A taste of magic, p.19
A Taste of Magic, page 19
“No! I’m not trying that. No way.”
“Kyana, we have like two hundred cookies made. We need nine times that. This isn’t happening if we don’t use magic. You’re a good witch. I know you can do it.”
I shift on my feet. “I can’t take any chances. I haven’t practiced that one an—”
“You made one mistake. You’re a good witch, Kyana. Hard-working, too.”
I roll my eyes.
“Fine, I’ll drop it,” she says. “But, I know the spell. I can do it.” Her brows raise.
She probably can. But this is my mistake. I have to fix it. If anything goes wrong, it’s on me. I don’t want her to feel like a failure if this doesn’t work out.
“Sorry, Ash, I have to do this.”
“But I’m your friend—”
“No, Ash. I—”
“Kyana, we’re in this together. Like it or not. You go down for this, I’m going with you.”
I don’t even know what to say.
“Come on. Let me help with this one little part. I swear it’ll make everything so much easier. You trust me, right?”
“Of course I trust you. You’re the smartest witch I know.”
“Okay, let me do this. For PRMA.”
She is right. This is going to take forever the conventional way. “Fine. But please know if something happens and it doesn’t work—this is not your mess. It’s mine!”
She laughs. “I don’t have many other friends. Any other friends, really. You’re the one person who talks to me and never makes me feel like it’s wrong or weird to be different. You even called me your best friend in public. So, whatever, girl. I’m riding this ship to the ocean floor if anything bad goes down.”
Her words warm me all over. “Okay, Ash. Thanks for being a great friend.”
I think of Nae. She loves me the same way, too. Always willing to go to bat for me. How’d I get so lucky to have two priceless best friends?
I miss Nae. Haven’t seen her since the competition. I need to call her . . . when all this mess is over. I take a deep breath and give Ash the nod she’s waiting for.
She raises her wand over the piles and piles of cookies we’ve finished, enough crumbled bits on the floor to build a cookie sand castle. “Tweeyum kwixame,” she says, winding her arm in a huge circle. Cookies dance, rising from their places, shifting in the air. Each one splits into two. She flicks her wrist and they split again. Another flick and where there was one cookie now there are four. Wow!
Tea cakes, chocolate chip cookies, recess thumbprints, and limoncellos rain from the air and I trip over my feet, fumbling for something wide enough to catch them. I need more pans! I dive headfirst into a cabinet.
She winds her arm around and we’re basically in a cookie hailstorm. I balance Momma’s widest cookie sheet with both hands, determined to catch each one. The cookie storm slows and other than a few warm casualties on the floor, we’ve gone from one corner of the kitchen stacked with cookies to every inch of Momma’s counters, sink, stove, and table covered in piles and piles of antidote cookies.
Ashley’s arms fall limp. “There!”
My wrist aches under the last pan. I set it down carefully and Ashley and I slap hands.
“We did it!” she squeals, tucking her wand away.
“You did it,” I say, surveying the two feet of floor space that isn’t covered by some form of cookie.
“Well, I’ll say.” Memaw’s grinning from the doorway that leads to the living room. The feather on her lavender church hat flutters and her rhinestone brooch glistens in the overhead light. “You girls been working hard. How will we ever eat all these—cookies? I’m just—”
Ashley glances at me, brows cinched. Memaw knows the cookies are for the fake fundraiser to get the antidote in everyone.
“We’re going to share them, Memaw,” I remind her, again, sifting the annoyance from my tone. Because that’s what you do when someone you love is having a hard time remembering. You tell them again, with patience and love.
“That’s such a good idea, baby.” She heads back toward the bedrooms.
“I don’t remember her having it this bad,” I mutter to myself. “Sometimes I wonder if . . .” My words trail off and Ash hugs me like she can read my mind.
“You can’t fix everything, Kyana.”
“I know.” It’s just so hard not to try.
