A taste of magic, p.13
A Taste of Magic, page 13
CHAPTER 17
5 days and counting
Neon lights play on the ceiling of Scooter’s retro diner as PRMA kids pile in. Trays of something sweet and peppery like paprika, with basil and thyme, pass under my nose and my stomach doesn’t even rumble. Since that conversation with Memaw and Momma, I’ve been seeing word about the competition all over the news. It’s gonna draw a huge crowd, I bet. Just the thought makes my stomach knot.
But so much is on the line. I have to do this. Scooter was happy to open his restaurant after hours for us to have a meeting about a plan to save Park Row. Mo, on the other hand, didn’t respond as enthusiastically. But she agreed to come to the meetup and hear me out.
Scooter glides through the crowd serving more plates than we could ever finish in one night. Beside me, Ash’s thumbs move a mile a minute tapping on her phone. Eric and a few others squeeze into booths and pluck crab-stuffed mushrooms from a tray. Kids slump in their chairs, lips turned down. Occasionally a giggle breaks through the somber haze, but most of the chatter hovers like a cloud heavy with raindrops.
Ash heaves a sigh and puts her phone down, tapping her foot. “Who’s all coming?”
“Everybody.”
“Everybody everybody?”
“Well, everyone but Russ. Why?”
She hesitates. “Nothing.”
“Speaking of Russ, he acted weird. Like, I figured he’d be mad, but he was . . . something else. I don’t know.”
“Yeah, I saw that, too.” She glances at her phone.
“You tell your mom about the groits yet?”
“Not yet.”
Why not? But before I can get the words out, a hand sets on my shoulder.
“Kyana?” It’s Ms. Mo. “Thank you for putting all this together but you don’t have to do this.”
“We have to do something,” I say.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” she says with a heavy sigh.
“Don’t say a thing.” Scooter hands Ms. Mo a caramel-glazed cookie the size of my face with a hill of vanilla ice cream on top. “These kids here aren’t the only ones who love Park Row, Mo. I wanna hear this plan to save it. Now, gon now and have a seat. See how you feel after a bit of that.” He dusts a purple powder over the top of her sundae. Ms. Mo takes the advice and melts into a chair.
“So I did some research, and like everyone who’s anyone on the chef scene is talking about competing in this contest,” Ash says. “Like professionally trained people.”
I gulp. “I don’t know, I could be out of my league, but I have to try.”
“Can’t we try to figure out a way to make money grow on trees or something instead?”
“I’m not trying any sort of magical nothing. Uh-uh. No way.” This is my best shot. I may be a mediocre witch but I’m good in the kitchen. Something about cooking just makes sense to me. I can almost feel it . . . like somehow cooking is part of me. Memaw says it runs in the family.
“That was a joke anyhow, money trees aren’t a thing. Some witch a long time ago tried to make one using some illegal spells and her tree blossomed all right—into a bunch of bills.”
“Okay, definitely not trying that. I read that the judging will include the crowd favorite, too. So if we can convince everyone we know to come and support, I’ll have an even better shot at making the final round.”
“It’s a good plan. If anyone can do it, Kyana, you can.”
I’m glad one of us believes that, because my track record ain’t great these days. My only hope is that my cooking gene comes through.
“This sucks,” says one girl, cleaning under her nails with the tip of her wand.
“Sis, seriously?” I say.
“What?”
“For one, that’s gross. For two, I have an idea to fix this. That’s why I called this meeting.”
She sits up and the buzzing conversations quiet.
I stand up and face the room. “First, I want to say thanks, Scooter, for letting us meet here.”
He tips his hat and I go on.
I explain the competition prize and how we need as many people to come out as possible. Taste-tester spots are limited, so arriving early to get a seat in that section will be key. There will be hundreds there if the news reports are right. Philanthropists and Big Money Folks have put their dollars together for the grand prize.
“Rockford hasn’t had a competition like this in a long time,” I say. “But the last time it did, half the city was there.”
Scooter rubs his chin.
