A Dash of Trouble

by Anna Meriano

  “Yes, thank you.” Caroline pulled the phone away from her mouth. “She’s connecting me,” she whispered. “It’s ringing. . . . Oh, Leo, you do it!” And she pushed the phone up to Leo’s ear, just in time for a shaky voice to say, “Hello?”

  “H-hello, Mrs. Bayman? Is, um, may I please speak to, um, Brent? Your son?”

  Caroline had her head pressed close to Leo’s, so they both jumped when a horrible strangled wailing sound came out of the phone.

  “Who is this?” Mrs. Bayman’s voice was frantic. “What do you want? Who are you? Do you know something about my Brent?”

  Leo snatched the phone out of Caroline’s hand and hung up, her heart pounding, cold panic tingling down her arms. Something was wrong. Beyond wrong—something was terrible.

  “We have to go over,” she told Caroline. “Right after school.”

  Caroline nodded mutely, her face pale and her thumbnail stubbed and bleeding.

  Leo used Caroline’s cell phone to call Mamá the second school let out. “I’m sorry,” she said, not even caring if Mamá heard how upset she was, “I know I’m supposed to ask beforehand, but I need to go to Caroline’s house today. It might be an emergency.”

  “Oh, ’jita,” Mamá sighed. “I do wish you could have eased me into this whole growing-up thing a little slower. I’m glad you and Caroline are falling into your old routine, but I don’t want you to completely disappear on us.”

  “Mamá . . .”

  “But I remember what middle school is like. Go. Take care of your emergency. Just promise me you two will take care of some emergencies over here, sometimes.”

  “Okay, Mamá.” Leo hung up the phone, feeling queasy and jittery like she had just eaten a whole gallon of coffee ice cream. Mamá thought that her emergency was a middle-school thing, a growing-up thing, like makeup or mean-girl drama. What would she do if she suspected the truth?

  “He’s okay, right?” Caroline fidgeted with her shirt. They waited anxiously for the bus to pull up in front of the school. “He has to be okay.”

  “It was just a love spell,” Leo whispered as they climbed into their seats.

  “Brent’s mom overreacts,” Caroline repeated to herself over and over during the short bus ride.

  They fell silent when the bus pulled up to Caroline’s street and they saw the flashing blue and red lights of the police cars encircling Brent’s house.

  CHAPTER 21

  GONE!

  “Dad?” Caroline called as soon as she opened the back door.

  “Caroline!” Mr. Campbell ran into the kitchen, his pale face matching his daughter’s perfectly. “Oh, and Leo. Always good to have you, but . . . do your parents know you’re over? They might want you home today.”

  Leo couldn’t answer him. Her mouth was too full of bad guilty feelings.

  “Dad, what’s going on?” Caroline said.

  “I don’t want you girls to worry.” Caroline’s dad kept glancing toward the window, where the flashing lights glinted, “but if you know anything about—if either of you talked to Brent Bayman recently . . . he’s missing.”

  “Missing?” The words left Leo’s mouth before she decided to say them. “What do you mean, missing? How can he be missing?”

  “Gone from his bed this morning. No sign of a break-in, so he must have left on his own. So if you know anything, it’s very important that you tell the police,” Mr. Campbell explained, his face grim.

  Caroline reached for her dad’s hand, then for Leo’s. Leo gripped Caroline’s soft fingers while her mind ran in pointless circles and collapsed on the dizzying realization: Brent was gone. Leo’s legs shook and she clung tighter to Caroline’s arm to stay upright.

  Brent was gone, and it must be her fault. But how?

  Maybe he had run away from home after all. Maybe the confusion of so many love spells had made him chase after a passing car. That had to be it—he was lost, but the police would find him. But even when Brent came home, there was no way Leo could hide her spell casting from her family now. She was going to be in so much trouble.

  Leo wished she was a regular witch, the kind from movies and TV shows who could snap a finger and make herself disappear. The kind who used her magic to fix messes, not to make them.

  She hoped Brent was safe, wherever he was. She hoped he was somewhere. If only she had never tried that horrible honey jar. . . .

  The honey jar.

  “Caroline.” Leo tugged her friend’s hand, “Caroline, can we—can we go outside for a minute? I want to . . .” She didn’t know how to finish, but luckily no one expected her to.

