The Cassandra Curse

by Chantel Acevedo

  I screamed, called out for Clio, for my mom, for the Muse Squad, for Tia Annie. But I kept sliding, as if dragged by invisible hands.

  Ms. Rinse laughed, and the others all watched me go, just a few feet from the window now. “Maker of Heroes,” Rinse taunted. “You didn’t even turn in a science project. A big fat F for you,” she said, smirking at her own joke.

  “Hubris,” I cried out, remembering what Tia Annie had said. “You won’t win because of it!”

  “Ah, so you were paying attention in some classes at least,” Ms. Rinse said. “The opposite of pride is weakness. You are weak, Calliope.”

  Down below, Maya was busy solving the Rubik’s Cube.

  My feet touched the window casing. I locked my knees. My fingertips were bleeding now. I’d left red streaks on the ceiling as I tried to hold on.

  Now Ms. Rinse was pacing the floor beneath me, her eyes on mine. “Haven’t you ever wondered, Callie, what it might be like if you thought of yourself first for once? You could have the whole school in the palm of your hand. No one would ever call you ‘fat’ again. Your father would come home. You’d inspire them all to love you. Just you. Consider it. There is no rule against it. None of those precious muse rules says anything about making yourself the hero of the story,” she said, and it sounded like a soothing purr in my ears. “Don’t you want to be a hero, too?”

  If I could turn my best friend into a pop star, imagine what I could do for my mom, my brothers, for myself, I thought.

  But that wasn’t the deal, was it? Muses weren’t heroes.

  We were helpers.

  We were makers.

  We were mortal, but our powers were immortal.

  We were goddesses.

  I tried one last time to harness the magic I’d been given and sent it Maya’s way. My skin tingled. I couldn’t feel my fingers anymore. Below me, Maya’s own fingers became a blur.

  Click.

  Click.

  Nobody looked her way at all. They just stared at me.

  “Do it, Maya!” I shouted.

  Click.

  Maya sent the cube twisting in the air, solving itself the moment it struck Ms. Rinse on the forehead.

  Then I dropped from the ceiling like a stone.

  The last thing I remembered were the faces of the Muse Squad hovering over me before the world turned black.

  Chapter 32

  Mission Accomplished

  When I opened my eyes, my mother was there.

  “How does this keep happening to you?” she asked, a tired smile on her face.

  I blinked the sleep crust out of my eyes.

  “I brought you a burger,” Mario said. He was sitting in the corner of my hospital room.

  “But I ate it. Sorry,” Fernando added, wiping a bit of mustard off his chin.

  Later, my dad and Laura called. “Kiddo, do I need to make you a bubble-wrap suit or what?” he asked.

  “Chicken butt, Papi,” I said, and he laughed, warmly and deeply. “I’m sending you a picture, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said. My phone buzzed, and I opened my messages app to see a photo of an ultrasound. It read “It’s a Boy!” in tiny white letters. The black-and-white alien-looking baby seemed to be waving at me.

  “Another brother,” I sighed. I showed the twins, and they bumped chests and made gorilla sounds in triumph.

  A voice cut through the commotion. “Pardon me.”

  We all turned to look.

  In the doorway stood Clio, back in her doctor’s scrubs. Her bright white hair was in a long braid, and her golden trumpet earrings glittered. “Just a nasty bump on the head,” she said. “No stitches this time. Those convention center steps are treacherous. Off your feet for a few days, yes?”

  She winked at me, and everyone froze in place.

  “Clio!” I shouted, then winced. “Is Tia Annie okay?”

  Clio smiled, and nodded. “That she is. And the searchlights are bright as they ever were.” She sat on my bed. “You have our thanks, Calliope. The Lost Muse was neutralized. There are nine rules regarding the work of the muses. You uncovered the last two on your own,” she said.

  “I did?”

