Potion Problems

by Cindy Callaghan

  Was this really happening?

  How?

  We hadn’t even entered the challenge.

  Felice continued, “LLJ?” She asked her assistant, “Is that a typo, Max?” Then to the audience: “Do we have an LLJ in the house?”

  LLJ materialized from backstage. She stood almost a foot taller than Felice Foudini. “Oh, you’re not a student,” said Felice. “Well, thanks for being here.”

  LLJ nodded and grinned widely, showing a grayed-out front tooth.

  “I understand the leader of this kitchen crew is Kelly Quinn!” Felice said.

  My legs felt wobbly. I was shaking, but I managed to make my way to the stage. “I’m Kelly,” I said. “Kelly Quinn.”

  Felice shook my hand. “Congratulations, Kelly. It’s my pleasure to present to you and your crew this check for ten thousand dollars.”

  Max brought a big check from behind the stage to loud applause. We held it while Max took several pictures from every angle.

  Speaking into the mic, Felice asked me, “What are you going to do with the money?”

  “Well, you see Miss Foudini—I’m a huge fan, by the way—our school board has some budget issues.”

  “And you’re going to give the money to them?”

  “Um, sort of. They want to shut down our F and CS program.”

  “Oh, boo!” she said.

  “So I’m going to use the money to help keep the F and CS program.”

  Felice clapped for me. “Wow!” she said. “That is very impressive and generous.”

  Mr. Douglass pulled a hanky from his pocket and dabbed his eyes.

  Felice asked, “Is it okay if I show everyone your video?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Wait. I have a video?” I stepped back into line with my friends, next to Tony. Our hands brushed. And I felt a little spark.

  The stage lights went dark, and sure enough a video appeared on the screen behind me. It was all of us in the cafeteria making lunch. There was a clip of me showing everyone how to make the fettuccine, LLJ piping the red icing, and Darbie rolling enchiladas while dancing. Tony was caught licking an empty bowl of cake batter. Frankie slid trays of hot enchiladas out of the oven, and Hannah sliced the layered velvety red-carpet cake. Someone had added peppy music in the background.

  Felice said, “I just love this. It was a great addition to your electronic submission.”

  Electronic submission?

  “You and your friends look good on the big screen, don’t you think?”

  “Heck yeah!” Darbie said.

  “In fact, I’d like you and your cooking club—I understand that it’s a club—to join us on the air live each week until the end of the year. It will take just fifteen minutes, and we’ll set up all the equipment for you. Would you be up for that?”

  How could I not be up for that?

  “You bet we would,” I said.

  “Thank you, Kelly, and thank you, Alfred Nobel School.” Felice led us offstage. She was out of sight from the audience for only a second when she returned to the stage. “Remember . . . ,” she called out to the auditorium.

  All the kids yelled back to her. “You! Can’t! Be! Too! Yummy!”

  “You got it!” She flashed her signature smile.

  “What do you think, Kelly?” Felice asked me.

  “I think you’re awesome!” I hugged her. “But I don’t understand how you got my submission. We missed the deadline.”

  “Max?” Felice checked with her assistant.

  Max produced a paper. “I have it right here. An electronic submission. It wasn’t late. It came from an Alfred Nobel School e-mail account.”

  “We aren’t allowed to e-mail from school,” I said.

  At that moment a figure stepped forward from backstage, flat expression, arms crossed in front of her chest. “Students may not e-mail from the school account,” Mrs. Eagle said.

  “And,” Tony said, leaning into me, “you should start reading the rest of the small print, which said that you could e-mail your submission.”

  “You?” I asked Tony in surprise. “You didn’t tell me you did that.” Then I looked at Mrs. Eagle. “And you helped?”

  She nodded.

  “Thank you,” I said to them.

  “It was no problem. I like helping out cool girls like you.” As soon as he realized what he’d said, Tony blushed redder than a cranberry.

  Whoa! Tony Rusamano thought I was cool.

  “I think you’re awesome too,” I said to Tony, giving him a hug.

