Nothing Up My Sleeve Read online

  Dominic sighed. “I guess I can take it to Corpus,” he said. “My little sister is always asking for stuff. Besides, it’s not about the trophy. It’s about winning.”

  At that, the boys gave one another fist bumps.

  “OMG!” Ariel exclaimed. “You guys are clueless.”

  “What do you mean?” Z wanted to know.

  “You guys are not a team of magicians like Penn and Teller. You’re competing against one another, and guess what!” She smiled—not a proud or happy smile but a mean one. “Only one of you gets to win.”

  Dominic and his friends were speechless. They loved to compete, especially against one another, but video games, races, and silly challenges didn’t matter. Those were just games, while this contest was for real. They wanted to be a team. How could they possibly compete against one another? And how could Dominic compete all alone? He had stage fright. He’d throw up on the judges for sure!

  cut—

  to tear something apart; in magic, a cut refers to dividing a deck of cards

  AFTER LOOP AND HIS friends left Conjuring Cats, they went a whole block without saying a word. Finally, Z broke the silence.

  “Maybe there’s a way we can compete as a team. Some musicians have bands, and others go solo. If it works for music, why can’t it work for magic?”

  “That’s true,” Loop said. “But think about the singing competitions like American Idol. It’s one person competing, not a whole band.”

  Z wouldn’t give up on his idea. “Okay, but in sports, people compete against each other—in teams and by themselves.”

  Loop was not convinced. “But sports have rules that control whether they have teams. Can you imagine playing one-on-one football, or a bunch of dudes cramped in the same car for the Indy 500?”

  Then Z said, “Maybe I can’t imagine one-on-one football, but I can imagine one-on-one basketball. Plenty of sports have both solo and team events.”

  Loop couldn’t believe it. This guy would not give up. “Like what?” he asked, because he couldn’t think of any examples.

  “Like tennis, track, swimming, and gymnastics,” Z answered.

  Loop threw up his arms. “That still doesn’t make any sense!” he said. “Sure, you have relays in track, but you never have a single guy running against a whole relay team.”

  Then Dominic offered his opinion. “I think competing as a team is a great idea, but we’d have to look at the rules to see if it’s allowed.”

  Loop shook his head. “Face it, guys. This magic competition is not a team sport. Just like Ariel said.”

  “But it might be,” Z said, all hopeful. “We just have to look at the rules, like Dominic suggested. Maybe there’s a team category.”

  “Well, if there is,” Loop said, “I’d have to be the leader.” His friends glanced at him, all confused. Were they really that dense? “I’m the only one with money, remember? Plus, I already turned in my registration form. ‘First come, first served’ is what I say.”

  “No,” Dominic said. “If we work as a team, I should be the leader, since you two are slackers when it comes to using your neurons.”

  “I use my neurons!” Z said, but then he added, “Wait, what’s a neuron?”

  Dominic tapped his head.

  “I use my head!”

  Dominic laughed. “How can you say that, when every time you get a set of instructions, you need me to figure them out?”

  “We don’t need you to figure them out,” Loop said. “You’re the one who’s always grabbing the instructions and acting like you know it all.”

  “Besides, it takes a lot more than reading instructions to do magic,” Z added. “You also need a personality. Without my advice, your tricks are boring.”

  “Well, without my advice,” Dominic countered, “you wouldn’t know step one of your routine.”

  “And without me,” Loop said, “neither one of you would have any props to work with. You’d be doing air magic.”

  Dominic narrowed his eyes. “Fine. Don’t come crying next time you need me to explain instructions that any third grader could follow. You’re on your own from now on.”

  “Whatever,” Z said. “I don’t care. I’ve got enough people telling me what to do. The last thing I need is someone else acting like he’s my brother or my dad.”

  They reached a big intersection with lots of traffic, so Dominic pressed the crosswalk button. “In that case, we can just forget about competing in the magic contest as a team. Even if there is a loophole.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Loop said. “I thought it was a stupid idea all along.”

