The Magic Mistake

by Barbara Brauner

  Sunny and Paige are already waiting for me at the locked cafeteria door. “Why’s everyone so quiet?” I ask.

  “Principal Nazarino is in the worst mood ever. She’s already put ten kids in detention,” Sunny says.

  I use a spell to unlock the door and get us into the cafeteria before we get put in detention, too.

  Now that it’s been closed up for a couple of hours, the cafeteria smells worse than ever. To air it out, we swing the back doors open and shut—a lot!—but the tuna-roni-and-feet smell refuses to leave.

  Katarina puts on a tiny gas mask. She’s exaggerating, but not by much.

  “You’ve got to do something, Lacey,” Sunny says.

  Think about it—it’s a lot harder getting rid of a smell than making it. It’s like putting perfume back in a bottle after you’ve sprayed it.

  Actually, with a little magic, putting perfume back in a bottle doesn’t sound too tough. Problem: no perfume bottle. I look into the garbage can near the door, and all I see is garbage—kids at Lincoln Middle School don’t throw out a lot of Chanel No. 5. Wait, there’s an empty Tic Tac container!

  I fish it out and pop open the plastic lid. Then I chant, “Bad air is boxed, sealed and locked!” Even though it’s not a perfect rhyme, as soon as I toss the spell, the bad air in the room condenses into dark and cloudy wisps. A moment later, all the wisps swirl into the Tic Tac box.

  I snap the box shut and cautiously sniff the air. For the first time I can remember, the cafeteria smells clean—like it had never, ever heard of tuna-roni. I throw the Tic Tac box into the trash can. The smells will come back at midnight, but by then we’ll all be gone.

  Twenty minutes and a lot of zapping later, I’ve turned the cafeteria into a beautiful wedding chapel. We all stand around admiring the makeover.

  Colored light streams in through the stained-glass windows. Beautiful chandeliers flicker with hundreds of white candles (Paige’s idea), and daisies, orchids, and roses line the aisle (Sunny’s idea). An arch made out of orange-tree branches fills the space where the soda machine was (my idea). And a huge fire extinguisher sits in the back (Katarina’s idea—she says you can never be too careful around candles, especially magic ones).

  “This is even better than the park,” Sunny says.

  With one final zap, the wedding cake appears. It forms itself from the inside out: first, the chocolate filling, all gooey and delicious-looking; then the cake, moist and cocoa brown; and finally, the white-chocolate frosting, with a whole garden of sugary leaves and flowers. I haven’t spent all my life watching Dad decorate cakes at the restaurant for nothing.

  “We’re all set,” I say. “Let’s go get the bride!”

  We leave Paige to stand guard at the cafeteria door (the janitor would have a heart attack if he saw a chapel instead of a lunchroom) and go back to Sunny’s house.

  Fifi waits for us outside Gina’s bedroom. “Finally, you have returned! Ze bride looks très, très, magnifique!” She opens the door like she’s revealing a precious work of art.

  Katarina, Sunny, and I all gasp.

  To be fair, Fifi did a wonderful job with Gina’s makeup and manicure. Even Gina’s toenails have a pink, pearly shine. But her hair!

  Her hair would be great—if Gina were a poodle! It’s been frizzed out in three clumps: a big pouf on top and two little poufs over her ears. Each pouf is separated by a big pink bow.

  Any normal bride would be in tears right now, but the love spell is so strong that Gina can’t be anything but happy, no matter what happens. She fluffs her poodle-y hair. “Fifi says I look just like a princess.”

  “Only if the princess is a dog,” Katarina whispers.

  Not wanting to hurt Fifi’s feelings (and also because I’m a tiny bit afraid she’ll bite me), I ask her to get us some tea from the kitchen. When she hesitates, I say, “Fifi! Fetch us tea!” She cheers right up and scampers out of the room.

  I close the door, and Sunny says, “Mom’s hair isn’t going to be like that till midnight, is it?”

  “No, it’s not a spell. But this is.” I chant, “Hair horrific, turn terrific!” When I toss the spell, the poodle-pouf horror disappears from Gina’s head and is replaced by a smooth, gleaming French twist.

  Gina admires herself in the mirror, and says, “This looks nice, too!”

