The Wrong Side of Magic (2 page)

Before long, Hudson and Bonnie came to Charlotte Fantasmo's yard. Her real last name was Smith, but everyone at school called her Fantasmo because her dad was Mr. Fantasmo, Magician Extraordinaire.
Extraordinaire
in this case meaning weird.

He wore brightly colored corduroy pants and loud Hawaiian shirts, and every once in a while he fixed people with a stare so complete it felt like a bushy-eyebrowed X-ray. He claimed to be an actual wizard, banished from the magical land of Logos.

It was one thing to say that sort of thing when you were onstage, busy turning balloons into handkerchiefs, but he also talked that way when he came to pick up Charlotte from school.

And this from a man who wasn't even a big-name magician. Mostly he performed at kids' birthday parties. At the back-to-school night, he put on a show right in the parking lot—producing oranges and radishes and then a dazed-looking sparrow from his hat. When the crowd got big enough, he took a few bows and handed out flyers advertising his rates.

Mrs. Brown said the whole I'm-a-wizard-from-Logos thing was part of his act—his persona—but that didn't explain why half the time Charlotte also talked like she'd just taken a taxi from Crazyville.

In the four months since Charlotte had moved to town, she hadn't made any friends. You could say something perfectly normal like, “Hey, what's up?”

She'd spout off, “The ceiling. The price of gasoline. Two-thirds of the letters in the word
UPS.
” And she wasn't joking.

This morning Charlotte lay on her stomach on the lawn, fingering through the grass. Her long red hair was pulled into a ponytail at the top of her head, and she wore a pair of faded jeans and a man's plaid flannel shirt.

She might have been pretty if she tried. Well, pretty in an elfish sort of way. That's the impression you got from her upturned eyes, pixie nose, and pointed chin. She looked like she'd just wandered out of Santa's workshop and would momentarily be returning to make toy sleighs for good little girls and boys.

She saw Hudson and Bonnie and then waved at them.

Bonnie waved back enthusiastically. She just liked the fact that an eighth grader knew who she was. Hudson took hold of Bonnie's jacket sleeve and pulled her forward. “We don't have time to stop and talk.”

It was too late. Charlotte got up and came toward them, bouncing with excitement. She held up a clover. “Look, it's the second four-leaf one I've found since I moved to Houston. I can't believe nobody else picked it first.”

Bonnie leaned closer for a better look. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Dip it in silver,” Charlotte said, as though the answer should be obvious. “So it can protect against wizard spells.”

“Oh,” Bonnie said. “I found one once, and my mom put it in between the pages of a book to dry.”

Charlotte tilted her head until her ponytail rested against her shoulder. “What good does that do?”

“Well,” Hudson said, smiling, “wizards haven't ever attacked our bookcase, so it must be doing its job.” He nudged Bonnie in the direction of the school. “We've got to go, or we'll be late for school.”

Charlotte's eyes widened. “Oh, right. I forgot—school.” She turned and ran back to her house. “Thanks for reminding me!” She dashed inside, leaving the screen door swinging wildly.

What sort of person forgot they had school in the morning?
Hello
, had she not done this every morning for, like, nine years? Hudson walked on, shaking his head.

A few minutes later, Charlotte caught up to them, breathless because she'd been running. She slipped her arms into a bright blue sweater that was too big. No one said anything for a moment. Hudson was thinking of their after-school plans, his mind busy sifting through ideas to bring in more of those elusive dollar signs.

“So,” Charlotte said, “do you really care about the weather?”

“What?” Hudson asked.

“The weather. You know, clouds, wind, that sort of thing.”

“Why would I care about that?”

Charlotte let out a humph of triumph. “I knew it. I knew people didn't really care about the weather. Well, you know, not unless there's a drought or something.”

Hudson stared at her, wondering if it was worth it to ask the next question. “Charlotte, what are you talking about?”

“That's what I'm trying to figure out,” she said. Then nothing else.

He knew he shouldn't have asked.

Bonnie gazed up at the sky. Her bucket banged against her legs as she walked. “Is there something wrong with the weather?”

