Ray had a zombie mask that had completely freaked her out. She dreamed about that thing every night for a month. Okay—Horst was a close second then, with his streams of sweat and grayish skin.

  Climbing back into bed, Miri gave up on sleep. She propped herself up on her pillows and looked at the corner of the room where she had found the glass lens. What if I hadn’t found it? she wondered. Or was it my destiny—I had to find it on that particular day? Miri, girl of destiny. Yeah, right. How could it be my destiny? I only saw the glass when I was sent to my room. And I was only sent to my room because I hit Ray. And I only hit Ray because he tripped me. What if none of those things had happened?

  She wedged the pillows under her head and thought. Maybe there isn’t one thing that has to happen. Maybe there are a bunch of different possibilities for every minute. Miri closed her eyes and tried to picture it. Maybe time is like being in a hallway with four doors; if you open the one on the right, you’ll end up in another hall with four more doors. But if you chose the door on the left, you’d end up somewhere else entirely. So what happens changes all the time, depending on what people choose. Miri pulled her sheets up to her neck as a breeze curled through the little room.

  But all the 1935 stuff has already happened, so I can’t change it, because it’s in the past.

  But maybe the past can change, too, the voice in her brain countered. Think of the frying pan chipping the floor. It became the past.

  But if the past changes, wouldn’t that make everything different in the present? Miri wondered.

  Maybe it is different, and we don’t even know it.

  Her eyes clicked open. That was a weird idea. That would mean that the past didn’t have to turn out the way she thought it did.

  It could turn out better.

  Or worse.

  Okay, so what happened in the past changes because I went there, like when I dropped the frying pan. But what if it changes so that Molly’s lens isn’t in my room two days ago? What then?

  Then it will be erased. From inside me, too. I won’t know anything about Molly because it will not have happened.

  Not knowing about Molly? That would be the worst of all.

  It’s got to happen.

  Everything’s got to turn out just the way it has. Unless Horst has—

  Grimly, Miri began to chew on her knuckle. She didn’t want to think it. But she had to. I can’t change it if he’s already killed her, she thought. But let’s say—let’s say he hasn’t done anything—yet. Then I can change history. I’ll change it by bringing Molly home.

  Her knuckle hurt from all the chewing it had had lately. Miri took an experimental bite of her thumbnail. Not so good, but better than nothing.

  Okay. But what about Horst? If he ran away because he—Miri took a breath—did something bad to Molly, then he wouldn’t run away if she kept him from doing it. And if he didn’t run away, he might just take the glasses out of his buried box some time between 1935 and now. And then it wouldn’t be there for her to find yesterday. And then she wouldn’t be able to go get Molly. She couldn’t allow that. No matter what, she had to have the lens so she could go back to get Molly. And what about the lens that was on her wall in the first place? She had to make sure that one was put up, too. Right now, it was somewhere in Molly’s room. She hoped.

  Okay. Fine. When she went back to 1935 to get Molly, she’d put one lens up on the wall, put the other one back under the barn floor, and then she’d make Horst run away.

  How the heck was she going to do all that?

  Getting the lenses in the right places—that didn’t seem too hard. But getting rid of Horst? Impossible.

  The first businesslike call of a bird sounded outside. It was nearly day. She was glad to leave night and dreams behind. She hoped Horst wouldn’t hang around in her dreams for weeks the way the zombie had.

  Hey. Wait.

  In Miri’s mind, a tiny idea began to flicker to life. He looked like he’d seen a ghost, Mr. Guest had said. Sweating like a pig. Scared half to death.

  Miri sat up straight. It wouldn’t be a ghost that scared him, because she was going to make sure that Molly didn’t become a ghost. But maybe she could make Horst scared enough to run away anyway.

  The idea grew bigger, and Miri smiled. It could even be fun.

  • • •

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s ten minutes after the last time you asked me,” her mother replied. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “I want my glasses.”

  “They’re not ready yet.”

  • • •

  “Mom, when are we going to go?”

  “Stop pestering me. We’ll go soon.”

  “How soon is soon?”

  “An hour. Stop pestering me.”

  “An hour? Please, can we go before that? I’ll wash the dishes for a week.”

  “Why a
re you so crazy to get your glasses?”

  “Because I am. Please, Mom. Please, please, please.”

  • • •

  “How many more miles?”

  “Not another word, Miri.”

  “I thought we had to be nice to Miri, Mama,” piped up Nell.

  “I am being nice. I’m taking her into town even though it’s not convenient for me to go right now. That’s nice.”