  Caroline nodded, and Mr. Campbell kissed the top of his daughter’s head. “If you don’t mind, Leo, I’ll drive you home in a little while. Caroline, you come too, okay? I’d rather not be worrying about you.”

  “Okay,” Caroline said. “Just give us a few minutes?”

  Mr. Campbell nodded. Leo and Caroline headed for the backyard as quickly as they could.

  It was truly cold now, enough that Leo shivered under her sweater. The bonsai still stood on the wooden table, and the ground under the table still bulged slightly from yesterday’s digging.

  “We have to dig it up. And destroy it.”

  “Will that help?”

  Leo didn’t bother to lie. “I don’t know.”

  The two girls paid no attention to secrecy this time. They clawed up chunks of loose dirt desperately, revealing the shiny golden lid of the jar in just a few seconds. It took longer to dig around the jar, to create enough space to lift it out of the ground. It was heavy, Leo thought as she pulled it into her lap and brushed caked dirt off the sides. She didn’t remember it being so—

  Caroline squeaked.

  Inside the jar was a person. A tiny person, no more than five inches tall, but a person unmistakably. The person was curled up and suspended in the honey, eyes closed and hands folded as if he were enjoying a nice nap. The person even wore Spider-Man pajamas.

  The person, unless Leo’s eyes were playing tricks on her, was Brent Bayman.

  “Leo . . .”

  “Girls,” Mr. Campbell called from inside.

  “I’ll call you tonight,” Leo said, shoving the jar into her backpack, dirt and all. “I’ll find a way to fix it. I’ll—” She gulped, struggling to zip her backpack with a shaking hand. “I’ll get help. I’ll figure it out. I promise.”

  CHAPTER 22

  OUT OF THE JAR

  Leo thanked Mr. Campbell for the ride but didn’t invite him or Caroline in. She didn’t think Mamá and Daddy had heard about Brent, and she didn’t want them to, yet. She needed time to think.

  Mamá was busy on the phone, and Isabel and Marisol fought over a pair of tights that Marisol had “borrowed” and then ripped, so Leo only had to return a wave and ignore a questioning look, and then she was free to dart into her room and close the door.

  She put her backpack on her bed and stared at it as though it might burst into flames at any moment. She wished Caroline could have stayed.

  Leo unzipped the backpack and gently lifted out the honey jar. Tiny Brent still slept inside. Leo stared in horror and fascination, watching tiny bubbles float out of Brent’s open mouth. She watched his minuscule eyelashes twitch.

  Finally, like jumping off a diving board, Leo squeezed her eyes shut and twisted the lid.

  Pop! The jar snapped open and the lid wrenched out of Leo’s hand and flew a foot into the air. Tiny Brent also flew, luckily not so high that Leo couldn’t hold out her hand and catch him.

  “Ah!” Brent’s voice was only a little squeakier and quieter than normal, which meant that his scream was still very loud. “Aaaah!”

  “Shh!” Leo tried to cover him with her other hand, but he was too big and his legs and arms flailed wildly, getting honey all over Leo’s fingers.

  “Help! Mom! Aaaah!”

  “Shush! Brent, be quiet.” Leo lifted her hand closer to her face, and Brent snapped his mouth shut and stared wildly around the room. �
��Shh . . . ,” Leo said again. “It’s all right. It will be all right—”

  “Leo?” Isabel knocked on the door. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

  “Fine!” Leo called, her own voice shrill with fright. “I was trying to reach the top of my closet and I almost fell! Hahahaha—” She put her hand over her mouth to stop the hysterical laughter spilling out and tasted honey.

  “Okay,” Isabel called. “Come for dinner soon. Daddy’s making quesadillas.”

  Leo waited for the sound of her sister walking back down the hall before she took her hand away from her mouth. “Okay,” she whispered. “Please keep quiet, Brent. I’m sure you’re confused. . . .”

  Leo didn’t know where to start. While she tried to think of a way to explain things, Brent spun around in her palm, his eyes wide and mouth open as he took in the room.

  “I don’t . . . where . . . what’s happening?” Brent looked from Leo’s face to her palm under his feet. “What am I . . . ?” He turned until he found the mirror hanging above Leo’s dresser. Leo met his eyes in the mirror as he took in the whole scene. She hoped he wouldn’t scream again.