  “Oh,” Felice said happily. “What a great gang. I’m so psyched to have you on my show. Kelly, what will you make for your first dish?”

  “Will it be before Halloween?” I asked.

  “You betcha.”

  “I have some ideas.”

  20

  She’s Baaaaack

  Sam’s iScream was hopping after school.

  “I thought that video was for the website,” Hannah said to Tony.

  “It was Mrs. Eagle’s idea to include it,” he said.

  “Did you call her on the weekend?” I asked.

  “Actually, it was weird. She called to have a shrub delivered—just one shrub. When we dropped it off, she asked about the recipe challenge. I had taken the form you filled out, because, like I had told Frankie, I was going to send it in for you that night. She knew. She really can hear everything. She asked me for it and offered to send it in with the video, which was at school.”

  “That was super nice of her,” I said.

  Frankie said, “I’ll bring her some of my mom’s cannoli.”

  “What are we gonna do for the first show?” Hannah asked.

  “I thought we could do a whole Halloween thing and make the Zombie Noodles. Even dress up with black capes and hats.”

  “Like witches,” Frankie said.

  “Right,” Darbie said. “Exactly like witches.”

  We laughed, but the boys didn’t seem to think it was as funny as we did.

  Sam delivered our Swirleys. “On the house!” he said. “To celebrate.”

  “Thanks, Sam. This is a perfect day.” I sat with my back to the door and dove into my Black and White Swirley. “It couldn’t possibly get any better.”

  “Um,” Hannah said. “There’s one thing that might make it better.” Hannah stared over my shoulder at the door.

  Sam cried out, “Ida! You’re back!”

  I spun around. “Señora P!”

  We all ran over to hug her. Hannah, Darbie, and I started filling her in, talking at the same time: “F and CS,” “the school board,” “Felice Foudini,” “agave,” “Coach Richards,” “Charlotte,” “frogs,” “Salem—”

  She held up her hands. “I know. I know. I know everything.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “My old friend Kai Eagle called me. You cannot hide anything from her.” She pointed to her ears.

  “Well, that’s efficient,” Darbie said. “You’re totally up to speed.”

  “But we’re not,” Hannah said. “Where have you been?”

  “Mexico,” she said. “To visit my family and get some more spices.” She sat down to tell us more.

  That’s when there was a pecking noise outside Sam’s window. He cracked the door open, and a crow the size of a turkey buzzard flew in and landed on Señora P’s shoulder. Señora P gave him a nuzzle.

  “I missed you too, Sweetie.” She fiddled in the pocket of her muumuu and pulled out a kernel of corn for it.

  “Caw!” Sweetie replied to her.

  She patted its black head and let out a long sigh.

  “What’s wrong?” Darbie asked. “Didn’t you have a nice visit?”

  “I did,” she said. “It’s what I found when I came back. I went through my mail and found this.” Again she reached into the depth of a muumuu pocket, and a letter emerged.

  Frankie looked at the outside. “It’s from Delaware Commercial Realty Company, LLC.”

  “That is my landlord. It
is who I pay my rent to.”

  Frankie took the letter out and read a section. “ ‘Due to the rising costs of maintaining your building and the high demand for storefront property in the northern Delaware area, starting November first, your rent will be increased. Please sign the enclosed revised rental agreement and return with your next rent payment by November fifth.’ ”

  “That stinks,” Darbie said. “Stinks like Gorgonzola on a hot summer day.”

  “I cannot pay that amount. I can just make the rent as it is. There are not many customers left who are looking for the spices I offer. I think I will have to close my store and move back to Mexico.”

  “Is that what you want?” I asked her.

  “No! I love it here. I love my store.”

  “And look at this.” Hannah pointed to the signature on the letter. “I guess the poisoned apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  21

  A Win-Win

  The next day was a beautiful, sunny, crisp fall day, which unfortunately meant that we had soccer.

  “This is gonna work,” Hannah said. She whipped out a whole-wheat pretzel. “Señora P gave me Cedronian lavender. Real fresh. I sprinkled the pretzel with it. This should calm Coach.”

