The 11

by Kim Tomsic

  How to Get Away with Magic

  Secrets of the Magicverse:

  Rules, Wishing, and Enchantments

  Whoa! I leaned in.

  Congratulations! If you’ve been granted access to this page, you’ve successfully dabbled in the mysterious with a mixture of curiosity, smarts, and spunk. You may now read on for further instructions.

  I steadied my hands to the edges of the page, wary of tricks.

  The Magicverse (including but not limited to conjuring, augury, bewitching, wizardry, enchantment, and wishing) requires good stewardship, selflessness, and a lack of frivolity. Furthermore, the Magicverse strongly cautions against wishing for anything malicious or unmerited. These are considered spiteful wishes and/or cheater’s wishes and are deemed offensive to the Magicverse. Such a wish, should you choose to proceed, will result in a punitive cost and payment in full will be demanded immediately. Please note, this cost will be quite expensive.

  I sucked in a breath. My heart lurched to my throat. Assembly! Rhena’s gibberish speech! What had I done?

  “You okay?” Tank asked, giving me a concerned look.

  I flung an arm over the article and started coughing.

  Tank’s eyebrows pinched together and I thought he’d say more, but then he refocused on the fold of his airplane’s wing.

  I quickly reread the article. “Payment in full will be demanded immediately.” It had been several hours since the assembly, and that magic had been used in self-defense. And since self-defense isn’t spiteful or malicious, my shoulders relaxed. Maybe I was safe. Thank goodness revenge wasn’t my style and I’d never wished zits on Rhena. I read on.

  Be a good steward of the magic.

  It should go without saying, the Magicverse especially frowns upon laziness. The price is—

  And as I was reading this line, the article faded and then disappeared!

  “What?” I shook the magazine like I could shake the words back onto the page. “Come on.” I flipped to other pages. All white.

  Tank and Turner stared at me.

  “Stupid magazine.” I shrugged like it was no biggie and stuffed Enchanted Teen into my backpack.

  What was the price?

  I clearly didn’t know the answer, but I was starting to realize wishes fell into categories: weather wishes, frivolous wishes, lazy wishes, and malicious wishes. I jotted extra columns in my journal and wondered what category my day-one wish fell under, the one when I asked for “some magic.” Was it considered frivolous . . . or lazy? The answers were fuzzy at best, so I gave up and returned my orange journal to my backpack.

  Wigglesworth dropped into a seat next to Tank, interrupting my worrying. “Hey. Where’s Jackson?”

  “I thought he was coming with you,” Tank said.

  I glanced back at the door. No cats and still no Jackson. “Maybe he had to talk to a teacher?” Or maybe there was something wrong with the space-time continuum.

  “I saw him with Rhena,” Turner said. “Probably talking campaign stuff.”

  The hair on my neck spiked.

  When I checked the door for the googolplexth time, Mrs. Matthews and four more students arrived. But not Jackson.

  Mrs. Matthews shuffled to the front of the room and stood by the easel. “Thank you again for joining Saguaro Prep’s math club.” Her smile fanned the small gathering. “As you know, our mission as Math Olympians is to foster the pursuit of individual excellence in problem solving by enhancing creativity and resourcefulness. These goals are similar to those found in the ancient Olympic games.” She flipped open to the first page of the large pad and revealed a paper with the mission statement written on it. Mrs. Matthews grabbed a thick green marker and added:

  Identify the problem

  Devise a plan

  Carry it out

  “Why focus on creativity rather than just straightforward answers?” Ellie asked.

  “Good and timely question,” Mrs. Matthews said, smiling. She flipped to the next page. It had a blown-up copy of a blueprint with a picture of an eighteen-wheeler stuck under a bridge. Various mathematical calculations had been drawn in the margins of the blueprint.

  Mrs. Matthews folded her hands together and said, “There once was a big rig truck that got wedged under a bridge in New York City. Traffic was blocked for miles. Mathematicians and engineers were brought to the scene to try to determine a calculation to make adjustments to the bridge, since the truck was so completely wedged it wouldn’t move forward or backward. The experts studied measurements around the trestles and tried to come up with a modification that wouldn’t damage structural integrity or support capacities. Then a child who came to see the spectacle said, ‘Why don’t you just let the air out of the truck’s tires?’”

