by Diana Lopez
The music stopped, and Ariel took a bow. The boys could not contain themselves. They clapped and cheered. Loop let out a grito just like his uncles did when the Dallas Cowboys scored a touchdown. Usually, he didn’t enjoy girlie things like flowers, but he had to admit this routine was even better than someone getting sliced in half.
“That was the craziest, awesomest thing I ever saw!” he shouted.
“No wonder you won!” Dominic said.
“Will you teach me to be a magician?” Z asked. Loop and Dominic wanted to learn, too.
Ariel glared at them. “Please… as if.” Then she marched back into the Vault.
Mrs. Garza said, “Don’t listen to her. You can be magicians if you want.”
“How?” the boys asked.
“First you need a key for the Vault.” She nodded toward the velvet curtain. “That’s where the secrets to real magic lie. But you have to practice, too. It’s all about the practice.”
Loop looked at the doorway. He knew Ariel had special access. No wonder she could do all those magical things.
“How do we get a key?” Dominic asked.
“There are only two ways,” Mrs. Garza said. “Either you master a trick from the store”—she nodded toward the aisles—“or you buy a hundred dollars’ worth of merchandise.”
The boys emptied their pockets. Dominic had $4.78, and Z had less than that, but Loop had his twenty bucks. He always had more money than his friends, and sometimes it really bugged him because they always expected him to share.
“We’re not going to spend a hundred dollars anytime soon,” Dominic said, “so our only choice is to learn a trick.”
“I don’t have enough money to buy a trick,” Z said.
Dominic glanced at the change in his hand. “I don’t, either.”
If Dominic’s and Z’s eyes could have spoken, they’d have been saying “Please!” Every time they gave Loop that look, he knew what they were asking.
“I guess we could combine our money and buy something together,” he said, because what choice did he have? His buddies were broke, but they were still his friends.
“Why don’t you try a beginner’s kit?” Mrs. Garza suggested.
She showed them several boxes, and the boys selected one that had “a dozen spectacular tricks for beginners.” It cost $24.99.
Loop realized that he didn’t know the first thing about magic, but since there was nothing else to do, he figured learning a few tricks would be a fun way to pass the time. Besides, he wanted the key to the Vault and all the answers waiting behind that mysterious curtain. If Ariel could make petals appear out of nowhere, then maybe he could make something appear out of nowhere, too.
mentalism—
the art of reading someone’s mind
“WAIT A MINUTE!” DOMINIC said when Loop and Z immediately grabbed a bunch of stuff from their new box of magic. They hadn’t even bothered to look at the instructions. “You’re going to mess up the tricks.”
Loop held up a contraption called the Mafia Manicure. “This is definitely mine,” he said.
Meanwhile, Z took out items and asked a dozen questions about each one.
“If you just took a minute to read…,” Dominic tried to explain, but his friends ignored him. Soon all the contents of the box were on the counter, as jumbled as a heap of pick-up sticks. “We’re going to lose the pieces,” he complained.
After twenty minutes of squabbling, the boys divvied up the items. Dominic picked tricks that used mentalism, the art of reading someone’s mind. He’d always been fascinated by telepathy and telekinesis. In fact, his favorite superhero was Professor X from X-Men because he could control minds. If Dominic had that power, he’d make his friends do silly things like pat their heads while quacking. He giggled just thinking about it.
Loop and Z handed Dominic the instructions for all the magic tricks. “Why don’t you take the booklet, so you can tell us what to do,” Loop said.
Dominic sighed. Every time they got a set of instructions, Loop and Z goofed off while Dominic figured things out. It didn’t matter if they were learning how to play a new video game or conducting an experiment in their science class.
Finally, it was time to head home. The boys walked most of the way together, but since Dominic’s apartment was closest to the shopping center, he was the first to say good-bye.
He climbed the steps to his second-story apartment and let himself in. “Mom?” he called. No answer. Then he saw a note on the coffee table: “At Lulu’s.” This meant his mom was next door.
Dominic and his mom had a two-bedroom apartment with a giant bathroom and walk-in closets. His apartment was just like the others in the building, except for the books all over the furniture. His mom was always getting self-help books at Hastings or the library, and since she dragged Dominic along, he’d learned to love reading, too.
His dad, on the other hand, did not read, except for Sports Illustrated or the newspaper.
Dominic shook his head thinking about how different his mom and dad were, and he wondered how they ever got married.
Then again, his parents weren’t married anymore. They had gotten divorced when he was five. Then his dad moved to Corpus Christi and got remarried, while Dominic and his mom stayed in Victoria. Now his mom was a single parent who worked forty hours a week as a receptionist at Crossroads Clinic. Once a month, his parents met at the halfway point between the cities—the Burger King in Refugio—where they traded him off. They might say hello to each other, but most of the time, they simply nodded from a distance. So Dominic just grabbed his duffel bag and transferred it from one trunk to another. He’d try to bridge the gap by saying “Mom told me to say hi” or “Dad told me to say hi,” but his parents would just mumble something like “Tell him [or her] I said hi, too.”
