Magic Show


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Chapter 1: Who are you?


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Chapter 2: The Tricks You Did Before

"What?!" I remembered we both exclaimed in unison, I stood up as quick as I could from my seat. I sat back down, hearing Tommy-- no, Trevor, exclaim another batch of loud, "YES!" And "YAY!"'s as it blended in the back of my mind.

Remember when he said I was a "quiet girl"? Yeah, that's true. 

I just wanna stay at the sides, when someone wants me to play a part in a play, sure. But I didn't really take part in those talks about boys and other stuff. When someone actually invite me to their parties? I say yes, but people hosts all these wild parties, they won't even notice me even if I do show up.

And besides, being at the side helps me keep safe. In terms of health, yeah, I guess. Drinking too much alcohol might give me some ailments in the future, huh? But I mean about my whole "witch" thing.

You know how many times we have moved because of my family being caught being "weird"? This is the 13th time now. Yeah, sounds rusticly exaggerated, I know. I wouldn't believe it either. But like I said, my family is a long line of magicry and it seems like everywhere we move, my distant uncle is there, my aunt is there, my clumsy magical cousins are in the neighbourhood.. Good thing we have some money with us, too.

I paused my jazz music and stood up from my bed with my blue, empty bowl on my hand's grip. Don't ask why I listen to jazz music, or when 70% of my laptop's history records are all jazz tracks, it just calms me down and mysteriously keeps my magic balanced. And in my world, mystery is common.

I go downstairs and immediately get attacked by aroma of.. Chicken soup? I turn my head to the side. I was still at the stairs, with my left hand pausing on the wooden railing, I saw my grandma at the kitchen not far away from me.

"Hey, grandma. What are you cooking?" My grandma is old. She ages, everyone does. And somehow I have to talk to her properly. No contractions, curses or modern words that require some few explaining. I'm quite used to switching up my language, from no contractions, then with contractions.

She turns her head slowly behind herself, she stood in front of a tall, platinum-colored pot and held a wooden spoon with right hand, stirring circles in her mixture. Kind of reminds me about how she makes potions in that big cauldron of hers in the basement.

I descend the steps and walk over to her, "Chicken soup. Your mother is coming home shortly." She answers. Simple and understandable.

Though she's old and her white, snowy hair gives a more distinct conclusion of her being an elder, her voice is still clear, and her brain is still quite clever to remember all those multiple spells and potion mixes over the years passed.

"It smells really good, grandma." I tell her, washing up my bowl and arranged it back to one of the shelves above. "Thank you, dear."

I told my grandma that I would back up in my room, in case they summon me through a spell and I land on the cold, hard floor again,"..Zip, zap and zoom, take me back to my room." I chanted, twirling my index and middle finger in circles, and then snapping my fingers as I point at the bottom part of the stairs. Glittery, platinum-colored dust comes from my finger and trailing to where I point, making a circle where I saw a bright light illuminating inside the portal. I step in it and in short seconds, I reach the end of the shortest portal and stop in the middle of my room.

I closed the portal, snapping my fingers and plopping on my bed.

As I start to swim in my own thoughts, I remember that Tom-- Trevor guy. Seriously, who was he? 1st grade? It don't know a Trevor Smith in elementary.

I guess I don't know my own quietness.

Shrugging, clean my bed up and take a quick nap. I still have some studying to do later.


"Okay, what's 3+2?" The teacher asks, breaking her contact from the board to face the class with a big grin on her pale and cheery face.

Children raise their hands up enthusiastically, trying to grab the teacher's attention. The teacher calls a name, it seems to be fading at the back of my head. The boy stands up, his chair making noises as it retreats back, "5!" He shouts and the whole class erupts in fits of giggles.

That boy is silly.

The bells ring. Everyone ran out of the room. I went to the cafeteria to eat my lunch. Two peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches placed on top of each other in the plastic wrap.

I sit alone. Everyone sits in groups or pairs.

Someone appears beside me, tapping my shoulder. His face is blurry. Yet, I see that sweet grin of the boy. He asks me, "D'you wanna see a trick? Look!" 

He does the same trick where his thumb is split into two. I giggle. His thumb is too small for it to look a tiny bit real. Next, he shows a nice trick where the coin vanishes when he passes his hand in front of the coin, "Wow."

"Guess where the--"

"Hey!" Someone called him, he stopped talking to me to turn his head to his right, "Oh, hey! Wait up!" He shouts back and starts to walk away.



"Where's the coin?"

"Oh!" He exclaims and snaps his fingers. He places his hand in my right ear and pulls it back out, showing me the silver coin. "Wow."

We both laugh. But soon, the other kids call for him.

"Here. I'll learn more tricks and I'll show you tricks, alright? I promise." He lastly says with the same grin I saw. He hands me the coin.

He sprints away.

Slowly, the whole cafeteria fades. But the memory of the promise stays.


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