Some Kind of Magic

by Adrian Fogelin

  Mama says I got the brains and Lou got the looks. I don’t think either one of us considers that a compliment, but being pretty, and older, my sister has a lot more experience with guys. Maybe she could help. But I couldn’t talk about Ben, not without telling her everything. I tapped the spoon on the edge of the bowl, trying to decide.

  “Come on, Cass.…You know you want to tell me.”

  Actually, I did. “Okay. But you can’t tell Mama and Daddy.”

  “Of course I won’t.”

  That was one good thing about Lou. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d kept a secret from our parents.

  Still, I made her pinkie swear, and then I told her about Nowhere and the fire and Ben letting me put on a dead girl’s dress. Her eyes kept getting wider and she kept interrupting with Lou questions like, “Isn’t it buggy in that woods?” and “Where do you go to the bathroom?”

  I told her to focus on the Ben part, then I asked for her advice.

  While she thought, I finished my soggy cereal—I’d given her a lot to think about.

  We sat on our beds, our nighties pulled down over our knees and tucked under our feet. She was still thinking and I was drinking the last of the milk in the bowl when someone knocked on our front door. I took a quick peek out our bedroom window. “Shoot, Lou, it’s Ben! You get it.”

  “No way! You think I want your boyfriend to see me in my nightie? What would Daddy say?”

  “What would Daddy say if Ben saw me in mine?” I held my folded hands up to her, begging. “And I can’t talk to him now. You haven’t told me what to do.”

  “True.”

  The knock came again.

  “Oh, all right.” She looked down, then wrapped herself in her bedspread. Dragging it behind her, she padded down the stairs.

  I closed the door, but not all the way.

  I heard the front door open and Ben’s voice. “I know it’s kind of early, but is Cass around? Figured we’d shoot hoops or something before it gets really hot.”

  “She’s still in bed, Benji.” Which wasn’t a lie.

  I heard the front door close. I expected Lou Anne and her bedspread cape to trail back into the room, and then she’d tell me what to do, but she didn’t come back. I looked around the edge of the door. “Lou?”

  Downstairs was awful quiet. I stepped into my shorts, pulled a T-shirt over my head, then caught myself in the mirror on my sister’s vanity. My hair was all flat on one side and Lou hadn’t even mentioned it.

  She must’ve really been feeling sorry for me.

  I opened the bedroom door quietly, then hung over the stair rail. When I didn’t hear anything, I snuck, barefoot, down the stairs.

  No Lou in the kitchen. No Lou anywhere.

  “Lu-Lu?” I looked up and my little sister was calling from the top of the stairs, dragging her bunny, Flop, by one ear. Her reddish hair looked slept-on too.

  I held out my arms in a big shrug—Missy likes everything big. “I don’t know where Lu-Lu is, Missy, but I’m here.” When she opened her arms too, I loped up the steps and carried her down on my hip.

  I sat Missy in her chair and gave her a bowl of cereal too. She knocked over her juice. I was under the table mopping it up when the front door opened again and Lou Anne came in, trailing her blanket and holding her head high like a queen or something.

  I stood up with the wet sponge in my hand, about to ask her where she’d been all that time when I saw Ben flash by outside the window, running down the street. Orange juice was dripping on the kitchen floor, but I didn’t care. “What did you do, Lou?”

  She draped her bedspread over a kitchen chair, then pulled a baby comb out of the drawer by the sink and ran it through Missy’s hair. “I just talked to him.”

  My heart raced. “About what?”

  She waved her free hand. “About, you know, everything.”

  “But we pinkie swore…”

  She stopped combing. “To not tell Mama and Daddy, right?” She must have seen how scared I looked, but she just waved the hand holding the comb. “Listen, Cass. This is what girls do for each other. They smooth things out. I know, Jemmie’s your best friend.” She touched herself in the middle of the chest with the comb. “I’m just your sister. But Jemmie doesn’t know about smoothing things out with a boyfriend. She doesn’t even have one.”

  “But if you told him everything, you got Justin and Cody in trouble too.”

