Some Kind of Magic

by Adrian Fogelin

  I need to crash at the Floyds’, but getting inside is going to be tricky.

  When I reach Ben’s driveway I stand there awhile, looking up. There’s Ben’s window. No light on. He’s asleep—like I’d be, if my parents didn’t fight all night.

  I grab a handful of gravel and toss it toward the window. It splats against the side of the house. I try again and hear it clatter against the glass.

  I hold my breath but the light doesn’t come on. I’m picking up another handful of pebbles when the window opens. “Jus?” Ben sounds hoarse, like somebody just woke him up from a deep sleep.

  “Who else?”

  “Wait there.” The window scrapes closed again.

  Sneaking down the stairs takes time in a house where people don’t yell all night. I watch moths ping against the bulb of the porch light.

  The door opens. He’s wearing boxers and an old T-shirt. “Sorry,” I whisper as I slide inside.

  “I was awake anyway, thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “About how my uncle Paul used to hitchhike to Panama City Beach when he was in high school.”

  “Why were you thinking about that?”

  He turns on the little light over the stove and leans against the oven door—even in the dim light I can see that the kitchen is clean, no yesterday dishes anywhere. “Do you ever have the feeling all the cool stuff happened before we got old enough to do any of it?” he asks.

  “Like hitching to the coast? Does anyone even hitch anymore?”

  “That’s what I’m talking about!” He stares into the dark outside the kitchen window.

  “I’d be up for it.” I pull out a chair and sit. “My folks wouldn’t even notice. But yours? Double heart attack. Plus, nobody hitchhikes anymore except mass murderers.”

  Frustrated, he shakes his head. “When it comes to having a cool summer, we’re toast.” He gets a bag of coffee out of the freezer, then glances at me over his shoulder. “Your T-shirt’s inside out.”

  I hold out the front of the shirt and look down, then shrug. “I wore it right side out yesterday.” At my house the score is dirty shirts, ten; clean shirts, zero. Still, inside out? I have some standards. I skin the shirt off and put it on right. “I dressed kind of fast,” I say, popping my head out the neck hole. I glance down, and there’s the ghost of yesterday’s ketchup stain. In better light, I bet you could see sweat stains too.

  “They get up this early to fight?” Ben whispers, filling the coffee pot at the sink.

  “What do you mean, get up? They’ve been at it all night.”

  The only time it was peaceful at my house was for a couple of months when Dad left. Then he came back. I rub my burning eyes.

  Ben makes an extra-big pot of coffee. He pours a mug for each of us, then sets the squeeze-top honey bear on the table. I squirt long drizzles into both cups. Ben sloshes in some milk.

  We sit with our elbows on the table. Upstairs, a toilet flushes.

  Mr. Floyd comes down in his boxers too, but no T-shirt. He stops scratching his hairy belly when he sees me. “Justin?” He stares at me like I’m the answer to the question, “What’s wrong with this picture?”

  “Hi, Mr. Floyd. Good morning?”

  “Did you spend the night?”

  “No, sir. I just got here.”

  He checks out the clock on the stove. “Do your parents know where you are?”

  “Where else would I be?”

  Mr. Floyd crosses his arms. “You better call them.”

  “I don’t think they’d hear the phone.”

  Ben takes another mug out of the cupboard. “Coffee, Dad?”

  “And newspaper?” I ask. I go out to the box and bring in the Democrat, figuring Ben will explain. As I come back in with the paper, Mr. Floyd lifts a cast-iron skillet off a hook on the wall.

  We’re about to dig in to hash browns and a cheese omelet when Ben’s mom scuffs down the stairs in a purple robe. Staring, she does a repeat of “What’s wrong with this picture?”

  Mrs. Floyd thinks I should call home, too, then zeroes in on our heaped plates. We aren’t breaking any of her vegetarian rules, but she’s a big believer in fiber. Breakfast, according to Ben’s mom, should be like gnawing a chair leg.

  “Comfort food,” Mr. Floyd whispers.

  “Oh, honey.” Ben’s mom puts a hand on my back and rubs. “You look so tired.” She watches me eat until I clean the plate, then drapes an arm around my shoulders. “Come with me.”

