A Dash of Trouble

by Anna Meriano

  “Leo, no,” Caroline said. “I still don’t want revenge. It’s not . . .” She wilted, just a little. “It’s not Brent’s fault, really.” Caroline shrugged. “I just wish there was a way to fix it. Are there any memory-erasing spells in this book?”

  “Oh.” Leo’s mouth hung open in surprise. “I’m not sure.” She hadn’t thought of making people forget all about the note. Could she do that with magic?

  “Or . . . ,” Caroline said, so quietly that Leo almost missed it.

  She stopped flipping pages. “Or what?”

  “Um . . .” Caroline twisted her bracelet around her wrist. “I was just wondering if there was a spell in there for . . . for making somebody . . . you know. Making somebody like you more. Or like you again. Or something.”

  Leo hadn’t thought of that either. “You want to make Brent like you? Are you sure you wouldn’t rather make his hair fall out?”

  Caroline turned as pink as her door. “I meant what I said in that note. He’s one of my best friends, and I . . . I just want us to be okay again.”

  “You didn’t make it not okay. Brent did.”

  “But we’ve known each other forever, and he’s so nice most of the time. And I like talking to him, and he reads almost as much as I do, and he let me into his tree house, even though it’s supposed to be boys only.”

  Leo squinted at Caroline. She thought she recognized that moony look in her friend’s eyes. It was the same look Marisol had when she talked about Jonathan García, the boy with the leather jacket who worked the cash register at his parents’ music store.

  Maybe Caroline hadn’t written “love” for no reason after all?

  Leo still didn’t understand why Caroline wanted anything to do with Brent after that nasty note. But then she thought about Brent and Caroline laughing at the festival, about how Caroline said he came over every day to cheer her up. Maybe he wasn’t so bad, even if he did have horrible taste in friends. Maybe he only needed a little bit of magical help to stand up to those boys and act nicer to Caroline. If Leo could do that, she could make both of them happy, probably.

  “We will definitely find something,” Leo promised. “We can pick a recipe right now. I’ll just have to look up the words. . . .” She pulled the Spanish-English dictionary out of the inside pocket and then let the backpack flop onto the floor, lighter now with just Leo’s school notebooks and Daddy’s decoy book.

  Caroline waved her hand when Leo tried to offer the dictionary. “I’m pretty good at Spanish now. I’ve been studying all summer, especially since . . . You know, I want to stay connected to her. Now my grandma only speaks to me in Spanish when I call her in Costa Rica.”

  “Really?” Leo sighed in relief. “It’s been taking me forever to look things up.”

  Caroline beamed and turned to the recipe book. “Let’s see . . . we have pan de muerto . . . truth tarts . . . and look at this one here. I’m hungry enough to eat a tamale that will turn me into an elephant!” She pointed at the recipe for Tamales de transformaciones.

  “I think I remember one,” Leo said, pulling the book back toward herself. “Something about friendship . . .”

  She found the page, and she and Caroline stared at the two women hugging over their tea.

  “They . . . look sort of old,” Caroline said. “I’m not sure I could even get Brent to drink tea.”

  Leo nodded. The page reminded her of Mamá’s arguments with Tía Paloma, the kind that meant screaming and always needed to be smoothed over. It didn’t feel right for Caroline at all.

  “Maybe we can keep looking?” Caroline suggested, flipping more pages.

  Leo giggled. “Hey, what about this?” She pointed to a page with hearts drawn on it before Caroline could flip too quickly past it.

  MORDIDAS DE AMOR

  UNA MORDIDA DE ESTAS GALLETAS DELICIOSAS LLENARÁ AL CORAZÓN DEL SUJETO CON CARIÑO

  “Love bites,” Caroline read. “‘Just one bite of these delicious cookies will fill the subject’s heart with affection.’” She scrunched her nose and stuck out her tongue at Leo.

  Leo thought she should have understood most of that on her own, but it was convenient to have Caroline translate. “Affection sounds good,” she said, a sneaky thought working its way into her mind. Caroline really seemed to like Brent a lot. Maybe a love spell was exactly what they needed.