“Pollution. Acid rain. The occasional hurricane.” Charlotte fiddled with her sweater, turning the cuffs inward instead of outward.

Bonnie cocked her head and didn't let the subject drop. “So why did you ask about the weather?”

“My dad said that when people here don't know what to talk about, they talk about the weather. But I don't think I should, because no one actually cares about the weather. Why not talk about something people care about?”

Bonnie nodded in agreement. “I never talk about the weather.”

“Let's talk about soda pop,” Charlotte said. “I saw three soda pop commercials last night, so it must be a hot topic.”

Hudson looked at her to see if she was serious. He didn't know why he bothered. It's not like you could tell anything from her expression. She always looked either intrigued or distracted.

“That doesn't make them hot topics,” he said. “That makes them advertisements.”

“Right,” Charlotte agreed. “The soda companies want to get their message out. It sort of makes me feel sad—all those commercials. So many people urgently want to educate us about laundry detergent, cell phone coverage, car insurance—I can barely keep it all in my mind.”

“You're not supposed to…” he started, and then figured she was being sarcastic about it anyway.

“Soda pop,” Charlotte went on. “How exactly is it connected to happiness? I mean, do they pour a little bit of happiness into each can, or does that only come in the liter sizes?”

“Probably just the liter sizes,” he said.

Her eyebrows scrunched together. “I must not be buying the right brand, then.”

“Okay…” Hudson said, and then didn't know what else to say. This was most likely why people talked about the weather. It was hard to mess up a conversation about the temperature.

Bonnie walked closer to Charlotte. “Aren't you happy?”

The words hung in the air. The question was too personal. Anyone else would have brushed off the subject with a laugh. Charlotte looked at the lawn they were passing and sighed. “Sometimes.” She didn't sound very convincing.

“You probably need a kitten,” Bonnie said.

“We could give her ours,” Hudson said.

Bonnie scowled and swung the bucket at him, trying to hit his leg. “No, we couldn't.”

Instead of commenting on kittens, Charlotte paused in front of a patch of clover as though she wanted to search through it, then she resumed walking beside Hudson. “Would you willingly face danger to save someone important, even if you didn't know them?”

He shrugged. “How much danger?”

“Wizards. Dragons. Soldiers. Possibly giants—”

“Nope.”

Charlotte frowned. “What if the person you need to save was
really
important?”

“Still, nope.”

Charlotte's frown stayed firmly fixed on her lips and was joined by a dip in her eyebrows. “Do you think I could find someone that brave?”

Hudson let out a snort. “You don't need someone who's brave. You need someone who's stupid. And most people aren't that stupid.” He didn't bother asking for details about who Charlotte thought needed to be saved from dragons, wizards, and possibly giants. None of those things existed, so it didn't matter.

The group was close enough to school now that other people converged on the sidewalk, heading their way. Hudson spotted his best friend, Trevor, walking toward the parking lot. He was thin with dark hair and an unmistakable slouch that proclaimed,
I'm only here because I have to be.

“Trevor!” Hudson called. To Bonnie and Charlotte he said, “I'll see you all later.”

“Probably,” Charlotte said. “Although you never can tell when sudden blindness will strike.”

Really, she was too weird.

Before Hudson had gone more than a couple of steps away, he heard footsteps on the sidewalk behind him.

“Hey, Charlotte,” a guy said, “can your dad really do magic?”

Hudson glanced over his shoulder and saw Andy and Caidan, two of the popular guys in the eighth grade. Both were grinning at Charlotte in a way that was supposed to look nice but somehow didn't.

“Of course he can do magic,” Charlotte said. “That's what wizards do.”

Andy looked Charlotte up and down, taking in her oversize sweater. “Well, then, maybe the next time he's doing tricks, he can make you disappear for good.”

Andy and Caidan both laughed, then pushed past Charlotte and went down the sidewalk toward the school. For a moment, Hudson wanted to yell at them and tell them they didn't need to be jerks. He didn't, though. It wouldn't do any good and would just make Andy and Caidan mad at him. Hudson kept walking without saying anything.

