The Magic Half

by Annie Barrows

  Despite what Molly had said, Miri was also positive she wasn’t a fairy. Or a witch. She had never once talked to an animal. Or flown. She would have noticed.

  There was only one other reason that she could think of. She had been chosen—or called up, like Molly said—because she was supposed to do something helpful. She was supposed to solve a problem. Miri rubbed her finger across the smooth blue cover of Molly’s notebook. Molly had a problem, all right, and its name was Horst. Aunt Flo was a meanie, but there was something about Horst—Miri saw his thick, angry face turning toward her in the barn, and shook herself like a dog shaking off water. Yuck. She couldn’t stand to think of Molly being in the same house with him. She flipped through the notebook until she reached the last entry. “Miri came,” she read. But that wasn’t good enough. “I’ve got to get her out of there,” she muttered. Miri took a long, slow breath. All right, then. If she was supposed to save Molly, she’d be happy to do it.

  But how?

  Miri dropped her head into her hands and began to think.

  • • •

  About an hour later, Miri was sitting at her desk with Molly’s notebook opened before her. At the top of a blank page, she wrote “Possibilities. 1. Best: I figure out how to go back to 1935 and return with Molly.” Miri tapped her pen against her teeth and looked at what she had written. The best seemed to require a lot of luck. How was she going to go back to 1935? Not to mention returning—with Molly— to her own time? The magic did not seem inclined to whisk them back and forth just because they wanted it to.

  Think logically, she told herself sternly. What do you already know about the magic? She smiled; when Miri or Robbie or Ray asked their father for help with their homework, he always began by saying, “What do you already know?” about frogs, or Cherokee Indians, or Egyptian mummies, or whatever they were working on. What did she already know? Not a thing. She looked through an eyeglass lens and ended up in 1935. She looked through another one and ended up at home. Miri sighed and wrote “Glasses.”

  Wait, though. She also knew that it was her own glasses that had brought her home. How could her own glasses be magic? They were just her glasses, glasses that she had worn every day for the last six months, not like the mysterious lens taped to her wall, the one that had taken her to Molly. What had she thought when she looked through it? Whoever owned this must have really bad eyesight. But that wasn’t true, because Molly had said that the lens was exactly like hers, and her eyes hadn’t seemed so bad.

  No. That’s not what Molly had said. She had said that the lens was hers.

  Miri let out a grunt of surprise, and then pressed her hand to her forehead as though she could squeeze the memory out. Molly had been lying on the bed, with the old glass lens over her eye like a monocle. “It’s mine,” she had said.

  So there it was. The glasses that took her there were Molly’s. The glasses that brought her home were hers. Molly’s glasses let her look into Molly’s world. Miri’s would let Molly come into hers. Of course. That’s why nothing had happened when they looked through the little glass in Molly’s attic— they were already there. Each lens was a one-way ticket to the other time, a tiny glass time machine. Her regular old glasses had turned into a time machine. It couldn’t last, Miri reasoned. That would be too much to ask. The glasses would be magic only long enough to bring Molly home. Only long enough for Miri to do what she was supposed to do. Molly’s glasses would take her to 1935. Her glasses would bring them home. Okay.

  The next step was simple. All she had to do was find a pair of Molly’s glasses.

  The next step was impossible. How was she going to find a pair of Molly’s glasses?

  “I’ll look everywhere,” she promised in a whisper. But what good would that do? People didn’t just leave glasses lying around for eighty years. But maybe she could find the pair that Molly had lost. Maybe Molly had shoved them to the back of some drawer or closet by mistake, and they were lying there, waiting. After all, she reminded herself, lost stuff has to be somewhere. “I’ll find them,” she said firmly, but inside she was doubtful. Maybe, she thought hopefully, any pair from 1935 would do. Maybe I can just buy some antique glasses and get back there.

