Zach King- The Magical Mix-Up

by Zach King

  The bewildered guard was still scratching his head as

  Zach scrambled away to rejoin Sophie—and Rachel,

  who was staring at him in surprise. He couldn’t quite

  read her expression. Was she embarrassed for him . . .

  or by him?

  “Um, hi, Rachel,” he said awkwardly. He wiped his

  wet hair away from his eyes. “What’s new?”

  She spotted Sophie’s glasses in his hand and put two

  and two together. “Hang on, you were using Sophie’s

  glasses to turn invisible?”

  “Keep it down, please,” Sophie cautioned as she took

  back her glasses. “But, yes, he was trying to use my pow-

  ers . . . just not very well.”

  “Yeah, what happened there?” Zach asked. “What

  was I doing wrong?”

  “Besides using my glasses without any practice?” So-

  phie sighed wearily. “It’s like if the first time you ever

  rode a bike, you got on a ten-speed and tried to ride

  straight downhill—without any training wheels.”

  “But how was he able to use them at all?” Rachel

  asked. “I thought it was one customer per magic object.”

  “That’s how it’s supposed to work,” Zach said, “but

  then I saw you and Hogan together—”

  “Whoa there! You were spying on me and Hogan?”

  A shocked expression came over her face. “While you

  were invisible?”

  “No!” Zach realized that he’d accidentally put his foot

  in his mouth again. “I was spying on Hogan and Tri-

  cia!” He tried frantically to explain so she wouldn’t get

  the wrong idea. “They’re plotting against you. They’ve

  got some sort of sneaky plan involving the dance. I heard

  them with my own ears . . . right before things kinda got

  out of control.”

  “And you ended up standing in the fountain in your

  underwear,” Rachel said. She sounded distinctly unim-

  pressed by Zach’s story.

  “Well, technically, I still had my clothes on. They were

  just invisible. But that’s not the point,” Zach insisted.

  “You can’t trust Hogan.”

  Rachel looked around. “So where are Hogan and Tri-

  cia now?”

  “They split a few minutes ago—right before you

  showed up!”

  Even as he said it, Zach realized just how lame that

  sounded.

  “I’m not making this up,” he promised. “They were there,

  and I was invisible, but then they weren’t and I wasn’t!”

  Rachel held up her hand to silence him.

  “Stop it, Zach. I don’t want to hear any more of this.”

  She sounded more disappointed than angry. “Using

  magic to spy on Hogan. . . . He’s the new kid. Just like

  we both were not so long ago. So don’t go making it any

  harder on him than it has to be. That’s not cool.” She

  shook her head sadly. “You’re better than this, Zach.”

  She spun around and stormed off without anoth-

  er word, leaving Zach and Sophie behind in the food

  court. Soaking wet and feeling like an idiot, Zach glum-

  ly watched Rachel go.

  “Well, that went well,” Sophie said.

  Chapter 7

  The theme of the dance was Country-Western Hoedown,

  so the gym’s parquet floors were closed over the built-

  in swimming pool and the field house had been trans-

  formed into a make-believe ranch, complete with deco-

  rative haystacks, horseshoes, and life-size papier-mâché

  horses. The horses, which were positioned all around

  the gym, had been arts-and-crafts projects at school and

  were painted in a variety of colors, some more realistic

  than others. A mechanical bull rested atop some pad-

  ded wrestling mats. Brightly colored balloons and fancy,

  shimmery streamers hung from the ceiling. The refresh-

  ment table held chips and veggies with ranch dip (get

  it?) and salsa, plus a large plastic punch bowl filled with

  fresh lemonade. A painted barn scene, borrowed from

  the Drama Club, hung on one wall. Rodeo scenes deco-

  rated the paper plates and cups. Even the school mascot

  had been given a farm-style makeover—a pair of plush

  cattle horns was strapped to Horace’s head, making him

  look more like a miniature bull than a bulldog as he

  snoozed on a cozy bed of straw. A campaign poster over

  his head read:

  Zach wondered who was responsible for the cow-

  boy theme—Hogan, Rachel, Principal Riggs, or even

  Tricia? He wouldn’t put it past Tricia to devise a plan

  to have Hogan show Rachel up on her own turf, as

  it were. Even Rachel had said that Hogan was pretty

  good at roping calves.

  “Just our luck,” Zach grumbled to Aaron. Zach had

  dressed in a clip-on tie and button-down shirt along

  with his best jeans and sneakers. “It’s like the dance was

  deliberately designed to make Hogan look good.”

  “You’re not wrong,” his friend agreed. “That guy’s not

  wasting any time when it comes to taking over.”

  Sure enough, Hogan was already taking advantage of

  the western theme to show off some fancy rope tricks.

  Wearing a fringed snakeskin jacket, he was twirling a

  lasso in the air, while a crowd of students and chap-

  erones, including Rachel, oohed and aahed in appre-

  ciation. Even Principal Riggs was clapping enthusiasti-

  cally—and Principal Riggs never clapped for anything!

