Some Kind of Magic

“So tell me about your day,” Blade said to me as we stepped out of the art gala, his arm slung around my shoulder. He had been hesitant to come with us tonight because Christabelle was getting some pretty painful cramps but once her crazy mood swings and uncontrollable anger set in, he couldn’t have left the house fast enough. A raging Christabelle was pretty frightening when you looked at her dead-on—especially if you were to accidentally bring her the wrong brand of tissues, and then it’s like the gates of Hades had opened and Cerberus had been let loose along with it.

“It was pretty good,” I answered to Blade’s question, tugging on my shawl. Another bad thing about my mom was her sense of style; it was like she thought I was a ninety year old woman named Ruth with the clothes she bought me. That was why I would always go shopping with Karlee, Emma or Christabelle. At least their fashion ideas didn’t consist of foot-length dresses or corduroy jumpers. I took a glance back at my parents when I heard a hiccup and noticed my tipsy father leaning against a not-so-sober mother. I rolled my eyes and looked back up at my brother.

“Are they still bugging you about that all-girls school?” he asked me.

“Yeah, pretty much. Dad’s not so bad about it anymore but mom is an entirely different story. They think that moving me to the private school with Emma is going to be beneficial for my future, even though I still plan on applying for the exact same Universities when I’m finished. They’re trying to get me to immigrate,” I explained with a firm, displeased shake of the head. “It’s a pointless effort. My mind is made up but they just don’t get it. I like where I am now, I don’t want to go to some stupid girls’ academy.”

“They’re just looking out for you,” Blade said. I shot him a glare but he only laughed.

“They never bugged you to go to a private school,” I pointed out.

“Well that’s a little different. I’m their son and you're their daughter,” he replied. “They don't have to worry about me as much as you.”

"That's a little sexist."

"That's the truth," he said, smiling at me. “Besides, I’m a lot older than you, and I’m married. I’m also about to have a baby, so pretty soon I’ll be in their shoes.”

“Hopefully you won’t be as irritating as they are.”

He chuckled. “Hopefully.”

"How did they react when you told them that the money spent on you for University was a waste, seeing as you're a football coach now?” I asked. “It’s not like you went to school for that.”

"Well, needless to say, I owe them both huge apologies," he said with a shrug. "But it's my life, you know? It's none of their concern what I do with my future."

"You're so lucky," I mumbled. "You get to go back to your old school while I’m getting kicked out of it."

"You’re hardly getting kicked out. But I'm sure you'll be fine."

I suddenly came to a stop on the wet sidewalk, my heels twisting to the side when I almost slipped from the little puddles that had accumulated after today’s rainfall. A large group of people stood on the incline at the front of a Chinese restaurant, crowding around what I could only guess was a person. My curiosity got the best of me, and also a bit of concern in case someone had gotten themselves hurt.

“What is that?” I questioned more to myself than my brother.

“Isabelle?” Blade asked, stopping with me. I walked off to see what it was, leaving him there. “Iz!” he called again, but I ignored him.

“What in the world is your sister doing?” I heard my mom ask in a tone of frustration. Blade didn’t dignify that question with a response, but rather followed me over when the urge to find out what the big fuss was all about kicked into his system as well. I excused myself as I moved fluently through the crowd, making sure not to stand in front of someone who couldn’t see over my head. In front of me stood a teenage boy dressed in a black button-up shirt and matching black pants. He held a deck of cards, shuffling them quicker than my eyes could even keep track of. They flew between his two hands like a bullet through air but he wasn’t even looking at them; he kept eye contact with a woman that had a little girl wrapped around her leg, biting her finger nail nervously. The boy leaned down.

“And what’s your name?” he asked.

“Madelyn,” she replied, beginning to smile.

“Well it’s lovely to meet you, Madelyn. Would you like to see a magic trick?” he asked her. She nodded and he held out the deck of cards for her. “Okay, I want you to take a look at the first card on the top of the deck and then put it back in the middle. Can you do that for me?” She, again, nodded her head and reached her tiny hand up to steal the card on top. She took a quick look at it—I could see that it was the Queen of Hearts—and then she slipped it into the space he held opened for her. The boy began to shuffle the deck again for about twenty seconds straight, and then put them face down on the table in front of him. He put his hands in his pockets and made a face of mock-panic. “You know, it seems I’ve misplaced something. Miss, do you mind turning out your pockets?” he asked, talking to Madelyn’s mother.