“Man, this don’t sound like it’s gone’ work,” someone shouts from the back. “How you gone’ beat all those people with like real culinary training?”
“I—”
“When cooking is a part of you, it’s what you do,” Scooter says. “The year I entered, I didn’t expect to win. I just knew I was good with clever food pairings. It wasn’t pastries that year. And my potions background might’ve helped a bit.” He winks.
“Wow, you won?” I ask.
“Yep. That was years ago, though. But I took that money and put it right here into the Row. Built Scooter’s Skewers.”
“I say go for it!” Mo shouts from her chair, spoon in her mouth, her whole vibe full of joy.
I flash a suspicious glance at Scooter, remembering that purple powder, and he winks.
“We’ll have to cancel magic school that day. But I don’t think anyone will mind,” Mo says.
With Mo on board, more in the group agree. Eric is tied up that day helping his uncle but says he will try to get out of it early. A few others have conflicts, too, and all of a sudden my foolproof plan looks like Swiss cheese.
“What if we get more of the Rockford Magick community to come?” Ash asks. “Like those kids donating supplies, for example. Or I mean, there’s magic academies all over Rockford, right?”
“Yes, true,” Mo says. “They tend to keep to themselves, though. I don’t know that we’d get very far with that.” She licks the last bit of caramel from her spoon and hops up, shouldering her purse. “I think it’s a great idea, Kyana. But don’t you get your hopes up if it doesn’t pan out. Try. But remember, this isn’t on you, dear.” She waves to everyone. “I better be going.” She shakes Scooter’s hand. “Thank you for that sundae, it’s by far the best I’ve had in years. I haven’t felt this relaxed in a long time.”
A bell jingles as Ms. Mo leaves, and the mood has perked up a bit when bottomless globs of sherbet in floating bowls make their way around the room.
“So then, it’s settled,” I say. “As many of us as possible will be at the competition early to vote for crowd favorite.”
“What if we like someone else’s better?” Eric asks. “I kid. I kid.” He slaps my hand and we put a twist on the end. “This is really dope, Kyana. Even if it doesn’t work. Means a lot.”
The crowd finishes up their plates and some people leave. A few stop by to show support, promising they’ll be there. Worms wiggle in my tummy, but it’s better than the sinking pit that was there when I held that closing notice in my hands.
“I wish Mo was willing to reach out to the other schools. We need to come out in big numbers in case, you know . . .”
“Okay, we’re not gonna think that way,” Ash says. “Confidence is a powerful potion. But you’re right.” She taps her chin. “What about Russ? He knows everyone.”
“I can’t be hearing my ears right.”
“I know, but he’s really connected.”
Ugh. She’s right. “I don’t want to talk to him. I just . . .”
She picks at her nail. “What if . . . I mean . . . maybe I could do it?”
“Do what? Talk to Russ? You’re gonna talk to Russ?”
“He’s so connected and we need as much support as we can get.” She rolls her eyes. “He also lives on my street, so it’s not exactly out of the way.”
“You really don’t mind?”
“Oh, I’m going to hate it. But I’ll do it. If you’re gonna go up there and bake to save our school, I can force myself to have a conversation with Russ.” She glances at her phone again.
“What’s with you and the phone?”
“Okay, he might have texted me.”
“Texted you what?”
“Just that he was really upset about the groit thing. And he can’t believe as his longtime neighbor I’d think that.”
“Russ is trying to give you a guilt trip? Wow.”
“I don’t know. It was weird. I didn’t even know he had my number. I just told him that no one was trying to get him in real trouble. Which is why we told Mo and not like the police.”
“I didn’t mean to say it in front of everyone like that. Russ just gets me so mad with his—”
“Russell Watkins?” Scooter takes the plate I didn’t touch from in front of me and Ash sets her dishes on top.
“Yeah. You know him?”
“Do I? That’s a fine boy there. Real nice kid.”
Ash and I glance at each other with quizzical expressions.
