Dorko the Magnificent

by Andrea Beaty

  ROBBIE DARKO IS A MAGICIAN. AN OLD-SCHOOL, pull-a-rabbit-out-of-your-hat-style magician. Well, in Robbie’s case, sometimes the rabbit escapes instead, causing mass panic. But what’s a young magician to do? Quit? Definitely not an option for a performer destined for greatness—or at least a big splash at the Hobson Elementary School talent show. Robbie’s determined to show the world, especially his overworked, distracted mom, that he’s a true star. But based on last year’s talent show, he’s definitely going to need some help.

  And—abracadabra alakazam!—help appears, in the unexpected and not entirely welcome form of grumpy Grandma Melvyn, who calls everyone “Trixie” and is merciless with her cane. She offers to give Robbie magic lessons. She’s good, too, really good. She’s got lots of tricks up her sleeve—sleights of hand and vanishing acts. But through their lessons, Robbie learns some even bigger tricks that take a lot more magic to master. Tricks like compassion, gratitude, and forgiveness.

  Written with pitch-perfect humor and unforgettable characters by the award-winning author of Secrets of the Cicada Summer, Dorko the Magnificent will linger with you long after Robbie Darko has taken his final bow.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Beaty, Andrea.

  Dorko the magnificent / by Andrea Beaty.

  pages cm

  ISBN 978-1-4197-0638-7 (hardback)

  [1. Magicians—Fiction. 2. Magic tricks—Fiction. 3. Grandmothers—Fiction. 4. Family life—Fiction. 5. Humorous stories.] I. Title.

  PZ7.B380547Dnn 2013

  [Fic]—dc23

  2012045674

  Text copyright © 2013 Andrea Beaty Illustrations copyright © 2013 Nathan Hale Book design by Meagan Bennett

  Published in 2013 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.

  Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.

  Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact specialsales@abramsbooks.com or the address below.

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  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  About The Author

  I HAVE A QUESTION FOR YOU. YES, I’M TALKING TO YOU. I KNOW THAT MOST writers don’t do that, but I don’t care. I’m going to talk directly to you because I’m a magician and magicians always talk to their audiences. It’s how we make our audience more comfortable. Plus, it’s more fun that way.

  So here’s my question: What do they call that moment after something happens but before anyone knows how to react? You know the one I’m talking about: when time stands still for a single heartbeat and anything is possible. Sometimes it’s after something good and sometimes it’s not. But for that one moment, anything can happen. Anything at all. I’m pretty sure that moment has a name, because anything so important has to, doesn’t it?

  I know a lot about that moment, because it comes right after my magic trick and just before I say, “Ta-daaaa!” When there’s still the chance that everyone will be amazed and yell “Bravo!” and clap or at least not laugh or scream or call the fire department. Again.

  You’ve probably felt that moment, too. Like right after you open a book and just before you read the first line. Before you know if a book stinks and you have to change the characters’ names to “Lipzilla” and “Sir Tidy Diaper” so you don’t die of boredom. And by the way, if you feel the need to change my name—which is Robbie Darko—to get through this book, knock your socks off. I’d change it myself if I could. And someday, I just might. Though I would not pick Sir Tidy Diaper, for your information. I’d pick a mysterious-sounding Russian name like Vladislov Kanzinzki. It sounds better than Dorko, which is what everyone calls me now, thanks to Mr. Nate Watkins, fifth-grade loser.

  So if you know what they call that moment I’m talking about, I hope you’ll tell me. I’ve been wondering about it since last year’s talent show, which stunk. And, no, I will not go into details. I will tell you that my act involved a salamander named Sir Isaac Newt, a baseball cap, and Principal David Adolphus. I performed my trick perfectly, and then that moment with no name arrived, and I held my breath for a single heartbeat, and just before I said, “Ta-daaaa!” Principal Adolphus revealed his phobia of salamanders and his ability to scream like a first-grade girl. I didn’t know that Principal Adolphus had amphibia-phobia. Did you?

  So last year’s talent show stunk, but that’s old news. Stale cheese. I’m in fifth grade now, and I’m going to come up with a great new act for this year’s show. One that will leave Hobson Elementary School talking about me long after I graduate.

  Oh. One last thing. If you’re reading this book to find out how magic tricks work, go find a book about some jerk named Sir Tidy Diaper who spoils surprises for everybody, because you’re reading the wrong story.

  THE HARDEST PART ABOUT WRITING A TRUE STORY IS MAKING YOUR LIFE SOUND exciting. I want my story to be like an action movie, but it’s harder than you’d think. My book can’t include explosions, because fireworks are illegal here. It can’t have car chases, because I won’t drive until I’m sixteen. (Or thirty, if Dad reads that last sentence.) It can’t even include an alien invasion, even though my brother is weirder than E.T. But don’t worry, because someday someone will turn my book into an action movie with car chases, exploding aliens, and sound effects! Since I know that’s going to happen in the future, I’m just going to write what really happens for now. I’ll start with Mom’s birthday party. By the way, if you want to add sound effects, go ahead. I might add some, too! Kaboom!

