by Sally Warner
“You’re right, honeybun,” Mom says, giving her a hug. “It’s more like a drizzle, really. It’s still wet out, though.”
“But I wanted to bring my sparkly lunch box with us,” Alfie says. I can hear the wobble in her voice from where I am sitting cross-legged on the family room rug. I have been going through my not-so-amazing first magic set with no top hat, the lamest wand in the world, and no DVD for probably the tenth time.
That wobble in her voice means Alfie’s clouding up, which means she’s about to BURST out crying. And her bad moods can last forever.
But I’ll leave that problem to my mom.
“I know what,” Mom says, sounding both desperate and inspired. “I’ll make a special indoors picnic, and you can show us your sparkly lunch box then. And I promise we’ll all be amazed. How does that sound?”
The “sparkly lunch box” Alfie is talking about has all those fake jewels on it. First, my dad spray-painted an old lunch box gold for Alfie. Since then, Mom has been helping her glue stuff onto it: pieces of the broken-down jewelry we’ve found at yard sales, sequins, and fake diamonds and rubies from the craft store. Mom has to use special grown-up glue for most of the stuff, but Alfie gets to paste down the sequins all by herself.
She usually ends up with one or two of them stuck to her, somewhere.
“Oka-a-y,” Alfie says, sounding sorry to give up her gripe so soon. And Mom goes into the kitchen to make our pretend picnic.
I move my magic set supplies around on the rug as if that might make them look different, better. But here’s what was in the taped-shut box:
1. One wand, as promised. It’s really a hollow black cardboard tube with a silver paper band at each end, though. I guess you’re supposed to be able to pull a silky scarf or something out of the tube, only sorry, no scarf was included.
2. One big plastic coin that my dad says looks like a poker chip.
3. One pretend egg. Buk, buk, buk.
4. One bunny hand puppet. Alfie snagged it right away, so it’s not really in front of me now. But I didn’t know what to do with it anyway, so I don’t care.
5. One dead spider crumpled up in a corner of the box. I guess it gave up on ever becoming a magician and astounding all its spider friends.
“How’s it going over there, EllRay?” my dad asks, glancing over the top of his newspaper.
“Terrible,” I admit. “You can’t tell by looking at any of this stuff what you’re supposed to do with it. Anyway, I don’t think there’s enough here to do even a bad trick for the talent show tryout, not that magicians call them ‘tricks.’ You’re supposed to call them ‘effects’ or ‘illusions,’ the box says. But I’m doomed without that DVD.”
“What talent show?” Alfie asks, looking up from her dolls.
“They’re making us have one at our school assembly next week,” I tell her. “All the grades have to try out, but I’m pretty sure it’ll just be the big kids who get chosen.”
“Can I be in it?” Alfie asks.
“No, Alfie,” Dad says, answering for me. “You don’t go to Oak Glen Primary School yet, remember? That pleasure still awaits you.”
Dad talks fancy like that, sometimes.
“I saw a talent show on Pink Princess Fairies once,” Alfie says, not giving up. “And the baby dragon danced in it and won. I can dance as good as that.”
Alfie thinks she can dance.
“You dance as good as a dragon?” I ask, teasing.
“As well as a dragon,” Dad corrects me, not even hearing how goofy that sentence sounds.
“Okay, Alfie can dance as well as a dragon,” I say. “But no, Alfie. You cannot try out for our talent show. I’m sure there will be another one when you go to Oak Glen. But maybe you should start practicing now.”
“Maybe you should be quiet, EllWay,” Alfie tells me.
She does not like being teased.
“That’s enough,” Dad says in his quiet, but I-MEAN-IT voice.
“He started it,” Alfie mumbles as the rain starts to come down so hard outside that you can hear it pattering on the roof upstairs.
“Enough,” Dad says again, a little louder this time. “And EllRay, I don’t think you’re doomed at all, DVD or no DVD. You’ve got a much better resource than that handy. A great resource.”