  “I love you, Mom.”

  “Right. Butter me up.”

  • • •

  “That’ll be $114.62, Mrs. Gill.”

  “Lord. Miri, you may not break these.”

  Miri nodded. Sure, Mom.

  “Thank you kindly, Mrs. Gill. You all have a nice day.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Let’s go home.”

  “Miri! Can you say thank you to Mr. Deetz?”

  “Thanks, Mr. Deetz. The glasses are very nice. Let’s go home.”

  • • •

  “Okay. First thing is lunch. Miri, will you make a couple of PB and Js for the girls? I’ll make quesadillas for you and the guys.”

  “Mom, I really have to do something right now. I don’t need any lunch—”

  “Not so fast, sister. I drove you into town because you had to get your glasses. Seems only fair that you help me with lunch. This house is not a restaurant, you know, and I am not—”

  “Okay, okay, okay. Jeez . . .”

  “Stop sighing.”

  • • •

  Miri tossed the last cup into the dishwasher. She wished she hadn’t said that bit about washing the dishes for a week. At least it was over now. She ignored the crumbs and spilled milk on the counter and ran up the stairs to her brothers’ room.

  Robbie and Ray were conveniently outside, excavating the barn in search of further loot. The wads of rotting money had been set out carefully to dry on the top of Robbie’s dresser, but Miri didn’t stop to inspect. She had to hurry. Every moment could be the one she was dreading, the one she had to stop from happening. Quickly, she made her way to the closet. She had to dig through layers of magazines, computer paper, folders, shoes, socks, ripped T-shirts, and skateboards before she finally found the lopsided canvas sack that contained old Halloween costumes. She yanked out a Darth Whatever mask and a big pink bag from the year Robbie had been an eraser and threw them on the floor. Where was the stupid thing? This was taking too long. She turned the bag upside down and shook it until costumes rained down—and then she jumped, because there it was, grinning up at her. Ray’s zombie mask. It still gave her the creeps. Miri forced herself to reach out and pick it up. Yuck. She tucked it into her shirt, shivering as it touched her skin, and was just turning to go when she stopped. The CD player. She opened the top and saw that the Deathbag CD was still in the machine. Sound effects. She picked up the player and ran out of the room.

  • • •

  Miri froze in the doorway of her bedroom.

  “Oh, good. I could use some help.” Her mother was at the top of a ladder, peeling the purple wallpaper off the wall in long strips. “You can start over there, near the floor.”

  Miri opened her mouth, and a choked sound came out.

  “What’s the matter? It’s actually kind of fun—I feel like I’m doing something against the rules, pulling paper off the walls.”

  “Mom?” Miri’s voice was tight. “I have to return this CD player to Ray. Right away.”

  Her mother turned around. “What’s the matter with your throat?”

  But Miri was already gone.

  • • •

  Miri felt like screaming. Now Ray was in his room, using the hair dryer on the brown wads. Nell and Nora’s room had Nell and Nora in it. Robbie was in her parents’ bedroom, checking the cost of Play-Stations on her father’s computer.

  Fuming, Miri thundered down the stairs. She had pictured returning in her room—Molly’s room— but her mom was ruining everything. Fine, then, I’ll use her office, thought Miri. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except getting there. She stepped quickly through the dark hall at the bottom of the stairs and into her mother’s box-crowded office. I hope this room was here in 1935, she thought, looking at the array of windows along one wall. The glass was bubbly and old looking, but she didn’t know for sure. She might end up in the rhododendrons again. Doesn’t matter, she repeated. Nothing matters except getting there. A cool breeze played along her shoulder blades, though the afternoon heat was heavy and still outside the windows.

  Cautiously, she pulled Molly’s glasses case out of her pocket and opened it. The single lens glinted weakly inside its metal frame. They looked like joke glasses, ridiculous glasses. Not at all important. Not at all magical. Oh, let this work, she pleaded. Please.

  Gently, Miri opened the thin arm pieces and readied her stomach for the lunge into time. Okay, she reminded herself. One lens on the wall. One lens in the barn. One big, mean, possible murderer chased away. No problem. Miri took a breath and patted the bulk of Ray’s mask, which was stuffed tightly into her waistband.

  Let me go back, she thought.

  Miri grasped the CD player in one hand and slipped on Molly’s glasses with the other. She had everything she needed. She was ready to go back. She blinked away the tears that came immediately, half from excitement, half from the lens. The books that lined the office walls dipped and wavered and then seemed to melt away, surging up as she sank sickeningly down.