  I laughed. So did Tank, and Wigglesworth, and Turner.

  “Yep. I laughed, too, when I heard the story,” Mrs. Matthews said. “Because I know I would’ve been trying to figure out that calculation to change the bridge, just like everyone else.” She smiled. “It’s important to understand math, and it’s also important to understand that creative problem-solving techniques mean there’s not just one but many paths to a correct answer. Sometimes you have to focus on the truck instead of the bridge.”

  She walked to her desk. “Today, I hope to help sharpen your thinking skills with a game. I need volunteers to help move the desks against the walls. Once we clear the space, we’ll use the floor for a big game of math concentration.”

  “Yes!” Tank fist-pumped.

  Turner and Wigglesworth high-fived.

  “We only have twenty minutes remaining before many of you have to head over to your sports practices, so let’s begin.”

  We placed giant cards facedown on the floor. Some cards had equations and others had answers. If we flipped over an equation card, we’d have to solve it with mental math and try to remember where the answer card was. I was so focused I glanced at the doorway only twice.

  When our time ended, Mrs. Matthews thanked us, and I volunteered to stay behind and clean up.

  “Megan,” Mrs. Matthews said after everyone had left, “are you okay?”

  “Oh, uh-huh. Yeah,” I said. “Yup.”

  She softly said, “Sometimes the flaw is that one doesn’t understand the problem.”

  “Didn’t I do okay?”

  “The math? Yes. You also had a perfect score on your strength-finders test from the other day.”

  “Okay?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business, Megan. But I just found today’s assembly to be . . . interesting. It seems like you’re under a lot of pressure for your first week here.”

  I nodded.

  “Making your way as the new girl at school is a tough role.”

  She didn’t know the half of it.

  “I noticed you exclusively used algorithms to solve problems. And like I said, you got everything correct. But just know, it’s okay to think outside the box and still arrive at a solution.”

  Were we still talking about math?

  “If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

  “Um, okay, I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

  I finished stacking the game on a shelf and realigned desks. It was 3:32 when I finished, and I was late for meeting Ally and the others for Mojo’s. “See you tomorrow,” I said to Mrs. Matthews. I rushed out the door. . . .

  And smacked into Jackson.

  “Whoa, sorry!” we said at the same time.

  I said, “It’s oka—”

  “Bye, Jackson,” Rhena sang from down the hall. “Remember what we talked about.” She gave me a look that told me there was a 98 percent chance she’d made that comment for my benefit.

  Jackson’s face flushed before he said, “See ya, Rhe.”

  What was his uneasy look about?

  “Hey. Did I miss much?” he asked.

  “Umm.” I glanced toward Rhena swishing down the hall, then back to Jackson. “We played a game. And turned in our forms.”


  “Right. I’ve got that.” He leaned against the wall. “I’ve got something for you, too.” He set his backpack on the ground and pulled out a blue printed flyer with the title “Jazz Band” in bold lettering and under that “guitarist needed.” “Here. I can’t do this with my lacrosse schedule, but from what you said, it sounds like it’d be a good way to get your sister going again.”

  “Wow. Thanks!” Before I knew what I was doing I flung my arms around Jackson in a hug. This flyer was exactly the nudge Piper needed. “Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say, so I added, “Gracias.” Then I snort-laughed. Ugh. I let go of the hug before it got more awkward.

  But Jackson laughed, and not in a mean way. “De nada,” he said.

  I laughed again. “Um.” I carefully folded the flyer and glanced at the outdoor exit, where everyone was waiting for me. “Okay, well . . .”

  “Yeah.” Jackson shifted his weight. “You probably want to get going.”

  I nodded.

  We parted ways in the hall. Jackson headed to talk to Mrs. Matthews and I headed toward the flagpole. A distinct purr vibrated in my throat.

  CHAPTER

  27

  Based on my charting, I was 85 percent sure I’d just purred because I’d used magic at assembly. But what about the other 15 percent? I had no clear hypothesis for why the cat noises weren’t over, and I’d just purred again for the umpteenth time!