  Now it’s time for the dress. I picture the one that Paige wore, and work as hard as I can not to think of the Greek column that came with it. I chant, “Time for the dress, so we’ll have success!”

  The fabric of Gina’s faded pink bathrobe melts away like popping champagne bubbles. The terry cloth turns into white silk that swirls around before finally settling into a gorgeous wedding gown. There’s a magic shimmer to the silk, as if the popping champagne bubbles were part of the fabric.

  I peer around at the back of the dress, worried. No Greek column. Phew!

  Sunny says, “Mom! You look amazing!”

  Gina stares at Sunny, a little glassy-eyed, like she’s not quite sure who Sunny even is. But she nods and smiles, then twirls in the dress. The gown sparkles and shimmers, and I have no doubt that she’s the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.

  Katarina tells me, “Lacey Unger-Ware, you may be below average as a fairy godmother, but you have an unexpected flair for dresses. I’ll make a note of that for the Academy.”

  Sunny says, “Academy? What Academy?”

  Katarina says, “She hasn’t told you? She’s going to—”

  I clamp down on Katarina’s head with my finger and thumb to make her shut up. “Sunny, it’s just something we’re talking about. I’ll tell you later.”

  “But I want to know!”

  I don’t want Sunny to know I’m going away. She’ll get hysterical, and then I’ll get hysterical, and then we’ll both be hysterical, which won’t do anyone any good.

  Katarina pokes my thumb with her magic wand and I let go. She flies to the mirror and angrily fluffs up her hair. “The next person who touches my head gets turned into a tree slug!”

  Just then, Fifi comes back with the tea and sees what I’ve done to Gina. She’s so startled that she drops the tray—and growls.

  We rush to stop Fifi from repoodling Gina’s hair, and there’s no more talk about the Academy.

  By the time we get Gina out of the house, it’s 4:45. Gina is a gorgeous bride—perfect hair, perfect dress, perfect makeup. Fifi walks at her side, holding the hem of the wedding dress above the dandelions.

  As we walk to the car, Gina says, “I do!”

  “What, Mom?” Sunny says.

  “I do! I do!”

  “Are you all right, Gina?” I ask.

  She nods enthusiastically. “I do! I do!”

  Katarina flies up and raps on Gina’s forehead with her little fist. “Knock, knock! Anybody home?”

  “I do!”

  Katarina sits on top of Gina’s head and gives me a scornful look. “This is what love spells do. Till she gets married, her brain is Swiss cheese.”

  But I still know I did the right thing. Really. I know it. Really!

  We reach Gina’s faded red Hyundai, and Gina climbs in back. I say, “Gina? You have to drive.”

  “I do!” she says—but she doesn’t budge.

  Katarina says, “You can’t expect a bride to chauffeur herself to her own wedding! It’s just not done.”

  “But Gina’s the only one who knows how to drive!”

  “So, magic up a carriage. Don’t be lazy! Find a pumpkin.”

  “We don’t have time. Plus, the cops would pull a carriage over, for sure.”

  Fifi raises her hands like a dog raising its paws and begs, “Let me drive! I am a chauffeur extraordinaire!”

  Sunny tells her, “But you need a license.”

  Fifi points at the dog tag hanging from her rhinestone collar. “I have ze license.”

  Sunny shakes her head. “That’s the wrong kind of license.”

  “I am ze driver excellent! I am in ze car all ze
time!”

  I think about all the old fairy tales where the dog got turned into a coachman. It never seemed to be a problem then. (But when you think about it, a cat wearing boots wasn’t a problem then, either.)

  So I hand Fifi the keys and hope for the best.

  ZOOOOOOM! We race toward the school, Fifi behind the wheel. And she is an excellent driver. Of course, she sticks her head out the window as she steers, but otherwise she does a great job.

  “I do! I do!” Gina says from the backseat.

  Sunny ignores her and asks me, “You’re sure she’ll go back to normal after the wedding?”

  “Yes. The moment the moon is full, she’ll be fine, and she’ll be married, so she’ll have gotten her dream.”

  Gina nods eagerly. “I do!”

