Just Add Magic (9 page)

“What's your problem?” I asked.

“I don't know. I'm, like, uncontrollably clumsy.”

I shook my head. “What I was saying was that I was thinking about the H-E-X.”

Darbie thought about this. Her face told me that she was having trouble making out the letters I spelled.

“Hex,” I said. “The Hexberry Pie. We gave her blisters.”

“You know they can get infected?” Darbie mimicked Misty. “Man, hexes stink.”

“Only for the one
being hexed
. As the
hexer
, I think they rock!” I said.

Darbie said, “And you're not worried we'll get what we deserve?”

“You worry too much,” I told her.

With newfound energy I jogged my way up to Hannah and explained our good fortune.

Nine laps later Coach called, “GATHER AROUND, LADIES!” We all collapsed onto the grass. “Get some water,” Coach said. He took a long pull on his own bottle and squeezed water onto his face. “You girls did really well today. I know the first few days of conditioning are hard. Eat a good dinner tonight. And get a good night's sleep.” He took another drink. “Grab a colored mesh jersey; we'll scrimmage until your parents get here.”

“I might puke,” Darbie panted.

“NO CHITCHAT, GIRLS! Take your positions.”

We jogged onto the field. Everyone was dog-tired, except for Hannah. She easily dribbled down the field and scored.

Darbie dragged. The truth was, she wasn't looking so
good at tryouts today and I was worried she might get cut from the team. That would totally stink. We had always been on the same team. I didn't know what was up with her—she was always a little clumsy, but not a total spaz like today, and yesterday on her Rollerblades.

Hannah must've thought the same thing, because she took the ball to the sideline for a throw-in, and on her way she nudged Darbie in front of the first white goal post. “Stay right here and get ready,” she whispered.

With a grunt she tossed the ball long and high, right to Darbie's forehead. Darbie snapped her neck to hit the ball and made a perfect shot into the goal. Hannah might not have believed in the special powers of the Secret Recipe Book, but she was still a great pal to set Darbie up to look like a star—or at least not a total spaz.

“All right, O'Brien! That's what I'm talking about. Good job!” Coach clapped his hands.

I saw my mom arrive. She sat on the sideline talking to Mrs. Barney. I had a bad feeling about that.

At the end of practice we gathered our stuff by the bench. “How're those stomach muscles feeling?” Darbie asked Charlotte.

“My abs are like a rock.” Charlotte patted her tummy. “Unlike yours. You know, you're going to set a record as the fastest kid Coach has ever cut. Face it Darbie, you're going to be the first one cut from this team, and Kelly is going to lose
the chili contest.”

“No way.” Darbie got in Charlotte's face. “Wanna take things up a notch?”

“Bring. It. On,” Charlotte said.

“All right. If Kelly loses the chili contest, she has to rake your yard wearing whatever you choose. If she wins, you have to rake her yard wearing whatever
she
chooses.”

Charlotte said, “You're. So. On.” She and Misty walked off giggling.

I couldn't move my feet. I couldn't move my mouth. And thankfully, I couldn't move my arms. Because if I could, I would've run after Charlotte and taken back the bet. And I'd have whacked Darbie in the head for upping the ante
on my behalf!

That's just wrong.

I managed to heave myself and all of my belongings into the minivan. Darbie and Hannah did the same.

Mom said, “You girls don't look so good.”

We just sort of grunted.

“If you girls promise you'll still eat your dinners, you could talk me into buying you a little somethin' somethin' at Sam's,” she said. She was trying too hard to be cool, but I was too tired to be embarrassed by her and I really needed the Swirley she was referring to. (I'm talking extra-thick.)

We nodded. Normally we would've whooped, but we were too beat.

She put the car in gear and drove toward Sam's. “By the way, Kelly, your father's and brother's voices came back. A little tea with my special honey drops did the trick. Mrs. Barney was telling me there's a virus going around. Oh, and Kell, when I was talking to her . . .”

Oh, no. Here it comes.