  “You shrank me!” Brent spat, though he did keep his voice low. “You shrank me, Leo Logroño, and I’m telling my mom, and you’re going to go to jail for . . . for shrinking me. And what am I covered in?”

  “Hold on, look, this was all an accident. I never meant— It’s just honey,” Leo said.

  Brent hesitated, then cautiously licked his hand. “Oh, okay.” He watched the honey drip from his fingers, his face turning calm. “This isn’t happening.” He reached with one honey-coated hand and dug his fingernails into his honey-coated arm in a vicious-looking pinch. “Ow.”

  “Brent, don’t . . .”

  Brent faced the mirror again, waved, made faces, hopped up and down. Leo wondered if the honey had dripped into his brain.

  “You’re supposed to wake up if you look in the mirror during a dream,” he finally explained. “You can’t see yourself normally. You also can’t read clocks.” He nodded glumly to Leo’s alarm clock. “This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening. Why aren’t any of the normal dream tricks working?”

  “Because it’s not a dream.”

  Brent looked down at his slowly dripping pajamas. “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Well, then . . . can I use your bathroom?”

  “Probably not,” Leo answered honestly. At maybe five inches tall, Brent would have a hard time with the faucets. “But I can bring you some water, and a bowl, and . . . give me a second.”

  “Leo . . . what’s going on?”

  Leo had no good answer to that question. She couldn’t explain anything without revealing everything. Maybe it was too late to worry about secrecy, but she didn’t know what to do.

  “Let me get you some bathwater,” she said. “It’s going to be okay. Just . . . wait here.” She glanced around the room and then dropped Brent on the table in front of her three-story wooden dollhouse, which was just Brent’s size. “You can sit in there if you want. I’ll be right back.”

  When Leo returned from the bathroom with Marisol’s jewelry bowl, emptied of its contents and filled with warm water, Brent was sitting on the front steps of the dollhouse wiping honey out of his hair. “Thanks,” he said when Leo set the bowl down on the counter and lifted him to climb in. “Sorry about saying you were going to jail. Whatever’s happening to me, it’s not like it’s your fault. I’ve just been having a really strange week.” He ducked under the water and rubbed the stickiness off his face.

  Leo’s stomach twisted. Brent’s terrible week was all her fault, even if he had been cruel to Caroline. Now he was confused and scared, and even though Leo’s brain spun with possible lies she could tell him to keep her family’s secret, she owed Brent an honest answer.

  She sighed and sat down on the edge of her bed. “Brent, do you remember the note Caroline sent you last week? And how mean you were about it?”

  She told the whole story, start to finish, while Brent scrubbed honey off of his clothes and body. She took a break in the middle to switch the sweetened water for clean rinse water, and another to get Brent a washcloth to dry himself off. After she finished, Brent sat in silence for a long time. Leo tried to wait patiently—she knew it was a lot for him to hear in one sitting. She hoped he wasn’t going to scream or yell again, but she couldn’t blame him if he did. She fiddled with the dollhouse furniture, setting the rooms up for company.

  “That,” Brent finally said, “is ridiculous. There’s no such thing as magic.”

  “What are you talking about? I gave you a love potion and it worked. And look at yourself! I shrank you.”

  “There must be a logical explanation. You’re not a mad scientist, are you?”

  “No, weren’t you listening? I’m a witch!”

  “Hmph.” Brent wrapped himself in the washcloth, which dragged behind him like a dingy gray bridal train. “No, you’re not smart enough to be a mad scientist. Caroline, maybe.”

  “I’m smart!” Leo cried, her cheeks turning red. “I’m plenty smart enough to be a mad scientist, for your information. I just happen not to be one, because I’m busy being a witch.”

  “Hmph.”

  Leo was starting to think she liked the love-bitten Brent better than the regular one. “Here.” She peeled a pair of red pants and a yellow T-shirt off the wire-limbed big brother doll. “Put these on and let your pajamas dry.” Before I lock you in a drawer, she added silently.

  She set up a changing room made out of two old picture books propped upright, since the dollhouse was specifically designed not to give the dolls any privacy. After a few seconds, Brent emerged from between the books, looking like a scarecrow in the baggy new clothes. “I’m hungry. Are you going to feed me while you keep me prisoner?” he said.

