Stay a Spell Page 7

  Mom . . . Mom . . . Mom . . . Mom . . . , I repeat in my head, over and over.

  Then Daniel opens the pot, pours the powder into his hand, and blows into it. A cloud of black smoke begins to cover him, but not quite fully.

  “COME ON!” Daniel yells.

  Abby and I furiously dump our pots out and blow. While we’re creating the clouds to cover us, Daniel grabs our hands and takes off his scarf.

  ZLIGZAP!

  Cleopatra and the guards disappear from sight. Abby, Daniel, and I are instantly transported back to the library of Sands Middle School. Luckily the library was empty except for Ms. Tremt, so nobody saw us suddenly appear.

  “Well, that went well,” I joke.

  Abby grabs me by the shoulder and shakes me. She looks like she’s about to cry.

  “You . . . you . . . ,” she says. “Sometimes I just can’t . . .”

  I don’t know how to say I’m sorry, so I just give her a hug. Abby pulls Daniel into the hug too. All the worry and fear we were feeling swirls around in the hug until it just floats away and we’re just relieved to be back home, together.

  “Brilliant thinking, Daniel.” Ms. Tremt claps from behind her desk. She has a mirror and a pot of eye makeup on her desk and is lining her eyes Cleopatra-style. It was a good look for the Egyptian queen. It is not a good look for Ms. Tremt.

  “Using the powder from Cleopatra’s makeup tray to hide you while you take off your scarf, revealing your 1977 clothing, which instantly brings you back to the present,” Ms. Tremt continues. “Very clever indeed.”

  “Ms. Tremt, I still don’t understand why we needed to hide when we took the scarves off,” Abby said.

  “Abby, it’s all about trying to change as little as possible in the past,” Ms. Tremt explains. “It’s one thing to just disappear or appear in front of people. It can always be laughed off as a magic trick. But it’s another to leave people with a glimpse of something from the future—a piece of technology, or even clothing. That’s something that may set someone’s brain in motion to create something or do something differently that may change the course of history.” Ms. Tremt laughs. “It sounds ridiculous, I know, but you never know what someone could get inspired to create by seeing your 1977 platform shoes!

  “So now that you’re back home,” Ms. Tremt continues. “How was 1977?”

  I want to tell Ms. Tremt about our trip, I really do. But I need a minute to catch my breath. And so do Daniel and Abby. So we grab three chairs and collapse in them.

  “Here,” I say, handing Ms. Tremt the pendant and The Book of Memories. “I know you didn’t want me to bring this back to the present, but I assumed you also didn’t want Tim Raveltere to have it, so I had no choice but to bring it back.”

  “Thank you,” she replies. “I won’t be able to get this to stay in the past for long, but at least it will buy me a day or so until I can get someone else to get rid of it in time for me—permanently.”

  Then Ms. Tremt gets up and walks to the secret room. Through the open door, we can see a scene appear on the door. It looks like it might be some kind of samurai battle scene. There are warriors on horseback in black and red uniforms waving katana swords in the air. It definitely looks exciting, but I think Daniel, Abby, and I have had enough excitement for a while. We watch as Ms. Tremt hurls the pendant into the scene.

  “She’s got a pretty good arm,” Daniel whispers.

  “She must have gotten some tips from Matt Vezza.” I laugh.

  “That should give Tim something to do for a while,” Ms. Tremt says, coming back into the main part of the library.

  “Was it some kind of tracking device?” I ask. “That Tim Raveltere was using to find you?”

  “Something like that,” Ms. Tremt says quietly. “I can’t reveal the details, Jada, but you’re a smart girl with a logical brain, right?”

  “Right,” I agree. “But why did you ask me to leave it in 1977 if you could have just thrown it into time on your own?”

  “Like I said, I can’t reveal the details,” Ms. Tremt says. “But the pendant has a boomerang effect to whomever it’s locked on. It will be back before long, unless I can find someone else to deposit it for me.”

  “So who is this shady guy Tim Raveltere?” Abby wonders.

