Just Add Magic

by Cindy Callaghan

  “I thought you thought it was all coincidence,” I said.

  “Oh, I do,” Hannah said. “But, I also support the process of scientific experimentation. And I think Charlotte was really mean to you just now with all that ‘you shouldn’t even enter the contest’ stuff. I think she’d make a good test subject. Whatcha got in that recipedia?”

  “Secret Recipe Book,” I corrected her. We looked through the pages together. I was glad Hannah Happygolucky wasn’t blowing her bangs out of her face or rolling her eyes. It felt like the three of us were in this together.

  Hannah read aloud, “Lavender Bizcocho de Chocolate. That’s Lavender Chocolate Brownie: Whoever eats this becomes muy relajado—ip. That’s very relaxed.”

  “What’s ip?” I asked.

  “I still don’t know that word. I’m not sure it even is a word,” Hannah said. “Condensed Chamomile Té: If you need to fall asleep muy rápido. That’s ‘quickly.’” She turned a page. “Hexberry Tarta. Embrujar—ip. There’s ip again. I’m gonna have to look that up, it’s bothering me that I don’t know it means.”

  I asked, “What’s tarta and embrujar?”

  “Tarta is ‘pie,’” Hannah said. “Embrujar is the verb ‘to hex.’”

  Darbie said, “B-I-N-G-O, and Charlotte was her name-o. That’s what she needs, an H-E-X.”

  “What are the ingredients? I’ll check to see if we have everything,” I said.

  I rifled through the freezer and found some pre-made pie crust. I held the bag up. “I can name that tune in two notes: pre-made.”

  “Let’s see.” Hannah read. “Sugar?”

  “Check.”

  “Lemon juice, flour, cinnamon, unsalted butter?”

  “Check, check, check, check.”

  “Shaved hazelnuts?”

  “Check.”

  “Really?” Hannah asked, “You keep shaved hazelnuts in the house?”

  “I never met a hazelnut I didn’t like,” Darbie said, the bag of peas now defrosting and dripping cold water down her cheeks. She wiped the drops with her shirt.

  “We have hazelnuts. I like to roast them with oil, garlic, and cayenne pepper and mix them with vegetables,” I said.

  “Okay then,” Hannah said. “Rue seed?”

  Darbie asked, “What seed?”

  “Rue seed,” Hannah repeated. “That’s what it says.”

  I went to my backpack and took out the brown paper bag from La Cocina. I looked at the yellow, green, and brown bottles and the plastic bag until I found the one with the rue. The seeds were very tiny, perfectly round and black. “Check.”

  “Great. The last thing is berries. It doesn’t say what kind.”

  I stuck my head into the fridge. I thought I saw blueberries in here yesterday,” I said. I kept searching. “Mom!” I yelled loud enough for her to hear me upstairs . . . or in Canada.

  “I’m right here.” She answered me from the other side of the kitchen where she was standing with the phone stuck in the crook of her neck. “And don’t yell.” I looked at Hannah with bulgy eyes and a tilted head. She got the hint because she tucked the recipe book under her butt. Mom looked at Darbie. “Darbie, your mom says you can stay, but she’s picking you up at six o’clock.”

  “Mom, where are the blueberries?”

  “Dad ate them,” she said, then continued talking to Darbie’s mom.

  “Great. No berries,” I said.

  Mom interrupted, “And Darbie, your mom wants to know if you broke your record.”

  Darbie shook her head. “Nah, not even close. My legs are like Jell-O from soccer.”

  “Maybe we can substitute something else,” I said, thinking out loud. “Felice does that all the time.”

  “Darbie, your mom also mentioned I can call you ‘Roller Darbie,’” my mom said. “You know, like roller derby?” We didn’t laugh. “You girls have no sense of humor,” she said. She said good-bye to Darbie’s mom and looked at all the stuff on the table. Her eyes stopped on the small amber bottle of rue seed. “What’s that?”

  The antique bottle stuck out like Darbie at a science fair. “It’s a spice for this pie we’re going to make. I got it at La Cocina.”

  She nodded. “Why don’t you use blackberries?”

  I looked out the back window toward the Barneys’ backyard. “That would mean we’d have to go into her lair.”