Sometimes he envied Loop and Z, because they got to live with both their parents. Loop was an only child, but he had cousins and a grandma who always visited. And Z had tons of brothers and sisters. So those guys were never bored or lonely. If Dominic had more family around, he’d have extra people to talk to. But he didn’t have any cousins or siblings, at least not the full-blooded kind. He had a half sister on his dad’s side. She was only four years old, so even if she lived next door, he probably wouldn’t hang out with her. She was sweet, but she couldn’t play basketball. She couldn’t play anything more complicated than Candy Land and video games with ponies and fairies, which were the only things his stepmom kept in the house, saying they were age appropriate. Meanwhile, Dominic was twelve years old! They weren’t age appropriate for him. He liked to crash race cars and shoot monsters, but his stepmom said that was too violent for Maria Elena. That was his sister’s name. Not Maria or Elena, but Maria Elena, pronounced as one word.
He barely remembered when his parents were together. There was one portrait from Sears—his mother, his father, and his three-year-old self—but that’s it. It was on his dresser next to another family portrait, one where he was posed with his dad, stepmom, and Maria Elena.
He loved his mom, and he loved his dad’s side of the family, too. But every birthday and Christmas and awards assembly at school, he wanted to hang out with his entire family, and instead, they made him take turns. He didn’t understand. Why couldn’t his parents be friends?
Maybe that’s why he wanted to learn mentalism—so he could read their minds.
vanish—
to make something disappear
Z’S REAL NAME WAS Ezio. That’s what was written on his birth certificate and report cards. But no one called him Ezio. They called him Z—not because it was easier to say, but because it was the last letter of the alphabet and he was the last kid—the last at everything.
He had four older sisters and two older brothers, and so far, only one sister had gotten married and moved out. The rest of his family was crammed into a tiny house, including his sister who went to Victoria College. But even a house full of people couldn’t stop his cousin from coming over a
nd spending the night, too. The cousin was two years older than Z, and when he came, he threw Z out of his own bed. Z had to sleep on the couch, which gave him a crick in the neck. And when he complained—why did he have to give up his bed every time?—everyone just laughed and talked about how cute he was.
Most “babies” of the family got spoiled, but not Z. He got new underwear and new shoes. That was it. His jeans and T-shirts were hand-me-downs. He got all the leftover toys and games, so they were either broken or missing parts. When serving dinner, his mother stood at the stove and made the kids line up behind her, oldest to youngest, so she had to scrape the pan when it was Z’s turn, which meant he got rice that was stuck to the bottom or a tiny chicken wing. His older siblings worked at the mall or at fast-food places, but instead of saving lots of money, his whole family was broke. Who knew what his brothers and sisters spent their cash on. His parents had to feed everyone and pay a bunch of bills, so when Z asked for an allowance, he might get ten dollars, but mostly he got some weird amount like $3.19 or $5.04.
He wasn’t happy about it, but he understood. It was hard to raise seven kids when you were the Floor Guy. That was the name of his dad’s business, and he was really the Floor Guy. When you called the company, Z’s mom answered, and the person who fixed your floor was his dad. They’d been doing this for years.
The house was never quiet. Everybody talked. At the same time! Stories never got finished. Z’s hardly ever got started. That’s why he didn’t bother to say hello when he got home from Conjuring Cats. He just walked in and said, “There’s a new magic shop in town, so now I’m going to be a magician.” He waved his bag of magic tricks, but no one seemed to notice. His oldest sister had stopped by, and she and his mom kept talking about coupons. Margaret, Lucinda, and Corina, better known by the family as Bossy, Copycat, and Smiley—everybody had a nickname—were making fun of celebrities in the tabloids. His dad was on the phone. His brothers and cousin were arm-wrestling. His dog stood at the sliding door barking to go out. All this was happening in the main room of their house, which was the dining room and living room put together.
“I’ve got some new magic tricks!” he called out. He waved the bag again.
Finally, his mom noticed. “What’s that, mijo?”
“I’m going to learn magic.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m so glad you are doing interesting things. It’s lots better than watching TV all the time.” She glanced disapprovingly at his sisters, but they didn’t care.
Just then, his oldest sister interrupted. “Here’s twenty percent off for Bath and Body Works.”
“Even with the discount,” his mom said, “it’s still expensive.”
Z jumped in. “I need a dollar bill. It’s for my magic.”
“Didn’t you already go shopping?” his oldest sister asked. “What’s in the bag?”
“Magic,” Z explained. “But the trick I want to learn needs a dollar bill. I’m going to punch a hole in it.”
“You’re going to waste money?” His mom didn’t seem to like the idea.
Before Z could respond, one of his brothers started shadowboxing around him. “Who’s wasting money?” he asked as he faked a body shot. He was always punching the air and hopping around, so the family called him Boxer Boy.
Z’s sisters started bickering. Bossy said, “Hey, guys. Who looks better in this dress?” She held up a magazine page showing pictures of two actresses in the same outfit. Boxer Boy headed over while Z’s oldest sister held another coupon and asked his mom if she ate at Arby’s, and then his dad got off the phone and announced that he was going to the shop for a few hours.