  “I can’t reveal that information either, Abby,” Ms. Tremt says. “But you’re right; he is shady.”

  “He mentioned something about wanting The Book of Memories for himself,” I tell Ms. Tremt. “So that he could make changes in history—big changes.”

  “That’s why the book is precious, and needs to be protected,” Ms. Tremt says.

  She looks shaken at the thought of Tim Raveltere’s plan.

  “Have you heard of the butterfly effect?” Ms. Tremt asks us.

  “Not really,” I reply.

  “It’s a theory that everything in the universe, through all of space and time, is interdependent,” Ms. Tremt says. “Everything matters. One change in the initial conditions can lead to drastic results. If a butterfly flaps its wings in New Mexico, it has the power to cause a hurricane in China.”

  “Then how are we able to make one small change?” I wonder.

  “It’s another detail I can’t go deeply into,” Ms. Tremt says. “But I can tell you that as a librarian, I do my research. My selections are made with careful consideration of all the things that may happen and all the things that might not. I wouldn’t put The Book of Memories into anyone’s hands—young or old—without knowing fully the ramifications of what will happen. And that is why The Book of Memories was put into my hands.”

  “Who put it there?” Daniel wonders.

  “Again, not information I can share,” Ms. Tremt says.

  She closes her eyes, and her face begins to change. Ms. Tremt always looks enthusiastic, if not happy. Now she looks sort of sad. I get the feeling that whoever put the book into Ms. Tremt’s hands is no longer around.

  “But The Book of Memories isn’t the only time-travel device,” Abby says. “Because Tim Raveltere traveled through time without it.”

  “Correct,” Ms. Tremt replies. “He has a different sort of time-travel device; you might have seen him tapping it.”

  “The watch!” Daniel, Abby, and I shout at the same time.

  “Yes, the watch,” Ms. Tremt says. “It enables him to travel through time, but only The Book of Memories gives time travelers the ability to make a change that will stick.”

  “And our change was getting Tim Raveltere off your trail, right?” I ask. “That’s why you didn’t send me back to last week?”

  Ms. Tremt pats me on the back and smiles.

  “Not quite,” she says. “Let’s just say it was an unintended benefit.”

  “So there wasn’t a change at all?” I wonder.

  “Be patient, Jada,” Ms. Tremt says. “You’ll figure it out, in due time. But now I want to hear all about your trip.”

  I tell Ms. Tremt about Aunt Katy and Galaxian’s costume studio, and how I was able to help fix Aunt Katy’s sateen mistake.

  “So spelling came in handy for you?” Ms. Tremt says.

  “It did,” I say. “I will admit that.”

  “Ms. Tremt,” Daniel asks, “can I ask if you lived through 1977?”

  “You may.” Ms. Tremt laughs. “And I did.”

  “Can you do the Hustle?” Abby asks.

  “Are you kidding?” Ms. Tremt says.

  Ms. Tremt gives us back our cell phones.

  “If you can find the song, I can show you in person.”

  Abby taps her cell phone and quickly finds the song in a music app. The chiming notes and “woo oooh ooohs” echo in the library.

  “I hope you’re going to join me,” Ms. Tremt says.

  We follow her lead as she takes four steps forward and claps, then four steps back.

  We’re in the middle of dancing when Mrs. Donnelly walks into the library with a group of kids.

  “Are we doing the Hustle in detention now?�
�� Mrs. Donnelly laughs. “Times have sure changed from the days when we had to write, ‘I will not talk in class’ one hundred times on the blackboard.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ms. Tremt said. “I forgot you said you needed the library for detention period today. We’ll be out of your way in no time.”

  Abby taps off the music and we head out of the room with Ms. Tremt.

  “I hope you enjoyed your time travel,” Ms. Tremt says to us as she shakes our hands. “I hope you enjoyed it enough to go back. Because I may need your time spy help in the future.”

  “Like the year 3050?” I laugh.

  “Maybe not that far ahead.” Ms. Tremt smiles. “For now I think some of you may have dinner plans in your immediate future.”