  “The idea wasn’t stupid,” Z said, all offended. “You guys are the ones who are stupid!”

  “You’re the one who’s always asking dumb questions and giving dumb answers,” Dominic said.

  “Only because you guys never let me answer or perform or do anything first. By the time I have a chance to talk, all the good stuff has already been said.”

  The little walking man showed up on the street sign, and Z ran across. He didn’t even say good-bye, and when he got across the street, he kept running.

  Loop chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” Dominic asked.

  “Don’t you get it?” Loop said, but when he realized that Dominic had no idea why he was giggling, he went on. “This is a big fight over nothing. Let’s face it. I’m the only one who’s going to win, because I’m the only one who’s actually going to the convention.”

  “Here we go again,” Dominic said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Sometimes, you’re nothing but a show-off.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Then why are you always waving money in our faces?” Dominic said. “You know Z’s family is broke.”

  “It’s not my fault you guys are pobres.”

  “I’m not poor. My dad helps out. And guess what, he’s my real dad. He doesn’t have to prove anything.”

  Loop postured up for a fight. “Take that back!”

  “Make me,” Dominic said as the streetlight began to tick off the time—only five seconds left to cross the street. “Guess you’ll have to catch the next light,” he called as he raced off.

  Sure enough, traffic started to move again, but Loop didn’t care. He was fighting mad. Show-off, huh? Maybe Loop did wave money in their faces, but that didn’t stop his friends from taking it. They didn’t even thank him when he gave them stuff. If he was a show-off, then they were leeches, and the only way to get rid of leeches was to pluck those bloodsuckers off.

  writer’s block—

  when an author can’t think of what to write next; it can also refer to when an artist or performer gets stuck while trying to create something new

  WHEN HE WOKE UP the next morning, Dominic was so glad to be leaving town. He really needed a break from his friends. His mother was working a half day, and as soon as she got home, Dominic was going to be swapped. That’s what he called it when his parents traded him off.

  He grabbed his duffel bag. He already had clothes at his dad’s house, so he used his bag for his PlayStation, video games, books, and some lecture notes that he had borrowed from Mr. Garza. It took about thirty minutes to get ready, so he had some time to kill before his mom came home.

  He decided to work on patter for his French drop routine. He took out his notebook and read through yesterday’s brainstorm session, but all his ideas seemed lame. He couldn’t get Z’s voice out of his head, especially the comment about Dominic being boring. He’s just jealous because I’m smarter than he is, Dominic thought. So what if he liked to read about canyons and planets and microorganisms? He didn’t need Z for inspiration. He had science.

  Wait a minute! That was the answer. He’d use science!

  Dominic made a list of things he’d learned in school, and sure enough, he got a perfect idea for the French drop routine. He wrote out a little script, and then he started to practice. His French drop was almost perfect now. He e
ven added gestures like pointing or wriggling his fingers, all while performing the sleight and making it look natural. Dominic had also taught himself the Hebrew rise, a move that let the ball reappear. But when he added patter, he struggled, because it was like he needed two brains—one to control his hands and one to control his mouth.

  He stood in front of a mirror and held up a cotton ball. “This,” he said to his imaginary audience, “is a rain cloud, and as it rains”—he did the French drop—“the cloud disappears.” He opened his hand, finger by finger, to reveal an empty palm. “Then you have clear skies,” he said, looking up and pointing with both hands, even with the one that secretly held the cotton ball. “But the rain puddles evaporate, and”—here he did the Hebrew rise by raising one hand, making sure it crossed the other so he could steal the hidden cotton ball—“the rain cloud reappears.” He held his hand and the cotton ball high over his head.

  His shoulders drooped. “The evaporation cycle?” he said to his reflection. “Really? That is so lame!”

