Tips for Magicians - Hardcover

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Celesta Rimington is the author of the middle-grade novel The Elephant's Girl. She is a musical theater performer and an active participant in her local writing community. She lives in Utah with her husband and two children, where they have a miniature railroad with a rideable steam train.

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Chapter 1 

Tip One: Never Repeat a Trick 

You never really know if you’re ready to perform a magic trick until you give it a try. I shuffle the cards and think through the steps of this new trick one more time. The sunlight shines through the living room windows, creating boxes of light on the blue carpet. I remember Mom wanted to replace that blue carpet. 

Kennedy, who isn’t my babysitter, pours what’s left in her cup of water into the soil of Mom’s withering houseplant. I have been watering it, and I put it in the sun every morning. I’ve done that for a year, but right now it’s not doing well.

“Maybe we should pick up some plant food from the garden store,” she says, giving the plant a look of pity. People look at me that way sometimes. It makes me want to change the subject. 

“Maybe we should go to the pool,” I say, shuffling my cards again. I use the overhand technique. 

Kennedy smiles. “Harrison, your skin is still sunburned from the last time I took you and your friends swimming.” 

I look from her dark-brown skin to the bright-pink tint all over my white arms. “I’ll wear more sunscreen.” 

Kennedy is starting college at the end of the summer. She’s practically a grown-up. She has a car and a job working for her mom’s talent agency. But even though Kennedy is like six years older than me, she’s one of my best friends. And she’s been hanging out with me a lot since Mom died last year.

“Mmm,” she says, sitting on the couch and checking her phone. “Maybe I’ll just put my feet in.” She glances up and gives me a serious expression. “But you and the guys have to promise not to splash me.” 

“Okay,” I say. Kennedy’s black hair is smooth and much straighter than it was the last time we went to the pool. She’s told me that it takes a long time to get her hair done that way. “Are you ready for this one?” I hold up my deck of cards. 

She sets her phone down. “Ready. What is this trick called?” 

“Topsy Turvy Cards.” 

I use the coffee table, and Kennedy watches as I spread out the cards, to show they’re all facing the same direction. She looks at the cards and then at me. I think she’s wondering if I’ll give away the secret. 

I follow the steps as I remember them, turning the cards over in my hand like the video showed. I make it seem like I’ve turned half of the stack faceup and half of the stack facedown. But by passing a “magic” card through the center of the deck, suddenly the cards are all the same direction again. 

Kennedy grins. “Wow, Harrison. I totally didn’t see how you did that,” she says. 

“Is that sarcasm?” I let out an awkward laugh. 

“No, not at all. I don’t know how you did it.” She leans forward. “Lemme see it again.” 

I gather up my cards in one hand. “No way.” 

“Pleeeease.” 

This is a test. I’m sure of it. 

“A magician never repeats a trick,” I say. 

“Because?” She raises one eyebrow. 

Yeah, she was testing me. Kennedy knows what happened last time I showed a card trick to Creed and a few of the other kids at karate. 

“Because someone will figure out your secret and ruin the mystery.” 

Kennedy pumps her open hands toward the ceiling. “I think he’s got it!” 

The air-conditioning clicks on and blows the curtains by the sliding glass doors. Sometimes, when the air is blowing from the vents, I still smell whispers of Mom’s hairspray and perfume. 

“But can I make one suggestion?” Kennedy pulls out her phone again and motions for me to come closer. 

“Sure,” I say. 

Kennedy types the words magician persona in a search on her phone. I’ve been watching YouTube tutorials for how to do these card tricks, but I’ve never seen those words together before. 

“You and I know a lot about show business because of our moms, right?” Kennedy’s mom was my mom’s talent agent and friend. I like how Kennedy brings up my mom in regular conversation, like it’s no big deal. When Dad talks about Mom--or I mention her in front of him--it feels like a big deal. 

“Well . . . you know about show business from both of your parents,” she says, waving her hand like that wasn’t her point. “What I’m saying is, to be a good magician, you’ve got to bring in some performance quality to your tricks.” 

“Okaaay,” I say. “Like what?” 

“Look here.” Kennedy shows me the website for a stage magician named Leo Abbott. “This says, ‘A magician persona is a character you play as the magician. Your audience might be impressed by how well you do the magic tricks, but you add to the wonder by the way you present yourself.’ ” 

I read the list on her screen. “ ‘Magicians can be mysterious, scary, funny . . .’ ” 

“ ‘Decide on your style, and then perform with the trick,’ ” Kennedy says. She drops her phone on the couch and points across the room toward the fireplace. “Go over there like you’ve just walked onstage in front of a huge audience. They are waiting. A completely silent crowd, holding their breath in anticipation. Waiting for your magic.” 

I’ve learned not to argue with Kennedy. She’s usually right anyway. 

I take my deck of cards and stand in front of the fireplace, facing her. 

“Now, who are you? You feel those stage lights warm your face. The music is quiet. It’s just you: a magician and your cards.” 

I take a deep breath. I can’t imagine I would ever be in front of a huge audience. Kennedy widens her eyes at me, and I start laughing. 

“You’re making this too serious,” I say. 

She smiles. “Okay, so maybe you’re a comedic magician. You make people laugh with your tricks.” 

“I don’t think so. I just feel weird standing here like this.” 

“Face the other way, then. Pretend I’m not here. Imagine performing as a magician. How will you act?” 

I turn toward the fireplace. The hearth still has a clay sculpture on it that Mom made. She thought it was terrible, and only made it because her sister, Maggie, was visiting, and Aunt Maggie gets everyone to try art projects. The sculpture is supposed to be me and Mom together. I asked to keep it, even though she didn’t think it was very good. The memory feels heavy enough to make my shoulders slump. It makes me feel like I don’t want to go swimming or see my karate friends today. 

Suddenly, I know what my magician person-thing will be. It’ll be mysterious and keep my audience from knowing too much. It will be impressive and confident. It will push away this sad feeling. 

“Harrison?” Kennedy says. “Don’t make it too hard. You can try out some different ways.” 

I think of all the times I saw Mom perform onstage. Even when I watched her from the wings, I noticed what Kennedy is talking about. Mom had a way of being bigger and braver than her usual self when she was in front of an audience. 

I can be like that. 

I turn...