  While the team stretched, Hannah put her soccer bag down on a bench and said, to no one in particular, “Oh, look at that. I forgot I had one of those superhealthy one-hundred-percent-organic whole-wheat pretzels from that nature place in Philadelphia. Too bad I’m about to run around for practice, and I don’t want to eat right now. It’ll be stale later. Oh well. I’ll throw it away.” She walked right past Coach Richards on her way to the trash can, giving him a good view of the pretzel.

  He said, “Hold it right there, Hernandez. I’ll take that off your hands.”

  “You want it?”

  “Give it here.” He took the pretzel and ate it in three bites, washing it down with a green cold-pressed juice. “Love whole wheat.” He flexed his biceps. “And so do these bad boys. Now get out there and warm up.”

  Hannah joined the girls. “Mission accomplished.”

  “He certainly looks calm,” I said.

  We studied him as we passed the ball around.

  He took his cell phone out of his pocket and tapped the screen a bit. His expression quickly changed. Whatever he read made his face turn red and his jaw clench. He put the phone away, slammed his empty green-juice bottle into the trash can, and lifted his foot to stretch one quad and then the other. “Okay, girls. Follow me. We’re gonna run to the lifting gym and pump some iron today. Cross-training is the key to success.”

  He took off. Fast. And we scurried to keep up with him.

  “Another text from Coach Madden?” I asked.

  “That’d be my guess,” Hannah said.

  “I don’t even lift a curling iron.” Darbie pointed to her curly hair.

  “He’s clearly immune to the powers of the potions,” Hannah said.

  Charlotte ran up behind us. “Nice try,” she said. “But you aren’t even good witches. If you had a member of your club who was good at science and chemistry, I wonder if you’d have better results?”

  “We’re totally closed to new members,” Darbie said. “Only three aprons.”

  “In that case, I wonder what Coach would think if I told him you’ve been tricking him into eating foods with magical ingredients?”

  “I’ll tell him you’re a real jokester and he’ll laugh at you, just like he did last time,” I said.

  “Even if I showed him these?” She pulled her phone out of the waistband of her shorts and showed us pictures she’d taken of the book. “Do you think I wouldn’t have given myself a little insurance? Do you think I just fell off the turnip truck? Really, girls, you continue to underestimate me. Face it—I am always going to be one step ahead of you.” She looked at the pictures on her phone. “They would be great on social media; then everyone can potion everyone. Think people will believe me then? And since the only place people can get these funny ingredients is in La Cocina, your friend’s store will get more business, and then maybe she can pay her rent.”

  She ran past us, then turned around and called backward, “It’s what I call a win-win.”

  22

  The Most Romantic Time of the Year

  After lifting in the gym, we dragged our aching bodies up the street to La Cocina.

  “Under ‘evil’ in the dictionary is a picture of Charlotte Barney,” I said, huffing and puffing as we slowly made our way to the store.

  “I can think of a few other words that would also be above her photo,” Hannah added. “I think we need Memory Maker Part Two?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said. “I can’t remember it offhand. We’ll have to look it up and see what ingredient we need.”

  Darbie lagged behind on our quarter-mile trek. “Now in addition to my legs hurting, so do my glutes, schmutes, pecs, schmecks, lats, and schmats. Why do allllll those muscles need to be strong?”

  “Richards is out of control,” I agreed. “And so is Charlotte.”

  “Don’t forget about the greedy landlord,” Darbie said.

  Hannah said, “For Coach, if we can’t get him to chill with a potion, we have to get Madden to lighten up. Let’s try to potion her. I’ll deliver it personally.”

  “What if we make things worse?” Darbie asked.

  “Can it possibly get worse?” Hannah asked.

  “Oh, let’s see. He could put us in camo and take us out to the state park and make us do wilderness survival training with no food, no shoes, no cell phone,” Darbie said. “Did I mention no food? And then he’ll make us eat off the land, stuff like roaches and toads, probably without cooking them.”