  Lou’s eyes widened. “Shoot. I forgot.” She fished a couple of barrettes out of the jar and put the comb back in. “I was concentrating on you and Ben. That’s the important thing.”

  “What did he say?”

  She snapped a pink pony barrette into Missy’s hair. “He said he’d meant to tell you, but it was never the right time.”

  I leaned toward her, going up on my toes. “And you said?”

  “And I said it’s always the right time to tell your girlfriend the truth.”

  “And he said?”

  “And he said something about killing those guys,” she admitted.

  “Killing them?”

  She held up a hand. “So, it didn’t go exactly the way I planned.” Even though Ben was long gone, she stared out the window like she was watching him run down the street, then turned to me. “My best advice? Give it a rest. Let him miss you.” She held up one finger. “I guarantee he will, Cass, and then he’ll come begging.”

  Begging? Lou Anne didn’t know Ben very well if she thought that.

  She put her hands on her thighs and leaned down to Missy. “Good morning, baby girl! What are we going to do today?” Lou got all carried away, fussing over Missy and baby-talking her like she hadn’t just wrecked my life.

  I didn’t cry till I got out of the house and sat down in the old rocker behind the bush. I put my head down on my knees and sobbed.

  I could hear water spraying next door. I thought it was covering my crying until a voice yelled, “Hey!” from the other side of the fence. I jerked my head up and Jemmie’s brown eye was looking at me through the knothole.

  I wiped my nose on my arm. “What’re you doing?”

  “Watering.” A spray of water jetted over the fence, falling on me and my chair. I heard the squeak of a faucet being turned off, then her eye was back at the hole in the fence. “You having yourself a pity party for one, or would you like some company?”

  I took a shaky breath. “Guess I could use a little company.”

  “Coming around!” she yelled.

  Holding in a sob, I listened to the soft slap of sneakers as she ran along her side of the fence.

  Justin

  Ben’s got this branch in his hand and he’s slashing it back and forth ahead of him like he’s mad at everything. As Cody and I follow him I wonder, did Cody leak? But when I cut my eyes toward him, Cody does the zipper-lips thing, so I guess he didn’t tell.

  This morning, Cody really didn’t want to go to the hangout so he dragged his feet and gave Ben a hard time; maybe that’s it. Or maybe it’s because the predicted high today is ninety-eight degrees and it’s getting there fast.

  Best-case scenario? Ben will take the problem, whatever it is, up on the roof and commune with it solo—pound in a few nails or maybe rip a few out—and Cody’ll look at his uncle’s comics and I’ll play the piano and wish it was in tune.

  Maybe as his best friend I should ask what’s going on, but living with my parents I’ve learned that sometimes not knowing is a good thing.

  I’m thinking I’ve dodged it, but when we get inside Ben turns on us. “You guys,” he says, and I know that us guys are in trouble. “You just couldn’t keep your mouths shut.”

  Cody and I look at each other like, Hey, it wasn’t me. But it must’ve been one of us—and by that I mean him. Not counting the fact I leaked to him, I’ve kept my mouth completely shut. Still, we both turn back to Ben like we don’t have a clue what he’s talking about—which is usually a good policy.

  “So, Jus.” Ben zeroes in on me. “You had t
o tell Cody?”

  I shrug, like maybe it’s a possibility.

  “And you—Detective Dobbs—you had to go and tell Cass!”

  “What?” I whip around toward Cody.

  “I couldn’t talk to Mom and Dad ‘cause of rule number three,” he says. “I had to talk to someone.”

  Ben jabs his own chest with his thumb. “You could’ve talked to me.”

  Cody blinks. “No, I couldn’t. That would’ve gotten Justin in trouble.”

  “Thanks for not getting me in trouble,” I mumble.

  My best friend glares at me. “We’ll talk about that later. Cody, why did you tell Cass?”

  “I wasn’t telling her. I was asking her what to do. What if there are bones out there? What if I find the dead people?”

  I can tell he’s really upset because he starts to hiccup—which is kind of good because it breaks the tension. Even Ben finds it hard to stay mad when there’s a hic every five seconds.

  “I didn’t mean to—hic—tell! And I only told Cass and Jemmie.”