  Zach barely recognized the principal with a smile on his

  face.

  Zach had to admit that Hogan’s trick roping was im-

  pressive. He twirled the spinning lariat around his body

  and jumped back and forth through the loops while

  keeping the rope in motion. He did flat loops, vertical

  loops, even butterfly loops. It was a live-action rodeo

  show. Zach probably would have clapped himself if he

  hadn’t known that, deep down inside, Hogan was just

  as snakelike as his shiny, scaly jacket.

  The boys made their way around the gym, scoping out

  the scene before winding up by the refreshment table.

  Aaron had brought his cat, Michael, as his “date.” The

  fluffy gray feline rested comfortably in a customized

  baby sling while Aaron live-streamed the dance with his

  camera. Michael waved his paws in time to the music.

  Zach sometimes wondered if that cat wasn’t almost half

  human.

  “So I guess you worked out your creative differences?”

  Zach said. “Or is Michael still on hiatus?”

  Aaron shrugged. “We’re in negotiations regarding the

  tuna issue.”

  “Well, just keep your eyes open,” Zach said grimly.

  “We’re here to help Rachel, remember?”

  “You bet,” Aaron said, as Michael mewed in agree-

  ment. “But what exactly are we here to help her with

  again?”

  “I wish I knew,” Zach admitted. “We just have to be

  ready and hope we can spring into action in time to

  save her from whatever Hogan and Tricia have up their

  sneaky sleeves.”

  “And to catch it all on video,” Aaron said.

>   “Yeah. That, too.”

  Zach turned away to watch the scene and to try to

  act cool. But a second later, something cold and gooshie

  splashed against the back of Zach’s neck. He spun

  around to see Aaron loading up a plastic spoon filled

  with ranch-flavored dip.

  “Hey!” Zach blurted. “Did you just fling some dip at

  me?”

  “Well, I figured if the ketchup didn’t work, maybe

  other condiments would.” He eyed Zach curiously. “So,

  you feeling the magic again?”

  “No!” Zach took his jacket off and dabbed at the back

  of his neck. “All I’m feeling is cold dip under my collar!”

  Michael mewed in Aaron’s defense.

  “If you want, Michael can lick that off for you,” Aar-

  on suggested helpfully. “Might make for a cute video,

  especially if you’re ticklish.”

  “No thanks!”

  A live band, the Buckeye Barn Razors, played coun-

  try-rock music, luring the kids out onto the dance floor

  for some spirited line dancing. Zach tossed his jacket in

  the coat closet, and then he and Aaron chilled by the

  refreshments, not daring to leave their vantage point.

  Zach had a clear view of Hogan and Rachel, who

  seemed to be enjoying dancing together. Zach couldn’t

  help noticing that she was looking prettier than ever.

  She was wearing a fashionable new dress along with her

  usual cowboy boots. Zach kicked himself again for not

  asking her when he’d had the chance. That should have

  been him dancing with her.

  He had tried to warn her about Hogan again when they

  had first arrived at the dance, but she had shut him down

  before he’d gotten more than a few words out. “Not one

  word, Zach King,” she’d said, obviously still upset with

  him. “Don’t even think about trying to spoil tonight for

  me. I just want to have a good time—got that?”

  Zach cringed at the memory as he spotted Tricia danc-

  ing nearby. She was wearing a rhinestone-studded dress,

  and her glittery cowboy hat was more sparkly than a

  tiara. She was with one of her favorite stooges, a beefy

  lunkhead named Lenny, who Tricia often enlisted when

  she needed help carrying out her mean schemes.

  But Zach wasn’t going to let Tricia prank Rachel

  tonight, no matter what she and Hogan might have

  planned.

  Not on my watch, Zach vowed, downing a cup of lem-

  onade in one gulp. No, not on my watch.

  Rachel spotted Zach and Aaron (and Michael) over by

  the refreshments. She was kind of surprised that either

  of them had showed up for the dance, since it wasn’t re-

  ally Aaron’s thing, and as for Zach . . . well, she hoped

  he wasn’t going to make a scene. With Hogan.

  I can look out for myself, she thought, thank you very

  much.

  So far the only thing Hogan was guilty of was being

  a nice guy and a surprisingly good dancer. Still, Rachel

  felt bad about how she had left things with Zach. Maybe

  she should swing by and say hi—just to patch things up?

  “Having a good time?” Hogan asked as he sidled up

  next to her. He had to raise his voice to be heard over

  the boisterous honky-tonk music. His accent seemed to

  get thicker on purpose. “I’m sure this isn’t as exciting as

  wrasslin’ gators, but . . .”

  Rachel laughed and realized she couldn’t think of an-

  other thing to say.

  Thankfully, the song ended and the first dance began.

  Hogan guided Rachel toward the center of the dance

  floor as they moved along with the music. Rachel no-

  ticed Tricia dancing nearby. She seemed to be watching

  them carefully—almost too carefully. For a moment,

  Rachel worried that Tricia had a crush on Hogan and

  that she was getting in the middle.

