by David Pogue
When the volunteers had finished, they had created what looked like a first-grader’s science-fair project. Each of them held one end of the ruler. The egg dangled from the thread between them.
“Can you make it stop turning?” Abby asked. Joshua reached out to steady the egg. It was motionless now, except for the faintest side-to-side swinging.
“Actually, my real question is this: Can you make it start turning?”
Just as Carly reached toward the egg, Abby quickly added, “without touching it, without blowing on it, and without moving the ruler?”
Carly, Joshua, and the audience chuckled as they suddenly realized how difficult that would be.
“No, we can’t,” Joshua finally told her.
“But I can,” Abby said with a smile.
And she did.
She turned to look at the egg. Then, with her fingers hidden by her long hair, she tugged at her earlobes. The great thing, as Ben had pointed out in rehearsal, was that you couldn’t tell that she was pulling on her ears; it looked as though she was just massaging her temples, the perfectly normal gesture of a mind reader.
But the truth is, nobody in that audience was paying much attention to Abby and her magical gesture. Every eye was on the egg, which began to spin on the end of that thread in the most ghostly way. The giant high-definition screens revealed every speck of dust on the Scotch Tape and every tiny bit of fluff on the dark-blue thread.
And there was complete silence in the Weasley Theater.
What’s going on? Abby thought, flicking her eyes away from the egg for a fraction of a second. Don’t they see it? Why don’t they react?
She knew what was happening, of course: she had just exposed herself as a freak. It was like going on TV to brag about how loudly you can burp. The entire world of Camp Cadabra would now realize that she was a complete weirdo—and they’d laugh about her for years.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. After flopping in such a big way, she’d never have a chance to find out what her dumb little power was all about. She’d never find anyone else like her, or anyone who knew anything about this kind of thing.
To the audience, it looked like Abby had forgotten what was supposed to come next. She stood there, flustered, her hand starting to shake.
“Go on, Abby!”
She looked out into the blinding darkness, but she couldn’t see anyone past the third row. She had, however, recognized the voice; it was Ben’s. It was enough to snap her back to earth.
“Stop it, Carly,” Abby said, finally remembering how the trick was supposed to go on. “Stop it from spinning, will you?”
Carly did, using her hand. Abby made it spin again.
“No, seriously—try to make it stop,” Abby said, forcing a grin.
Carly grabbed the egg, steadied it, and let go. But it started spinning again. For the first time, Abby could hear the audience coming alive, buzzing and pointing.
“All right, you guys. Now comes phase 2. I need you to shorten that thread up, so the egg is only hanging a foot down from the ruler.”
The two volunteers turned the ruler over and over, winding the thread around it.
“Great! Good job. And now, how about lowering it into the water?”
The water was actually a fish tank—or, rather, the Nature Station’s glass terrarium. Ben had carefully transferred the plants, the gravel, and the turtle out of it, washed out the terrarium, and then filled it with tap water. (“Presto, change-o,” he’d said. “Now it’s an aquarium!”)
Carly and Josh stepped a couple of paces closer to the aquarium table and stood on either side. Carly steadied the egg, and then the two of them lowered it into the water.
“That’s it,” Abby said. “Just rest the ruler across the top.”
There the egg sat, halfway down in the fish tank, completely inaccessible to air currents, utterly untouched by human hands. An egg in a tank.
The cameraman crouched down to focus his lens on the underwater egg.
“Now, we’re all magicians here. You’re all capable of figuring out how any trick is done. What I’d like you to do now is figure out how this is done.”
And with that, she reached up to her earlobes again and made that egg spin in water. It was the creepiest darned thing most of those campers and counselors had ever seen.
This time, Abby didn’t have to wonder what they were thinking. The applause was immediate—and thunderous. It continued as Abby dropped her hands to her sides, and the egg slowly swam to a stop. Abby took a step backward, beaming.