  On my way outside, I Googled “uncontrolled purring in humans.” No valid results. I tried “can humans purr?” At AskaBiologist.org, I found that, yes, humans can dilate and constrict the glottis at the vocal cords to purr. That was good to know, but I’d never done it before. Was I subconsciously making this happen?

  Cars and buses waited for students who were leaving after-school clubs. I texted Dad and Piper.

  Me: I’m hanging with friends at Kierland today.

  Then to Hannah:

  Me: I’m going to froyo with friends. What’s up w/ u? Any thoughts on the flashmob yet?

  I took a swig from my water bottle and headed across a spread of dried grass, and then crunched through the gravel toward the flagpole.

  Ally, Mia, Noelle, Erin, and a few girls from our lunch table waited on the rocks in the shade of a mesquite tree. I smiled at my new group of friends. This was going to be fun.

  Then I saw Yoona and Shelby. And Rhena. What was Rhena doing here? Our eyes met and her Medusa glare turned my stomach to stone.

  “Uh, hi?” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “Today sounded like a great day for Mojo’s,” Rhena said in her sugar-sweet voice.

  Ally rolled her eyes. “What a super-random coincidence. And you thought meeting half an hour after school at the flagpole sounded like a good idea, too?”

  “Free country,” Rhena said. “You guys can always go somewhere else if you don’t like it.”

  “Oh, we’re going to Mojo’s,” Ally said. “We planned it first.”

  “Suit yourself,” Rhena said.

  I stood on the edge of the circle, squeezing and crinkling my thin plastic water bottle before I joined Erin in the back of the group.

  “She’s such a radish,” Erin whispered. “And we’re going to have to be careful what we tell Jackson in the future. He obviously told Rhena our plan.”

  “But Rhena was there,” I said, feeling the need to defend him. “She heard the plan herself.”

  “Yeah, but there are a hundred places at Kierland. We only talked about Mojo’s before she’d walked over to our table.”

  I hated how right she was.

  “Are you guys ready?” Ally said. “We should—”

  “We should get going,” Rhena said, talking over her.

  Rhena and the Rhenites walked only a few paces ahead of us, with low, whispery voices equal to any judgy look. Maybe that’s why the hair on the back of my neck kept rising.

  We left the school grounds and headed down neighborhood streets, passing adobe houses and sweet-smelling honeysuckle bushes. When we rounded a corner, Erin said, “Look.” She pointed at two cats, a black one and a white one. They kept pace in the back of our group. “We’re being followed.”

  My skin tingled.

  “Smart kitties,” Noelle said with a smile. “Are you following us for froyo?”

  Ally dropped back to join Erin and me. “All those cats at school today and now this. Weird, huh?”

  “I know. Right?” Mia said.

  My head buzzed. Two more cats had joined the black and white ones. Dread slinked up my spine.

  We rounded another corner.

  “Look. Here come more.” Erin’s smile faded. “Creepy, huh?”

  I turned as if to face a firing squad or the Bellini brothers themselves. Sure enough, eight cats swished their tails and practically smiled at me. “They’re not actually following us, right?” My voice came out shaky.

  “It is bizarre,” Noelle said.

  “They probably live on this street,” I said, grasping for anything normal.

  Rhena’s group turned to investigate the commotion and everyone slowed to a stop, gawking. The cats slinked toward me. Some rubbed against my legs; others sat and looked up.

  “That’s cute,” Yoona said.

  “Are you dense, Yoona?” Rhena said. “You know I’m allergic to cats.” She scratched at her arms. “It’s not cute. It’s weird with a capital W.”

  “Sketchy,” Shelby said.

  Rhena narrowed her eyes at me like a CSI detective. “And the cats aren’t following us. They’re only interested in you.” She pointed her accusing finger toward my head. “Look. They’re circling her.” Her voice turned stuffy and she sniffled. “You’re trying to win the election by making me too sick to campaign. Are you the one who brought the cats to our school?”

  “No. Of course not.” I tried to laugh it off. “Cats just love ME-ow.”

  “What?” Rhena took a backward step.