“What resource?” I ask.
“The Internet, son,” Dad says. “Specifically, YouTube. I’m always looking up how to fix things on YouTube. People like nothing better than to teach other people how to do things, so they’re always putting up posts. How do you think I fixed the toilet last weekend?”
I don’t even want to imagine. I never knew it was broken!
“But magicians wouldn’t explain any of their illusions on YouTube,” I say, afraid to get my hopes up. “Isn’t there some rule about magicians never giving away their secrets?”
“They’re not going to show you something stupendous, like how to make a motorcycle disappear,” Dad says. “But I’m sure you’ll be able to find some simple tricks—excuse me, illusions—that will be good enough to get you through the tryouts. And maybe even into the talent show.”
Ohhh, no. What I’m looking for is something a little less good than that, I tell myself, hiding my losing smile.
“Let’s go into my office and take a look on the big computer before our picnic is ready. That way, we can study the details of the illusions you like best,” Dad says, his eyes lighting up. He loves a project.
And it’s “we” now, I notice.
Well, that’s fine with me, I tell myself as we head for Dad’s home office, Alfie trailing close behind us.
Let him do the work!
6
TA-DA!
We go back to my dad’s computer after our picnic lunch in the family room, where Alfie stunned us with her jewel-covered lunch box—which is now so heavy she can hardly lift it. Dad has found some cool posts that show a guy demonstrating simple illusions.
“We’re narrowing it down,” he says.
“Why don’t we just get in the car and go to Target or someplace and buy a better magic kit?” I ask.
“First, it’s pouring out,” Dad says, nodding toward the rain-spattered window, “and second, you don’t see this magician using a store-bought magic kit, do you?” he asks, pointing at the computer screen. “He’s using everyday objects we already have around the house.”
“But I can’t learn a bunch of magic before tomorrow morning,” I say, trying not to sound too whiny. Because I don’t want the lecture on that.
“You don’t have to learn ‘a bunch of magic,’ as you put it,” Dad says. “Just enough for the tryouts. Maybe two tricks, EllRay. Illusions, I mean. It’s mostly a matter of practice, this man says.”
“So I’m supposed to stay up all night practicing?” I ask. “And—which two tricks? They all look pretty hard to me! Even after he explains them.”
“That’s what makes them good,” Dad says. “They’re easy, with practice, but they look difficult. And I think I know just the ones you should try.”
“Which ones?” I ask.
“The illusions he calls ‘Making Money’ and ‘Cut String Made Whole,’” Dad says, checking his notes. “We can start on those right now, and you can practice like crazy. Then you can try them out on Alfie and Mom and me after dinner.”
“I think it’s too late for ‘Making Money,’ Dad,” I say, thinking of the dollar bills I handed over to the teenager at the yard sale—for a magic set I can’t even use.
He’s probably laughing his head off right now, or rolling around on my dollar bills.
“It’s not,” Dad tells me. “Let’s watch that one again, and then the cut string one. I’ll get your supplies ready after that, and you can start practicing.”
I only want to practice enough to try out and not get in the talent show, but of course I don’t explain this to Dad. It would definitely sound like “having a bad attitude,” which is something that is frowned upon around here.
So I sit and stare at the computer screen, hoping I don’t fall asleep.
“And now, ladies and—and little lady,” Dad says at the dining table, after the dinner dishes have been cleared, “I present EllRay the Amazing!”
“Huh. The amazing what?” Alfie says to Mom.
She’s jealous, and I haven’t even done anything yet!
Mom, Dad, and Alfie are sitting at one end of the table, and I am standing opposite them. I have one of my dad’s goofy old hats on my head to make me look more magical, since I don’t have that top hat. My heart is actually POUNDING, and this is just my family. Imagine me doing these two tricks in front of my class—or the Oak Glen Primary School Talent Show Tryout Committee!
I’d probably collapse.
“EllRay the amazing magician, Alfie,” Dad tells her in his best settle-down voice. “Now, prepare to be astonished, one and all. Announce your first illusion, son.”