  But just then the dance floor slid out from beneath her

  feet, and Rachel tumbled backward as the swimming

  pool opened up beneath it.

  SPLASH!

  As she plunged into the overchlorinated water, she in-

  stantly grasped what was happening. Somebody must

  have accidentally triggered the floor controls, exposing

  the swimming pool under the gym floor.

  But that wasn’t the worst part.

  “Help!” Rachel cried out in alarm. “I can’t swim!”

  She was a cowgirl, not a surfer chick, and with all her

  other activities, she’d just never bothered to learn how

  to swim.

  “Help me!” she shrieked, on the verge of panic. “Some-

  body!” A few other kids fell in, but they all swam easily

  to safety. She was the only one flailing about. She was

  the only one screaming for help.

  “Hang on, Rachel!” Zach shouted. “I’m coming for

  you!”

  But before he could dive in to the rescue, Tricia shoved

  past him and hurled the business end of a lasso toward

  Rachel, who grabbed onto it for dear life.

  “Hang on, Rachel. Don’t let go!” Tricia yelled down

  as she pulled Rachel in to safety.

  “Not a chance,” Rachel sputtered, coughing up water.

  It stung to be saved by Tricia, of all people, but sinkers

  couldn’t be choosers. She clung to the lasso as Hogan

  came over and helped Tricia pull her to safety.

  But how had this happened, anyway?

  Zach watched in dismay as Hogan helped Tricia pull

  Rachel out of the pool. The floor had stopped retracting.

  Somebody must have managed to get to the controls.

  Rachel looked like a drowned rat as she clambered up

  onto the gym floor, hacking and coughing up water. Her

  hair and dress were soaked through, and she was shiv-

  ering like a leaf, from the cold or the shock or both. All

  around the gym, people stopped to gawk at her. Zach

  started forward to help her, but Hogan beat him to it.

  “Here,” Hogan said. “Take my jacket.”

  He draped his snakeskin jacket over Rachel’s trem-

  bling shoulders.

  “Afraid of the water, are we?” Tricia smirked. “Good

  thing I could lend a helping hand.”

  Mortified, Rachel looked like she wanted to turn invisi-

  ble herself. Her teeth chattered as she mumbled weakly, “I

  just never got the hang of swimming, that’s all.”

  Personally, Zach didn’t think that was such a big deal,

  but he knew that everybody else in school expected Ra-

  chel to be fearless. Having to be rescued by Tricia didn’t

  look good.

  Principal Riggs barged over to check on things. “Some-

  body get the pool closed . . . pronto!” He looked Rachel

  over with concern. “Are you all right, Miss Holm?”

  “I’m okay,” Rachel said, nodding. “Just a little cold

  and wet. . . .”

  “Thanks to Miss Stands here,” Riggs congratulated

  Tricia. “I was impressed by your quick thinking and re-

  sourcefulness. You kept your cool in a crisis and may

  have even saved your classmate from drowning. A com-

  mendable job.”

  “Well, it was the least I could do,” Tricia said, “for<
br />
  poor, helpless Rachel.”

  Applause broke out, with Hogan clapping first and

  loudest. Pretty soon, the entire gym was cheering for the

  new hero of the hour: Tricia Stands.

  “No, no,” Tricia said, feigning modesty. “Rachel was

  in way over her head. Who am I to say that I’m the real

  hero?”

  “That was it!” Zach realized. “That’s what they were

  planning all along. Rachel’s rep for being the bravest and

  coolest girl in school gets torpedoed, and Tricia looks

  like a hero.” Zach shook his head in disgust. “She’s go-

  ing to be elected class president for sure.”

  “But what can we do about it now?” Aaron asked.

  “We figured it out too late. Tricia and Hogan have al-

  ready won. We can’t turn back time.”

  Zach smiled as a crazy idea occurred to him. He

  clapped Aaron on the back. “Or maybe we can.”

  “Maybe we can what?” Aaron asked.

  “Turn back time.”

  Chapter 8

  “Darn it,” Mr. King said. “I burned the toast again.”

  It was the morning after the dance, and the Kings were

  having breakfast at home. Zach and Sophie and their

  parents milled about the kitchen. The smell of charred

  bread polluted the atmosphere, threatening to set off the

  smoke detector on the ceiling.

  “I keep telling you we need to get a new toaster,”

  Mrs. King said. “But in the meantime, maybe you can

  unburn it?”

  “Certainly.” Mr. King put the blackened bread back

  into the toaster and fiddled with his old-fashioned wrist

  watch, an antique bronze timepiece with a nearly faded

  engraving of an eagle at its center. His fingers gripped a

  tiny dial on the watch. “Let’s just turn back the clock a

  few moments.”

  Zach watched as his father used the magic watch to

  reverse time and undo the last few minutes. A familiar

  sensation like static electricity gave Zach goose bumps

  as time flowed backward and the toast “unburned.”

  “There, that should do it.” Mr. King plucked two