“Wait!” Z said, because he needed a dollar bill. Since his mom was too busy with coupons, he asked his dad. “Do you have a dollar I can borrow?”
His dad checked his pockets, but they were empty. He shrugged. “Sorry, mijo.” Then he snapped his fingers at Z’s brothers. “Ven conmigo,” he said. Z’s cousin went, too, leaving Z with all the girls, but that didn’t mean it was any quieter. They had moved on to gossiping about the neighbors—who was getting fat and who was in the hospital and who was buying a car they couldn’t afford.
Z tried to get their attention. “Does anyone have a dollar I can borrow?”
Smiley looked at him. “You are so cute, Z. My friend says that if you were five years older, she’d totally date you.”
“Okay, but do you have a dollar?”
She didn’t answer because she was back to the gossip. Someone was pregnant and someone else got a bad haircut. And speaking about hair, Z wanted to pull his out! No one asked him about celebrities or coupons (not that he cared, but still). No one asked him to arm-wrestle or go to the shop. The dog didn’t even slobber on his shoes when he got home. Every time Z walked through the door, he vanished, and that was the worst part of being cursed.
illusion—
when something seems like something else
DURING THE NEXT MONTH, Loop and his friends worked through all twelve of the “spectacular tricks for beginners.” Loop was totally set to perform his trick for Mrs. Garza so he could get into the Vault, but Z kept stalling, saying that he could never practice because no one would give him a dollar. Loop almost handed over a buck, but he changed his mind. Seriously. How hard could it be to get a dollar? And Dominic kept practicing because he had to be perfect. He always had to be perfect. That’s why it took him five times longer to finish stuff. It didn’t matter if they were making PB&Js or taking a math test. Sure, Dominic got perfect scores lots of times, but Loop could jot down some answers and get a 70, which was still passing. And finishing early meant he could spend the rest of class sketching machines. Loop loved sketching machines—not real ones like washers or air conditioners, but spaceships and robots in futuristic cityscapes.
Finally, his friends said they were ready to perform their tricks, so Loop got all excited—but then he got grounded. Apparently, Cs on tests weren’t good enough when you also had a bunch of zeroes from failing to turn in your homework. So the audition for the Vault had to be postponed till the end of the school year. Thankfully, he only had to wait two weeks, but in the meantime, he felt like a jailbird at home.
In addition to homework, he had chores. Today, when he came home from school, his mom said, “There’s a basket of towels to fold, and then I want you to do your homework. You need to show it to me before dinner.”
Loop dragged his feet as he headed to the room with the towels. His mom liked them folded in thirds. It was extra work, but he did it, putting the bath towels in one stack, the hand towels in another, and the kitchen towels in a third. He was as organized as possible, but it wasn’t enough. When his mom came to examine his work, she pointed out a few towels and said, “You have to redo these.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because you folded them with the ugly sides out.” The towels had initials or flowers sewed on, so they looked nice only on one side.
“Why does it matter?” Loop asked. “They’ll be in the closet. We can show the pretty side when we take them out.”
Instead of answering, his mom shook out the towels, unfolding them. She said, “You rushed through this just like you rush through everything. From now on, show some pride in your work.” Then she walked off.
Loop was fighting mad that his mom had accused him of rushing, even though it was true. He wanted to kick the wall or hit the table, but he couldn’t afford to make his life worse. If he acted out, his mom would ground him during the summer, too, and he’d be bored to death and stir-crazy if he didn’t get to hang out with Dominic and Z.
He shook his head, all frustrated. Then he finished the towels, folding them exactly the way she wanted. When he was done, he headed to his room to do his homework. His door had yellow crime scene tape crisscrossing it. It was his way of saying, “Stay out!”
Loop moved the crime scene tape and stepped in. At least he had his own private cave. And it really was a cave, with black curtains and dark gray w
alls. He had cool posters of wormholes and fractals, which were these weird geometric shapes that seemed to move when you stared at them. When he turned on the black light, the posters glowed in bright oranges, pinks, and greens, and everything white turned purple. He loved staring into the posters, pretending he was in a spaceship going through a nebula like in sci-fi movies.
Loop never made his bed, and he dumped his clothes in the closet without hanging them. He didn’t like to dust or sweep, either. His desk was a mess of paper. But one part of his room stayed clean—the retablo in the corner, a little altar his grandmother had made in honor of the Virgin Mary. It had a little statue of Mary, a rosary, and some candles. His grandma made the retablo when he was a baby because he was born on December twelfth, the day his church celebrated a story about La Virgen de Guadalupe. That was where he got his name—Guadalupe, or Lupe, for short. Since his first teacher couldn’t speak Spanish, it sounded like “Loopy” when she said it. The kids all laughed at him, so he said, “Just call me Loop,” and the name stuck.
Every month, his grandma brought fresh candles and made him pray with her. She put pillows on the floor so they could kneel. Then she did the sign of the cross and started mumbling. After a moment, she nudged Loop so he could pray, too. He didn’t really understand why this ritual was so important to her, but since she never bugged him about his messy room or his grades, he went along with it.