The rest of the day flies by and I have this feeling I’m forgetting something. I can’t shake it, so I ignore it. Ash heads home and I package up the rest of the cookies in cellophane bags against the white noise of the TV. Russ is going to pick them up later today and get them out to everyone. He’s being a big help.
The kitchen is a disaster—flour everywhere, dishes piled on top of dishes, and so many chocolate chips on the floor. Momma’s on the graveyard shift tonight plus a double shift in the morning, so I have some time to get this kitchen together, which is great because I’m absolutely pooped. I plop into a chair still hopeful this idea of mine will actually work.
You have a plan. A smart plan. I force out a breath. Everything’s riding on these cookies getting out tomorrow. This has to work.
Then we can handle the adults . . . somehow.
“Rockford’s baking competition . . .” the anchor blares from the living room, and I raise the volume, half listening.
“AH!” Memaw yells from her upstairs.
“Memaw? You okay?” I rush up there and halt. There on her tiny TV on her dresser is the regular news anchor talking, a picture of three people hovering over his shoulder.
ROCKFORD BAKING COMPETITION FINALISTS ANNOUNCED
Two of the people I don’t recognize. But the one on the end, I do. It’s me!
“You did it, baby!” Memaw yanks me into a bear hug.
I blink and blink again but the screen doesn’t change. “I’m a finalist?”
Memaw turns up the volume and the anchor’s voice is like a lull of soothing music. “. . . I mean, can you believe this kid? She’s twelve and a finalist against actual pastry chefs! That’s just plain impressive. That kid must have some sort of culinary gift.” The anchorman’s mouth keeps moving, but I am not listening.
I’m a finalist! One step closer to saving PRMA! My phone buzzes, over and over, going off like fireworks. I scroll through all the texts, my mind racing.
Eric: Did you see the news? You’re in the top three!!!
Momma: Turn on the TV, baby! The news. Go look. It’s on the radio too! I’m so proud of you. Be home early if I can.
I may actually save Park Row Magick Academy. I could scream!
Tommy: Hey I got the guest list. You’re right. Every person at the original event will be at the finals. Oh! And sorry I couldn’t make it to study group today! Next time.
My heart stops.
That’s what I was forgetting! Sunday library time with Nae.
She is going to kill me.
Or worse, never talk to me again.
CHAPTER 26
Principal Gomez’s office is freezing.
I fell asleep early and overslept. Woke up to the kitchen still a hot mess. I’m hoping Memaw gets to that kitchen before Momma gets home.
I slip my sweater on and loop my bag of antidote treats to distribute on my arm. Ms. Gomez’s secretary is clack-clacking on her keyboard, wearing a giant wool sweater. So I know it’s not just me. The last time I was in her office, Nae was by my side. It was terrifying, but she was with me, so I knew it’d be all right.
I called Nae twice before nodding off last night, but she didn’t answer either time. She wasn’t in my first or second period today, so the soonest I can see her is lunch, probably. She’s gotta be mad. No, pissed. I can’t believe I forgot about our library meet-up. I’ll explain myself the best I can. I hope it’s enough.
“The principal will see you in just a minute.” The secretary stops typing, resting her head on her wrists. “Saw you on the news last night. One of our own Thompson Tigers, a finalist!”
“Thanks.”
“We’re all rooting for you to take home the first-place prize!”
“Thanks.” The final round of judging requires finalists to bring a cake this weekend. Haven’t even started thinking about that yet.
“Any idea of what you’re going to make for the final round?” She winks, whispering. “Or is it a secret?”
Lady, I’m just trying to make it through the day before someone pops up with bean sprouts for hair. “Uh, still deciding.”
“Well, you’re gonna do great. I know it.” She hops up and peeks inside the principal’s private office, then gestures for me to follow. I lug a giant pink gift bag that I’m reusing from some birthday a long time ago.
“Let me help you with that.” She grabs the other end and peeks inside the bag. She wrinkles her nose, confused, but doesn’t ask any questions.
Principal Gomez is on the phone when the door sweeps open.
