The Magic Misfits - Neil Patrick Harris

ONE

Ridley Larsen’s life was a locomotive barreling toward an unknown destination. The events of the past summer made her feel like she was moving through a dark tunnel, one filled with smoke and the occasional screaming whistle, and if she came upon a sharp curve, she feared she might come completely off the tracks.

On this particular morning in early October, Ridley was traveling with a woman her mother had hired to take over Ridley’s homeschooling, Ms. Parkly, and the reason she was thinking about her life as a locomotive was because she and Ms. Parkly were literally riding in a train. The wheels of Ridley’s chair were strapped to a spot beside one of the windows, and the outside world whizzed by, the foliage of early autumn blurring with the crisp and slanted morning light.

Her teacher sat in the row in front of her. Facing backward, the woman was focused on Ridley’s splayed hands. “Do it again! Again!” Ms. Parkly squeaked with excitement.

Ridley was performing a magic trick for her teacher. “Watch closely now,” she said, amused that Ms. Parkly sounded like an amazed little kid visiting Mr. Vernon’s old magic shop. Ridley held out her hands, empty palms facing upward. She curled her fingers into fists. “Pick a hand.”

Ms. Parkly pointed to Ridley’s left.

Ridley covered her left fist with her right hand and then gave them both a rough shake. When she opened her left hand again, a small illustration of the word nope had appeared, printed onto her palm. Ms. Parkly laughed.

“Wrong choice,” said Ridley, now opening her right hand to reveal a small silver screw in her palm. Ms. Parkly offered quiet, excited applause.

Ridley smiled, an odd sensation given the way she’d felt the past several months. After the disaster at the Mineral Wells Talent Show, and the destruction of Vernon’s Magic Shop, pieces of Ridley’s life felt like they’d been transformed as well: her town, of course; her relationships with her closest friends; her beliefs about how life should be. About how she should be. Calm? Tough? More trusting? Or someone who always trusts her gut?

Ridley wondered what her friends would prefer, especially after the way she’d treated them lately—insisting on her own way, barreling forward without a thought for everyone’s safety. Still, she’d had the best of intentions. Didn’t her friends know that?

(Ah, a good question. Have you ever felt uncertain about who you are? About the real you? I know I have. Come to think of it, I’ve never revealed who I am… so perhaps I should stop asking questions!)

“I don’t know how you do it, Ridley,” Ms. Parkly said. “You impress me.”

Ridley shrugged. “If I had a nickel for every time someone said that, I’d be rich.” Then she chuckled. “But probably cranky from all the bags of loose change lying around.”

Ridley’s mother had hired Helena Parkly to be Ridley’s homeschool teacher at the beginning of September, just before Ridley’s father had left on one of his long sales trips. The teacher was a thin woman, slightly taller than Mrs. Larsen. Other than her strawberry-blond bob, Ms. Parkly dressed like someone twenty years older than she actually was—often in a buttoned-up blouse and a scratchy wool jacket and skirt that draped just past her knees. When Ridley had first met her teacher, she’d thought the woman looked professional and intelligent. But she also knew that looks could be deceiving. For one thing, the woman was extremely clumsy, constantly knocking things over or tripping. And very easily distracted by Ridley’s simplest magic tricks.

One of the first things that Ms. Parkly had done after learning about Ridley’s knack for invention was to sign her up for a regional young inventors’ fair in nearby Bell’s Landing, where the two were traveling now. If it had been a ploy to win Ridley’s favor, it had worked. After years of tinkering and imagining impressive machines with little to show for it, Ridley was finally going to prove to herself that her hobby was worthwhile. Useful.

Her project was about transforming shared spaces so that anyone could navigate them with ease. After brainstorming for many hours with her father before he’d left on his latest trip, Ridley had developed a manual crank system that would allow her to move up and down the stairs in their house without having to leave her chair. Ropes, pulleys, wheels, and cogs would temporarily tilt the steps into a ramp formation. Along with a display board that described the mechanics of the device, Ridley had