She looked confused but brought her hands up into her coat and flipped them out. The crowd that had gathered all exclaimed in shock as she pulled out a card. He smiled and took it from her hand with a thankful nod. Then he got down on one knee in front of Madelyn and held it up for her to see.

“Is this your card?” he asked her and she gaped at him with the look of a child’s amazement, that unmistakable face. “Would you like to see something else that’s pretty neat?” He closed his hand and the card disappeared, replaced by a small blue jay when he opened his palm. And again, everyone was alarmed by this unexpected talent. Obviously no one had seen a card trick going in that direction. The bird chirped and flew away quickly as we began clapping.

Madelyn’s smile had turned into a full-on grin and the boy with hands of magic gave a curt bow before standing straight up again. “So where’d the card go?” he asked more to himself than us. He lifted the deck, tapped it on the table and pulled out the card at the bottom. It was the Queen of Hearts. My jaw dropped a little. People clapped even harder, gasping and whispering about their disbelief. A man in a top hat and large black coat behind me was questioning in a harsh, under-his-breath voice whether or not it was just a trick deck. The boy obviously heard because while he looked down to push the cards aside and bring out a five loonies, he quickly glanced up through his eye lashes and smiled privately, almost like he was about to humiliate the man right in front of everyone. But there was something about the way he held himself that told me it wasn’t his style to do so.

“Can someone tell me how many coins are on the table right now?” he asked, sweeping a hand across them.

“Five,” I spoke up quickly before the man behind me could say it, and would have most likely been rude about it as well. The boy looked over at me and I said, “There are five coins.”

He nodded. “Good.” He spread them out quickly and put one hand on the corner of the table with the other one on the bottom. He hit the table very quickly and all of the coins flipped over into a perfect pile. My eyes widened in surprise. I wasn’t sure if they were playing tricks on me or not, but one thing was for sure; this guy was fascinating. “How many now?” he asked.

I stepped forward hesitantly and pushed the coins apart, and I had to count them three times to make sure I wasn’t going insane because now there were only four coins. When he spotted the expression on my face, he smiled and pulled his hand out from beneath the table. And there was the last coin. “Here,” he said to the man that had challenged his magic tricks. “Buy yourself something pretty.” And he dropped the coin in his hand. While the man was clearly appalled by the boy’s attitude—even though he wasn’t nearly as rude as he could have gotten away with—but his audience was cracking up about it.

He caught my eye then and stepped around the table toward me. I sucked in a breath, my cheeks suddenly feeling a lot warmer than they had moments ago. He flicked his wrist and held out a single red rose to me. I opened my mouth to say something, but even “thank you” felt like a stupid reply. So I just closed my mouth again and took the flower from his hand. The boy winked and I grinned while clapping surrounded me.

“Isabelle,” I heard my mother say, her cold, aging fingers wrapping themselves around my wrist. I looked over my shoulder at her as the crowd suddenly walked around to compliment the young magician, while others walked away. Apparently he had announced that he was finished, but I had definitely missed that part. “Let’s go. You don’t want to get involved with these people,” my mom finished, giving me a tug out of the group.

I glanced back at the boy quickly, had to because I knew he had heard my mom even over his fans speaking to him, but he looked unfazed. He only lifted a hand at me as I departed and smiled until he was out of sight.

And all I could think of when I was walking back to the parking lot and climbing into the car with my family was how much I loved magic.



I managed to make a friend in first period. Her name was Lucy, and she was honestly one of the quietest people I had ever met. She was a sweetheart but she hardly said anything to me. The seat beside me had been empty during the first day but she had transferred out of her French class because of Mackenzie, and how she had previously been bullied by her. She was threatened by her, so she tried to avoid all possible contact that she could and with a short meeting with a guidance counselor and a few simple switches to her schedule, she got to keep the classes she wanted, but change what periods they were in. Lucy helped me learn a lot about the people I was bound to run into during my year at Westwood, as well as the ones that I had already met.

Dylan was the first. He wasn’t just top dog of our grade, but of our entire school. Boys looked up to him, based their haircuts after his and joined all the sports he did just because he was such an amazing person. He wasn’t cocky about his appearance like some guys were, and he didn’t take advantage of the fact that a lot of girls wanted to be with him. He was a gentleman, and apparently it had a lot to do with the way he was brought up. His father was the principal of the school, and his mother was a political activist who also focused a lot of her time on women’s rights in society. She had been forcing her sons to treat girls with respect since the day they were born. Dylan’s dad didn’t want to have twin boys that were a disgrace to the school, he wanted men. And his mother didn’t want to hear about how Dylan or Robbie had been irresponsible in terms of how they treat their peers. Of course, they never did do anything wrong because they were both very charming and sophisticated for sixteen year olds. It made me admire them even more than I did when I first met them.