  “This is just great.” Ben throws himself into a stuffed chair. “By now I bet everyone knows.”

  “How do you know?” I ask. “I mean about the general leakage. Did Cass tell you?”

  “You kidding? I got a good talking-to from her sister about how ‘honesty is the best policy’ and how Cass ‘deserved to know the truth.’” He rolls his eyes.

  I sit backwards on the piano bench facing him. “Maybe you should’ve told her. She’s your girlfriend.”

  Ben groans and rests his neck against the back of the chair.

  I reach behind me and doodle a few notes on the piano, but this isn’t the time, so I quit. “On the other hand, if you had told her, we’d be hanging around your living room trying to figure out what to do for the rest of the summer.”

  “Right! True! I did it for her too.”

  I can tell he’s getting less mad at us. Ben doesn’t hold a grudge for long.

  I guess Cody knows it too. The hics are getting further apart. He wanders away, sits on the sleeping bag, and begins arranging the comics on the floor again, spreading out his choices. He pauses to put the hat on, then goes back to arranging.

  Ben is staring at the ceiling when I ask, “Are you and Cass still…you know…you and Cass?”

  “Not sure. Lou Anne says I need to talk to her. Fine. I can talk to Cass, but what am I supposed to say?”

  “Didn’t her sister give you a clue?”

  “She said I had to be honest with her and explain why I did it and how I would never do anything like that again.” He makes his voice high and prissy, doing Lou Anne. “And how I had to promise that she could trust me from now on.”

  “Are you gonna?”

  “I don’t know how to say all that!”

  “How about if Lou Anne says it for you?”

  “I already asked.” He stands up and swings his arms. “Looks like for now this place is guys only.”

  Cody pushes the hat back. “Am I a guy, Ben?”

  “Half a guy.”

  “How about when I’m seven?”

  I would’ve given Cody a birthday promotion—at least to three-quarters—but Ben’s still in a rotten mood.

  “Half,” he says.

  “It’s pretty hot in here,” Cody whines. “I feel all sweaty. Wish we had ‘lectricity.”

  “Or a really long extension cord,” I say. Sometimes I can joke Ben out of a bad mood.

  Not this time. This time Ben tells us we’re both complainers and walks out. A second later, through the window, I see him scramble up the rickety ladder and hear him step onto the roof.

  I wipe my face with the front of my T-shirt. It comes away all sweaty.

  “You think we can talk Ben into letting us go home?” Cody asks softly.

  “No.” I glance down at the comics, all those guys in tight, shiny outfits. “How do they do it? Those guys never sweat.”

  “They can’t sweat. They’re superheroes.”

  I point at a random cover. “Nice muscles.”

  Cody kneels up for a better look. “Of course he has nice muscles! He’s Superman.” He turns the comic his way. “You think anyone could have muscles like that in real life?”

  “I doubt it. They don’t even look real. You know how you can make poodles and things out of balloons?”

  “Sure.”

  “Superman looks kind of like a balloon trick, doesn’t he?”

  “No, Justin. Those muscles are for real. He’s Superman!” But he takes another look at the bulging arms.

  “You sure? I bet that under the blue spandex is a whole bag of blown-up balloons,” I say. “Pop them and Superman is just a skinny little guy who probably looks a lot like you.”

  Cody blinks up at me. “Ya think?”

  “Sure. Let your hair grow, do the curl thing on your forehead, and you’re there.” I take another swipe at my face with my shirt. “You know what we need? A servant.”

  He thumbs the hat back, rebalancing it on his forehead. “A servant for what?”

  “To fan us with one of those big palm-frond thingies.” He stares at me a second, then grabs the Superman comic and waves it at my sweaty face. I’ve barely felt the first puff of air when a matchbook slides out from between the pages. It lands on the floor in front of him. He gasps, staring at it.

  “You okay, Cody?”

  “Matches!”

  “Yup, those are matches.”

  “What if they’re the ones that started the fire?”

  “Your imagination is running away with you, Superman Junior.”

  He lets the hat fall over his face—inside the hat is Cody’s personal Fortress of Solitude.