  Just as we turn in to the school parking lot, Fifi pulls the car to a screeching stop. Katarina splats against the inside of the windshield and then sits down on the dashboard, swearing. (If I ever become a truck driver, I’ve got all the vocabulary I’ll ever need.)

  “Fifi! What’s wrong?” I ask.

  Fifi leaps out of the car—which she’s parked sideways over three spaces—and runs across the lawn. That’s not easy in spike heels. She reaches a tree, stares up into it, and starts barking.

  Has she gone crazy?

  No. She’s seen a squirrel. It sits on a high branch, chattering, as Fifi runs all around the tree, panting and barking. (The squirrel’s name is Seymour, and I could tell you a lot about him, but that’s a different story.)

  “Do you think Fifi will be okay?” Sunny asks.

  “She’s not going to budge from that tree. We’ll take her home after the wedding.”

  We all get out of the car and head for the door.

  Paige is waiting for us when we walk into the cafeteria. Not cafeteria—wedding chapel. (Does that make it a chapelteria?)

  With all the flowers and flickering candles, it’s truly gorgeous in here. It even smells good—like roses, orange blossoms, and chocolate cake.

  Paige looks at Gina and says, “Ooooooh! I knew that was the best dress!” It takes her a minute or two to admire every detail, and then we lead Gina to the back of the room.

  I ask Paige, “Is Coach Overdale here with the minister?”

  “Not yet.”

  I check the time on my cell phone. It’s a minute to five.

  I duck out into the hallway to see if the coach is anywhere in sight. There’s no sign of him, but I do see Scott heading in to the gym, and he sees me.

  “Lacey, what are you doing here already? The game doesn’t start for two hours.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to go over Coach’s playbook. He always says you can never be too prepared.”

  “Are you really disappointed you’re not in the game?”

  “I was at first. Really disappointed. But you know…I had a great time coaching the team this morning. I’m a way better coach than player. I want you in the gym at 6:45 sharp!”

  Wow, he even sounds like a coach. I tell him, “No problem! See you then!” He gives me a thumbs-up and goes in to the gym.

  I look down the hall for Coach Overdale, hoping to see him walking in the front door with the minister. Where are they?

  By 5:30 we’re all getting really worried. Paige looks at the clock and says, “I can’t miss the basketball game. I’m cheering, and my dad’s coming to watch!” I think about how I’m supposed to play in the game, but push the thought away. There’s just too much other stuff to think of—like, Where is the coach?

  Sunny twists her hair in knots, the way she does when she gets nervous. “What if the love spell wore off and the coach isn’t coming?”

  Katarina, who looks crankier than she’s been all week, says, “If Gina doesn’t get her dream, she’ll be unhappy for the rest of her life. But who needs happiness?”

  Sunny says, “My mom does!”

  And everybody looks at me. All I can say is, “I’m sure the coach will be here any second!”

  Katarina says, “I’m sure you’re leading them into ruination. Not one love spell, but two! Two!”

  The only person in the room who doesn’t seem to be worried is Gina, who’s stopped saying, “I do,” and is now picking apart a daisy and murmuring, “He loves me…he loves me…he loves me…”

  Katarina shouts, “And I love you not! ZIP IT!”

  Gina looks confused. “Zip what?”

  Katarina pounds her head against the wall and mutters, “It had to be a love spell!”

  Then, finally, the doors open, and Coach Overdale strides in. Hooray! He sees Gina across the room and shouts, “Sunny’s mother! I LOVE YOU THIS MUCH!” He spreads his arms as wide as he can.

  “I do! I do! I do!” Gina shouts. She hurls herself across the room, more like a linebacker than a bride—and almost knocks him down as she leaps into his arms.

  “Sunny’s mother!”

  “I do!”

  “Sunny’s mother!”

  “I do!”

  Katarina can’t take it anymore and pulls out her wand. “Don’t make me use this!”

  I say, “Katarina, calm down!” And then I walk up to Gina and the coach. “Coach, let go of her! Gina, you can’t say, ‘I do,’ until the end of the ceremony.”

  The coach looks heartbroken as he puts Gina down. He sticks out his lower lip like a five-year-old and says, “But I want to marry Sunny’s mother!”

  “So, where’s the minister?”

  “He’s christening a baby. But he said he’ll be here the second he’s done.”