  “Rule number eight. A muse is no better, or worse, than the heroes she inspires. The problem with Wendy, or Ms. Rinse, as you knew her, is that she never quite took that rule to heart. But you did,” Clio said, and booped my nose. I was too stunned to respond. Clio went on, “Maya was saved, and you accomplished your mission. All is well. We have a meeting at headquarters next Tuesday. Three a.m. London time. We fixed the Great Bed for you.”

  Then Clio patted my cheek and I felt warm and happy. She rose to leave.

  “Clio, wait,” I said. “What was the ninth rule?”

  “Oh yes. The ninth rule. Muses are goddesses. And don’t ever forget it.” Then, she slipped away, and my family was back in motion, loud as ever.

  That evening, it was just me and my mom at the hospital again. She fell asleep as soon as her telenovela, La Escandalosa, was done.

  I texted Raquel.

  Hey. The science fair was super weird.

  Your mom called me. Told me you fell down the stairs. How’s your head?

  Okay. How are you?

  Okay. The science fair WAS weird. Like, how did those birds get in there? They said the birds escaped the aviary at the Miami Zoo and somehow got into the convention center.

  SO WEIRD.

  Clio had done a lot of cleanup, I realized. I’d have to catch up on all of it next week.

  Even weirder? I hardly remember it. It’s all so foggy to me. I guess leaving America’s Next Star affected me more than I thought it would. The internet . . . has not been very kind about me.

  Don’t read that stuff.

  I won’t. I’m NOT. Believe me. I just want to be regular Raquel again. Violet is going to have fun being mean to me, though.

  Forget her. You’ll always be a pop star to me.

  Shut up.

  Never.

  Night, Cal. Let’s talk for real soon, k?

  K.

  I put down my phone and fell fast asleep.

  The dawn came, rosy and bright. My mom had gotten up early. I heard her in the bathroom, humming to herself.

  “You’re in a good mood,” I said when she emerged. She sat on the edge of my bed.

  “I had a wonderful dream. Your tia Annie and I were back in Cuba. We were little girls on the beach again, looking for seashells. She said, ‘Say hello to my Callie-Mallie for me.’ Then we found a conch shell this big,” she said, holding her hands out to indicate something larger than my head.

  I grinned and sat up straighter. My head hurt. My shoulders and tailbone did, too. But I was happy to be back in Miami, and glad I didn’t have to worry about sirens or Lost Muses or curses for the time being.

  My mom picked at some fluff on my blanket. “I have an idea, and I want to run it by you,” she said then.

  “Go ahead.”

  She took hold of my hand. “You know your friend Maya?”

  I nodded.

  “You know how she lives in a group home? What if she came to live with us? As in permanently?” my mom asked. “She’d have to agree to it. You too, of course. Your brothers are on board. They have been since that night at Frosty’s Enchanted Forest,” my mom went on. “Maya needs a family. And if a person is loved—”

  “Then they’ll be okay,” I said.

  Maya didn’t need to win the county science fair. What she needed was a home. A real home. A family.

  Mission accomplished.

  “Better than okay,” my mom said.

  My sister, a Fated One, I thought.

  “Bunk beds?” I asked, and my mom laughed.

  “Whatever the two of you want,” she said.

  I had been out of school for a few days when Raquel came over one afternoon.

  “Hey,” she said, standing at the door to my room.

  “Hey,” I said back.

  “You missed the last d
ay of classes before Christmas break. A shaving-cream fight broke out in the courtyard,” Raquel said, staring at her hands the whole time.

  I shrugged, pointing at the bump on my head.

  “You feeling okay?” she asked, and I nodded. She took a tentative step into my room. Her hair was growing out, the shaved parts a little longer now and sticking up out of the side of her head. The blue dye they’d put in for her last episode of America’s Next Star was already fading to silver. Raquel must have caught me staring at it. “I don’t know why they gave me this cheesy haircut,” she said, touching the side of her head.

  Then we were quiet, and I couldn’t stand it for another second. Sure, we’d texted back and forth a few times, but we hadn’t talked, really talked, yet.