“Uh-huh, I understand. But . . . well, yes.” She waves for me to come inside and have a seat. “And what would that look like for us?” She tucks her lips and the line between her brows deepens. “Okay, well, send me what you have. I’ll take a look. No promises, but I’ll do what I can.” The phone clicks in the receiver and she’s all smiles. “And how can I help you today, Ms. Turner? I see you brought me cookies?” She chuckles. “I don’t know if I can eat all those.”
“Oh, no. Ha, yeah, I actually baked all these for a fundraiser we did . . . a-and u-uh, these were the leftovers.”
“Oh?” Her lips smile and her eyes do, too.
“Wondered if we could give them out here? We don’t have to sell them. We just want to make sure everyone gets one.”
“You probably could make some money,” she says. “Sure you aren’t selling yourselves short?”
But I don’t care about profiting. She agrees to let me give them away in the lunchroom and she gives me special permission to visit each homeroom.
When I leave her office, I give her a cookie even though I know she wasn’t at the event. “Here’s one for helping us out.”
She unwraps it and takes a bite. My shoulders tense. The last time someone ate something I baked, they started vomiting up an umbrella.
“Mmm-mmm.” She licks chocolate from her thumb, smacking. “Where did you learn to bake like that?” She hands me a dollar. “I insist. Put that with the money you made on the fundraiser you did. And I’ll take another. With all these wild news reports we’ve been having, homemade cookies are exactly what we all need.”
I hand her another cookie. “Uhh, thanks!” Glad I made extras.
Her secretary gives me a hall pass and I pop into each of the classrooms during the homeroom period. My pink gift bag is crinkled on the bottom and ripped at the top, but it’s half empty now. Kids in every classroom, teachers too, are munching on these chocolate goodies and I can breathe a little easier. I even caught a glimpse of Nae in the hallway when the lunch bell rang. But I don’t think she saw me.
That’s why she didn’t look my way. That’s all.
Lunch is super crowded as usual. I spot Russ across the cafeteria giving out samples. He waves and I make my way over, my bag of cookies weighing me down.
“Lunch lady has the rest of mine,” he says. “She’s holding them at the register. I told her one per student, principal’s orders.”
“Oh, good thinking,” I say. I spot something furry darting across the cafeteria. “I . . . Is that . . . ?”
“A ferret?” Russ asks.
“Oh, thank heavens. I thought I was losing my mind.”
He scratches his head. “But ferrets aren’t that kind of rodent.”
“I think it’s the same ferrets that visited PRMA. And they’re stalking me or something,” I whisper. “Like they know I’m responsible for the magic getting out around town and are like collecting evidence?” This sounds preposterous. “They came to my house!”
“Oh, that’s definitely weird.” Something in Russ’s expression tells me I might not be losing it, and that makes my neck sweat. He slips something small from his pocket and presses it into my hand. “Use this.”
I open the box with yellow ribbon and it emits the tiniest puff of green smoke. For a moment, I’m tingly all over.
“That should make you undetectable by any government official, magical or otherwise, for at least the day. I hope you’re wrong, but just in case.”
A shorter kid with a pink buzz cut barges into us. “These are really good. You made these?” I recognize him from the cheer squad. “Can ya boy get more? My friends didn’t get any.”
“Oh, well, we gotta make sure y’all each get one,” Russ says.
“Thanks.” He and Russ slap hands. He offers me a dollar.
“Oh, no need to pay.” Russ says as I hand the kid a stack of cookies.
“Y’all enjoy,” I add.
The crowd disperses around us and every mouth in every corner of the cafeteria is chewing. Ripped-open cellophane bags are piled on several table centers. It’s working. They’re eating it. I mean, people are being complete slobs about cleaning up after themselves, but it’s working!
I look for Nae as I slip my phone out of my back pocket. No sign of her. We really need to talk.
My shoulders are suddenly lighter as Russ pulls the gift bag with the few cookies I have left. He’s immediately swarmed by a crowd, money in hand, asking for more cookies.