“. . . She was telling me how badly Charlotte's feet hurt.”

Yes!

“So, I offered for you to help take her books to school tomorrow.”

And there it was.
Jab to the stomach,
as my father would say, and he knows what he's talking about, because he watches a lot of boxing.

“You've got to be kidding. Why? Oh, why,
why
?”

“Don't be so dramatic. It's only for a few days. And you're going to the same place as Charlotte. It's not a big deal.”

I had really enjoyed the hex and seeing Charlotte do sit-ups for an hour. But now I had to help her? Maybe it was the curse—maybe that's what I deserved for hexing her legs and enjoying it so much: Death by Humiliation.

Sam delivered Swirleys to our table because we were too tired to walk over to the counter to get them. He even opened the straw for Darbie and bent it to her lips. She slurped, swallowed, and sighed. “Good stuff. Thanks, Sam.”

When Mom went to Cup O' Joes, I said, “With the exception
of having to help Charlotte with her books, the whole blister thing is exciting, doncha think?”

Darbie held a blank expression. “This is my excited face today,” she said.

Hannah said, “I know what you're thinking, that somehow with that book, we caused Bud to lose his voice and Charlotte to get terrible blisters, but there are rational explanations for why those things happened. I don't think our Charlotte experiment proved anything. It could still be coincidental.”

“If you ask me,” I said, “two coincidences are two coincidences too many.”

“We need more data,” Hannah said.

“I'm game,” I said.

Darbie couldn't pry her lips from around her straw. She just gave the “okay” sign.

My Swirley was so thick I couldn't suck it through the straw. I had to eat it with a spoon—but it totally hit the spot.

Hannah's Swirley was almost gone. She pushed all ten fingertips on her forehead so hard that they turned white.

“You did it again,” I said.

She nodded. “Brain freeze. I can't help it, it's just so good.”

Later that evening Mom called upstairs interrupting my homework. “That was Mrs. Silvers on the answering machine. Can you—”

“Let me guess. Scoop the poop,” I said. I opened the Secret Recipe Book. That grouchy old dog-hater across the street was going to drive me to Crazytown if I didn't do something soon.

“Oh, and Kelly,” Mom said, “when you go over can you—”

“Yes, I'll take her mail too. I'll go over in a few minutes.” I remembered seeing something in the Book that I thought
would be good for just such a situation. Ah, there it was, the FCS: Fresh Citrus Squeeze/For Causing Strife. This recipe had only four ingredients, so I could make it fast for a quick delivery. It called for crushed
menta
. I knew that was mint. We always had mint leaves in the spice cabinet. Mom and I use it in lots of different recipes.

Downstairs Mom was singing jazz and folding clean sheets in the laundry room, which was right next to the kitchen. “I'm going to squeeze an orange for the hag—err, I mean, Mrs. Silvers.”

My mom looked at me through the doorway, a smile covering her face, “You're squeezing orange juice for Mrs. Silvers?” she confirmed in disbelief.

“Yeah. I started thinking that maybe if I'm nice to her, she won't bother me so much. Maybe she'll call Charlotte to clean her yard.”

Mom said, “That would make more sense if Charlotte had a dog.”

In the kitchen I squeezed the juice of an orange into a glass. “Not really. We both know that Rosey isn't the dog pooping in her yard. She only did once and that was a long time ago. But because of that, I'm singlehandedly scooping poop for any random dog who comes by and squats. It's only fair Charlotte should have the same opportunity.”

“Speaking of Charlotte, since you're in a forgiving mood, why don't you kiss and make up with her, too?”

Let's not get carried away.
“Mom, I can name that tune in one note . . . NOT!”

Mom snapped a pillowcase as she shook it out.

I crushed a mint leaf under the base of a metal spoon.

Mom's head was halfway in the dryer. “What you're doing is nice. Maybe when you're old, someone nice will help you.”

I sprinkled in a half pinch of crushed mint into the pulpy juice as I stirred.