  “I’m not keeping you prisoner. I’m helping you.”

  “So will you bring me home?”

  “No! I can’t. I’m not done helping you yet—”

  “Leeee-onora!” Daddy’s voice interrupted, luckily from far enough down the hall that Leo could shove the makeshift bathtub behind the dollhouse, push the picture books down flat, and grab Brent by the back of his shirt and hide him on the top floor of the dollhouse before jumping onto her bed just in time to be reading quietly when Daddy knocked and pushed the door open. “Leonora, dinner’s ready. We’re all waiting for you.”

  “Okay, Daddy. I’ll be right there. Just . . . one second?”

  “Sure, but hurry up. My quesadillas are in high demand, you know.” He turned and headed back down the hall. “They won’t last forever.”

  “Quesadillas?” Brent poked his head out of the top window of the dollhouse, making the puppy-dog face Leo recognized from the festival.

  She sighed. “I’ll bring you one. Do you like salsa?”

  CHAPTER 23

  EMERGENCY

  At dinner, Leo did her best to blend in with the wall. Mamá’s voice drifted out from the study, where she talked to Tía Paloma on the phone. Alma and Belén were “studying” for their December finals by attempting to develop their psychic twin powers, thus allowing them to each cram only half of the material—they had been silently staring at each other all evening, without any apparent success. Daddy and Marisol argued back and forth about some boring thing from the news, and Isabel tried to keep peace between them. Leo finished her meal quickly and quietly and then hid half of her second quesadilla in a napkin to carry back to her room.

  “Here, eat this.” Leo shoved the folded tortilla through the dollhouse window. “I’ll be right back. I have to make a phone call.”

  “It’s as big as I am!” Brent called back. Leo couldn’t tell if he was complaining or celebrating. She scrambled down the hall and stopped just outside the study to see if Mamá had finished her conversation.

  “Are you sure you didn’t leave them somewhere, Paloma?” Mamá asked. “Did you check your sewing basket?” She paused. “The feathers too. And you’re positiv
e you didn’t use them? Hmm . . . well, I just don’t see the point of breaking into the bakery only to make off with a couple of ingredients, no matter how rare. I’ll ask my girls. Maybe Isabel has been practicing. But really, I’ll be there to help you look tomorrow. I’m sure it’s not—” Mamá turned and saw Leo in the doorway.

  “Leo! Hi, sweetie, what’s up? Paloma, I’ll have to call you back. Yes, I’ll ask. No, of course I believe you. Bye, amor. Besitos.” Mamá took the phone away from her ear and smiled at Leo, who was trying to scrape up any fraction of magical talent she had to transform herself into a chair or a potted plant. “Hey, ’jita, how are you? You seemed upset earlier.”

  Leo tried to smile, but after hearing Mamá’s side of the phone conversation, her cheeks felt broken. Tía Paloma had noticed the missing ingredients—the spiderwebs and the feathers and the jars and everything—and now Mamá knew about them too! The harder Leo tried to look innocent, the more she could feel her face twisting, sweat gathering in front of her ears.

  “Mamá, I wondered if . . . I need to— Can I use the phone?” Leo kept her eyes glued to the floor and wiggled her toes nervously through her green-and-purple octopus socks.

  Mamá smiled. “Calling Caroline?”

  Leo nodded without looking up.

  “Fine, ’jita. You know, if you want to talk, I’m here. Middle school is tough sometimes, but I got all your sisters through it, gracias a Dios.”

  “I’m okay, really. Just homework stuff.” Leo didn’t remember exactly what sorts of trouble her sisters got into in middle school, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t as bad as making a Thumbelina-sized boy. And none of them had ever robbed the bakery. Mamá handed Leo the phone and shouted for Isabel.

  In her room, Leo dialed Caroline’s phone number, the one for her cell phone that Caroline had written in Leo’s notebook. It only rang once before Caroline answered. “What’s happening? Tell me! Is he . . . is Brent . . . ?”

  “He’s . . . small,” Leo said. “Really small, like you saw. But he’s um, alive, and eating. And he’s not serenading me, so I think that part actually worked.”