  “Don’t be dramatic,” Mom said. “Besides, I saw her leave a few minutes ago. Her dad mentioned to me this morning that she was going to get new cleats.”

  “Then, blackberries it is,” I said. “You ready to pick?”

  Darbie said, “You two go. I’ll just sit here with frozen peas on my face and wait for you.”

  As expected, Mrs. Barney let us pick all the berries we wanted. We picked as fast as we could, hoping to return to the safety of my house before the devil girl got home.

  I was no fortune-teller, but I could have predicted what would happen next. Charlotte Barney came around the back of her house wearing brand-spanking-new cleats.

  Hands on her hips she said, “What are you doing in my backyard?”

  Just then my back door opened and Darbie appeared. “You guys almost done? My face is getting frostbite.”

  Charlotte gasped and put her hand over her mouth. Darbie’s lips were puffy, her eye was black and blue, and there was a scratch on her cheek. “What the heck ran over you?”

  I thought up a lie before Darbie could speak. “It was Mrs. Silvers. She put a spell on Darbie for Rollerblading past her house!” I inched closer to my back door, nudging Hannah with me. “That witch came outside and waved her arms all around. Bats came out of the trees, attacked Darbie, and left her like this.”

  Charlotte folded her arms across her chest and said, “Kelly Quinn, you are a big liar. You’re a bad soccer player, a terrible cook, and a horrible liar. Just so you know, I’m not going to talk to any of you at soccer tomorrow.”

  “No problemo,” Darbie said, and slammed the door once Hannah and I were safely inside with the berries.

  “I swear she knew exactly what time to come home. It’s like some kind of mean girl sixth sense,” I said.

  I put the berries into the sink and rinsed them. Then we mixed the pie filling, adding the clean berries.

  “Did you notice her new cleats?” Hannah asked, as if we could have missed the shine of the hot pink laces.

  We mixed and stirred and blended. “Ya-hoo for the new cleats.” Darbie twirled her finger in the air.

  Hannah asked, “Have you seen her outside practicing?” Hannah was the best player on our soccer team, the Alfred Noble School ANtS, but Charlotte was second-best.

  “No—and don’t look now, but there she goes. Probably breaking in her new cleats.” I nodded toward the window that looked out to the front of the house. We saw Charlotte run down the street, her bouncy ponytail jumping up and down on top of her head. Her pink laces sparkled.

  “That can take a while,” Hannah added. “I know a girl who brought new cleats to soccer camp and got terrible blisters. You need to do it gradually and wear extra socks for a few weeks.”

  “It would be a shame if those fancy-schmancy cleats hurt Charlotte’s feet,” Darbie said.

  I chuckled. “Yeah right.”

  “Or worse, it looks like the groovy new cleats might get caught in the rain. Uh-oh, they might not be shiny anymore,” Darbie said, looking at the dark clouds rolling in.

  The pie filling became smooth. I picked up the amber bottle. The cork made a pop when I pulled it out. “How much rue seed does it say to add?” I asked Hannah.

  “It says a dash,” she answered. “That’s not very precise,”

  I pinched some seeds between my thumb and middle finger. Then over the bowl of filling I rolled my fingers together, letting go of a few seeds at a time. They looked like teeny pebbles plopping into blackberry-colored quicksand. When Hannah stirred, they sunk in and disappeared.

  “It’s ready,” I said.

  Hanna
h looked out the front window and saw the pink laces sprinting up the street as if on cue. “Here she comes.” Charlotte got to her front stoop. “Home safe and sound.”

  Rain drops splashed against the kitchen windows.

  While the oven preheated, we loaded the dirty dishes into the washer.

  Suddenly, a bright light filled the room and a bolt of lightning struck so close we all gasped.

  From outside we heard a creak, a crack, and a CRASH! and we saw my family’s big old oak tree fall down, crashing right into the Barneys’ backyard. At that same moment, the lights went out.

  “Well,” I said into the dim kitchen. “It doesn’t look like we can bake this puppy—our oven is electric.”

  After the girls left, I washed up and tucked myself into bed. I wrote in my journal using only the light of the moon and a flashlight. Rosey was under the covers between my feet. My head rested on BunnyBun, my favorite stuffed toy. It felt like a rag was twisting in my gut. I knew why, but I couldn’t believe it. It might be that I felt just a tiny bit badly about Bud’s voice.