  Miri yawned hugely and squinted at her clock. To her surprise, it said 1:43.Wow. This was the latest she had ever stayed up. What a day. She turned the page over and wrote “Things to Do” at the top. “1. Look for Molly’s glasses. 2. Buy 1935 glasses.” Miri yawned again. “3. Get new glasses for me.” The unbroken lens was the one that had lifted her out of the barn; she didn’t think that they’d work now that both sides were smashed. And besides, she couldn’t see. She read her list, trying to ignore the voice that was whispering, What if you can’t find Molly’s glasses? What if you can’t get back? What if you had your chance and blew it? “Shut up!” Miri said aloud. She stood up and stretched. Her bed was smooth and comfortable looking, and Miri threw herself facedown on the familiar yellow quilt and closed her eyes. Ahh. She was so tired. Without opening her eyes she reached up to turn out the lamp. Sleep. Sleep.

  But sleep did not come. There was a worry prodding her mind, and it was like trying to walk with a blister on her heel. Go away, she said to her mind. But the worry kept poking and rubbing and nudging. It wouldn’t let her alone. After a long time, Miri got up and went to her desk.

  She snapped on the light and grimly turned the page over again, back to “Possibilities.” She picked up her pen and wrote, “2. Bad: Molly runs away before I can get back.” She thought for a moment and wrote, “3. Worst: I never get back at all.” She hesitated for a moment and returned to bed. But there was something even worse than that, so bad that she didn’t want to write it down. She couldn’t stop herself from imagining it, though. 4. Horst lumbering to his feet, his face purple with fury, his bellow rising to a scream as he thunders up to the loft. “You’re going to be sorry now, runt! You’re going to wish you was never born!” Horst kicking savagely at the hay, hoping to connect with bone and finding nothing. Horst raging that his victim had escaped yet again, his heavy boots grinding the old wooden ladder rungs, his breath coming in grunts as he runs into the house, rushes up the narrow staircase, and throws his meaty shoulder against the door until it shivers open. Molly, startled, sitting up in bed, her face white and scared. And Horst smiling—

  Stop. I don’t want to think this anymore, Miri pleaded with her mind. She rolled over and burrowed her face into her pillow. Stop. But her mind wouldn’t stop. She pictured all of the empty pages after July 22, 1935. What had happened on July 23?

  CHAPTER

  9

  MIRI HAD DECIDED to wake at the break of dawn to begin her search for a pair of Molly’s glasses, but dawn came and went, and Miri slept on. When she finally opened her eyes, she found Nell and Nora peering at her silently, their hot little faces nearly touching hers. It was their favorite way to wake her up.

  “Go away!” groaned Miri. “I must have told you a thousand times not to do that.”

  “We didn’t do anything,” Nell said, climbing into the bed.

  “We’re the quietmost sisters,” Nora nodded, grabbing hold of Miri’s nightgown and pulling her way under the covers.

  “Oh, let go of it, Nora. You’ll rip it.”

  “You let me in,” commanded Nora.

  “Okay, okay.” Miri rolled into the center of the bed to make room for her sisters and they snuggled against her, one little blond head on each side.

  “Mommy says we’re supposed to be nice to you,” offered Nell. She kissed Miri’s arm. It tickled.

  “Mommy says we’re not good enough when you take care of us, but I am,” said Nora.

  “I am, too,” said Nell confidently.

  Miri giggled. They were pretty cute sometimes.

  “Even though you hit Ray with a shovel, he has to be nice to you, too. Mommy said,” announced Nora. “And Robbie, too. But he says he’s not going to. Don’t tell Mommy.”

  “And Mommy says when Daddy comes home,
she’s going to take you to the beach, just you and Mommy,” Nora said, proud of all her information. “And we can’t go. And Daddy will have to take care of us.”

  Miri looked at her sister. “She said that?”

  Nell and Nora nodded together.

  “When’s Daddy coming home?”

  The two girls replied with identical shrugs. Miri sat up. She didn’t want to go to the beach with her mother—well, she did, but not yet. First she had to get back to Molly. “Get up, kids,” she said, throwing back her sheet. “I’ve got to get busy.” Her sun-shaped clock informed her that it was ten in the morning. “Jeez,” she muttered. “It’s late.”

  Miri clattered downstairs, leaving Nell and Nora in her bed arguing over which one was a kitty. She planned to grab something to eat and begin her search for Molly’s glasses immediately, but when she got to the kitchen her mother was standing at the stove. “Hi, bunny!” she called. “I’m making you some French toast!”

