Just Add Magic

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ALADDIN M!X

Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing Division

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com

First Aladdin M!X edition October 2010

Copyright © 2010 by Cindy Callaghan

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

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.

Designed by Jessica Handelman

The text of this book was set in Lomba Book.

Manufactured in the United States of America/0810 OFF

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Control Number 2010923139

ISBN 978-1-4424-0268-3
ISBN 978-1-4424-0269-0 (eBook)

There is nothing more magical in life than the people we share it with. I'm very lucky to be surrounded by wonderful people.

I'd like to thank my wonderful critique group, The WIPs: Chris, Gale, Shannon, Karen, Jill, Jane, Jo, Lara, and Carolee. These gals are my writing support network, and I am very fortunate to have them.

Thank you to the world's best literary agent, Sarah Davies of Greenhouse Literary Agency, who invested her time and patience in me and in Kelly's story. I am so appreciative of her and her advice. Further, I'd like to thank Julia Churchill, also of GH, for this title.

I am thankful to everyone at Aladdin M!X, most especially Alyson Heller, magical editor, who had confidence in this story from the beginning.

I've been encouraged by many friends—old, new, local, distant, college, high school, neighbors, and work. . . . Thank you all for listening to my plots, and for reading my blog . . . or for telling me you do, even if you don't (ahem . . . Julie, Chris, Pam, Tricia, and Maria.)

One word: Dad. He read draft after draft after draft.
Thanks for reminding me for the last thirty-something years that I am creative. And, Mom, thanks for giving me the 'tude that I
can
do anything! Sue and Mark, thanks for smiling and nodding through all my half-baked ideas without laughing—at least not to my face.

Thanks to my mother-in-law, who critiqued and meticulously corrected the same grammar mistakes repeatedly, and cheered on every milestone! And thanks to my dad-in-law for encouraging me through each small victory.

I need to recognize my fan club (everyone should have one), a.k.a. The Nieces. The girls who gave me more advice than I could possibly ever use in a thousand lifetimes: Anna, Mikayla, Taylor, Nikk-o-licous, Kelsey, Shawn, Lauren . . . (Sorry, Dan, John, Chris, and Sean, it's a girl thing!). And also my little fan friends from St. Mary Magdalen, some of whom inspired the characters in
Just Add Magic
—that would be you, Mel and Kylie.

The
most
magical thing in my life? My chief creative consultant, Ellie; the one-boy market research shop and marketing president, Evan; and think tank leader, Happy. These cherubs are a constant reminder of priorities in life and they've influenced every page herein.

And last but not least, my husband, Kevin, who supports me in being anything I want to be.

 

Question:
What do you get when you mix two girls
hungry for cash with a cleaning project?

Answer:
Kelly Quinn and Darbie O'Brien in a dark, dusty,
spider-webby attic on their last day of summer vacation.

Correction: I, Kelly Quinn, was cleaning. Darbie Rollerbladed in the clutter-free areas, careful not to bang her head on the rafters.

THUD!

I had missed Darbie this summer while she had been at her dad's house at the beach and I had been at camp. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“Fine.” Darbie sat among the piles of attic stuff, rubbing her head. “Where did all this junk-arooni come from?” she asked.

“Some of it was my grandmother's. And some belongs
to the witch, Mrs. Silvers, from across the street. Her basement flooded years ago, and presto, we got her junk,” I said.

“Are you gonna give it back to her?”

“She says she doesn't want any of it,” I said.

Darbie lifted a heavy old book out of a tub full of old books, magazines, and newspapers. “Check out this book. It looks older than my grandpa Stan.” She blew off the dust, her skin shining with sweat, and I noticed her freckles were dark from her beach tan. (I never mention her freckles out loud. Last time I did, she Rollerbladed over my sandwich: smoked ham and Muenster cheese, with honey mustard on rye.)

Books are “blah” to Darbie. I don't love them myself, unless it's my journal or one of my cookbooks.

Oh, BTW, I'm Kelly Quinn, age twelve, seventh-grader, lover of all things cooking, mediocre soccer player, average student, and best friend to Darbie O'Brien and Hannah Hernandez.

I wasn't thrilled to spend my last day of summer vacation cleaning the attic. However, I needed the money, and any time I could spend hanging with one of my BFFs couldn't be all that bad.

“Look, Kell,” Darbie said excitedly, dusting off a book. “It's dated 1953.” For a book to capture Darbie's attention, I figured it must've been something pretty interesting.

“Wow, that's older than my mom.” I wiped the rest of the book off with the bottom of my T-shirt. “It's a
World Book
Encyclopedia, Volume T
.”

“Encyclopedia? Yuck!” Darbie tossed the book like it was a hot tamale burning her fingers. I was curious, so I flipped through it. I looked for “tamale.”

It only took a second for me to realize there was no tamale, tomato, turnovers, or anything else starting with the letter
T
. In fact, the book wasn't filled with anything encyclopedia-ish. The original pages were pasted over with yellowed stationery. The papers were thick, a little crunchy, and stained in places. The words on the stationery were handwritten, a little sloppy, and a few were in Spanish. I knew what I was looking at right away.

These were recipes.

I sat on the trunk and looked at each heavy page. The names of the recipes were very interesting: Forget-Me-Not Cupcakes, Love Bug Juice, and Tell Me the Truth Tea. And there were notes written all around the edges of the stationery, in the margins of the encyclopedia.

“Darbie,” I said. “This isn't an encyclopedia at all. It's a bunch of recipes
hidden in
an encyclopedia. Do you know what that makes this?” I asked.

“A recipedia!” Darbie said, grabbing some chunky pearls and bejeweled sunglasses from a hatbox as she Rollerbladed by. “That sounds perfect for a Food Network junkie like you.” She was right. I
love
to cook. Ever since my encounter with the famous TV chef Felice Foudini herself, I haven't
been able to get enough of cooking. My mom and I cook together all the time, and my other BFF, Hannah, gave me the very first book in my cookbook collection, which consists of six books ranging across the meal, dessert, and snack spectrums. They're stored on a kitchen shelf with different colored Post-it notes sticking out from all sides.

“No, not a recipedia. Listen to this stuff: ‘Induces sleep,' ‘Keeps 'em quiet,' ‘Brings your true
amor
.' Darbie, there's only one thing better than a cookbook, and that's a Secret Recipe Book! And that's exactly what this is.”

Just then, the latch on the attic door jiggled. It rattled hard like someone was trying to break in, which was strange because I would've preferred breaking
out
. Suddenly my sweaty mom, who had been cleaning out the garage, tumbled into the attic from pushing the door so hard. She stood at the top of the stairs with a red bandana covering her hair and ears, and yellow rubber dishwashing gloves covering her hands, looking like she'd just appeared on
Extreme Makeover: Dork Edition
. Thank goodness Hannah wasn't here to see the outfit. She's our local fashionista, particularly known for always color coordinating her headband, outfit, and socks.

“Mrs. Silvers just called.” Mom sounded frustrated that Mrs. Silvers had interrupted her cleaning day. “She said Rosey pooped in her yard again. Would you please go over and pick it up?”