  “Love cookies?” Caroline asked, her face doubtful. “That word is what got me into this mess in the first place.”

  “You’re the one who said you wanted Brent to like you.” Leo shrugged. “It will probably work for any kind of love.”

  Caroline bit her lip. “My grandma does call me ‘cariña’ . . . so it can’t be too romantic, right?”

  “Exactly,” Leo said. “This one definitely feels right.” And if, as she suspected, Caroline had a little bit of a crush on Brent, maybe these cookies would help. “So how do we make them?”

  “It looks complicated. . . .” Caroline dragged her index finger down the page. “And we need lots of things from Brent, like an eyelash and . . . his signature. That probably means in cursive, right? And we need my signature too, but that’s easy. . . .”

  “I’m sure we can get everything we need.”

  “Okay.” Caroline looked up from the recipe and smiled. “If you say so. You’re the expert.”

  “Right. Exactly.” It wasn’t really a lie. She had done spells before. Just maybe not ones that were this complicated. “Piece of cake.”

  “You mean cookies!” Caroline laughed. “But where are we going to make them? And where will we get all the normal ingredients—flour and sugar and everything? I don’t think we have any of that here. My dad hasn’t really felt like going to the store.”

  Leo felt a smile spreading across her face. “Don’t worry about that,” she told Caroline. “Just try to get all the things from Brent that we need, and ask your dad if you can come home with me tomorrow. Everything else will be all taken care of. . . .” Pride sent delicious goose bumps up Leo’s arms and puffed her chest. “Just one thing,” she added, deflating. “Um, don’t tell anyone about this? Even my sisters. We have to keep it secret.”

  “Of course.” Caroline bit her lip. “Although, if your family doesn’t want you doing it . . .”

  “No, no.” Leo waved her arms and shook her head. “Everything is fine. Marisol thinks doing laundry is too dangerous for me. You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with older sisters.”

  “But,” Caroline reminded Leo, “you have baking magic.”

  “That’s true, and I forgot to tell you the best part! It’s not just baking—I get a special mystery power when I turn fifteen, too.”

  She filled Caroline in on the birth-order powers, and the two of them speculated on what power Leo might have and what the best power would be (a tie between flying, telekinesis, and being able to do homework at lightning speed). They flipped through the spell book, getting almost as excited about the sweets as the spells. Caroline’s new bed was soft and the sun shone warm through her window onto Leo’s shoulders. She liked having her best friend back. She wanted Caroline to be happy.

  Which meant that she had to pull off this spell.

  CHAPTER 13

  GINGERSNAPS

  Daddy came to pick Leo up right before dinner, carrying a big basket of lemon scones. While he talked with Caroline’s dad, Caroline and Leo made sure their plan for the next day was settled. Leo would be in charge of baking supplies, location, recipes, and of course the magic. Caroline would be in charge of collecting Brent’s signature, his eyelash, and an article of his clothing. The plan was for Caroline to ask to borrow his sweatshirt in the morning—neither of the girls wanted to bake cookies using stolen gym socks.

  Leo couldn’t help smiling as she made her way to Daddy’s car. With such a foolproof plan, she couldn’t wait to practice using magic again. She thought that, once Brent stopped being such a big butt and they got to high school, he and Caroline would probably fall in love for rea
l. They would make a nice couple. They wouldn’t fight like Marisol and the boys she went out with. They would be happy and read books together in tree houses. Leo wondered if they would let her bake the cake for their wedding. She would make it a very special good-luck cake, because she would be the world’s most powerful bruja by then, and she would be running the bakery—with Isabel as her assistant, of course.

  “Did you have fun?” Daddy asked when Leo climbed into the truck. He started the engine on the first try and pulled out of the driveway.

  “It was great! I missed her.” Leo flung an arm out the open window. Her entire body still bubbled with excitement.

  The pickup truck made a creaking noise as they went over a speed bump on the way out of Caroline’s neighborhood.

  “I’m glad,” Daddy said. He reached one-handed to ruffle Leo’s hair. “All my girls turned out so well, I must have the best luck in the world.”