  “Oh, come on. How would that improve our game?” I asked, then I thought for a second and added, “Ya think?”

  “A rivalry is a serious thing, Kell,” Hannah said. “It baffles the best scientists in the world.”

  “But roaches?” I asked.

  They both shrugged like anything was possible.

  “We have a lot of people to manage right now,” Hannah said. “What if we divide and conquer? Why don’t you take Richards and Madden,” she said to Darbie.

  “Got it.”

  Just then a Rusamano Landscaping truck drove past us. Frankie and Tony were in the back. “What happened?” Frankie yelled. “You’re walking like old ladies!” The truck pulled away, but not before Tony made eye contact with me and waved.

  “Oooo, did you see that?” Hannah asked. “Love is in the air.”

  “I saw it.” I blushed and changed the subject. “Let’s bring Señora P a Swirley—maybe it’ll cheer her up.”

  * * *

  We popped into Sam’s Super iScream to grab cups of frozen perfection, then entered La Cocina for the first time in weeks. Nothing had changed, except maybe there was more dust.

  Strings of shells hung from the doorknob and knocked together as the door inched closed behind us, cutting us off from the rest of Wilmington. Tinted windows blocked the sunlight. A big stuffed, dead bear welcomed us into this alternate universe.

  I didn’t know if it was the cold, ice creamy heaven in my hand, or that Señora P hadn’t turned her heat on yet, but I felt a frigid breeze on the back of my knees.

  “We’ve been here so many times, and I still can’t get used to him watching us,” Hannah said about a moose head hanging on the wall, its shiny glass eyes staring at us.

  “He’s a total creepasaurus,” Darbie confirmed.

  We headed toward a curtain made of beads that separated the front of the store from the back. On the way, I scanned the shelves of spices—hundreds of little bottles filled with dusts, elixirs, extracts, and syrups. Some were in golden or greenish or bluish jars; others were in vials capped with corks. The glass was so thick on some of the bottles, you could hardly see inside. On the bottom of each was a small handwritten label.

  When we made it to the back, I called toward the beads that hung like a w
aterfall, “Señora? Are you here? It’s us!”

  Her hand swiped the beads to the side. “Hola, niñas.” Señora Perez was small, shorter than Darbie, who was the third shortest kid in our grade. She had black-and-gray-streaked hair piled high on top of her head. And sitting on her shoulder was her crow, whose feathers shone like he’d been spritzed with olive oil. He hadn’t, of course; he just had greasy feathers, like all crows.

  “Come back.” She waved us along and sighed. “Sit with me.” Her voice dripped with gloom.

  The first time I’d come back here, I’d imagined I’d find heavy burgundy tapestry drapes, crystal balls, Tarot cards, Victorian chairs with high backs, Persian rugs, and mysterious fortune-teller-type stuff.

  Instead, it was an old office. The floor was linoleum, lifted up and torn off in several spots. There was one set of furniture—a decrepit metal kitchen table with folding chairs open on each side. There was a small counter space with a hot plate, some silver canisters, and a vase filled with utensils. On the wall, a mesh metal tea ball dangled from a hook. A small shelf above the counter held a few cracked teacups, chipped plates, mismatched bowls, and a kettle. There was no crystal ball to be found.

  Darbie handed Señora P the Swirley. “We got you Salted-Caramel Chocolate Explosion. Sam thought you’d like it.”

  Señora P smiled. Swirleys can do that to people. “He knows me so well.” She took the cup and sipped.

  Señora P lifted the plastic lid and held it up for the crow. He stuck his beak in, then pulled back. He wasn’t the Swirley type.

  We all groaned as we lowered our aching bodies onto the metal chairs.

  “That soccer coach still a problema?” Señora Perez asked.

  “A potion problemo,” Darbie clarified.

  “The lavender didn’t work,” Hannah said. “It’s like he’s immune to the potion. Is that possible?”

  “I suppose anything is possible. RS knew the most about the magic. Every group has a leader, and she was ours. She kept a secret from us. Many years after that summer, I got a message from her that she’d written down that secret and hidden it.”