  Sunday was Mom’s birthday, and I had the perfect present for her. A magic trick. It’s more of a parlor trick than a magic one, but it’s cool.
It’s the trick where I pull a tablecloth off the dining room table without moving a single dish. I’ve been working on it for weeks. Since I wanted to surprise Mom, I only practiced when she was working late at the loan company. I got a lot of practice.

  The tablecloth trick needs a hemless tablecloth. I found a fancy red tablecloth in the dining room drawer, but it had a thick hem, so I fixed it with Mom’s sewing shears. I know what you’re thinking, that Mom wouldn’t like me using her expensive sewing shears, but it’s okay. She doesn’t need them, because she hasn’t sewn anything since she started working again. Not even my Halloween costume.

  Sunday morning, Mom sat at the kitchen table with a giant stack of files, an adding machine, and a cup of coffee. Dad was on a plane coming home from somewhere, but I don’t remember where. Dad is kind of like Waldo. He travels so much, I never know where he is. I did know that he was going to pick up dinner for the party when he landed. It was Mom’s special day, so we didn’t want her to cook or anything like that. Aunt Trudy was even buying the cake. My brother and I would take care of everything else.

  “Happy birthday!” I said. “I have a big surprise for your party!”

  “I’m sure it will be great,” Mom said without looking up.

  “It will!” I said. “You’ll see.”

  “I’m terrible for saying this, but I wish we weren’t having company,” she said. “I’ve got to get through all these cases by tomorrow.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll do everything.”

  That got her attention.

  “Oh,” she said, but not in a good way.

  “Dad’s picking up Schwartzman’s!” I said. “It’s your favorite.”

  “It is,” she said. “But we just can’t swing the expense right now.”

  “It’s your birthday,” I said. “We have to do something special.”

  She smiled a little, but she looked a little worried, too.

  “Relax, Mom!” I said.

  “Uh-huh,” she said. “Just keep it simple and use paper plates so there won’t be any mess.”

  “No!” I said. “We have to use the good dishes.”

  I couldn’t tell her that I needed the good dishes for my trick. Paper plates are too light and would be dragged off the table. They would ruin the whole trick.

  “No, Robbie,” she said. “I don’t have time to dig out the good dishes.”

  “I’ll do it,” I said. “I’ll clean up, too. Please?”

  Mom looked at the mountain of files in front of her. She waved her hands at me.

  “Okay … fine,” she said. “Just don’t break anything. And help Harry clean the family room. He’s got bubble gum wrappers all over the place again.”

  I started toward the door.

  “Hold on,” she said. “We need to talk about something else.”

  “In a minute,” I said, and ran out of the room before she could change her mind about the dishes.

  I know when to make a fast getaway.

  (Note to future movie producers: You have my permission to change my exit to a high-speed car chase, if you want. You’re welcome.)

  I RAN INTO THE FAMILY ROOM, WHERE MY SIX-YEAR-OLD BROTHER, HARRY, was climbing on the back of the couch. I call him Ape Boy because he climbs on everything, just like an ape. He also chews on anything that gets near his mouth. Pencils. Legos. Fingers—not just his own. You name it. Last week, he chewed through the strap on the new messenger bag Mom bought for work. She got so mad she almost cried.

  The doctor suggested giving Harry bubble gum, so Mom bought a bucket of it. Now he chews on everything and sticks gum on it, too. The doctor says he’ll outgrow it, but I doubt it.

  Ape Boy sat on the back of the couch, chewing on the TV remote and a wad of bubble gum at the same time. There were a thousand bubble gum wrappers on the floor. He drops them everywhere, which is why Ape Boy is not allowed in my room. Ever!

  “Clean up this mess, Ape Boy!” I said.

  “Don’t call me Ape,” Harry said.

  “Don’t act like one. And get busy. We’re having company.”

  “I don’t want company.”

  “Don’t you want Mom to have a good party?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Then stop being a baby and just do it.”

  “I’m not a baby!”

  “I know,” I said. “You’re an ape!”

  I whacked him with one of the couch pillows, and he fell onto the couch seat laughing. He grabbed the other pillow and whacked me back. That was the beginning of the Epic Battle of the Family Room. (Insert movie explosions here: Kerblooey! Kerblam!)

  The Epic Battle of the Family Room lasted until Mom yelled from the kitchen.

  “Get busy! They’ll be here in an hour.”

  “We are!” I yelled back and hit Ape Boy again.