  I let her walk me to the sofa. “Lie down.”

  Roll over…Beg…Sometimes I wish the snarky little guy in my head who turns everything into a joke would take a break.

  I lie down and Mrs. Floyd shakes out the fuzzy pink blanket that hangs on the back of the sofa. It’s summer and plenty warm, but it’s the thought that counts. “I’m okay,” I mutter as the blanket settles.

  I pass out fast, but it isn’t a deep sleep.

  The front door opens and closes a couple of times as Mrs. Floyd takes off for the utilities office and Mr. Floyd heads for Baker’s Garage, his summer job until he goes back to being a high school auto mechanics teacher.

  I open an eye and Ben is in the nearby recliner, zonked. The house is so quiet, I can hear the clock ticking on the book shelf. I count it off in 4/4 time until I drift…

  I’m asleep for real when I feel someone sit down on my chest.

  We both yell, and I bolt up so fast I dump Cody on his butt. The hat that kept him from seeing me pops off and rolls on its brim until it hits the bookcase.

  Ben, stretching his arms over his head, yawns so big I can see his back teeth. It’s daylight out.

  Cody crawls over to the bookcase. “You okay, hat?” Up on his knees, he brushes off some imaginary dust.

  “FYI, Jus?” Ben snaps the footrest on the recliner down. “You drool in your sleep.”

  “How would you know? You were asleep too.”

  “Not the whole time. Trust me, you drool.”

  “Great!” I flop back on the couch. “I can’t even sleep right.”

  “So,” Ben says. “What do you wanna do today?”

  Nothing much comes to mind. “Eat a big bowl of ice cream?”

  “No,” Cody blurts out. “We’re not allowed!”

  “He was kidding,” Ben says.

  “Oh.” Cody looks sad that he didn’t get the joke.

  “Hey,” I say. “Isn’t today seven minus six?”

  “Yeah,” says Ben. “I think I saw something about that in today’s paper. Happy seven minus six. How about if you pick out what we do today, little bro?”

  My buddy must be desperate if he’s asking Cody for ideas.

  “Me? Choose?” Cody looks proud—then worried. “Just a second.” Cody puts the hat on and lets it drop over his face. He sits like that for a minute. “The hat says we should go for a walk.”

  “A walk?” Ben doesn’t sound thrilled.

  “The hat says seven minus six is a good day to look for something.”

  Ben rests his forearms on his thighs, leans toward his brother, and nudges the hat back. “What kind of something?”

  “I dunno. The hat’ll show us.”

  “I’m up for it.” I toss back the pink blanket. “I gotta stay busy and out of the house for the next”—I pretend to study the clock on the bookshelf—“two and a half months.”

  “Okay, Detective.” Ben thumps the top of the hat with a knuckle. “Find us something.”

  “Check!” says the kid in the hat, throwing his shoulders back.

  Jemmie

  Cass and me were still in our pajamas when Nana Grace leaned forward in her chair by the window. “Here they come again! Lord, Cody can’t see a thing with that hat over his face, and he’s leading them other two around.”

  The first time they went by, Ben had his hands on his brother’s shoulders, Big walking right behind them. When Cody tripped, they piled into each other.

  This time they stopped. Ben dropped to one kn
ee to talk to Cody, who was still under the hat.

  The hat kind of wobbled. It looked like Cody was shaking his head no. Then Ben shrugged at Big and put his hands back on Cody’s shoulders. They started walking again. I figured it was some kind of game. I went out on the porch and leaned toward them over the railing. “Hey! What’re you doing?”

  “We’re on a hat expedition!” Big yelled back. “Cody’s idea.”

  “Nuh-uh!” Cody shouted. “It was the hat’s idea!”

  I stuck my head back in the door. “Cass? Wanna go on a hat expedition?”

  “Come in here right this second and get decent!” my grandmother ordered.

  I turned back to the guys and held out my arms. “I am decent, right?”

  Big gulped. “Are those your pajamas?” He turned red.

  “Well, yeah.” I felt my face get hot—but I didn’t know why. My pj’s were a pink tank top and baggy flannel bottoms with fairies on them. No matter what my grandmother said or how red-faced Big got, I was decent!

  “Back in a minute!” I rushed inside.