I can tell Alfie really wants to ask Mom what “illusion” means, so I answer my little sister’s question before she can ask it. “‘Illusion’ is another word for a magic trick,” I begin in a boomy voice that sounds only a little like mine. “And tonight, I will perform two illusions just for you.”
Talking is an important part of doing magic, I learned from the guy on YouTube. That and waving your hands around a lot—if you can do it without messing up your illusion.
First, though, I fiddle my fingers under the table, preparing illusion number one, “Making Money.” The preparation is the hardest part of this trick, I have learned.
There, ready.
“I show you this ordinary dime. Or is it so ordinary?” I say to Mom, Dad, and Alfie. I hold the dime directly facing them, between my thumb and middle finger, so that’s the only thing they can see. But behind the dime are two quarters, held standing up and sideways by the same two fingers. The dime hides them, kind of forming the top part of the letter T.
“So what? I have a dime,” Alfie mutters.
“But ABRACADABRA,” I say, passing my other hand in front of the dime—just long enough to push the dime behind one of the quarters with my thumb. I pinch the quarter with the dime behind it together, hold the coins up, and hold up the other quarter with my other hand. “Ta-da!” I say, displaying the two quarters.
They can’t see the dime at all.
At the other end of the table, Dad is grinning. He gives me a secret thumbs-up. All that practicing paid off! At first, I kept dropping the quarters. My fingers are pretty small.
Mom looks surprised, and then she starts clapping.
But Alfie looks truly astounded. She jumps up and charges over to me the way Dad said she would—which gives me just enough time to hide the dime in the palm of my hand. “Let me see those,” Alfie says, and she takes the quarters from me and turns them over and over on the table, as if that will somehow reveal how I did it.
“It’s magic, Alfie,” I say.
“Then why aren’t you rich, if you can make quarters out of dimes?” she asks.
“Come on back here and sit down, love,” Mom says to her. “EllRay the Amazing has one more trick to perform, I think.”
“Illusion,” Dad whispers to her.
“Illusion,” Mom says.
And Alfie trudges back to her seat.
7
FAMOUS ALL OVER THE WORLD
I clear my throat, getting my magician voice ready again. “And now,” I say, “I will show you the ‘Cut String Made Whole’ illusion, famous all over the world.”
I made up that last part all by myself.
“I can cut a stwing,” Alfie says, refusing to be further astonished. I think she’s confused enough about how I made those quarters appear out of nowhere.
“First,” I tell my audience, “I take a plain drinking straw and push a length of ordinary string all the way through it, until the string pokes out the other end.”
And I do it.
The string just has to be longer than the straw, that’s all. Dad prepared a whole bunch of straws for me. Using an X-Acto knife, which has a pointy razor blade at the end, which is why a grown-up needs to do it, he cut long, invisible slits down the middle parts of the straws, but only on one side. Not all the way through.
“See?” I say, holding up the drinking straw with string hanging out both ends.
“So what?” Alfie says, and Dad gives her a look.
“Now,” I tell them, “I will bend the straw in half, like so.”
I bend the straw in the middle, slit side facing down. I hold the two straw ends together in one hand, partway down from the top, tugging the loose string ends straighter. As I do this, I am really pulling the looped string down about an inch through the slit in the straw. I hide the pulled-down loop of string with the fingers holding the straw, so nobody can see it.
“Now, I am going to cut this straw in half,” I say, waving the kitchen scissors around in a magical way with my other hand.
And I snip off the top, bent piece of the straw.
“There goes the poor little stwing,” Alfie predicts in a gloomy voice.
“And abracadabra, the cut string is whole again! Ta-da!” I say, letting the two straw pieces fall to the table.
I wave the entire uncut length of string back and forth in the air.
It worked!
Mom and Dad clap their hands and cheer, but Alfie’s eyes are wide.
She’s actually SCARED!