  He decided to ditch the idea. It was back to the drawing board, but he was still staring at a blank page when his mom came home. Luckily, she was eager to hit the road. Dominic couldn’t be more relieved. He had a severe case of writer’s block, but maybe a change of scenery would help.

  His mom didn’t say much as she drove, and if the scenery could talk, it’d be quiet, too—nothing but flat land, cows, and an occasional train to look at.

  “I can’t wait to show Dad my magic tricks,” Dominic said. When he saw his mother rub her temple, he asked if she was getting a headache.

  “No,” she answered. “Just tired. Long week at work.”

  She was always tired after work. It made no sense. After all, she worked as a receptionist, which meant sitting at a desk all day and answering phones. His dad, on the other hand, was an engineer for the city. He sat at a computer and visited sites, but he still had energy to go fishing, host barbecues, and watch sports on TV when he got home. He even played hopscotch and dress-up with Maria Elena. When Dominic mentioned this to his mom, she said that her workday didn’t end at five o’clock because she had to work at the apartment, too. But as far as Dominic was concerned, he was the one who did chores at the apartment. All his mom did was cook and clean up the kitchen.

  They finally reached the Burger King in Refugio where Dominic’s dad waited on a bench with the latest issue of Field & Stream. His mom parked nearby. Then his parents smiled and waved, but that’s it. His dad stayed on the bench, and his mom stayed in the car.

  “Have fun,” she said. Then, “If you get homesick and want to come home early, let me know. I’ll come get you.”

  “I never get homesick when I go to Corpus,” Dominic said.

  “I know, but just in case.”

  Dominic opened the car door, but before he stepped out, he said, “Why don’t you come talk to Dad for a while? We can get some fries at Burger King.”

  She shook her head. “Maybe next time. I should hurry back now.”

  “That’s what you always say, but ‘next time’ never comes. Just come and chat for five minutes. I’ll be there, too.”

  “I’m sure your dad wants to get back to his family,” she said.

  Dominic sighed. Would his parents ever talk? What was so hard about saying hello and discussing the weather? Even strangers talked about the weather. It was a universal topic because you could always say, “Wonder if it’s going to rain” or “It’s mighty hot, ain’t it?”

  “Be good,” his mom said, pressing the button to open the trunk. “And send me a text when you get there so I know you arrived safely, okay?”

  “I promise,” Dominic said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

  Then he got out of the car, grabbed his duffel bag, and waved good-bye as his mom drove away.

  His dad wasn’t the hugging type. Instead, he said, “Hey, buddy,” and reached out for a handshake, only it wasn’t a real handshake. He and Dominic bumped fists straight on, then top and bottom, and finally a high five, a low five, and a playful punch to the gut.

  “Let’s get this show on the road,” his dad said.

  They got in the car, and as they headed out, Dominic’s dad rambled about the NBA finals and the weather. “I just know we’re going to get the big one this year,” he said about hurricanes.

  “What if it knocks down the whole city?” Dominic asked, and they went on about doomsday scenarios and survival plans as they drove along a small country road where Dominic sometimes spotted javelinas, coyotes, or bobcats (once he saw a bobcat with a rabbit in its mouth), then through Bayside, a small town with a boat ramp and bait house since it was a favorite fishing spot, then through miles of cotton and wheat fields, and finally past hundreds of giant white windmills. At last they reached the major highway, and the last leg of the trip took them over the Harbor Bridge and into Corpus Christi.

  “So what have you been up to this summer?” his dad asked as they drove into the city. “You still doing magic?” The last time Dominic had visited, he’d shown them his Hot Rod routine.

  “Of course.”

  “I knew it! I’ve been telling my friends about you.”

  “Tell them the next Houdini is in the house,” Dominic said.

  “You know it!” his dad cheered.

  Dominic saw an opportunity. “So that’s what I want to talk to you about,” he began.

  “You want me to handcuff you and lock you in a crate so you can try to get out?”

  Dominic laughed.

  “Sounds like fun,” his dad teased.