And then regretted it for the rest of the day.

 

2

SCHOOL WENT NORMALLY
enough. No wizards, dragons, or giants put Hudson's bravery or stupidity to the test. If there was magic lurking around, Hudson didn't notice it. The biggest news of the day was that some guys from room 10 challenged a few guys from room 12 to a basketball game in the park an hour after school ended. Everybody was going to watch it, even the girls.

Of course, only the popular guys were playing. Guys like Andy and Caidan, who lived the deluxe version of life while everyone else struggled along with the regular edition. They were tall, athletic, and good-looking enough that it didn't matter what sort of jerk-wad things they did; the girls still liked them.

By the time school ended, Hudson had forgotten about his window-washing plans. When he got to the spot where he usually met Bonnie, she wasn't there. Instead, one of her friends handed him a note from her.

It read,
Hudson, I decided to start working right away. I got soap and water from the school bathroom, and I'm at the parent pickup line washing windows.

What?
Hudson's stomach lurched. It was one thing to ask strangers for money in an intersection where no one recognized them. It was completely different to ask for money at school, where the entire eighth grade would openly mock him for it.

He hurried over to the parent pickup line to explain this subtle difference to his sister. There she was at the back of the row of cars, bouncing around cleaning windows with a sign taped to her jacket that read
SICK KITTEN FUND-RAISER
.

Bonnie saw him, smiled, and waved at him.

He slunk over, self-conscious with every step. “What are you doing? We can't do this at school.”

Bonnie dunked her squeegee into the bucket, then slapped the sponge side onto the nearest car window. A stream of water dripped down the glass. “Here is better because Mom doesn't like me to go near busy intersections.”

“No, actually, here isn't better.” He looked over his shoulder to check for disapproving teachers. He didn't see any—not yet.

“I've already made ten dollars,” she told him happily.

“I don't want you to get into trouble,” Hudson said.

“Aren't you going to help?” she asked.

That's when he saw a group of popular kids coming his way. Andy and Caidan were walking with Isabella Stanton, the undisputed prettiest girl in the eighth grade. She had starlet blonde hair and a way of blinking her blue eyes that sort of hypnotized you into staring at her. Someday, maybe when Hudson was older, or cooler, or stuck in an elevator with her, he would talk to her.

As though Isabella felt his stare, she turned and glanced in Hudson's direction.

He turned away quickly. Bonnie was holding the squeegee out. “You wanna do a few cars? I can give you my sign.”

He couldn't. Not when Andy, Caidan, and Isabella were watching him. He might as well make a sign that read
FREAK
and attach it to his forehead until high school graduation.

Hudson stepped away from his sister. “No, I have stuff to do. Go home as soon as you're done.”

He felt bad about leaving her, but he didn't stay around to hear more protests. He turned and hurried back across the parking lot.

When Hudson reached home, Sunshine still lay limply in the bowl. Just to prove he wasn't a horrible brother, he took her to the sink and tried to get her to drink some water.

His mother would yell at him if she knew he had left Bonnie at the school to walk home by herself. Then again, she'd yell even more if she knew Bonnie was panhandling at school. If one of their mom's friends got her windshield cleaned … or if the teachers doing traffic duty caught on …

Stupid cat.

Sunshine didn't drink any water, just let out a few pitiful meows. The minutes plodded by, and Bonnie still didn't come home. A hard ball of worry formed in Hudson's stomach. The line of cars picking kids up at school had to be gone by now. What was Bonnie doing? Probably something that would get both of them in trouble. He should have just given her all his money.

Finally, Hudson's worry propelled him toward the door. He would go find his sister—had to. Just as he grabbed his jacket, Bonnie burst in the door. She was breathlessly excited, her eyes shining.

He was so relieved, he nearly hugged her. Instead, he tossed his jacket on the couch. “What took you so long?”

“I got caught.” Still smiling, she dropped her backpack and bucket on the floor. “My teacher came by, but she has a cat of her own, so she was real nice and gave me twenty dollars. Then she told me to go on home.”