  The guys were sitting on the steps when we came out. Big looked away. I wanted to punch his arm and say, Hey, now that I’m wearing shorts, flip-flops, and a T-shirt, I’m showing you way more skin than I did in my pajamas. But then I thought about seeing him in his pajamas and I looked away too. Must be something about the word “pajamas.”

  We started walking, all of us trailing along behind Cody.

  “What’s a hat expedition?” Cass dragged her fingers through her hair—we dressed so fast, she hadn’t had time to brush.

  Justin tapped on the top of the hat. “Explain, O Cody of the Third Eye.”

  “The hat is leading us.”

  “Leading us where?” I asked.

  “In circles,” said Ben.

  I glanced at Big. He had no business making comments about anything I wore. “Say, Big? Isn’t that the same shirt you had on yesterday?”

  “Uh, no. I have two like this.”

  Who had two T-shirts that have “Killer App” and a robot-looking guy with a sword on the front? One was too many, and the pinkish stain looked familiar. But for once I didn’t run my mouth. Nana Grace leaves stacks of neatly folded laundry on my bed. I’ve never been inside Big’s house, but I bet no one leaves him stacks of clean laundry.

  For the next while we followed Cody…and sweated.

  Finally, Ben pulled back on his brother’s shoulders. “Running out of neighborhood.”

  “But we’re not there yet,” the hat whined.

  “Come on, Cody.” Ben leaned down. “Let’s go home, put the hat in the closet, and—”

  Cody’s arm jerked up. “That way!”

  Ben straightened. I shaded my eyes and squinted across Rankin, the road at the edge of the neighborhood.

  Ben squinted against the glare. “You mean the leftover piece of woods?”

  When I moved here, there was a whole lot of woods on the other side of Rankin; then the county bulldozed most of the trees so they could mine sand. For some reason a few fenced-in acres were still there, all woodsy and viny and surrounded by a split-rail fence.

  Cody pushed the hat back to see where the hat had led them. “Oh. Never mind. Those woods are off-limits. Dad said.” Then he told the hat he was sorry because he couldn’t follow its instructions. He scuffed a sneaker in the roadside dust. “Guess we should go home now.”

  Looking at Cass and Big, I could tell that, like me, they were ready to turn back, but Ben crossed his arms and stared at the sandy pit the city kept digging deeper. “Remember when we used to build forts all over those woods?”

  Cass smiled. “And remember that old car we used to hang out in?”

  Big and I didn’t remember any of that stuff—we were both too new to the neighborhood—but Ben and Cass were little together. They built forts, ran under the sprinkler in their diapers. His little-kid handprint is right next to hers on the cement in front of her house.

  “And this is all that’s left—the last wilderness.” Ben peered into the forbidden woods. “Why does everything I want to do have a fence around it?”

  “I take it you’re talking figuratively, not literally,” Big said.

  I remembered the English class when Mr. Butler explained the difference—I thought Big mostly slept through Butler’s class.

  “Or,” he said, “are you actually saying you’ve always wanted to go into that particular weed patch?”

  “Guess I’ve never thought about it,” Ben admitted. “But it’s not like we have anything better to do. So what do you say?” Thumbs shoved into the pockets of his jeans, Ben nodded toward the woods across the glaring-hot tar road. “The fence is falling over anyway. See how it’s leaning?”

  “No,” I said, “but I do see plenty of poison ivy climbing up that tree, and loads of sticker vines.”

  Cody’s head bobbed. “Leaves of three, don’t touch me!”

  But when Ben gets an idea, his ears turn off. “If that land is abandoned—and I say it is—that means it’s public domain. And that means we can take a look. What could looking hurt, anyhow?”

  “But Ben,” Cody whined.

  Ben held up his hands. “Hey, just following the command of the almighty hat!” He loped across the street and climbed over a section of the fence that looked weathered but still stood pretty straight. “Come on!” Sitting on the top rail, he waved us across Rankin. Cass went first, then Big. What the heck. I jogged across too.

  Cody stood all by himself on the other side of the street. “You guys! It’s private property. Dad says!”

  Straddling the fence, Big slapped his neck. “If it is, I just killed one of the security guards.”