Robbie, however, was a bad boy. Even though he did have very high standards in terms of how he treated people, he was a little bit of a rebel. Having a guy that lives on the edge and knows how to care for girls is basically the ultimate package, and he fit that perfectly. Robbie played guitar, knew how to throw a football farther than anyone in the school, lived and breathed music, and was very confident. He didn’t take crap from anyone, and he certainly knew his way around the detention hall. Most of the time, it was because he stood up against someone or had an argument with the teacher on homework questions, or because he arrived a bit late for class since he had hockey practice from five to seven-thirty in the morning. But he gained his reputation because of the impression he gave people when he walked through the halls with his head held high, sleeves pushed up and hair in a ruffled mess. Robbie was attractive in a rugged, masculine way, much more hidden than Dylan’s. He was handsome in a more obvious sense, one that would make girls’ heads whip around when he passed by them. Robbie had an amazing face with features that could turn their insides to mush, but Dylan was just . . . unexplainable.

I didn’t get to learn much about Emma, Elsie or Broderick, and there was nothing about Christopher that Lucy told me that I didn’t already know from the lunch with everyone yesterday. But Mackenzie was a whole other story.

I already knew that she was the daughter of two former professors, which pretty much made her royalty around the school. She was very ballsy when it came to her school attire and how she acted with both teachers and students alike. And it was no secret that she wasn’t very keen on keeping track of her virtue—apparently she was a little bit promiscuous, as if that was a desirable asset—but she was a lot more than that. A rumor had passed around that she had gotten into a bad crowd during grade nine, which completely changed her. Of course, it wasn’t a rumor because every part of it was true. Any good inside of her was diminished, replaced with smoking, getting high on a regular basis, and a lot of fooling around with the wrong boys; not to mention the unattainable, already taken ones. But apparently that didn’t matter to her because she was enjoying herself. Eventually though, it got her into trouble with the police and she now had a criminal record. People were terrified of her, and anyone that got in her way ended up with an imprint of her fist in their face. As far as I saw it, she was pretty much untouchable. That was why I was so surprised Elsie had the guts to stand up to her for so long.

I got to see Emma during lunch period because she was already sitting at the table when I walked into the cafeteria with Broderick. He had met me at my locker, like he promised because he knew I still wasn’t completely used to the whole new school environment. I appreciated the sentiment, and the company. Roaming the busy hallways alone was very intimidating, especially since I was worried I would turn the corner and bash into Mackenzie and receive her fist in my mouth.

I sat between Dylan and Elsie while Robbie, Broderick and Emma lined up together on the other side. Broderick and Emma were nearly glued at the hip, and I wondered why she had never told me how close they were before. Of course, I knew they were friends but they seemed like they could have been siblings from how much they knew about the other, and how involved in each other’s lives they were. But obviously my impression of them and what I saw was very different from the rest of the crowd at the table.

Elsie nudged me and whispered, “If you’re looking for the next golden couple, it would have to be them.”

So maybe Robbie and Elsie weren’t the only friends at this table that were “practically married”. While I was eating my sandwich and enjoying casual conversation with everyone, also receiving the lowdown on other things they thought was important for me to know, Mackenzie walked into the cafeteria. I never realized how tall she was; the girl was all legs but absolutely beautiful. Of course, it didn’t fit her personality and what I had heard about her. They weren’t even a little bit compatible. If appearance and behavior were directly related, she would have looked like a troll. That was how I was planning on picturing her from now on, because it would probably help me to not be so scared of her.

But she began walking over and my heartbeat sped up, a little out of curiosity to see what would happen and also fright. If she was coming to yell at Elsie, I really wasn’t going to prove myself at the school by sitting around like a bump on a log while they threw insults at each other. But at this point, it was all I could seriously see myself doing.

“Hey Robbie,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder and smiling. Her teeth nearly blinded me. “I heard you joined the school band. That’s really cool. I’m thinking of signing up as well.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I joined. It’s a good opportunity. If you think you’ll like it, then definitely come out.”