  After that, I fixed the cushions and straightened up the magazines while Ape Boy stored the bubble gum wrappers under the couch. He was happy because he’d found some old Reese’s Pieces and popcorn from the last Movie Night Mom and I’d had. The popcorn was covered with carpet fuzz, and the candy was old and really nasty, but Ape Boy didn’t care. Like I said, he chews everything. (Which is the other reason Ape Boy is not allowed in my room. Ever! My room is an Ape-Boy-free zone. And that’s how I like it.)

  I love Movie Night. Since Dad and Ape Boy hate old movies, it’s just me and Mom and a big bowl of popcorn with Reese’s Pieces. It’s the best combination ever: A little salty. A little sweet. A lot awesome. It’s funny how Mom and Dad are alike and different, too. They both love hot peppers and baseball, but Dad loves new movies with explosions and Mom loves old movies with dancing. Maybe someone should make a movie with dancing and explosions. A movie like that would have some pretty weird sound effects. Tap-tap-kaboom!

  I started watching old movies with Mom when I was a little kid. When Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers danced around in their fancy clothes, Mom picked me up and twirled around the room until we got dizzy and fell on the couch laughing. I think Mom would have been a movie star if she’d lived back then. She has a way of standing out. I like that.

  Those old-time movie stars made people watch them even when they weren’t dancing. They stood out. Sometimes when I do magic, I think that maybe I do, too. Just a little.

  For the record, I like movies where things explode, too. But I love watching the old movies with Mom, just me and her. We used to have Movie Night every Friday, but that was before Dad lost his good job and Mom had to start her bad one. Mom says we’ll have another Movie Night soon. Probably next week … maybe.

  Just in case, I bought a big box of Reese’s Pieces and made Mom hide them so I won’t eat them if she has to cancel. Again. One time, I heard Principal Adolphus say that the more things change, the more they stay the same. I don’t know what he was talking about. The more things change, the more things stink.

  When we were done cleaning, Ape Boy climbed onto the back of the couch again and unwrapped a new piece of bubble gum. He threw the wrapper onto the floor, but I didn’t care. I had a table to get ready.

  I put the red tablecloth on the dining room table and got Mom’s good china from the cabinet. I set the whole table just like Mom does. I even put out the tall beeswax candles that Mom keeps for very, very special occasions. I knew Mom wouldn’t mind. What’s more special than your own birthday? Especially when your present is a magic trick?

  You might wonder why I went through so much trouble to make the table so fancy. I have two reasons. The first one is about science. (Lots of magic is about science, which is why I actually do okay in science class.) Mom’s fancy dishes are super heavy and push down on the table with more force than the tablecloth has when I jerk it away from the table. That’s why the dishes stay right where they started.

  The other reason is about drama. (Magic involves a lot of drama, which is why I would also do okay in acting class, if my school was smart enough to have one.) Using the fancy dishes adds danger. Who cares if I kno
ck over some paper cups and plastic plates? Nobody. But if I goof up and destroy Mom’s best china, there will be danger. Lots and lots of danger. And probably some hiding out in my friend Cat’s tree house for a few days. And weeks of being grounded and probably getting a summer job to pay for the china and—oh boy.

  Anyhow. Danger makes people pay attention. It gives them focus. In magic, focus is everything. Remember that. It’s important.

  I was focusing on the table when Mom yelled for me to come to the kitchen.

  “We’re having pizza,” she said.

  “I thought Dad was picking up brisket from Schwartzman’s.”

  “His plane is stuck in St. Louis, and he won’t land in time to pick it up for dinner, so we’re getting pizza,” she said. “Which is another sixty dollars on top of Schwartzman’s, which we still have to pay for because it was a special order.”

  “We can have the brisket tomorrow night!” I said.

  “I know, kiddo,” Mom said. “We just don’t have the extra money right now.”

  Ape Boy ran into the room and jumped onto a chair.

  “Pizza!” he yelled.

  “Get down, Harry!” Mom snapped. “Go watch the front door so I can talk with Robbie.”

  Ape Boy jumped off and ran down the hall, yelling, “Pizza! Pizza!”

  “Look, Robbie,” she said. “We need to talk before Grandma Melvyn gets here.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that.

  “Why?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Grandma Melvyn’s got knee problems and she’s trying to get an operation,” Mom said.

  “So?”

  “The insurance company is fighting her and … well … the thing is…”

  A familiar buzz erupted from Mom’s pocket. She pulled out her cell phone and glanced at the screen.

  “Ugh …,” she said to me. “I’ve got to take this. I’ll only be a second … No … I said forty-two thousand … No … Hold on … Wait … Let me look …”

  Mom mouthed the words stay here while she flipped through the files on the table. I didn’t stay for long because two seconds later, Ape Boy ran into the room and jumped up and down like an ape in a banana factory.