  Raquel had a determined look on her face, and I knew she’d come over to bury the hatchet.

  “You made me feel left out of your life,” I said, as plainly as I could.

  Raquel pursed her lips. “I felt the same way. I mean, Maya is nice and everything, but you were hanging out with her a lot. Plus, you were doing this weird British accent thing.”

  “I WAS NOT!” I said, though I think I may have used “brilliant” to mean “great” one time, and maybe I did sound a little like Thalia when I said it. “You hung out with Violet. And Max. Though Max turned out all right,” I put in.

  “Because I missed you. And Violet wasn’t a good replacement, by the way.” Raquel was breathing hard, her brown eyes glossy and penetrating.

  I took a deep breath of my own. Why was this so hard? I steadied myself. Then blurted, all at once, “I was jealous, okay. I was super jealous. Not of any specific thing. Just . . . all of it. I wasn’t a good friend. I was totally hubristic, and I’m so sorry.”

  That did it. It was like tearing open a Christmas present, or turning on the water faucet all the way at once. Raquel rushed toward my bed, where I was sitting cross-legged. Crushing me in a hug, she mumbled into my shoulder. “I don’t know what hubristic means. But I’m sorry, too! I was this diva monster. Do you know I chewed out one of the craft services people because the arepas they’d brought me were cold?”

  “What’s craft services?” I asked.

  “Like, the caterers behind the scenes at a TV or movie set,” she said, and I realized she was crying. “People like my mom and dad,” she added, her voice quivering. Raquel’s parents owned a little Venezuelan café nearby. They worked hard every day, her mom always smelling like onions and garlic, and her dad forever wearing a T-shirt that read COMIDA FALCÓN no matter the occasion. “I yelled at them, Callie. The people nice enough to find arepas for me from who knows where. Then my parents yelled at me for being a malcriada, WHICH I WAS,” Raquel wailed. I hugged her tighter. “I was a monster,” she whispered.

  “You weren’t a monster,” I said. “Trust me, I know monsters.”

  “The producers wanted me to be someone else. And I gave them what they wanted, until the day I just couldn’t anymore,” she whispered.

  “I’m glad you came. I needed you like crazy that day.”

  Raquel released me, looked into my eyes, and lifted an eyebrow. “What exactly did I miss while we were in the bestie-break-up zone?”

  “Nothing. A lot of nothing,” I said, remembering muse rule number six about secret identities, though I didn’t think it should apply to best friends. I’d have to take it up with Clio. There would probably be paperwork. But for now, I said, “Nothing at all except for Maya. My mom is adopting her. It’s going to be good. Really good,” I added.

  “Well, that’s huge news. If that’s ‘nothing,’ I don’t want to know what you think ‘something’ is,” Raquel said, still suspicious.

  My best friend was no dummy.

  I laughed nervously. Then quickly changed the subject.

  “Listen to me, Raquel Falcón. Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re amazing,” I said. “And you’ll be a superstar someday, at your own pace, in your own way.” I could feel the tingling start to happen, but I willed it to stop. This was Raquel’s fate, not mine. She had to be her own hero. Like Clio said, sometimes you had to wait for the moment when you didn’t need magic anymore and trust that the right time would come. Raquel didn’t need me to help her discover her inner hero. She’d found it on her own.

  Raquel sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Let’s never fight again,” she said.

  “You got it,” I told her.

  I thought of how things would change from now on. There would soon be two dollhouses in my room—one messy, one neat. There would probably be science experiments on the dresser. And Maya would have to pretend not to notice whenever I popped over to headquarters. Most important, Maya would be family, and Raquel was my best friend again, which was all the magic we needed.

  “The last month or so feels like a crazy dream, you know?” Raquel said.

  “I know what you mean. But it’s back to the real world, right?”

  Raquel pulled her backpack onto my bed. “Yep. Oh, and did you hear? Ms. Rinse quit. Nobody’s seen her since the county science fair,” Raquel said.