She looked out into the theater, the waves of fear finally falling away. For the first time, she was able to experience the audience’s reaction, and it was awesome. She felt like flying. She wasn’t a freak anymore—she was a magician! With Ben’s help, she had turned her pointless power into an actual stage illusion—and that, she thought, was quite a trick.
She scanned the audience, hoping to spot Ben, but the spotlights continued to blind her.
Much later, though, she would remember something that she did see, something she didn’t think was important at the time: a line of three counselors sitting together in the second row. They were the only ones not clapping. Instead, they were bending forward in a huddle, talking fast, looking up at the egg and pointing in her direction.
CHAPTER
10
Ferd
ABBY QUICKLY DISCOVERED a great thing about performing a hit trick at Camper Show: you become a minor celebrity. When she got back to Witches 3 that night, No-H Sara and the other girls mobbed her, hugged her, high-fived her, and pelted her with questions and congratulations.
“I thought you haven’t done much magic before?”
“What’d Ferd say?”
“Will you look at my trick and tell me if you think it’s any good?”
“How long did you have to practice?”
“Where’d you get those Nerf balls?”
But Abby also quickly discovered a not-so-great thing about performing a hit trick at Camper Show: the conversation turned pretty quickly to how she did it.
“Hey, so how does the trick work?”
“Yeah, how’d you do it?”
“What’s the secret?”
“Can you teach me?”
“Come on, you can tell us. We’re your best friends!”
Unfortunately, she couldn’t tell them. Oh, she would have told them the secret of the trick—if there were one to tell. But what do you say when you don’t even know how it works yourself?
So Abby froze, unable to say anything at all. “Well, it’s—it’s kind of complicated,” she managed in a small voice.
Fortunately, Claudia the counselor caught her panic-stricken look and stepped in to help. “Come on, witchezzzz,” she said matter-of-factly, “There’ll be time for that later. It’s already past lights-out time. Who’s first for the outdoor shower?”
And just like that, the party broke up. Little No-H Sara was the last to leave Abby’s side—“You’re gonna tell me how you did that, girl!” she said with an evil look—and then it was over.
In the morning, on the way to breakfast, everybody seemed to recognize Abby. Nobody had the first clue what her name was, but everybody who’d been at the show high-fived her, gave her a thumbs-up, or at least smiled as they passed. The whole feeling of Camp Cadabra had changed.
She didn’t see Ben until Impromptu class that morning. As soon as he loped into the room, he broke into a huge smile and gave her a quick, clumsy hug. “You did great,” he said.
“It was your idea,” she countered.
“Yeah, but it’s your power.” He seemed convinced at last.
When Ferd entered the room, once again wearing a huge Hawaiian shirt, the class began. At last, Abby could sink back into the routine of being nobody special.
But it didn’t last long.
Ferd’s class that day, as often happened, had more to do with presentation and style than with the step-by-steps for performing one particular trick. At the end o
f the class, Ferd wrapped up by saying: “And this, my people, is my final word of advice to you in your blossoming impromptu career: Know when to stop. A magician who performs just one unforgettable effect is a genius; a magician who performs just one too many is a fool. Be good, my people. Now be off.”
As the campers began rounding up their stuff and putting the props back in the prop baskets, he added: “All but you, Miss Carnelia. I’d like a word, if you will.”
Abby looked up, startled. What on earth would Ferd want with her?
She looked at Ben, who looked back at her with the same what-the-heck? look.
“Don’t worry. He won’t bite,” he whispered. “Just don’t let him give you any fashion tips.”
As the room cleared, Abby stepped up to the front of the room. “Did—did you want to see me?”
Ferd opened a drawer and pulled out a clipboard. He stepped over to one of the tables and gestured toward a chair for her. “Please.”
He pulled out a chair across from her and lowered his substantial body onto it with an audible sigh. He laid his palms flat on the black stone tabletop.
“Miss Carnelia. That was quite a performance last night,” he began.
“Thank you,” she said.