I plopped a few ice cubes into the fresh citrus orange-mint-squeeze, grabbed the scooper, and headed across the street.

Knock-knock.

“Hi,” I said cheerfully as the door opened a crack. “I'm going to clean up your yard. I also brought over your mail and some fresh juice for you.”

A wrinkled hand came out and took the glass, and the door banged shut in my face. Not a word from that mean old woman.

Mission complete,
as my dad says.

While I scooped poop for what I hoped was the last time, Darbie's words dangled in the back of my brain, “BEEEEWAAARRRREEE, MooHaHaHah!”

* * *

During my hot shower, I thought about Bud's voice and Charlotte's blisters and Hannah's need for additional experimentation. Back in my bedroom, I looked through the Book.
There was one recipe that continually captured my attention. I e-mailed Darbie.

On my way to bed, I sniffed. I couldn't believe it. It was nine thirty and I smelled chili. I went downstairs. “Mom, what are you doing?”

Next to her was the Mammoth. The Mammoth was the biggest cup of the strongest coffee Cup O' Joe makes. “I'm glad you're here,” she said frantically. “I made several small batches of chili to try out some different spice combos. I'd like you to test each one and tell me what you think. I have my favorite, but let's see what you think.” She slid a spoon in front of me. “Try this.”

I tasted it. “Water!” I yelled. OMG, it was so spicy!

She got me a glass. “Too hot? Is it too hot? I thought it might be too hot.”

I nodded.

“Try this one.” Mom shoved another spoonful of chili under my nose.

After the last one, I wasn't too psyched, but I took an itty-bitty taste. It was so smoky it made me cough. I drank the water again, choking on it as it struggled to get down my throat.

“Too much BBQ? I thought there might be too much BBQ,” she said.

I nodded as I chugged more water.

Then she gave me a third spoonful. She looked at me like she was simply dying to hear what I thought. Reluctantly, I tasted it.

It was not immediately offensive, which was good. It was chunky with both meat and beans. I liked the balance of hot red pepper and cumin. There was a little sweetness that
was interesting. But then there was a kicker that I couldn't identify. It was very pleasing, and while I couldn't put my finger on what it was, it reminded me of Thanksgiving and Christmas, and it made me feel happy. I tilted my head and thought about it. I still didn't know what it was. “Mom, this is so, so, so good. What is that flavor?”

“AHA!” she yelled. “I knew it. I knew you'd love it. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it.”

“What's in it?”

She held up a regular old ordinary spice bottle that had been in our cabinet forever. Who would've ever thought that the spice of homemade apple sauce and pumpkin pie would go so well in chili?

Our annual Alfred Nobel School Chili Cook-Off secret weapon? Nutmeg.

Question:
What weighs more, one hundred
pounds of flour, or one hundred pounds of nutmeg?

Answer:
Charlotte's red canvas LL Bean backpack on the
morning I'm carrying it to school.

The next morning there was a knock at the back door. I saw blond hair.

Let the humiliation begin.
I hoisted her backpack over my shoulders and carried mine in front of my body.

On the bus in front of everyone, including Frankie and Tony, Charlotte made a big deal about me carrying her stuff.

She said, “Oh, Kelly, can you put it there?” She turned to Misty. “It's just like having a butler.”

Misty asked, “Do you tip her?”

“Do you tip a butler?” Charlotte asked.

I tuned out the rest of the conversation, which was peppered with giggles.

It was the ultimate humiliation that blurred the rest of my day like chocolate fudge in a Swirley. I didn't pay attention in any of my classes and I didn't eat my lunch. I did notice, however, that Darbie still had trouble with her foot coordination, holding her pencil in her hand, and keeping her books in her arms. She had an überbad case of the clumsies.

The backpack thing had me so livid, I only spoke to the girls long enough to tell them that I'd “dealt with” Mrs. Silvers, and arranged for them to come over after school. I told them not to come over right away, because I needed to run an errand. They agreed, and by the end of seventh period they stopped trying to make me feel better.