  “When will that be?”

  “Seven thirty at the latest.”

  Seven thirty? That would mean I can’t play in the game. “I told you the wedding was at five!”

  “I tried everybody in town. But I love Sunny’s mother so much that I don’t mind waiting!”

  Gina leaps into his arms again. “I do! I do! I do!”

  Katarina raises her wand and says, “That’s it! You’re toast! At least toast is quiet!”

  Sunny jumps in front of her mother. “Stop it! She can’t help it!”

  I shout, “EVERYBODY, CALM DOWN!”

  They all look at me like I know what I’m doing. How am I supposed to choose between the wedding and the basketball game? The wedding is really, really important—and Gina will be miserable for the rest of her life if the ceremony doesn’t happen (not to mention that everyone in the world will hate me)—but I promised Scott and Dad that I would play in the game. It was one thing when the wedding was at five and the game was at seven. That might have worked, but I can’t do both at the same time!

  Or can I?

  I take a deep breath and think, maybe I can do them both. I want to be there at the start of the wedding, just to make sure everything works. But after that, the ceremony can go on without me. I can play in the game and run back and check on things whenever there’s a break.

  It’ll be a piece of cake—a piece of wedding cake.

  I need to separate Gina and the coach before Katarina turns one of them into toast. So I lead Gina out of sight behind a huge arrangement of orchids, telling her, “It’s bad luck for him to see you before the ceremony. You know that, right?”

  She nods.

  Then I go back to the coach and pull him into the room’s farthest corner. “You stay here and be quiet. Can you do that?”

  He nods, too.

  So now, all we have to do is wait.

  And wait.

  And wait.

  At 6:45 p.m., Paige and I leave the others behind and hurry into the gym. The bleachers are almost full, and everybody’s wearing the purple and gold school colors. Most people wear sweatshirts, but Mr. Griffith is extra flashy in a purple scarf and a gold vest.

  Mrs. Brinker grabs Paige’s arm and shouts, “Your cheer squad is in a shambles in the locker room. Go in there, get dressed, and take control!”

  “Yes, Mrs. Brinker.”

  As Paige scurries away, she sees h
er dad already sitting in the bleachers. I know how hard it is for Dr. Harrington to take time off from the hospital, so it’s a really big deal that he’s here. He’s got a cell phone in one hand and a camera in the other—and when Paige waves at him, he takes a picture of her with each. (If Gina weren’t under a love spell, she’d be doing the same thing.)

  Then it’s my turn to get yelled at. Scott sees me and shouts, “Lacey! Change your clothes and start warming up! Remember, we’re counting on you!”

  Oh no! My uniform!

  Suddenly, I hear loud whistling, clapping, and shouting from the end of the bleachers. Dad, Mom, and Madison are sitting in the front row, cheering me on. At first, I think they’re waving banners, but then I realize they’re holding pieces of my uniform. Dad has the shirt, Mom has the shorts, and Madison has the socks. I sigh with relief and grab my clothes.

  “Good luck!” Dad says.

  “Thanks! I’ll need it!”

  Will I ever.

  I hold the wand in my hand as I wait in the girls’ locker room for the game to begin. I’ve come up with a spell that will give me a little tiny bit of basketball magic: “This isn’t a drill, I need some skill!”

  All I have to do is chant the spell and toss it at myself. A little magic is all I need to be a winner.

  Actually, a little magic is all I need to be a cheater.

  Magic is easy.

  With magic, I could win anything I want, but it wouldn’t mean anything, would it? I’m pretty sure I’d just end up feeling rotten afterward.

  And without magic, that leaves plain old me: a cruddy player right in the middle of things in the first game of the season. It’s really scary! I’m going to disappoint everybody!

  Then I make a really, really hard decision: it’s better to be sucky than to be a cheat.

  Scott knocks on the locker room door and shouts, “Come on, Lacey! The game’s starting!”

  I stick the wand into the pocket of my basketball shorts and head out.

  The game begins. Because our new mascot hasn’t been chosen yet, tonight it’s the Harry S. Truman Wolverines versus the Lincoln Nothings.

  Since I’m both magic-free and talent-free, my big plan for the game is to never, ever get the ball.