“No! Really . . .” Russ is harder to see, the crowd closing in around him. “It’s okay . . . keep your money . . . I—” His words slip through like water through a crack. “Did everyone get one? We want to make sure everyone gets one.” A waterfall of voices answers all at once, arms waving.
I hope we made enough.
My phone lights up and notice I’ve missed so many messages. I scroll through our group chat.
Ashley: OMG, guys my co-op is flipping out over these cookies. They’re going so fast!
Emily: Teachers passing them out as we speak.
Nathan: I can hardly keep up! People want more cookies. Ha Ha!
Rose: Roosevelt Middle is clean. Magic free. Kyana FTW!
McKenzie: Berkeley Oaks High is golden!
Bobby: All clear at Gardner Middle. Every kid present has had one. There’s
three people home sick, but I put cookies in with their homework packet.
Me: Thanks for all your help, everyone! We’re doing great here, too. Antidote in the hand of everyone at Thompson Middle!
A smile tugs at my lips. We’re really doing it.
“This is the last of it.” Russ hands me two cookies and what’s left of my pink gift bag. I ball it up and toss it. He offers a fist bump but I don’t pound it back because I’ve finally spotted Nae. She’s sitting with a pair of girls who I’m almost sure we do not like. Shantae and What’s-Her-Face? Boujee and rude. Nae’s talking to them? No way.
I get closer and Nae glances my way, but turns back around quick.
My tummy flips. It’s nothing. I mean, I know I missed our study date, but no way would she act brand-new like that.
Shantae’s face is all screwed up like she smells something stank. “Oh look.” She flips her hair. “It’s Kendra.”
She knows my name is Kyana, but I’m not entertaining her attitude with a response.
“Nae?”
Her back is still turned. No response.
“Naomi Rosalind Jones. I’m talking to you.”
She faces me and everything in her eyes that used to be soft and warm is watery and cold. “Yeah, I don’t really have anything to say to you, Key. It’s like you are in your own world lately and there isn’t enough room for me in it.” She stands up, tray in hand. The mean girl entourage stands up, too.
Nae’s so close I could hug her. Would that say “I’m sorry” better than my words can? That she’s still my best friend even though things are upside down right now?
I pull at our BFF necklace, dangling from my neck, my hands clammy. “Nae, I tried calling last night. I—”
“Save it, Kendra,” Shantae spits. “She has new friends now that actually want to hang out with her.”
“So that’s it?” I ask, eyes stinging.
“Yeah, I guess so.” Nae’s gaze meets the floor and she walks off with her new friends.
That’s it. She’s done with me. In my efforts to save PRMA, I lost the one thing that matters to me the most—my best friend.
CHAPTER 27
Brrrrring.
Nae doesn’t usually have any practices or club meetings after school on Mondays. There’s no reason she shouldn’t answer.
Brrrrring.
“Hi, you’ve reached Nae . . .”
Sigh. I hang up. Pictures of me and Nae are all over my room and, because Momma loves her like a daughter, the house, too. A violet frame with glued-on hearts shows the time we went to a water park with her parents and I wanted to do the big slide bad, but when we went all the way up there I was too scared. We held up the line for ten minutes until the lifeguard told us I had to either walk back down or slide down, one slider at a time. Nae whispered in my ear and I pushed off and as promised Nae “slipped” and tumbled down the slide alongside me. We were banned from slides for the rest of the day, but I did something scary and Nae was right there with me. Like always.
I want her beside me now.
I try calling again, but she doesn’t answer. I send a text, and finally get one response: stop messaging me.
She’s really done with me.
I turn over the frame, and another, and two more, and make my way into the kitchen, smudging my tears.
Memaw hasn’t touched a dish. She’s been sleep most of the day, something about her new medication. I sigh, cookie crumbles crunching between my toes, grab the broom, and sweep a pile of flour into a dustpan.
The screen door clacks closed. Shoot—Momma’s home.
I brace for the storm.
She pops her head into the kitchen and does a double take. “Kyana Lacreshia Turner, what in the world have you done?”
I can’t even look at her.