  He’s under there long enough for me to wonder how he can stand being in there with his own hot breath. “Hey, time to quit breathing carbon dioxide.” When I lift the hat, his forehead is crinkled, his eyes squinched. “What is it, Cody?”

  He opens his eyes, stunned. “The hat says those are Uncle Paul’s matches.”

  “Makes sense. They were in his comic book.”

  “But why did he need matches?”

  “He was probably trying out smoking and he didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “Maybe…” He doesn’t look convinced.

  I grab the hat and put it on. Of course my whole head doesn’t disappear, but I squeeze my eyes shut and act like I’m concentrating really hard.

  I can feel Cody’s breath on my face as he leans toward me. “What’s the hat telling you?”

  “The hat says…these matches belonged to your uncle, but they have no connection to the fire. He used them for cigarettes…and candles…and stuff like that.”

  “You made that up!” He snatches the hat back with a lot more force than I expect. “To you this is just a plain old hat, but it isn’t!”

  He sits under the hat for a while more, then I hear a loud hic. “Justin.” His voice is a whisper. “These are the matches.”

  “The matches?”

  “Yeah. You know, the ones that started the fire.”

  “Why would they be inside a comic book?”

  “Because—hic—Uncle Paul hid them there.” He lifts the hat and points to the name on the corner of the cover.

  “Why would your uncle have the matches, Cody? And why would he hide them?”

  “Because…” Cody looked scared. “He didn’t mean to…but—hic—Uncle Paul burned the house down.”

  Jemmie

  The chains on the porch swing creaked as I pushed it back and forth with my bare toes. Cass sat limp beside me. To cheer her up I’d brought her a big bowl of ice cream, but it sat in her lap, the fudge ripple getting soupy.

  After a while I moved the bowl to my own lap and picked up the spoon.

  “How could Lou Anne do that?” she asked.

  “She thought it would help.” Lou Anne wasn’t the brightest bulb, but she wasn’t mean. “The real question is, why didn’t Ben tell you the truth in the first place?”
/>
  “He knew it would upset me.”

  I held up the drippy spoon and looked at her. “And?”

  “And…I might have told someone and we wouldn’t have been able to go there anymore.”

  While I ate her ice cream she stared up at the porch ceiling my grandmother had painted heavenly blue—Nana Grace believes in blue skies even if you have to make them for yourself.

  “I don’t get Ben anymore,” Cass said. “He’s changing.”

  “We all are.”

  “Not me.” She pulled her feet up and sat cross-legged on the swing.

  “Sure you are.” I thought about the Cass I met a couple of years ago. “You’re taller.” I poked her with an elbow. “And even skinnier.”

  “I don’t feel different.”

  She did, even if she didn’t know it. Used to be, running and our friendship were the most important things. “Could you just forget about Ben for a while? You have plenty to look forward to, with or without Ben Floyd. High school. A real track team.” I pushed the swing hard, making the chains squeak louder.

  “But I like him. I always have, probably from about the time I was five. Six or seven, anyway.” She gazed down the street. “I wish he’d apologize.”

  “Just forget it! This boyfriend-girlfriend thing is more trouble than it’s worth.”

  “Not most of the time. You’ll get a boyfriend; then you’ll see.”

  I set the empty ice cream bowl down on the porch floor with a clatter. “Maybe I will and maybe I won’t.”

  “Jemmie? Is there any guy you actually like? I mean…that way?”

  I slid down and rested my neck against the hard edge of the seat back and stared at Nana’s blue sky. In a few seconds it was replaced by Cass’s blue eyes looking down at me. “Jemmie, is there?”

  I shrugged.

  The blue eyes got all wide. “Who?”

  I shrugged again. If we were the Jemmie and Cass we used to be, I would’ve told her in a heartbeat.

  “Okay, don’t tell me.” She sounded disappointed but didn’t push.

  We didn’t use to have secrets, and we were way too good friends to be polite. Ben wasn’t the only one who was changing, no matter what Cass said.

  Suddenly, she laughed and pointed. My big old orange tomcat, General Lee, who never changed except to get fatter, was licking the ice cream bowl—and I remembered what Big had said about comic relief.