“I keep a few of his charms in stock ’round here. Makes busing and cleanup, even prep work, twice as fast. Real bright, that kid. Tells me he makes them charms himself. Charms was never really my thing.” He stacks plates from the other tables, most of the crowd gone by now. “Oh, and be sure to tell Mo, I’ll put some feelers out to a few wizard-owned businesses around the Row, see if we can pull together any funds for PRMA. Business been tight since the pandemic, but we’re in this together.”
“Thanks, Mr. Scooter,” I say, and turn to Ash as he walks away. “Okay, Russ literally knows everyone.”
“Clearly.”
“Okay, so you talk to Russ about coming to the competition and telling more people and I’ll find the best darn recipe to enter that the judges will drool over.” We fist-bump on it.
Working with Russ is the last thing I wanna do, but every vote counts. Will he see it the same way? I just hope he doesn’t do something catty to sabotage this or embarrass me . . . like I embarrassed him.
CHAPTER 18
4 days and counting
Momma pulls out of Glenda’s Grocery’s parking lot. The store’s glowing doors grow small in the distance. I pop a Kietchy Square in my mouth and lean back on the headrest.
The spell book Memaw gave me sits on my lap. I flip backward and forward mumbling spells under my breath, making sure to say them correctly. But every few seconds I can’t help but glance at my phone.
I haven’t seen or talked to Nae since the blow-up at school. I sent her a text with a pic of the baking competition flyer, told her I was entering, hoping that’d spark a conversation. It didn’t. I got a meager good luck in response.
I don’t know what to say to her to make it better. And I’ve been spending every possible second between classes with my nose in a spell or recipe book. I’m learning so much. There’s a spell for almost anything. And potions, hundreds of types of potions. But outside of the supply closet at Park Row Magick Academy, most of the ingredients would be impossible to find.
Charms aren’t math . . . but I’m as good at them as I am at algebra. Ugh. Late last night I tried a laundry-folding charm from the first chapter of my spell book. First chapter means it will be easy, right? Wrong. I enunciated as clearly as I could and my shirts folded themselves all right—then floated up to the ceiling and stayed there. Getting dressed this morning involved climbing—one foot on my bedpost, another on the top of my dresser—and snatching the lowest-hanging shirt I could nab. The jeans were out of reach and no amount of coaxing brought them back down. So I wore yesterday’s. Classy, I know. No idea how I’m going to get my clothes down.
“Learning anything cool?”
“Oh, so much, Momma.
“Stee-jay,” I say under my breath. A lifting spell could be useful.
“You look happy.” Momma’s hands are on the steering wheel at ten and two.
“I just really hope I can win this competition. I don’t want to lose all of this. If they close down, that’s what happens, right?”
Momma does that smile where she tucks her lips but doesn’t say anything.
“For real, Momma? Can I at least keep my spell book?”
“Anything school issued has to be returned, I’m afraid. Only students who complete training can continue to wand-carry, if I’m understanding that letter. But try not to put too much pressure on yourself. I’m proud of you whatever happens.” Momma sighs. “And, Key, I want you to know I’m doing everything I can to try to get the money together for you to finish your six months somewhere else. Just in case. I’m doing my best, baby. It’s just . . .” She looks out the window. “A lot of money.”
Momma never likes to tell me she can’t afford things. She’ll tell me “maybe” or “we’ll see” but I know that means no. I’m not mad at her for it. She works so hard and it’s all for me. She always says that. I wish I was old enough to work. To help Momma out. I was able to get the dishes put away the other night with a spell. I only broke two cups. She wasn’t home to see, thankfully.
“Don’t worry about it, Momma.” I reach for her hand and she wraps hers around mine. “I’m going to win this baking competition.”
Her cheeks push up her eyes. “I bet you will, baby.”
Speaking of keeping PRMA open . . . I slip my phone from my pocket and text Ash.
Me: Any word on Russ?
Memaw’s fast asleep in her recliner when we get home, but is quick to shout “I’m awake” when Momma’s grocery bag hits the floor.
