Just Add Magic (15 page)

Darbie said, “That was a way to get you down here so we could prove to Hannah that the juice worked by showing her you had fallen in love with Kelly. Good plan, huh?” She smiled.

Frankie didn't. “Great plan.” He was furious.

Hannah made squinty little eyes at me and Darbie. “Well, it looks like your big experiment was a flop, which proves my theory. There are no potions.” I'm sure she was angry with me for not telling her about Frankie falling for me, but she should have just been glad that we got through the entire rendezvous without him knowing that Hannah was actually the target for his affection.

Frankie asked Hannah, “What's with the pink glob on your face?”

She touched her cheek self-consciously, then looked at the cream on her fingertips. Her face turned the same color as the lotion that she wiped off with a paper napkin. “I can't believe you guys didn't remind me that was there,” she said to us quietly, so that it didn't appear to Frankie that she was furious.

Sam brought four giant glasses full of Swirley goodness to the table.

There were no more brain freezes, and no more talking with Frankie—or with each other.

But I didn't buy that the experiment had failed. Quite the opposite, actually. Frankie could've just asked me to help him with Home Ec. I would've said yes. He had been into me, and the Moon Honey had snapped him out of it.

Question:
If there was a smell, any smell, that I could choose
to not smell for a year, what would it be?

Answer:
Chili.

After the meeting at Sam's, I came home to several pots simmering on the stove. I had to do two things: get antidotes to Mrs. Silvers and Charlotte Barney to undo hexes, and think of some really good things I could do to end my bad luck. I looked around the house, but your average chore wouldn't cut it. I needed something unexpected. Something out of the ordinary. Something I really didn't want to do.

The chili looked warm and bubbly. . . . The kind of thing that would be nice for an old woman on a cool afternoon.

I filled a plastic container with some chili, but before securing the lid, I plunked in a cube of Moon Honey. It dissolved instantly.

Armed with the warm container and my pooper-scooper, I headed across the street.

I knocked on Mrs. Silvers's door.

Joanne answered. I gave her the chili, explaining that it was for Mrs. Silvers because we were all really hoping she'd be feeling better very soon, and that it was for our entry in the annual contest, which was in two days.

“What a lovely surprise,” said Joanne. “Maybe Mom and I will stop by the contest. She might want to get out for a bit.”

After I scooped the poop out of Mrs. Silvers's yard—
without being asked
—I also checked the yards of six other nearby houses and scooped anything suspicious.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the curtain move in the downstairs window of Mrs. Silvers's house.

In one outing across the street, I'd delivered the antidote
and
done my good deed.

And that is, as my dad would say, how you kill two birds with one stone.

Rosey chased after the leaves blowing around our backyard. Charlotte's lawn was covered with a thick blanket of unraked leaves. We just had to win the contest or I'd be raking for days. I felt really good about the concoction Mom and I had come up with this year. We actually had a chance of winning. But if we didn't . . . I looked at Charlotte's yard again.

I thought about the 1953
World Book Encyclopedia
peeking out from under my bed, and I asked myself something that Darbie had asked days ago:

I studied the thick, worn stationery pages, looking for something that might work for Mr. Douglass' taste buds.

At the bottom of one of the pages was a very simple recipe. It didn't have a title, but I could tell by looking at it that it was homemade vanilla ice cream. Next to the instructions was a note: “If made with vanilla beans from the western shore of the
Isla de Cedros
, enhances
la narize
and
la boca—rs.
Google confirmed that
narize
was “nose” and
boca
was “mouth.” I also Googled
rs
, but no English translation came up. I wondered if
ip
and
rs
were a special code. I played with the letters, but I couldn't spell anything: spir, risp . . . nothing.

I did a search on
Isla de Cedros
. It's a Mexican island in the Pacific Ocean that was discovered by the Spanish and became a rich farming community.

I investigated our vanilla supply. We had vanilla extract, but the bottle didn't say anything about where it was grown. Normally, I would've used it anyway, but the note in the Book specifically said “if” made with vanilla beans from the western shore of the
Isla de Cedros,
the vanilla ice cream would enhance smell and taste. So the detail seemed pretty important.

I knew where I'd be able to get the Mexican vanilla beans, but I didn't want to go there.

At least not alone.

There was no sign of Charlotte around the neighborhood Saturday morning. I tried to resist, but I was too curious. I had to know if my nice scooping might've changed my luck. I went to her door.

“Hello Kelly,” Mrs. Barney said.

“Is Charlotte here?”

“No, I'm sorry dear. She and her dad already left for tryouts. Did you need a ride?”

“No, thanks. I'm all set.”

“Well, I'll tell her you stopped by, but you'll probably see her before I do. By the way, it's been so nice of you to help Charlotte with her books, but I think Mr. Barney is going to drive her to school for the next few days, so she won't need you anymore.”

“Sure.” I said. Okay, now I was truly excited.

“Better get going or you'll be late for soccer.”

I ran home and got into the minivan, and we picked up Darbie.

“Guess what?” I whispered so Mom couldn't hear.

“Okay. I'll guess. What?” Darbie asked.

“I scooped the poop for the whole block last night, and now Charlotte is going to get rides to school from her dad. I don't have to carry her books!”

“Great,” she said flatly.

The car stopped at a red light, right next to a Rusamano Landscaping truck. Tony looked out the window and gave us a little wave. Frankie looked out the other window.

“I think it's safe to say he's not in love with me anymore.”

“Guess not.” Darbie yawned.

“What's up with you?”

“I was up late last night and I'm very tired. Wake me up when we get to school.”

Soccer tryouts buzzed with whispers. Today was the day we found out who made the cut. I saw Hannah. It looked like her bee stings had healed. She was with Charlotte.

Hannah. Sat. With. Charlotte.