  “Dinner!” Daniel shouts. “That’s why my stomach’s been growling!”

  Daniel, Abby, and I usually head in different directions after school, but today we decide to take the long way home and stop in the park.

  “Look at those little kids on the jungle gym,” Daniel says. “Imagine if we could time travel back to watch our toddler selves?”

  “Can we go back in time and see our former selves?” Abby wonders. “That’s a good question for Ms. Tremt. At any rate, that would be hysterical. I bet Jada would be telling all the other little kids what to do.”

  “Hey!” I protest. “I’m not that bossy! But since I already have the reputation”—I laugh—“let’s head over to the swings.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Daniel salutes.

  Sometimes when you’re in middle school you look at little kid things and they seem so embarrassing. Like you can’t believe you ever stumbled around a park chasing bubbles that your mom was blowing. But other times, you look at little kid things and you want to go back there, just forget about everything on your mind right now and all the things that are waiting for you in the future, and be carefree and tune out.

  The very best place in the world to do that is on a swing.

  Of course, the swings are pretty popular, and you don’t want to look like a loser and take one away from some little kid who is waiting for a turn. We get lucky, though, and there are three empty swings, side by side, as if they are waiting for us to take our place on them.

  We kick our legs out and rock back and forth, back and forth. Abby’s the strongest and she’s soon going faster and higher than me or Daniel, but that’s okay. For a few minutes we don’t say a single word; we just swing. It feels ahhhMAZING.

  “So, guys,” Abby calls out to us as she swings by. “Am I the only one who was completely terrified back there?”

  “No!” I shout back to her. “I was so scared all I could think about was my mom!”

  “Daniel, that was so incredible, but I had no idea what you were doing,” Abby admits. “I thought you were just caught in the craziness of the moment.”

  “Crazy is right.” I laugh. “What was I thinking, talking to Cleopatra about dresses for the dance?”

  “You are crazy, girl,” Abby says. “Crazy for fashion.”

  “You know it,” I reply.

  The three of us haven’t been friends for very long. We went to different elementary schools, so we just met last year in sixth grade. Don’t get me wrong. We hang out all the time, and when we’re not together we’re always texting or doing group chats with one another. But now, with everything we just experienced time traveling, I think our friendship has reached a new level. I think we’ll always have ancient Egypt and 1977, and it will always keep us close, no matter where we go to high school, or college, or off into the world after that.

  “Are you two busy on Saturday?” I ask.

  “I have a basketball game in the evening,” Abby says. “But I’m free before that.”

  “Me too,” Daniel says. “What’s going on?”

  “I have a favor to ask,” I tell them. “And I want some company.”

  “Please, don’t tell me it’s another trip through time.” Daniel groans.

  “No, it’s not,” I say with a laugh. “At least not in a Book of Memories time-travel way.”

  “Then I’m in,” Daniel says.

  “Me too,” Abby agrees.

  “Great,” I say. “My house at ten, Saturday morning.”

  • • •

  There’s a shortcut I always take home from the park, but I don’t take it today. I’d rather walk with Abby and Daniel and spend a few more minutes with them. I’m not sure if I even look or sound normal, and I’m a little worried Mom is going to know that something happened in school today. Mother’s instinct, and all that.

  At home, I walk upstairs and find Mom in her room, folding laundry.

  “What took you so long?” Mom asks. “You’re usually home before I am.”

  “Didn’t you get my text?” I say. “I said I was going to stop at the park on the way home.”

  “I got it,” Mom says. “I just didn’t think you’d be there that long. Is everything okay?”

  “Not really, actually,” I say.

  And then the tears start and I fall apart a little.

  “Oh, Jada,” Mom says. “What’s the matter, honey?”

  Her voice is so warm it wraps me up and cuddles me, just like her arms are doing right now. I stay inside her hug until I’m all cried out.

  “Just a rough day,” I say.

  Then I pull out my progress report.

  “And there’s this,” I say, holding it out to her and sniffling.

  “Okay, Jada,” Mom says. “Let’s talk.”

  “I know,” I say. “I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment.”