  CHAPTER

  13

  MIRI LAY FLAT on her back on a polished wood floor. Directly above her, about three inches from the end of her nose, was a mattress. She closed her eyes and opened them again. The mattress was still there. She was under a bed. Very slowly, very quietly, she turned her head to look out. Whose bed was she under?

  Her view was blocked by a lacy white ruffle, but there were little bits of light coming through the lace, so she knew it was still day, though the room was cool as evening. Hmm. Probably no one was in the bed. Probably she could just scoot out and find Molly. She listened with all her might. Nothing but the sound of cicadas outside. Timidly, Miri pushed herself along the polished floor, closer to the lacy ruffle.

  “You restless, Mama?”

  Miri froze. It was Flo’s voice, artificially high and sweet, but definitely Flo’s. Two worn brown shoes with trim heels appeared through the lace.

  “Your head hurting? I’ll get you a cloth.” There was a rustle and the sound of water dripping and the shoes moved closer to the bedside. Miri’s heart was pounding so loud she thought she could hear it knocking against the polished floor. “Now, Mama, I know you’re poorly today, but I reckon you’ll forgive me for troubling you when you hear what that ungrateful child’s gone and done.” There was a pause for a long, mournful sigh. “I’m heartsick, Mama.”

  Mama! She must be talking to Grandma May. This must be Grandma May’s bed that Miri was stuck under. But why was Flo sounding like a preacher? And which “ungrateful child” was she talking about? Molly? Miri’s fists curled. Liar.

  Flo’s thin voice continued, “I hate to say it, Mama, but the apple don’t land far from the tree. That Pat Gardner was poison—I always said so. Poor Maudie! Good thing she’s in heaven and didn’t live to see the day.” There was a silence, and Miri could practically hear Flo shaking her head sadly. Grandma May didn’t move. Miri wondered if she could.

  Flo took a breath, “Now, you won’t believe it, Mama, but I’m telling you the truth: that ungrateful girl ran away!” Miri clamped her lips tight to keep from crying out. No. Oh no. She was too late, and Molly was gone. She barely listened as Flo said in a shocked whisper, “She ran away! After all we did for her. And she stole some of my money to boot! She’s a thief, Mama. My own flesh and blood! She stole twenty dollars from my chicken money, just like a common thief. Good thing Horst found her down on the quarry road, or we’d have had to go to the sheriff, and I’d have died of shame!”

  Horst found her. Miri winced. Where was Molly now? If only she could ge
t out from under the stupid bed and find her!

  Flo sniffed, like she was holding back tears. “I know you’ll agree with me, Mama, when I tell you that I cannot have a criminal in my home. If she’s lying and thieving now, I hate to think what she’ll be up to next. It’s for you, Mama. I’ve got to protect you, now that you’re too poorly to protect yourself.” She gave a little sob. Miri thought she was overdoing the drama a little. What was her point?

  She saw when Flo went on. “I know you won’t blame me when I tell you I’ve decided that I have to put her in a home. It’s perfectly nice—maybe even too good—a boarding school for children who need a firm hand. First thing tomorrow, that’s where she goes.” Despite all her efforts to sound sorry, Flo couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice.

  Under the bed, Miri writhed with impatience. Where was Molly now?

  Flo’s voice, sticky-sweet, went on. “I want you to look into your heart, Mama. We’re all of us trying to do what’s best for Maudie’s little girl. But she’s not one of us. She’s a Gardner through and through, and that’s the truth. You knew Pat Gardner was no good before any of us, Mama—you said so, right out, the first time you met him. And remember how you cried the day he married Maudie?” Her words marched out as though she’d memorized them. “If you leave this land to Molly, you know that Pat Gardner will swoop down on her like a duck on a june bug the minute he gets wind that you’re gone. He’ll sell the house and the farm right out from under me. Me, your own daughter, and your grandchildren, who love you so. That isn’t what you want, is it, Mama? Is it?”

  The worn brown shoes were pressed up against the ruffle now, and Miri could hear the greedy sharpness in her voice. “You got to change the will now, Mama. You don’t want it all to end up in Pat Gardner’s hands, do you? ’Cause that’s what’ll happen if you leave the property to Molly. She’s a Gardner. She’s not one of us.” Her voice was urgent. “All you got to do is point. Just point one little finger and show me where you put it. I know you can do it, Mama—” She broke off as heavy footsteps entered the room. “What?”