“Want to see the string, Alfie?” I ask, holding it out to her. “It’s just regular string. Don’t be afraid.”
“No-o-o,” she cries, burying her face against Mom’s sweater. “Get it away fwom me!”
“It’s okay, Alfie. You don’t have to touch it,” I say, trying to calm her down.
“Honey! What on earth’s the matter?” Mom asks, squeezing Alfie tight.
“EllWay is magic,” Alfie wails so loud that the neighbors can probably hear. “He’s magic! Don’t let him touch me and cut me in half, or turn me into two quarters!”
My sister the drama queen. Or drama princess, I guess. She’s only four.
“No, Alfie,” Mom says. “It was only a trick, darling. EllRay’s not magic. He’s learning to be a magician. There’s a big difference.”
“Not to me-e-e,” Alfie says, sniffling big time, and Mom holds her away a little before her small nose gets wiped on Mom’s pretty blue sweater, which is almost new.
“Time for somebody’s bath, story, and bedtime,” my dad says, getting to his feet and lifting Alfie—who is now kicking—from my mom’s arms. “Because somebody’s tired.”
“Wah-h-h!” Alfie cries as Dad takes her from the dining room.
“Wah-h-h!” I hear her voice fade as he carries her upstairs.
And I’m left standing there with a long piece of string in my hand. I should figure out a better way to finish, I guess.
“Don’t pay any attention to your little sister, darling,” Mom tells me. “Those were wonderful illusions. Ms. Sanchez is going to be thrilled.”
Oh, yeah, I think, startled. The tryouts! I was so busy trying to learn those two tricks all afternoon—and having fun—that I forgot I was supposed to stink at them.
Well, there’s still time for that.
8
OUR CLASS’S FIVE LAME ACTS
The kids in my class agreed to meet Monday before school starts, to plan the tryouts for the talent show. I’m the first one at the sloping lawn near the picnic tables. That King of the Mountain game we played here seems like it happened a long time ago, even though it was just last Friday. Those were the days.
I have decided not to volunteer first for the tryouts—even though I brought all my stuff.
Doing magic for your family is one thing, but performing for strangers sounds awful. Especially if you have to fake doing a bad job so you won’t get in the show.
I kind of liked pulling off those two tricks!
I didn’t like scaring Alfie, though. She’s still acting shy around me.
“Is the grass wet?” Annie Pat asks. She catches cold a lot, I have noticed.
“Nah. It’s mostly dry,” I say.
“I have news,” Emma tells Annie Pat and me as the other kids in our class start to arrive for our meeting. “Ms. Sanchez’s wedding shower present from all the parents is going to be the fancy vacuum cleaner that was on their wish list. Somebody’s mom got a good deal on one, so they finally all agreed.”
“That’s tragic,” Annie Pat says, her dark blue eyes serious and sad. “They could have bought Ms. Sanchez the best aquarium in the world for that much money. Or even a saltwater aquarium.”
Annie Pat wants to be a fish scientist when she grows up.
“But maybe vacuuming is something married people do together,” Fiona says, a mushy look on her face. “Like dancing.”
I can’t picture it, but what do I know?
“Well, the deciding is over,” Emma says, shaking her head. “Mom told me. All that’s left is for us kids to make a card to go with it.”
“Fiona can do that,” Annie Pat says. “She’s the best artist.”
“No,” I surprise myself by saying. “Everyone should write something for Ms. Sanchez. But maybe Fiona can draw the cover.”
“You mean we should make a whole book?” Cynthia says. She has arrived quietly, for once, and has been listening in. “That sounds too hard.”
“Maybe just one page from each of us?” I say, making it a question. “Something about getting married?”
Because I want to be part of this, even though I can’t explain why. It just makes me sad to think of Ms. Sanchez getting married—and not being Ms. Sanchez anymore. The least I can do is help make her a wedding shower book.
“Good idea, EllRay,” Emma says, smiling.
“We’re here,” Jared and Stanley shout, racing up the hill.