  I’m swooped up in a Mom hug again.

  “Jada, how can you say that?” Mom says. “You’re never a disappointment. You’re remarkable. But you’re not perfect. . . . No one is.

  “Look,” she continues. “Running away from your problems is a race you’ll never win. You may never win the spelling bee. But if you decide that spelling is important and you put some effort in—all the time, not just when you fail a test—you might be the change you’d like to see.”

  “Oh, Mom.” I groan. “That was not good.”

  “I know.” Mom laughs. “But you need a plan, Jada. A serious plan. And you need to stick to it.”

  “I know,” I say. “And I know you’re always there to help.”

  “And I always will be.” Mom smiles. “Now, let’s go downstairs and get dinner started.”

  Whenever I’m feeling bad, Mom and Dad always whip up the perfect food to make me feel better. Tonight it’s going to be meat loaf with creamy mashed potatoes and string beans on the side. My stomach’s already growling.

  “Do you like Earth, Wind, and Fire?” I ask Mom while I’m peeling potatoes with Dad.

  Mom laughs. “How do you know about Earth, Wind, and Fire?”

  “Oh, someone was playing it in the park,” I fib. “And I asked them who it was because I kind of liked it.”

  “My mom used to listen to them over and over,” Mom says. “It got pretty annoying after a while. Or at least that’s how I felt back then.”

  “Remember those wild outfits our parents used to wear?” Dad adds.

  “I sure do,” Mom says. “I think I have some of them in boxes up in the attic that Mom gave me in case we wanted them for that Halloween party. Even though I’d like to forget some of them.”

  “I think we also have some of those photos from my dad’s house,” says Dad. “And you have that incredible one of your mom outside the record store.”

  “I want to see!” Sam cries.

  “After dinner,” Dad tells him. “Go finish your homework; dinner will be ready soon.”

  At dinner I gobble up two slices of meat loaf and a mound of mashed potatoes so big it nearly falls off my plate. Then I ask for seconds.

  “You must be getting ready for a growth spurt,” Dad says. “I’ve never seen you eat that much before.”

  “Maybe,” I say. “Or I used up a lot of energy running around today.”

  “
It’s just a park.” Mom laughs. “You used to run around there for hours, Jada.”

  If she only knew.

  After Sam and I clear the table and load the dishes into the dishwasher, Mom gets out the old photo albums. Sam giggles and screams at how young our grandparents were and the crazy clothing they were wearing. I’m not surprised.

  “Nice poncho, Grandpa.” I laugh. “And Grandma is rocking that maxi dress.”

  “How do you know about ponchos and maxi dresses?” Dad asks.

  “There was a seventies tribute in one of the blogs I read,” I bluff. “It had links to music and fashion of the times. Soooo groovy!”

  Mom pulls one large eight-by-ten photo from a big stained envelope.

  “This is my favorite picture of my mother of all time,” Mom says. “I cannot believe she ever left the house looking like this.”

  I take the photo from Mom’s hands and smile. It’s Gran, aka Brenda, standing outside of Crane’s, in her crop top, denim skirt, and silver boots.

  “I think she looks fabulous,” I say. “I love her style.”

  “You might be the only one, Jada.” Dad laughs. “Those boots are an abomination.”

  “Dad!” I shout. “You should never, ever give anyone fashion advice. Those boots are the best!

  “Can I keep this picture, Mom?” I ask. “I might use it as inspiration for some of my fashion designs.”

  “Of course,” Mom says as she puts the photo back into the envelope and hands it to me. “But you better take a shower and get ready for bed. You look exhausted.”

  “Not without studying spelling!” I say seriously. “And tonight I want you to give me forty words, not twenty!”

  Mom rubs her eyes and blinks, then looks at my dad.

  “Are you hearing what I’m hearing?” she asks him. “Tell me I’m not dreaming.”

  “I am, and you’re not,” Dad says.

  “You never know when one word can make all the difference,” I explain.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” Mom cries.

  “And I wasn’t really listening,” I admit. “But now I know you were right. So let’s study.”