I heard Hannah telling her, “You'll definitely make the team.”

Stretching my neck, I spied in Hannah's direction. She asked Charlotte, “How are your blistery feet? I hope they'll be good enough to play in the game tomorrow.”

Charlotte said, “Me too.” She looked at me suspiciously.

I tapped Hannah's arm lightly, and out of the corner of my mouth I whispered, “Does the Wicked One have you under a trance?” I was only half joking.

Hannah took my elbow and moved a few steps away, out of earshot from Charlotte. “Kelly, I've wanted to tell you something for a while. You need to let go of your obsession with Charlotte. You can't get jealous every time I talk to her.”

“Are you kidding me?” I asked. “Are you flippin' kidding me? I'm not jealous. I'm trying to protect you.”

“Get serious.”

“I am,” I said. “Do you remember third grade?”

Hannah blew her bangs way high. “Yes, I've heard it all a hundred times. She told you about your surprise birthday party, so it wasn't a surprise anymore. It was horrible, terrible, very mean. But you still had an awesome party, and it was
years ago
. GET OVER IT!”

I huffed and maneuvered myself away from an angry Hannah, and closer to Darbie, who asked, “What's going on?”

“I think Hannah's on her way to Crazytown. And I'm pretty sure she's mad at me.”

Darbie asked, “Can you blame her?”

What the heck is happening here?

“What?” I asked defensively.

“She kind of has a right to be mad at you for not telling her Frankie was in love with you, tricking him into coming to Sam's, and not telling her she looked like a circus sideshow.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But you didn't tell her either.”

“I have an excuse. I don't notice crap like that. It's the way I am,” Darbie said. “But she expects more from you.”

“Great, so everything is all my fault,” I ranted.

“OMG, will you chill, drama-monster?”

“I'm chilled—until Hannah gets attacked by something flying or crawling or buzzing,” I said.

Coach gathered us up. “Okay. This is the last practice before the big game. I'm going to do something I've never done before. I'm not going to tell you who made the team today.”

We peppered him with questions. “Why not?” “How come?” “What?”

“Simmer down, simmer down. I want to see everyone in a game situation. So, tomorrow all of you will play in the St. Mary's Spiders game. Wear a solid white shirt. Whoever makes the team will get an official Alfred Nobel uniform after the game, so you'll have it for the chili contest.” He started stretching his legs.

We stretched too, like we were playing an assumed game of Simon Says. That's when I noticed something. In the distance I saw Tony Rusamano ride his bike past the field. He hopped off and watched us stretch for a few minutes.

“You know what we're going to do, right?” Coach yelled enthusiastically.

“Run,” the girls answered—with a lot less excitement than Coach Richards.

“That's right! Let's GOOOO.”

We ran laps around the field, Hannah in the lead.

“What are you doing later?” I asked Darbie.

“Something nice.” She gritted her teeth. “My stinking good deed. Thanks to Señora Goody-Two-Shoes, I'm going to finish the chores I started last night. Can you believe it? I'm washing lawn furniture and putting it in the basement. It sucks.”

“Maybe it does.” I watched Darbie run for a bit. “But have you noticed that you're not tripping anymore?”

“Yeah. But I'm still not happy about the chores. I don't like chores. I hate chores. I do anything I can to avoid them. Sometimes, I even do homework just so that I don't have to take out the trash. It's the kind of person I am. I'm a non-chore-doer.” Darbie was snippy in a way that was totally unlike her. “And if it wasn't for that book, I wouldn't be in this crappy-chore stinkfest.”

“Oh. Sorry about that,” I said, as nonclumsy Darbie ran ahead without me.

What's happening here? Am I seriously fighting with my two best friends?

Coach had half of us run up and down the bleachers. From the top I had a great view of the Alfred Nobel campus and the whole soccer field. Darbie took some shots on goal, which were really good—high and to the corner. On the other side of the field, Hannah spoke to Charlotte. It made my belly simmer like a pot of chili left on a hot stove. Charlotte laughed. But Hannah? Not so much. On the street side of the field, I saw Tony ride by again.

On my next climb to the top of the bleachers, I noticed that Charlotte wasn't laughing anymore. Hannah's hands were propped on her hips, and she leaned forward as she talked, her mouth flapping frantically.

I ran back up the bleachers again. No Tony, and Darbie scored. Hannah dribbled the ball away from Charlotte. Charlotte looked like she called after Hannah. Hannah didn't respond. I wondered if those two had a spat.

I ran down and toward the field, passing Darbie on her way to do the bleacher routine. I asked her, “Hey, after practice, do you think you could—”

“No,” she said. “After practice I have to go straight home and finish my work.”

“Oh.” I officially had no one to go with me to La Cocina—I was on my own.

The store was quiet, with no customers. There were never any customers. But I was not alone—I was surrounded by glassy-eyed dead animals. Somehow, their presence wasn't comforting.

Since I knew how the spices were organized, I went to the shelf that contained items starting with the letter
V
. It was next to the framed beach photo I had seen before. Only this time I read the inscription on the frame's golden plaque:
ISLA DE CEDROS.

A noise behind me startled me. “Excuse me,
chica
. I didn't mean to frighten you.”

Lurker!

I should've been used to her scaring the crap out of me by now, but I wasn't. Señora Perez could tell.

She looked at the photo with sadness in her face. “It's beautiful,
no
?”

I nodded.

“It is a very special place with a special story.”

My voice hadn't found its way back to my
boca
yet.

“Would you like to hear it?” she asked.

I nodded again.

“In the old days,
Isla de Cedros
was attacked by pirates. The peaceful towns were small and defenseless. To protect themselves, the village's spiritual guide, we call him the shaman, enchanted the farmers' spices. The farmers used these spices to protect their families. Other herbs were packed into their treasures.