The Magic Misfits - Neil Patrick Harris Page 0,2
she passed, causing a loud screech as its legs scraped the marble floor. The tweed-suited people grimaced.
“Soooor-ry!” she said again, smoothing her skirt and hurrying after Ridley, who was already well ahead.
They passed by other participants. Glancing at their poster boards, Ridley noticed a variety of project titles: THE AUTOMATIC PAGE TURNER, THE EASY RAKE WITH ATTACHED LEAF-COLLECTION BAG, THE REMOTE-CONTROL LIGHT SWITCH, THE LOST MARBLE LOCATOR. She wasn’t sure what some of them were, but it was possible one of them would blow her invention right out of the water.
“Are you as nervous as I am?” Ms. Parkly asked. The little laugh again.
“I’m fine!” Ridley answered, much louder than she’d meant to. Her teacher’s odd mannerisms were getting to her. She tried to fix it with a wide grin, but then worried that might make it worse, so she made her face go blank, which she was sure only made her look like a creep.
“Good!” Ms. Parkly replied, pink faced. “Me too! I’m actually not nervous at all. I don’t even know why I said that.”
“It’s all right,” Ridley said quietly. The steam engine in her chest went ka-chunk-ka-chunk-ka-chunk. Maybe it would help to just admit it. “I actually am a tiny bit anxious.”
She plopped the large bag atop the table and zipped it open. Within seconds, she’d removed her poster board and propped it up for all to see. The red title at the top stood out: THE TRANSFORMING STAIRCASE. Below were the various blueprints and diagrams that Ridley had put together, as well as drawings of the finished product and a detailed description. Ridley then laid out the pieces of her miniature staircase model and reached to the rear of her chair for her portable toolbox to begin putting it together.
Ms. Parkly hovered nearby. “Can I help?”
“Don’t touch that,” Ridley said, shifting a chisel away from her teacher’s accident-prone hands. She then picked up a fine-pointed screwdriver to attach some small cogs to the model’s rubber bands. “Maybe you could go find me a cup of water,” she suggested without looking up.
“Will you be all right by yourself?”
That made Ridley look up. “Of course I’ll be fine by myself.” She couldn’t stop her face from twisting into a sneer.
“Ah. Well. Then I’ll be back in a jiff.” Ms. Parkly walked away quickly.
Replaying her words in her head, Ridley felt suddenly guilty. She’d have to spend the entire train ride back to Mineral Wells doing magic tricks to smooth things over. She had let her quick temper (and her nerves) take over once again.
Across the aisle, a group of young participants was setting up their own table. They were working together to arrange something they’d named THE GARDEN OF THE FUTURE. They had a lush green diorama filled with miniature plants and trees. Each member of the group unveiled a special tool and propped it against the table. One looked like a modified hand trowel with some sort of electric panel stuck to the short shaft. Another was a divot-making device—its head a toothy, spinning mechanism that looked like it could punch out pieces of earth. A third looked like an ordinary shovel… until a member of the group flipped a switch and it began vibrating. Perhaps to help a digger get through hard-packed earth.
The group laughed at something, and Ridley was struck with a memory of her own friends—her magicians club. She was suddenly jealous of the young inventors who had one another for support and warmth and chatter, when all she had was a klutzy, overly enthusiastic teacher. For the first time that morning, Ridley wished Theo, Leila, Carter, and the twins could be here with her, to cheer her on.
(And who wouldn’t? Even after the friends’ recent, shall we say, bumps in the road, I assure you that the Misfits were wishing they could be with Ridley to cheer her on too.)
Someone at the corner of her vision was staring. Ridley looked down the long aisle to find an older woman standing with her shoulders slumped, her arms hanging limply, her lips parted slightly as if she was about to speak but had forgotten what she’d wanted to say. Her gray hair was short and curled, and she wore cat-eye glasses and a purple-and-pink-polka-dotted dress. After a moment, Ridley recognized her: It was Mrs. Maloney, a librarian in Mineral Wells. She’d also been one of the judges of the talent show at the end of the summer.
Mrs. Maloney shivered, her head twitching slightly. She started