“May I have a word with you about your little demonstration?”
“Oh—okay,” she said, uncertainly.
“Miss Carnelia, you may consider me little more than an eccentric camp counselor with a ponytail and an emphatic mode of dialectic.”
Abby’s face told him that she didn’t understand.
“That is to say, I talk funny. Or so I have been told by campers, on occasion.”
“I think you talk fine,” said Abby, truthfully.
“Despite the peculiarities of my speech,” Ferd went on, “here’s something you may not realize: I may know the art of legerdemain better than anyone you’re likely to meet for some time. As a teenager, I took first place in close-up at the National Young Magicians’ Competition—three years in a row.”
One pudgy finger stabbed the table for emphasis with each word.
“The point is, I know a thing or two about the art.” He cleared his throat. “Now then.”
To Abby’s total surprise, Ferd reached into a small props bag and extracted an egg.
“I wish to offer you some suggestions,” he said, gently placing the egg on the hard black table.
Abby couldn’t believe her ears. “That’s why you wanted to see me?”
“Absolutely. This is my purpose in life, Miss Carnelia: to foster the most promising magicians, to help them blossom, to guide them along their paths. And I believe that perhaps I can improve the impact of your effect. Would you do me the honor?” He gestured toward the egg. “Please. Proceed.”
Deep inside, Abby had a queasy feeling, as though the train of her life was about to jump off its tracks. But she didn’t have much of a choice.
“Okay, so I have this egg,” she began. “And I can make it spin when I pull on my earlobes.”
And she did.
Ferd’s face didn’t change at all. After a moment, he looked up at her.
“That’s quite remarkable, actually. I can’t remember anyone doing this particular effect before. If I may be so bold: what else can you show me?”
She looked at him. “You mean, like, another trick?”
He nodded, smiled, and looked at her expectantly. Abby stared down at the table.
“That’s pretty much it, at this point,” she finally said. “I don’t really have anything else. I mean, that’s ready.”
“This is your only effect?” he said, his eyes drilling into her.
She looked up. “Well, yeah. I’m kind of new at magic.”
“Fine—fine. Then I’ll tell you what: let’s work on your egg demonstration, shall we? I believe that we should work on the trigger. If I may speak frankly, the trigger is much too subtle. When you reach into your hair in that way, the audience can’t see what you’re doing. And the trigger gesture is not even directed toward the prop. Massaging the temples might pass in a mentalism routine. But here, it just looks like you have a headache.”
Abby was stunned—and a little annoyed. Her face showed it.
“Miss Carnelia,” Ferd added hurriedly. “My intent is not to insult or belittle your efforts here. But I feel that you could benefit from the fruits of my experience. If you’d prefer not to hear it, then I shall make myself scarce and ask your forgiveness. Now, shall I continue, or not?”
She took a deep breath, and then nodded.
Ferd reached out and fingered the egg on the table.
“Let’s try it again, shall we? With a different trigger, now. Show me something more visible. More direct.” He smiled and leaned back.
Once again, Abby stared hard at the table.
After a moment, Ferd leaned over, rolled the egg a few inches closer to Abby, steadied it, and gestured with his hand.
“Let’s see it again,” he said deliberately.
Abby unsteadily reached for her earlobes again. But Ferd interrupted.
“No! Not the ears. I want you to find a different trigger!”
Abby couldn’t look him in the eye. “I—I can’t.”
Strangely enough, that seemed to be just the answer Ferd was hoping to hear. He suddenly seemed to be incredibly fascinated. His round body seemed to swell up as his juices began flowing.
“Miss Carnelia. Are you telling me that the effect won’t work if you choose a different trigger?”
For the longest time, Abby had looked forward to sharing her secret with someone who really knew about magic. That, after all, was why she was here. This should have been a moment of triumph, joy, and happiness.
But instead, Ferd was creeping her out. She wasn’t sure how comfortable she was spilling her guts to him.