  Leo smiled and wondered if Daddy knew about the good-luck bread Mamá could make. She wondered if he had ever read the family recipe book, and what he thought about marrying into a family of bakery brujas. She wondered if he really thought she had turned out well, and if he would still think so if he knew what she and Caroline were up to. . . . Leo’s stomach dropped a bit as she thought about what her mom or sisters would say if they found out. But her nervousness was soon overtaken by excitement as she thought more about her and Caroline’s happy future.

  “¡’Jita!” Mamá wrapped Leo up in a hug as soon as she walked in the door. “Did you have a good time? Are you hungry? How’s Caroline’s father doing? Tell me about it.”

  “They’re okay,” Leo said. “They’re redecorating. We just talked and had fun.”

  “Well, good.” Mamá smiled at Leo. “I thought I’d let Daddy do quesadillas tonight, but if you want to help me with some dessert, we could try another recipe after dinner.”

  “You heard right. Famous Logroño quesadillas coming up! Please, form an orderly line, and no pushing.” Daddy walked into the kitchen with his hands up to keep away imaginary fans. Marisol followed him, sighing and shaking her head.

  “Actually,” Leo told Mamá, “Caroline wanted to come over tomorrow and learn to make gingersnaps. They’re her favorite. I want to teach her, but . . . I don’t really know how to make them.”

  Mamá clapped her hands together. “Ooh, I love gingersnaps! And it’s just in time for fall too. What a good idea, Leo.”

  “Gingersnaps?” Alma poked her head out of the hall, chunks of her hair wrapped in tinfoil. “Who’s making gingersnaps?”

  “I was going to show Leo how, so she can teach Caroline,” Mamá said. “You’re welcome to help after dinner if you want.”

  Belén poked her head out of the hallway behind Alma, her hair similarly foil wrapped. “What’s for dinner?”

  After Daddy’s famous quesadillas had been distributed, slathered in crema and pico de gallo, and devoured, Alma and Belén disappeared to their room and returned minus the tinfoil, but with several new streaks of blue and pink in their hair.

  “I wish you’d give us some warning before you did that.” Mamá shook her head but laughed.

  “I like it.” Marisol glared around the table defiantly.

  “That’s what worries us,” Daddy teased, and then, before Marisol could get angry, he stood up and carried his dirty dishes to the sink. “Come on, everybody, pass your plates. Who’s going to help me wash?”

  Alma, Belén, and Leo used gingersnaps as an excuse, so while Daddy, Isabel, and Marisol cleaned the kitchen, Mamá brought her recipe box into the living room and pulled out all the gingersnap recipes she had.

  “This is the one we’ll use for the bakery in a few weeks.” Mamá pulled out a bright white index card with a printed recipe neatly pasted onto it. “It’s pretty basic, but the cookies turn out perfectly and they hold shapes well.”

  “What about this one?” Leo held up a card that had bent corners and yellowed edges and was written in cramped cursive Spanish. She had studied both the handwriting and the directions for the magic cookies at Caroline’s house, and this recipe was almost the same, though noticeably missing eyelashes from the list of ingredients.

  A funny smile crept onto Mamá’s face. “Oh, that old recipe.” She laughed. “Sure, we can try that one. It makes the cutest little cookies.”

  Leo shrugged, hoping that Mamá didn’t think too hard about why Leo might have chosen that particular recipe. Alma and Belén looked at each other, raising their eyebrows. Alma asked, “What’s so funny?”

  “Oh.” Mamá waved a hand at the twins. “When I was in high school, I—I made these cookies for a boy I liked.” Mamá actually giggled and even looked like she might be blushing. “It didn’t turn out exactly how I wanted it to, but . . . well, I had to try. He was such a sweet young man, and so handsome. Or . . . what do you kids say? Hot. He was very hot.”

  “Mamá!” Belén covered her mouth with her hands. Alma laughed until her face turned almost as pink as her hair. Leo tried not to look too suspicious, but she couldn’t help laughing too. Mamá had used the love bites recipe on that boy, Leo was sure of it. Learning to make the perfect mordidas de amor was going to be even easier than she thought.