  “It does, but seriously, I want to ask you something.”

  “Shoot.”

  Dominic reached into his pocket and pulled out the registration form for the contest, even though he knew his dad couldn’t read it while driving. “Okay, so there’s this magic convention at the end of the summer. They’re going to have lectures and shows and a competition for teens like me. So can I go?”

  His dad didn’t skip a beat. “You bet you can go!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You bet I’m sure!”

  “Because it costs money.”

  “No problemo,” his dad said with a Texan accent instead of a Spanish one. “What doesn’t cost money?”

  By the time they reached the house, Dominic’s dad was full of plans. “We’ll all go to Houston, so you can have your own cheering section,” and, “We have to brainstorm stage names. How about Dominic the Dominant?”

  “The dominant what?” Dominic laughed.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure we can figure something out.”

  As soon as they stepped into the house, Dominic’s sister ran to the door. “He’s here! He’s here! He’s here!” She threw her arms around him.

  “Nice to see you, too,” Dominic said.

  He wanted to swing her around, but she was getting too big for that, so he tickled her instead. Then his stepmom came in.

  “Hello,” she said, kissing his forehead.

  The whole family got into the car so they could go to the two-story Whataburger on Shoreline Drive. Dominic loved sitting outside on the second floor because you could see the ocean. After dinner, they took a walk along the seawall and pointed out the sights—cargo ships, fishermen, skateboarders and in-line skaters, seagulls, and so many families enjoying the sea breeze. Maria Elena got tired after a while, so Dominic gave her a piggyback ride. He was having so much fun with his Corpus Christi family that he forgot to text his mom, and because he was laughing so hard at his dad’s jokes, he didn’t hear his phone beep when his mom sent a note to ask if he had reached the house yet.

  magician in trouble—

  a magician who pretends to make mistakes during his or her performance

  Z HAD FINALLY MASTERED the French drop. In fact, he could do it without thinking. It was like riding a bicycle or reading. Once you knew how, you wondered why it was so hard at the beginning. But Mr. Garza wanted more. He wanted Z to come up with a routine and pa
tter, and doing that was harder than all of last year’s homework assignments combined. How could Z come up with patter when he didn’t know any French? He got a headache just thinking about it. Why couldn’t the move be called the Spanish drop? He knew plenty of Spanish. Or better yet, the English drop? Isn’t that what he spoke all the time? But no. It was called the French drop, so that was the language he wanted to use—never mind that the only French phrase he knew was excusez-moi and only because of the snobby girls at school. “Excusez-moi,” they’d say as they pushed their way through the crowded hall or interrupted the teacher in the middle of a sentence. So he figured it meant “excuse me” but also “I’m sorry,” since they said it when pretending to apologize for passing notes or making fun of someone.

  Like the way his friends made fun of his idea a few days ago. They definitely owed him an excusez-moi. But what was he thinking? They didn’t know French, either, not even Dominic the Brainiac. Z laughed to himself when he imagined Dominic pulling out his hair as he tried to come up with something as clever as French patter. Knowing a bunch of facts was useless if you didn’t have an imagination, Z decided.

  He was determined to prove how creative he could be, so he got to work on his routine. First, he needed a French guy. Z took a small rubber ball and drew a face on it. In all the cartoons, French guys had thin mustaches and wore berets, so Z added a downward “V” for the mustache. Then he raided his sisters’ room to see if their Barbies had berets, but they didn’t have dolls anymore—only makeup and jewelry. “I guess you don’t get a hat,” he said to the ball, making it nod back. He stared at it for a while. “Hello, Pierre,” he said, since it was the only French-sounding name he could think of.

  That’s when Boxer Boy stepped into the room. “Who are you talking to?” he asked. He was in his chones, their word for underwear, because he’d just showered, so he went straight to the dresser for some clothes.

  Z closed his hand around the ball. “No one.”

  “C’mon. Let me see what you have. Is it a cricket?”