  “No kidding?” I said, trying to play it off.

  Raquel shrugged, opened her backpack, and pulled out a notebook. “I’ve brought your science homework for the week. Thank me later. Our new teacher? She’s a real harpy.”

  I laughed. I really hoped the new teacher was just regular mean, and not the magical kind. “Well,” I said, putting aside the science homework, “she can bring it on. I’m ready.”

  Muse Rules

  A muse always trusts her instincts.

  Muse magic is just love, concentrated.

  A muse never uses her magic against her sisters.

  Inspiration knows no borders.

  All people and places are worthy of magic.

  A muse must always keep her identity a secret.

  A muse is a person on whom nothing is lost.

  A muse is no better, or worse, than the heroes she inspires.

  Muses are goddesses. And don’t ever forget it.

  Acknowledgments

  To my readers, thank you for cracking open this book, and for joining the Muse Squad on their first adventure. The Muse Squad wants me to remind you all that there is always a hero within, even when stuff gets difficult (especially when stuff gets difficult, actually), that art, music, theater, science, history, poetry, faith in goodness, and a healthy sense of humor are all important and worthy things, and that they believe in you (as do I).

  Exemplary editors know that asking the right questions can open up a story in the best ways. I am so grateful to Kristin Rens for her brilliant curiosity about this book, and for loving these characters so much. Maya especially loves you right back, Kristin. And to everyone at Balzer + Bray, thank you for being such a terrific team.

  Stéphanie Abou, thank you for supporting this book, my writing, and my love of J-Lo. Like the muses, eres una divina, through and through. I am so glad you’re in my life.

  Thanks to Mary Pender at UTA for your support and guidance.

  I am forever grateful to the community of writers and early readers who cheered this story on. To Chris Green, your feedback when this was just a baby book draft was energizing. To Hallie Johnston, I don’t know what I did to deserve such a good friend. Here’s to manta rays and Saturday drivers forever. To Diane Berkley, you know I’ll be loving you forever you, Didi. Thank you for reading, and for explaining science fairs to me. To Neha Rajan—thank you for smart and enthusiastic feedback, and for kickass suggestions. To Rachel Hawkins and Ash Parsons, I’m so glad we got to celebrate books together where the magic happens. Let’s put those tiaras on and do it again soon. Mil gracias to fellow Cubiche, Pablo Cartaya, for your excellent kidlit example. Una pila de gracias to Las Musas, a group of phenomenal Latinx kidlit writers who welcomed me in and who are changing the world, one story at a time.

  Thanks to my dear sisters in the work, Evelina Galang and Patricia Engel—you wondrous women, I’m so glad I know you. And t
o my colleagues and students at the U, I am grateful for your cheerful support.

  My daughters, Penelope and Mary-Blair, and my goddaughters, Jaina and Vanessa, urged me to write a story for them one sunny day not too long ago. This is it, younglings. I promise I’ll put buried treasure in the next one.

  Callie knows that familia es todo, and so do I. Orlando, Penny, and Embee—you are my everything. Thank you for your love and unending support. And kids, I’m sorry I yelled at you to get out of the room while Mommy is writing. (But seriously, get out of the room while Mommy is writing.)

  About the Author

  Photo by Belkis Lora

  CHANTEL ACEVEDO was born in Miami to Cuban parents. She is the acclaimed author of adult novels, including The Distant Marvels, which was a finalist for the Andrew Carnegie Medal for Excellence in Fiction, and she is also a professor of English at the University of Miami, where she directs the MFA program. Muse Squad: The Cassandra Curse is her debut middle grade novel. Chantel lives with her personal Muse Squad, aka her family, in Florida. Visit her online at www.chantelacevedo.com.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  Copyright

  Balzer + Bray is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

  MUSE SQUAD: THE CASSANDRA CURSE. Copyright © 2020 by Chantel Acevedo. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

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  Cover art © 2020 by Jonathan Stroh

  Cover design by Joel Tippie