She eases up. “Key, baby, I was thinking, we could do one of my grandma Mamie’s recipes for this competition.” She slides a book over to me, its cover holding on by threads. Its yellow-stained pages are curled at their corners. A mothy aroma joins the nutmeg scent in the air.
“Memaw, you have something in the oven?” I ask, taking the recipe book.
Her eyebrows jump.
“Mom!” Momma rushes into the kitchen and the oven clangs open. “Momma, no more cooking when we not home! We agreed.”
Memaw huffs, pursing her lips. “All right, Earlene. Don’t start to fussing.” She turns her attention back to me and her frustration melts like butter. “Now, lookie. These here recipes are over a hundred years old.”
“WOW!” My fingers graze the scratchy pages. I need to make and bring nine dozen of whatever dessert I pick, so it needs to be something I know I can nail and make look good one hundred eight times.
“I watched my grandmother in the kitchen,” Memaw says. “She never wrote anything down. But over the years when your momma was coming up, I started jotting down a thing here and there.” She curls her slender hand around mine. “Next thing you know, I had all this. And now I’m giving it to you.”
“No way? Really?”
“Really. Took me all night to find Mamie’s, that’s my memaw’s, recipe book.” She chuckles to herself. “Had it tucked away real good under a bunch ole junk in the closet.”
I slip my shoes off at the door before Momma realizes I forgot and flip through the recipe book as delicately as I can. My knack for baking could save my school. How wild is that?
Gingerbread
Chocolate Cake Brownies
Tea Cake Cookies
Banana Cupcakes
Vanilla Buttermilk Cupcakes
Memaw watches in silence, her eyes smiling. I’m definitely using one of these recipes. If it’s been baked for that many years, it’s gotta be more than good.
“I think I like this one,” I say, pointing. “But maybe I should try a few different ones . . .”
She squints. “Ohhh, yes. Chocolate-raspberry cupcakes sound wonderful. Yummy one. But yeah, you best make a batch first, see what you think.” She blinks a few times. “One question, sugar.”
“Yeah?” I sit down at the table.
“Wherever did you find Mamie’s recipe book? I’ve been looking for it for years.”
I . . . She just . . .
Her watery eyes fill every cracked crevice in me. I kiss the back of her hand. “It doesn’t matter, Memaw. I’m just glad it’s found.”
With groceries and a few potion ingredients I was able to find at Glenda’s put away, dinner prep creeps up on us. But tonight I’m gonna bake some cupcakes as a practice run. I wash my hands before joining Memaw at the counter. She preps a chicken to roast and I set out the eggs and butter to bring ’em down to room temperature. Memaw says that makes a real difference. I grab the measuring cups and preheat the oven, checking that the rack is in the exact middle. Something else Memaw says matters. I portion out the dry ingredients in a bowl and peek at the recipe book again to be sure. It says room-temperature butter and eggs, but something funny about the milk. I glance at the scraggly handwriting.
Buttermilk from scratch
That’s right. I grab a lemon and some whole milk and join Memaw, who is shelling some shrimp. The more you make from scratch, the richer the flavor profile, she always says. I wrinkle my nose squeezing lemon in a cup of milk. It feels wrong, but the minute the juices separate, I grin. Perfect. This’ll give it a unique tang.
“Not too much now, watch it. It’ll go sour on you.”
I smile and pull back from pouring, then give it a stir.
“That’s it. So, how’s that magic stuff going?” she says. “ ’Bout every night I hear you bumping around in that room of yours until the wee hours of morning.”
My cheeks burn. “I’m learning a few things.” I pull out my wand and aim it at a kitchen towel. “STEEEE-JAY.” It lifts in the air. “I did it!” I flick my wrist and it flies right to Memaw’s lap.
“Look at you. And what about potions? You been practicing them?”
Telling Momma and Memaw I didn’t get Charms was a bigger deal to me than it was to them. And all my disappointment was of course overshadowed by the school closing and the baking competition. I’m surprised Memaw remembers I was assigned Potions.
“Not really.”
“Any reason?”
“Nah. I don’t know. I found all these charms I wanna master to help Momma, so I’ve been focused on that.”