  “I don’t see any No Trespassing signs.” Ben opened his arms. “Do you?”

  Cody turned in place, scanning the fence from one end to the other, searching for signs. “Well, maybe just one look would be okay.” He trotted across the street, holding the hat in both hands.

  We all sat up on the top rail of the fence, our legs dangling above a patch of sticker vines.

  Ben pointed out a strip that cut back into the woods where the brambles grew lower. “Looks like there used to be a road here, or maybe a driveway. It’s gotta go somewhere.”

  “Doesn’t mean we have to,” I said. Sitting on that fence, it was hot and still. Hot and still and buggy.

  Ben jumped down, took a few steps, and looked back. “Ya comin’?”

  The rest of us just stared at him—he was the only one in jeans. Big was the first to cave. “Okay, okay!” He lumbered down off the fence. “If this isn’t enough fun, we could try poking out our eyeballs with sticks.”

  Ben looked at Big’s pink legs, then at me and Cass and Cody, still perched on the fence. “Never mind. You guys wait here. I’m goin’ in.” Ben let out a whoop. Lifting his feet high, he bounded over brambles and cut around saplings, zigzagging his way through the deep weeds until he disappeared. I expected Cass to leap down and run after him, but she stayed put, swinging her legs and holding her hair up off her neck.

  “Reprieve!” Big climbed back up.

  When we couldn’t hear Ben anymore, we listened to the buzz of mosquitoes.

  For a second, Big hummed that same mosquito note. “Ah yes,” he said. “Summer’s greatest hit.”

  Cass

  Jemmie swung her legs back and forth, her flip-flops dangling. “Girl,” she said, staring at my bit-up legs, “if you sit on this fence much longer, you’ll have as many bites as you have freckles.”

  True. And I have a lot of freckles.

  I was scratching my knee when we heard Ben yell, “Over here!”

  Justin sat up straight. “Sounds like he found something.”

  Jemmie and me looked down at our bare legs, then out at the mess of prickers and vines we’d have to wade through.

  “Can we ignore him?” Jemmie asked, but Justin was already on the ground.

  “The torture begins,” he said, taking a step in
to the weeds.

  “This better be good.” Jemmie slid down off the fence.

  I climbed down too. Everybody follows Ben. Anytime he’s a part of something, everybody else wants to be a part of it too.

  “Come on!” Ben shouted. “Get over here!”

  “He sounds pretty far away,” said Justin, lifting a foot high to take another step. “These woods must be bigger than they look, like the TARDIS in Dr. Who.”

  Jemmie and me traded looks, then stared at him.

  “You know, the phone booth that’s bigger on the inside than the outside?”

  “Follow my voice!” Ben yelled.

  Cody was still sitting on the top rail. His skinny white legs were bit up bad too. I went over and turned my back toward him. “Grab on.” He wrapped his arms and legs around me and held the hat in one hand, dangling it over my shoulder. It tapped against my shirt with every step.

  Justin picked up a big branch. “To lift vines and kill snakes,” he said. “If necessary.” He glanced at Jemmie to see if she was impressed, but she was standing on one foot, looking for a place to put the other foot down.

  It wasn’t so bad once we got going.

  There were a few clear spots, and not all the weeds had thorns. Some had flowers. “Bend down,” Cody ordered. When I did he picked one, then stuck it behind my ear.

  We’d been walking for what Justin called eons when I heard running feet, then a whoop, and Ben loped out from behind a big magnolia. “You won’t believe what I found!” He grabbed my elbow and pulled me and Cody around the tree. Jemmie and Justin followed.

  “Wow!” Cody said. His breath was hot and damp on my cheek.

  “Wow is right!” said Ben.

  Nobody else said a thing. We didn’t know what to say about an old building in the woods.

  “Don’t you see?” Ben gave us a look like he couldn’t believe we didn’t get it. “The place is abandoned.”

  “And…?” asked Justin.

  Ben held out his arms, then let them slap down at his sides. “Do I have to spell everything out for you people? We have a place now.”

  “A place sealed up tight as tuna in a can,” Justin pointed out. Some kind of wooden shutters, hinged at the top, had been lowered and were nailed to the window frames on the sides and the bottom.