  Most of the time Miri loved French toast, but this morning it was just another obstacle to her plans. Still, she thought, looking at her mother’s cheerful face, there’s a lot to be said for staying on Mom’s good side. So she smiled gratefully, sat down at the kitchen table, and munched her way through two enormous slices of French toast and an orange. Chew and swallow, chew and swallow.

  “Now, Miri, what would you like to do today?” asked Mom.

  Miri gulped. “Um, Mom? This morning I think I’m going to do some work getting my room the way I want it.” She knew that her mother loved any plan that began with I’m going to do some work, and sure enough, her mother beamed. “And this afternoon maybe we could go get me some new glasses?” She blinked in what she hoped was a pathetic way.

  “That sounds good, honey.” Her mom smiled extra enthusiastically. “While we’re in town, we can go to the paint store and pick out some paint for your room. And Miri, when Daddy gets home next Tuesday, I thought you and I could take a little trip down to Cape Romain. Just the two of us.”

  Miri smiled and nodded with as much excitement as she could muster. Boy, Mom must be feeling guilty—but why? “That’ll be great,” she said, swallowing the last lump of French toast. Now the orange. Under the table, her bare feet bounced impatiently against the wooden floor, eager to get moving. “Mom?” she began. “Was there any—” She broke off, surprised.

  “Any what?” her mother prompted.

  But Miri had forgotten her question. Her big toe had stumbled from the smooth surface of the floor into a wide crack. What? Miri stuck her head under the table and saw a deep canyon in the wood, smooth-edged from years of wear. Somehow, a long time before, a big chunk of the floor had been gouged out.

  By a frying pan, falling heavily from a table.

  “Miri?” Mom said anxiously as Miri failed to emerge from under the table.

  Miri came back up, wide-eyed. The chip was right under Miri’s usual seat at the table. She certainly would have felt it before—if it had been there. “Was this floor always chipped?” she asked, hoping her voice wasn’t squeaky.

  “What?” Her mother stared at her, obviously surprised by her daughter’s sudden interest in kitchen floors.

  “This deep crack,” said Miri, pushing back her chair to show her mother the gouge in the wood.

  Her mother began explaining, “All the floors on the bottom story could use some work, and it would have been nice if we could have refinished them before we moved in, but—”

  Miri interrupted, “Mom! Are you saying that you’ve seen this chip in the floor before?”

  “Miri! That was so rude.”

  Miri took a breath. “Mom,” she said as politely as she could manage, “please, was this chip in the floor when you bought the house?”

  “Yes, the chip was there. That’s what I’m trying to tell you—we wanted to refinish the floors before we moved in, but it’s a terrible mess because the dust . . .”

  Miri wasn’t listening. The chip hadn’t been there until yesterday. It hadn’t been there seventy years before yesterday either. But since yesterday, it had been there for seventy years. Miri stood up abruptly. “Great!” she said, giving her mother a big, toothy smile. “Okay! Thanks for the delicious French toast, Mom.” She whisked out of the kitchen.

  “—and we decided we didn’t have enough time,” concluded Mom, to herself.

  • • •

  Miri stared into her own green eyes in the bathroom mirror. In 1935, she had banged into a kitchen table, knocking over a frying pan and denting the wooden floor. And now, in her own time, the floor was dented in that precise spot, but the crack was worn with age. Even though it hadn’t been there the day before.

  This is too weird, thought Miri. I changed the house. I changed history.

  But the weirdest thing of all was that her mom thought the crack had always been there.

  I changed Mom’s history, too.

  Her hair brushed against her cheek, and a long shiver twitched along Miri’s spine. What if I changed Molly’s history, too—for the worse? She thought of Aunt Flo’s furious voice saying, “I’ll teach you about clumsy, miss!” She thought of Horst, choking with excitement, “You’d better let me teach her a lesson, Mama—you’d better—” With an effort, Miri pulled her eyes away from the mirror. She had to find Molly’s glasses—and quick.