“I’m considering it.” She looked at Dylan and gave him a nod, probably out of the need to fit in with Robbie’s brother in order to get with him. It was brutal to watch, because beneath the table I could see Elsie clenching her fists. She was going to lose it. Mackenzie’s eyes suddenly landed on me and my heartbeat accelerated. In my head, I was playing out how my death would go. Robbie’s fork was easily accessible. Maybe she’d impair me and pull out my eyeballs with it. “You’re Isabelle, right?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly, rubbing my clammy hands on my thighs. I could see Dylan watching me out of the corner of his eye.

“I’ve heard about you. I didn’t know you and Robbie were friends,” she said territorially.

“He’s allowed to have girl friends, Mackenzie. There isn’t a law against it,” Elsie cut in, equally possessive over her friend. Robbie just sat there, looking very uncomfortable while Broderick and Emma kept their heads down, trying to avoid all eye contact. They were slowly starting to slide down the table in case a fight broke out. Things didn’t seem too bad right now, but I couldn’t jump to conclusions. Things could change in mere seconds.

Mackenzie looked at Elsie and frowned. “I was just asking.”

“Sure you were,” she returned, rolling her eyes.

Mackenzie leaned forward and put her hands flat on the table. “You’re a little out of line coming after me. Watch your step or you’ll end up in a bad place,” she threatened. Then she flicked Elsie’s pop can and it tipped over, spilling right onto her skirt. Elsie jumped up immediately with a gasp and I covered my mouth. I didn’t know what else to do, and it seemed like the simplest solution so I didn’t blurt out anything and get myself involved in an argument that wasn’t mine to invade in, in the first place.

“What the hell!” Elsie exploded, drawing the attention of the nearest tables while others just began to tune in.

“Oops, sorry,” Mackenzie said with a shrug and a smirk. “Accident.”

“Oh, really?” Elsie looked down at her plate of spaghetti and picked up a handful. All of our eyes went wide, because we knew what was coming. “Well so is this.”

Bam! Mackenzie was pelted right in the face with sauce-covered pasta that slowly began to slide down, right between her boobs and into her shirt. It was no surprise though; it was gaping wide open for the whole world to see. As the noodles fell, it revealed an expression of shock, and then the obvious rage.

And then some idiot stood up and yelled “food fight!” and all hell broke loose. We all dove under the table while others jumped out of their seats and began throwing meals of every kind. Dylan put a hand on his head, unimpressed and he quickly took a peak over the table, only to get a slice of pepperoni in the eye. Elsie and I tried to hold in our laughs as he sat back and looked at us, but it was hard because it looked like he had an eye patch.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” I said.

“Why?” Elsie asked.

“Because! Look at this place, it’s a jungle!”

Elsie and Dylan looked at each other. Now he had gotten rid of the pizza topping and it lay on the floor beside him. “You’ve never been involved in a food fight before, have you?” Elsie inquired, amused. “You should join in. It’s actually very exhilarating.”

Then she stood up and began throwing her grapes and the rest of her spaghetti at people. Emma unfortunately was in her view, and received several hits to the back of the head. “Will you back off for five seconds? Please!” she exclaimed, grabbing her pudding and dumping it over Elsie’s hair.

“Oh my God,” I said, covering my face in my hands.

“Oh come on, just try it,” Dylan said, grabbing my arm and pulling me up onto my feet.

“But I don’t want to! I’ll—”

All of a sudden, a hamburger patty whipped me in the face. The minute it did, I cut my sentence off and threw the meat to the ground, yelled, “who did that?!” A boy on the far side of the cafeteria raised his hand and began chucking food at other people. And this opened the floodgates for a crazy, food-fight-raging, alternative personality version of myself. I immediately picked up everything on the table that I could find; pop cans, juice boxes, plastic containers even. I threw them all. But this messy high school Armageddon was halted by the vice principal, Ms. Weatherby, stepping into the cafeteria. My hand was up, wielding Dylan’s ice cream sandwich when she yelled “stop!” and caught my wrist from behind. I could only stare at her, my eyes wide. And this created a chain reaction, because everything suddenly stopped—it was almost as if the food actually froze in mid air because of how unexpected it was—and even more teachers rushed in.

“Every single one of you is going to be spending their night in detention!” Ms. Weatherby screamed at us.

Great, I thought sarcastically to myself. How was I ever going to get myself out of this one?