“Aha—evidently not,” Ferd went on. “Then let me ask you another question. In the name of our mutual interest in this great art, would you consider revealing your method?”
“My—method?”
“Tell me how you do it,” Ferd said, his face intense. He was leaning forward so far, she could feel his breath. Without even being aware of it, she was pushing herself back in her chair as far as she could go.
“Come on, Abby. Tell me. Tell me what the earlobes have to do with the egg. Tell me how the egg spins!”
This guy is losing it, she thought. Ferd persisted. “Tell me how your family treats you when you perform this effect!”
It was as though he could see right through her.
“Tell me how long you’ve had this power.”
Abby’s jaw dropped. She gripped the sides of her chair so hard that her knuckles went white.
“How—how do you know that?” was all she could manage. She kept her grip on the sides of her chair.
He nodded, leaning back at last, and beamed broadly, a big happy bullfrog.
“Abby. Listen to me. I worked to build this camp. I helped to design it. Before that, I ran the magic programs at two other performing arts camps. I’ve trained hundreds of magicians. I’ve watched hundreds more. I spend my time monitoring the magic chat rooms on the Internet. And I’ve heard about . . . certain . . . special kids.”
Abby felt a chill go down her spine.
“Now, maybe you have a method and you’re just not telling me. But maybe, just maybe, you’re something special. Maybe you have more than a trick here.” He paused, watching her. “And the fact that you have completely stopped breathing tells me that I’m right.”
Abby smiled nervously and, flustered, shook her head as though to break a spell. This was why she was here, wasn’t it? To find someone who knew something about her power? Then why did she feel so threatened?
“Okay, you’re right,” she said. “I just found out about it a couple of months ago. I was peeling some hard-boiled eggs. I’m actually here because the ad said I’d learn about paranormal abilities.”
She looked up at him, as though to say, and now it’s yo
ur move.
Ferd smiled, closing his eyes briefly.
“This is beautiful, Abby,” he said with satisfaction. “It’s always an honor to meet someone with your abilities. I want you to know that I’ll keep our relationship in complete confidence; the other kids don’t need to know that I’m working with you.”
It occurred to Abby that Ferd’s manner was slowly changing. He was calling her “Abby” now, instead of “Miss Carnelia.” And he wasn’t talking so weirdly anymore. He’s probably forgetting to do that, she thought.
“And so if you’re willing,” Ferd concluded, “I’d love for you to consider me your sounding board, your great listener, your friend. I want you to tell me everything you know about your gift.” He picked up his clipboard and held it tightly, pen poised over the paper.
So Abby Carnelia took a deep breath and told her story, in more detail than she’d ever told it to anyone. Ferd took a lot of notes, raised his eyebrows a few times, said a lot of “Hmmmmm!”s. He, at least, was loving every minute of it.
When she’d finished, Ferd sat there for a moment, studying his notes. “Abby, Abby, Abby,” was all he said.
“What?” she asked. She was feeling a little frustrated that she was the one doing all the talking. He was supposed to be the expert.
“Do you know what I have?” she asked him, as though he were a doctor. “I mean, why I have it? Do you know where it came from? Does anyone else have it?”
Ferd stared at her for an uncomfortable amount of time before he finally spoke.
“We don’t know why you have it, Abby,” he said finally. “We don’t know how you do it, or where you got it, or when you got it—or even when you won’t have it anymore.”
Abby blinked. That was something that had never occurred to her before.
“But I can definitely answer your last question. Does anybody else have a power like yours? The answer is yes, Abby. There are others.”
Abby’s eyes went wide.
Ferd laid his clipboard on the table and clasped his hands.
“And I’d like for you to meet them.”
“It was you, Ben. You did it!”
Abby ran up to her bewildered friend and pounded his shoulder happily with both fists. Illusion Building was just ending, and Abby knew she’d find him there. It was a clear, cool day, and Abby felt as high as the puffy white clouds.
