Flip and Pate’s Magical Potion Adventure Preview

Chapter One

 

I got into a heap of trouble last spring. And I mean BIG trouble. The kind of trouble that makes your parents use your whole name. For me, that’s Sophia MacAllister Phlippet, which is quite a mouthful for anyone. That’s why my friends call me Flip.

My terrible woes of the spring of my fifth-grade year all started because I like to dabble, and by that, I mean, experiment with magic. It’s something my grandmother taught me. I’m actually part witch. Not an old-time witch with a big nose with a wart growing out of it and a pointy chin, but a modern-day one who wears shirts with monkeys on them, pulls her ponytail through a baseball cap, and dabbles in potions.

I didn’t know I was a little different from the other kids at school until the second grade. Gran explained it all one night while she was babysitting me. She’s from the old country, which in her case means someplace across the Atlantic Ocean, and she was born with the power to dabble. She can mix up interesting elixirs or potions that cause people to do unusual things. She had an ancient book that held the spells, and she created a few doozies! Never when my mother was home, though. As far as I know, Mom has the gift but doesn’t like to talk about it. It’s out of her comfort zone. Gran says Mom never enjoyed dabbling in magic for some reason.

So anyway, by the end of the school year, not only did I get detention but my best friend, Nicholas Peyton, almost dumped me because of the trouble I caused! It partially involved football, of course, because Pate, as everyone calls him, loves everything to do with that sport. And our/my dabbling caused me to miss the biggest football game of the year. Pate even scored a touchdown for me! And I missed it. He wasn’t very happy with me at all. I explained to him that he would play for our Brookdale Middle School team during the following fall and that there would be other games I would attend. This, along with a humongous apology and a promise not to cook any more potions, seemed to make him feel better.

Pate is much smarter than he acts. Some people think he’s just a not-so-intelligent athlete. According to my mom, he’s not the brightest boy she’s ever met, but according to me, he sure is fun.

The Peytons have lived next door to me since I was a baby, when my family moved to Brookdale. Pate and I grew up together and spent enough time with each other that we could’ve been siblings. We attended the same Gymboree classes, the same preschool, the same kindergarten, and now the same elementary school. We’ve carpooled together for over nine years! That’s a lot of backseat fun. He can be as silly as I can and is almost always up for any crazy plan I mention, which is a great trait for a best buddy to have.

Pate and I were happy and doing well in the fifth grade last spring when I thought up the bright idea that led to our terrible trouble. We had Mrs. Nightshade for our fifth-grade teacher, but we called her Mrs. Nightmare because she sort of was. She could be really strict for a young teacher and didn’t let us get too carried away. We switched out of her room for two of our classes, social studies and language arts (which is a fancy way of saying English class), but spent the rest of the day with her.

Not only were we stuck with her for the whole year, but we also had Justin Johnston (not so fondly known as Justdumb) in our class. He picked on Pate and me a lot. Actually, he picked on me a lot, but since Pate and I were together most of the time, it seemed like he gave Pate a hard time too. He always harassed me whenever he had a chance. Too bad he was so handsome, blond hair that hung over baby-blue eyes, the tallest boy in our class, built like an athlete, but with the personality of an onion. We were on a peewee soccer team together when we were only five years old. I accidentally tripped him as he was headed into the goal to score, and I don’t think he ever forgave me. Almost every day at school was another opportunity for him to hassle me.

One blistery cold morning in March, I arrived at my locker in the hallway outside of our homeroom. Unfortunately, Justdumb’s was only two down from mine. I had finished struggling to get the combination lock open and when the door swung out, thousands of little pieces of paper tumbled out onto the floor. On second thought, not thousands, but probably millions. We had only five minutes before the homeroom bell, so I started scooping up the confetti as quickly as I could and throwing it back in on top of my neatly piled books.

Pate jogged up the hallway to me. “Someone, and I think we both know who, spent probably forever jamming that junk into your locker. Look! The bell’s going to ring, and I can’t be late again or Mrs. Nightmare will have a cow. Let’s just shove it all into my backpack for now.

Bending down, we gathered as many tiny pieces of paper as we could and crammed them into the front pocket of his backpack. Principal Dellworth rounded the corner. We worked faster.

“Well, well, well. What have we here, Mr. Peyton and Miss Phlippet”

Mr. Dellworth was a large man who was always sweating. He was, like my mother, a stickler for neatness. He carried an eraser in his right hand at all times and could frequently be seen removing pencil marks from walls and lockers.

“My school is a clean school, children. I don’t like dirt or untidiness in my hallways. Finish cleaning up this mess and get to class. He strolled on, obviously making a mental note of the two of us as troublemakers.

Just as I finished picking the last shreds off the floor, Justdumb appeared, opened his nearby locker, and fake yawned. Stretching his arms wide, he knocked my door closed. “Oops. Sorry, Flip-Flap. Didn’t mean to do that.” He sniggered as he dug in his filthy mess of a cubbyhole for his morning books.

I ignored him and blew on my fingers to try that lock again. The door popped open on the first try to my great relief and I grabbed my books. Justdumb was looking in a tiny mirror he had taped to the inside of his locker door, smoothing his hair and smiling at himself. Then he unwrapped a blue-raspberry lollipop and leaned back against the cold metal. “Ahh. Flip-Flap, there’s nothing like candy for breakfast.” With that said, he plucked the sucker out of his mouth and threw it into my locker, where it landed with a plop on my science binder. Lots of little pieces of white paper stuck to it too.

Now, I’m not a neat freak like my mother, but I don’t like mess,”especially sticky ones. But by the time I turned to give Justdumb a piece of my mind, he was already strolling through the homeroom door, laughing as he said, “Good morning, Mrs. Nightshade!” in a totally fake, overly polite tone.

Pate witnessed this exchange without saying a word. I moaned and leaned into my locker while he shook his head in sympathy and rolled his eyes. “Whoa, that guy can be a jerk to you. I don’t understand why.”

Knowing how I hated junk in my locker, Pate came to my rescue as usual. He grabbed the lollipop with a piece of scrap paper from his backpack and took it to the trash can. He’s a good guy, and a great friend. “Geez, it’s not even eight o’clock and you and Justin are at it again! But the day will get better, Flip. It’s spring football weather, for one.”

He smiled his crooked grin. His brown hair was messy as usual, and he smelled like mint toothpaste. He was wearing a skateboard shirt, jeans that had come with holes, and new plaid skate shoes. Besides being a football player, Pate is also an avid skateboarder. He dresses the part, too.

We snuck into class just as the bell rang. I glanced at Justdumb, who was covering his mouth with his hand, trying hard not to laugh out loud. He put his right hand to his forehead and gave me the Loser sign. I did a slow burn and sat there, getting angrier and angrier.

The day dragged on, and Pate and I didn’t get to talk much, not even over lunch, because I had to work on my unfinished essay for English due last period and he was studying football plays. We met up again at my locker when the day ended, as we usually walked home together. Pate continued down the hall to grab his coat and homework books.

That’s when Justdumb arrived and began fiddling with his combination lock. He opened it easily, straightened the Pittsburgh Steelers pennant.