  “Me, ha-ha. They love me.” I swallowed.

  The cats began purring and continued rubbing their soft fur against my legs.

  “Awww,” Mia said. “They really do like you.”

  Rhena backed away another few steps.

  “I think it’s sweet,” Ally said.

  I reached down and scratched a furry head, thinking about how I’d just meowed again. A shudder rippled through my skin—the meowing, the purring, licking my knuckles, the feather incident, the cats at school, and now this—all cat related, all building, and still happening. No poof and it’s over! It left me wondering again about things being cumulative.

  I thought of Einstein and his theory of relativity: E = mc2. Except my equation was a little different: D = (C)c2. Doom = cat symptoms multiplied by the speed of light squared.

  “What’s wrong with you anyhow, Megan?” Rhena crossed her arms.

  “Wow, Rhena. That’s rude,” Ally said, crouching down beside me to pet the cats. “Nothing’s wrong with her. Megan volunteers with animals. Maybe the cats just know she’s a good person.”

  “That could be true,” Yoona said, fiddling with the hem of her shorts.

  “What do you know, Yoona?” Rhena said.

  Yoona hugged her arms over her stomach.

  How to Survive Middle School had said to be cool and confident under pressure, so with a great deal of effort, I stood up and said, “Um, let’s go.” And with bogus confidence, I added, “They’ll probably go home.” I started walking. Ally, Mia, and Erin walked beside me. Rhena’s group stayed ahead of us.

  Chill, I told myself, glancing backward. The cats continued following, staying about ten feet back. Rhena whispered to Shelby.

  “Lighten up, you guys,” Ally said. “It’s not like we’re being stalked by zombies.”

  Erin, Noelle, and Mia laughed. The mood lightened, and the chatter moved on to zombie movies. I tried to act casual, but if I had clenched my jaw any tighter I would’ve broken my back teeth. Three more cats joined the trailing pack.

  Ally leaned to me.
“You don’t have leftover tuna in your pocket, do you?” She tried to make it a joke, but she sounded weirded out.

  “Ha-ha.” I took an unsteady breath and got a whiff of the minty perfume on my wrist, reminding me that I’d signed on that scroll.

  The perfumed card had said friends would follow, and of course the magic-makers were tricksters. It all made sense.

  The cats were following me!

  Car tires squealed. The intersection ahead zoomed with traffic. If one of my new feline friends got run over in the intersection, it’d be my fault. I turned around. A thirteenth cat, a black one, joined the entourage. It was too much—the unlucky number, a black cat. “Okay, sweeties. Go home.” My voice trembled. “Scat.”

  The cats stopped walking. One by one they started yowling and meowing, and the chorus sounded pleading and insistent. At first my ears rang. Then the meows turned to words, and my blood ran cold.

  Cat got your tongue? the cats cried.

  What? I took a sharp look at the group.

  “Awww, they’re so cute,” Mia said again, clearly not hearing what I’d just heard.

  Cat got your tongue? the cats cried again.

  “Why are they meowing at you?” Rhena’s eyes could not have been wider.

  I just stood there blinking. What could I say? The crying grew louder. And then before I could control it my shoulders lifted, my back hunched, and I screamed, “GO! Scat. Scat. Scat! Go go go go go!” I flailed my arms every which way.

  The cats stopped meowing and obeyed, scurrying away. In moments, they were gone.

  I snatched out a bottle of hand sanitizer from the top zipper of my backpack and squeezed drops over every part of my body where I’d dabbed the perfume on my wrists, on my arms, and on my neck. And since repeating was good enough for shampoo instructions, I figured it’d do for sanitizer, too. I squeezed out glob after glob and rubbed and rubbed until I realized Noelle and Mia were staring. Rhena’s jaw hung. Shelby took backward steps. Ally closed her parted lips.

  “Impressive,” Erin said, breaking the silence. “Megan, the Cat Whisperer.”

  We continued down the sidewalk in silence, rocks crunching under our feet. Even Ally and Yoona avoided eye contact with me. I hung to the back of the group, stressing that I was on the verge of losing my new friends, especially if I kept acting like a freak show.