  I closed my journal, took my flashlight and BunnyBun, and carefully found my way to Bud’s room. I slid the beam of light onto his bed. He was sleeping. I set BunnyBun under the sheets next to him.

  11

  Blisters

  Gather:

  1 hex

  1 fitness-crazed soccer coach

  1 pair of brand-new cleats

  11 sit-ups

  1 black eye

  Directions:

  Shove into a squeezy water bottle and shake together

  until it explodes into Death By Humiliation.

  Darn alarm clock!

  Thanks to the electricity going out, I rushed around like a girl packing for a trip to Crazytown. I really didn’t want to miss the bus on the third day of school.

  “Kelly, wait,” Mom said.

  I sniffed. “What’s that smell?”

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I baked the pie you girls made last night. I was thinking you could run it over to the Barneys’ because I feel bad about the tree falling into their yard last night.”

  Hmm. Actually, that’s perfect because I have to get the pie to Charlotte anyway.

  “Sure. I’ll take it over right now.”

  I scooped up the pie pan with a kitchen towel and took the path next door. Then a thought hit me.

  I don’t want to hex all the Barneys, just Charlotte. How am I going to do that?

  Think, think, think.

  What would Darbie do?

  I got it!

  I peeked in the back window and saw Mrs. Barney moving around the kitchen. She was dressed like one of those ladies on Desperate Housewives. I got my facial expression ready and made a distressing noise right outside their back door.

  Mrs. Barney opened it. “What on Earth?” She saw me and three quarters of my fabulous Hexberry Pie on the ground. “Kelly Quinn, what happened? Are you all right?”

  “Oh, I’m fine, Mrs. Barney,” I said with just a hint of on-demand tears in my eyes. “But, my mom is going to kill me. She sent this delicious pie over for you because she feels so badly about the tree falling down.”

  “Well,” Mrs. Barney said, “that tree should have been cut down a long time ago. It was just a matter of time.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said with my saddest voice. “And stupid me, I dropped the pie. There’s only one piece left. And I really wanted Charlotte to try it. I’m so sorry, please don’t tell my mom.”

  “Oh, nonsense. I won’t say anything.” She took the dish from me. “Give me that. I’m packing Charlotte’s lunch right now. I’ll put the pie in it.”

  I wiped my pretend tears with the back of my hand. “Thanks Mrs. Barney, you’re the best.”

  And off to the bus stop I went.

  Operation Hexberry Pie? Success.

  Charlotte got on the bus ahead of me, and over her shoulder she said, “Oh, thanks for the pie you made us with the blackberries that you stole from my yard.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “I hope you like it.”

  She sat in the very front seat. I headed to the back row. “If you ask me, that tree should’ve been taken down a long time ago,” Charlotte called after me.

  “You’re probably right.” I tilted my head and gave Charlotte a heartfelt smile.

  “Oh, and my mom wants to know if you can feed the cat next weekend,” Charlotte said. I feed their cat every weekend when they go to their beach house. Come to think of it, I’m kind of like the pet caretaker of Coyote Street.

  “I’d love to. Enjoy the pie.”

  “LINE UP, LADIES! Let’s stretch for today’s run.” Coach Richards’s back was to us. He grabbed his foot behind his butt and bent down. I hopped closer to him to read the back of his shirt. It said UNIVERSITY OF DELAWARE ATHLETIC DEPARTMENT.

  “And stretch your arms,” he said, dropping his foot and turning around to find me in his personal space bubble. “Quinn?”

  “Sorry, Coach. Um, I was, um, stretching really far and, umm . . .”

  “Just get back over there.”

  “Okay.” I moved back with the rest of the ANtS and I saw Darbie running down the hill, her shoes laces untied. She tripped and fell, got up, and ran down the rest of the way. Right behind her was Charlotte Barney, still in her school clothes, limping.

  “You’re late,” Coach said to Darbie. He looked at his watch. “Rule number one: a push-up for each minute. Down on the ground and give me eleven.” To Charlotte he said, “What’s the problemo Barney? Why aren’t you dressed for practice?”

  She bent over and touched her feet. “Terrible blisters, Coach. They’re killing me like you couldn’t believe.”

