OUR MAGICAL ISLAND “Hey, Cam,” MaCall whispered, nudging me in the side to wake up. “What?” I asked groggily, peeling one eye open. “What time is it?” “Midnight,” MaCall grinned. I groaned. “I got some M&Ms from the vending machine at gymnastics. Do you want to share them with me on a magical island?” MaCall asked excitedly. “Huh?” I moaned. “A magical island—the roof!” MaCall whispered, her green eyes lighting up. “Now go get these jeans and tennis shoes on—I don’t want you to get hurt in case you fall off!” MaCall urged, thrusting clothes at me. Yawning, I pulled them on. “Put this belt on too,” MaCall commanded, handing me a pink sparkly belt. “I’m also wearing one. We’ll attach another one between us so we can be like mountain climbers,” MaCall explained, hurriedly tying my belt while she double-knotted hers. “Uh… shouldn’t we tie mine tighter?” I asked, looking doubtfully at my mountain-climbing getup. “Don’t worry about it. You’re lighter than I am,” MaCall sniffed, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder. “Wait. Let me just make sure Mom and Dad are asleep. You stay here.” MaCall, I don’t feel like I’m on a magical island” MaCall tiptoed over to our parents’ room and placed her ear to the door as I sat there fuming. MaCall thinks she’s stealthier than I am, but the truth is, she’s downright noisy. Every time we sneak downstairs to “get a glass of water,” (i.e., eat ice cream and watch our favorite latenight TV show), she either creaks every stair or topples down the whole flight with a giant BANG that would wake the dead. Well I guess the last thing is kind of my fault. I kind of advised her that the faster you move, the quieter you go, but now I see it depends on who’s going. “Definitely snoring,” MaCall announced cheerfully, beckoning for me to follow her. “Well Cam, are you ready?” she asked, quietly opening her bedroom window. (It’s the only one in the house with a removable screen.) “Yes,” I snorted with all the pride an eight-year-old could muster. “Yo. Don’t snort at me like that. I’m thirteen years old. You’re lucky I’m bringing you on this adventure!” MaCall whispered, looking all offended. MaCall pushed me out the window and onto the wood-shingled roof that slanted below it. “Ouch, MaCall!” I screeched, trying to pry the splinter out of my hand. “Now stay there, I’m coming out!” MaCall announced. Two seconds later, she had plopped down beside me. “Whoops!” she cried as she almost slipped on a loose shingle. “If Dad knew about this, he would be so mad!” MaCall said, calmly ripping open her bag of M&Ms and pouring them into her mouth. “Oh yeah. Here,” she said, handing me one brown M&M. “Oh gee, thanks,” I said, crunching down my one M&M. “You’re welcome!” MaCall said cheerfully, silently enjoying her bag of M&Ms. To tell you the truth, I was getting a bit bored. “Do you have any more candy?” I asked hopefully. “I’m not a vending machine,” MaCall said dryly. “MaCall, can we go back now?” I asked hopefully. “No.” A car’s headlights suddenly shone against our house. “Duck!” MaCall screeched, diving to hide her head between her arms. Personally, I don’t think it helped much. I looked at my sister and sighed. “MaCall, I don’t feel like I’m on a magical island. I feel like I’m watching you eat M&Ms,” I moaned, watching her scarf down the last one. “What? You mean you’re not at this very moment burying your toes in hot sizzling sand as the sun sinks into the sea?” MaCall whispered, closing her eyes and sprawling back on the splintery shingles with a contented sigh. “No.” “Well then… use your imagination!” MaCall screeched, then clapped her hand over her mouth. “Do you think Mom and Dad heard that?” “Yes,” I whispered, closing my eyes and grinning. “Even a deaf person would.” “Huh. Then maybe we should go back now,” MaCall said hurriedly, scrambling to her feet. “Wouldn’t want to get grounded for the next 300 years.” MaCall reached out a hand to me and looked at me with mischief in her bright green eyes. I reached out my hand to clasp hers, and at that moment, I knew she was my sister. * * * MY SISTER THE SPY “Hey, Cam, guess what?” MaCall giggled. “What?” I groaned, knowing this meant trouble. “I made us these files for our ‘agency,’” MaCall chirped, slapping down a manila folder with a mysterious number 52 on it. “Did you steal these from Dad’s office?” I asked, looking at them suspiciously. “Yeah, well that is not the topic,” MaCall said breezily. “The topic is that we are starting our own spy agency.” “Oh.” “Aren’t you excited?” MaCall breathed, her eyes practically popping out of her head. “Uh, the thing is, MaCall… whenever we do something together, I usually get in trouble.” MaCall looked offended. “Name five times that happened.” “Well, there was that one time that you convinced me to eat candy on the roof with you because it was a magical island and then dad found the wrappers when he was hanging the Christmas lights.” “Umm—that’s one,” MaCall shrugged in disgust. “And then there was the time you hid your stray cat in my closet and Dad thought it was my cat.” “Well…” MaCall hemmed. “…after which Dad made us knock on every door in the neighborhood to ask if they had lost a cat—which was really embarrassing.” “That was last year,” MaCall said, rolling her eyes. “And then you’re always making me play Naiads… ” I began. “I object to the word ‘always,’” MaCall interrupted. “Dad yelled at us for three hours for that!” “It’s not every day you can pretend you’re a water nymph and steal your little brothers’ souls,” MaCall said smugly. “Also, just recently you gave me five dollars to buy you a drink and a
By Cameron Manor, Illustration by Zoe Hall