  • • •

  “Mom? Was there any old furniture in the house when we moved in?”

  Her mother looked up from the computer. “What’s got into you? Floors, furniture—are you planning a career in interior decoration?”

  “No. I just wanted to know if there was old furniture in the house when we moved in,” Miri repeated.

  “You were here when we moved in,” Mom pointed out. “Did you see any old furniture?”

  “Um, I guess I wasn’t paying very much attention,” admitted Miri. “Was there? Like a desk? With drawers?”

  “Not that I know of. There was a tool chest in the basement, but that’s all.” She glanced at her computer screen. “Why?”

  “I kind of like old furniture,” Miri said. It wasn’t a lie. She did. “I thought if there was some, I could put it in my room.”

  “Oh,” said her mother. “You should probably wait until after we take down that nasty wallpaper and put on some paint before you think about . . . about . . .” Her voice trailed off as her eyes slipped back to the computer.

  “Candy bars,” said Miri, rolling her eyes.

  “Right,” Mom mumbled. “Candy bars.”

  Miri left the room.

  “What?” she heard her mother say.

  • • •

  Start with the tool case, Miri decided. She squeezed between the stacks of cardboard boxes that lined the pantry and pulled open the basement door. Dying screams split the air; her brothers were listening to their music. They were also arguing.

  “Dude! It’s cement! How would he get it under cement, unless he’s, like, a superhero?” Robbie shouted over the howls.

  “Maybe he buried it and then put the cement over it to keep it safe—did you ever think of that?” Ray bellowed.

  The stairs creaked as Miri descended. “Hi.”

  Her brothers stopped talking abruptly. She thought they would still be mad at her, but they didn’t look mad. And they didn’t look like they had never seen her before, which was how they usually looked. They looked . . . uneasy. “Hi,” they said in unison.

  The three of them looked at one another. Ray turned off the CD player. “Uh, I’m sorry I chased you and knocked you down and broke your glasses and all that.”

  “Yeah, me too,” said Robbie.

  Miri stared at them. Boy, Mom must have gone completely off her nut, she thought. This had never happened before. “I’m sorry I hit you on the head,” she said. “Does it still hurt?”

  “Yeah. A little.” Ray gave her a flashing smile. “Got a big lump.” He lifted his brown hair and pointed.

  Miri couldn’t see anything, but she didn’t want t
o seem unsympathetic. “Wow. I’m sorry.”

  “ ’Sokay,” Ray said.

  They looked at one another in awkward silence.

  “Did Mom freak?” Miri asked at last.

  Robbie and Ray both broke into grins. “Totally ballistic,” said Robbie.

  “Out of her freaking mind,” added Ray. “I’m sitting there with a concussion probably, because you hit me, and she’s mad at me. She’s saying we gang up on you and never include you, yada yada yada. And you’ve just tried to kill me! Whoa! Reality check!” he snorted. “Plus, she’s totally out to lunch, ’cause we do too include you, all the time.” Robbie nodded.

  “Oh, right. Like helping you look for the stolen stuff,” said Miri sarcastically.

  There was a surprised silence. Then Robbie said, “You wanna help us dig?”

  Ray shot him a look. “Dude.”

  “She can if she wants,” said Robbie. “We haven’t found anything yet.”

  Miri looked at the piles of dirt scattered around the basement floor. It looked like they were trying to dig sideways underneath the cement floor. She considered telling them that they were looking in the wrong place, that the stuff was out in the backyard where the barn used to be. But Molly might need to find Horst’s stash so she could run away. Might have needed it? Miri didn’t know how to think about time anymore. Were things that hadn’t happened yet in the past actually in the future? It was too confusing.

  “No, thanks,” she replied after a moment. “I’m working on another project—” She broke off, realizing that for the first time in her life, she didn’t care whether she was included. She wasn’t mad at them, and she didn’t feel disappointed or left out. Getting Molly was more important. She grinned at her brothers, and after a moment they grinned back at her.

  “Have you guys seen an old tool chest down here?” she asked.

  “Tool chest? Nah.” Robbie flicked on the CD player again, and yowls filled the room. “Wish we had an iPod.”