  Blisters?

  “What’s rule number three, girls?”

  Go hex, go hex! Woot! Woot!

  The girls chanted, “If you’re injured, you come to the practice and games suited up and you will stretch with and cheer for your teammates.”

  “Excellent,” Coach said. “Put your stuff on the bench and give me sit-ups till I tell you to stop. That won’t hurt your blisters.”

  I sucked my bottom lip under my teeth, made fists, and did a little dance. In my head I was singing: Go hex! She’s doing lots of sit-ups! Woot! Woot!

  Coach said, “Quinn, what are you doing?”

  I stopped my little dance. “Nothing, Coach, just excited to run, that’s all.”

  “Good attitude. I like a good attitude, Quinn.” Then he looked at Darbie, who was struggling with her push-ups. “Niiiiiine.” She lowered her chin back down to the ground. “Tennnnnn.” She lowered her chin again. “Elevvvennnnn.” She flopped back down onto her belly before rolling onto her back.

  Coach walked closer to Darbie. “Do me a favor and be late again next time, so we can work on those.” He took off his sunglasses, tucked them into the neck of his T-shirt, and examined Darbie’s face. “I like the bruised look. Makes you look tough.” Hands on hips, he assessed the troops and tucked his iPod’s earphones into his ears. “LET’S RUNNNNN!”

  He led. We followed.

  I jogged with Darbie. We ran past Charlotte doing sit-ups in her school clothes. “Did you hear that?” I asked.

  “Yeah. What do you mean, you’re excited to run?” She tripped over her own feet and I braced her with my arm before she fell.

  I said, “Not that. The blisters.”

  “Oh, that.”

  Charlotte’s friend Misty interrupted us. “It just so happens that Charlotte’s dad bought her the most amazing new cleats that cost, like, a hundred dollars. If shoes are even the slightest bit too snug, like brand-new cleats are sometimes before you break them in, they can give you blisters. It’s not funny—in fact they are quite painful. You know they can get infected if they don’t stay really clean?” Then she ran past us, catching up with the pack.

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked Darbie.

  “That depends on what you’re thinking,” Darbie said. Again, he
r left foot got in the way of the right one and she lost her balance. I gave her my hand so she didn’t fall.

  “What’s your problem?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m, like, uncontrollably clumsy.”

  I shook my head. “What I was saying was that I was thinking about the H-E-X.”

  Darbie thought about this. Her face told me that she was having trouble making out the letters I spelled.

  “Hex,” I said. “The Hexberry Pie. We gave her blisters.”

  “You know they can get infected?” Darbie mimicked Misty. “Man, hexes stink.”

  “Only for the one being hexed. As the hexer, I think they rock!” I said.

  Darbie said, “And you’re not worried we’ll get what we deserve?”

  “You worry too much,” I told her.

  With newfound energy I jogged my way up to Hannah and explained our good fortune.

  Nine laps later Coach called, “GATHER AROUND, LADIES!” We all collapsed onto the grass. “Get some water,” Coach said. He took a long pull on his own bottle and squeezed water onto his face. “You girls did really well today. I know the first few days of conditioning are hard. Eat a good dinner tonight. And get a good night’s sleep.” He took another drink. “Grab a colored mesh jersey; we’ll scrimmage until your parents get here.”

  “I might puke,” Darbie panted.

  “NO CHITCHAT, GIRLS! Take your positions.”

  We jogged onto the field. Everyone was dog-tired, except for Hannah. She easily dribbled down the field and scored.

  Darbie dragged. The truth was, she wasn’t looking so good at tryouts today and I was worried she might get cut from the team. That would totally stink. We had always been on the same team. I didn’t know what was up with her—she was always a little clumsy, but not a total spaz like today, and yesterday on her Rollerblades.

  Hannah must’ve thought the same thing, because she took the ball to the sideline for a throw-in, and on her way she nudged Darbie in front of the first white goal post. “Stay right here and get ready,” she whispered.

  With a grunt she tossed the ball long and high, right to Darbie’s forehead. Darbie snapped her neck to hit the ball and made a perfect shot into the goal. Hannah might not have believed in the special powers of the Secret Recipe Book, but she was still a great pal to set Darbie up to look like a star—or at least not a total spaz.