  “So,” Alma asked, “what happened?”

  Mamá shook her head. “Even the best cookies can’t create potential where there is none. But we became better friends after that.” She smiled; then her face went serious. “I hope I never hear of any of you acting so silly.” She pointed at Alma and Belén, and then at Leo. “People should like you for who you are, not for . . . any other reason. Even how well you bake.”

  “Uh-oh.” Daddy came out of the kitchen and stood behind the couch with his hands on Mamá’s shoulders. “I guess now would be a bad time to mention that I married you for your tres leches?”

  Mamá swatted Daddy’s hands and gathered the recipes back into the box. Leo followed Mamá into the sparkly clean kitchen, gathered all the ingredients they needed, and started filling the mixing bowl. Leo made sure to pay special attention to all the advice Mamá gave as they went along, like not stirring for too long or else the cookies would come out hard. To Leo’s surprise, Alma and Belén added a few tips of their own.

  “Don’t forget to mince it extra fine, Elenita—uh, I mean Mamá,” Belén said when Mamá reached for the ginger root.

  “Oh, hush.” Mama didn’t look at Belén but glanced suspiciously around the kitchen like she was looking for someone. “I haven’t messed up the mincing since I was twelve years old.” She rolled her eyes, almost like Marisol.

  Leo guessed that the tips must be coming not from the twins but from Abuela, and she secretly glanced around the kitchen looking for signs of ghostly activity. She didn’t see anything, though.

  When the cookies were safely in the oven, Mamá went to the bathroom. The second she left, Alma and Belén started tugging their ears and tapping their noses at each other in their secret twin code. Leo climbed onto the stool in front of the counter, ready to leave them to their own little world, but to her surprise, Alma suddenly huffed and turned to her. “Leo, we want to talk to you. Abuela says you found out.”

  Leo’s mouth dropped open. She thought about pretending not to know what Alma was talking about, but her curiosity got the better of her.

  “How did she know that?”

  “Oh, you know.” Belén smiled sweetly. “Ghosts like to check in every now and then. Plus Señor Gato is a terrible gossip.”

  Leo had known that cat was up to no good. She was going to give him a bath the next time she saw him. “You can talk to cats?”

  “Not directly, but some cats can talk to ghosts, if they feel like it,” Alma said. “The stronger ghosts, mostly, like Abuela.”

  “Wait a minute.” Leo still wasn’t entirely sure how the twins’ powers worked. “I thought you had to use special bread to contact ghosts?”

  “That’s only for the festival. We can see and talk to any of the ghosts who are h
anging around, no problem. It’s calling them, or channeling them so other people can hear, that takes extra effort.”

  As if Alma and Belén needed another reason to be lost in their own world. “And Abuela hangs around?”

  Alma nodded. “She still has so much love tying her to the world of the living. The older ghosts get a little more . . . scattered, and then sometimes they stop showing up altogether—”

  “But,” Belén interrupted her sister, “we didn’t bring this up to teach you about the finer points of ghost manifestation. We just wanted to know if finding out about magic had anything to do with your sudden interest in Mamá’s old recipes.”

  “And more important”—Alma glared slightly at Belén—“we wanted to warn you to keep an eye out for ghosts, since no one knows what your birth power is going to be. We started noticing eyes in the corner and hearing whispers about a year ago, but it can begin earlier, and we could help you out.”

  Leo wanted to ask more, but Belén had already picked up speaking where Alma had left off. “Plus, we figured that you picked gingersnaps for a reason. We want to hear how the love spell goes, because it might be just the thing to get Marcus and Marcellus to notice us.”

  Marcus and Marcellus were the other set of identical twins at Rose Hill High School. Leo hadn’t known that Alma and Belén had crushes on the sophomore brothers, but she thought it would be pretty funny if the twins paired off with each other. She also felt a swell of pride that Alma and Belén weren’t trying to warn her away from doing magic. They even wanted to hear her advice once she had finished the spell.

  “But mostly . . .” Alma stuck her tongue out at Belén. “We just wanted to say that we’re excited. We didn’t like leaving you out.”