Page 2 of Impractical Magic

“Really?! And you left? Why would anybody leave a paradise like this?”

“Well, that’s a pretty personal question there, Marty.” The truth burbled up inside Scarlett like heartburn. You see, Marty, she thought, sometimes in life, a person makes a mistake so big—does a thing so unforgivable—that she can’t go home again, ever, no matter how much she may want to. So, she moves to San Francisco and pretends everything is okay. But Scarlett knew that was a little more honesty than Marty was prepared to handle. So instead, she went with her old standby—the answer she gave everyone who inquired why she hadn’t been home in a decade. “My family is nuts.” It wasn’t true, but it usually shut people up.

Not Marty. “Aww, c’mon, that’s no reason. Everyone’s family is nuts in some way or another.”

“Oh, sure. That’s Tolstoy right? All families are nuts in their own way?” Again, this was a joke Scarlett kept in the chamber, ready to be fired whenever someone got a little too nosy. “But you see, my family isn’t, like, low-salt peanuts nuts. My family is full-on, deluxe-roasted macadamias with wasabi peas nuts.” As always, this line left Scarlett with a sour feeling in her gut. They weren’t so bad, her family. She actually liked them rather a lot. But that wasn’t information she cared to share with Uber drivers.

“Sure, you say they’re crazy, but in the end, family is family, and families should be together. Don’t you think?”

“Together?” She laughed bitterly. “Trust me, bad things happen when we’re together, Marty. Very bad things.”

“Aw, I don’t believe that. You know what they say: ‘In times of test, family is best.’”

Good grief, she thought. Of all the Ubers in all the world, I had to get into Dr. Phil’s.

The car steadily rumbled along the winding road, passing by quaint homes with white picket fences and vibrant gardens.

Finally, they reached Galloping Hill Road, which led directly to the quintet of cobblestone streets that passed for Oak Haven’s “downtown.” But first, the car had to traverse Bonfire Creek, its banks lined with goldenrod and asters. The creek made a mirror, doubling the images of autumn trees along its bank. The gentle waters flowed beneath a charming, if dubious-looking covered bridge with barn-red sides and a mansard roof.

With a certain trepidation, Marty allowed his car to slowly cross the bridge. The aged wooden planks of the bridge groaned and creaked under the weight of the vehicle, and the scent of damp wood permeated the air. Marty released a little “hmmph . . .” sound, clearly questioning the decision to trust the fate of his precious Kia Sorento with the cranky old bridge.

“We kids used to jump off this bridge all the time,” Scarlett offered by way of distraction.

“Oh really . . . ?” He was staring out his window as the car rolled slowly forward, as if he could keep the bridge aloft by concentration alone.

“No, not really,” she admitted. “Bonfire Creek is pretty shallow, and the adults always warned us that we’d bust our heads open if we tried it. I did manage it once though.”

“Ah, good for you,” said Marty, who could not possibly care less about anything that did not involve the safety of his Kia.

“Of course, my parents completely flipped and grounded me for about three months, but . . . I say, worth it. I’m the only one who ever dove off that roof.”

But with a pang, Scarlett realized she hadn’t been home in a decade. Maybe all the kids did it now. Maybe it was no big deal.

At last, the car was over the bridge and Marty could relax—sort of. He was probably already worrying about having to use the bridge again to get home.

As the Uber continued through the center of Oak Haven, Scarlett looked out the window and frowned. Something wasn’t right, and it wasn’t just the road work. All her favorite shops were still around: Spellbound Books; Henrietta’s music store; the All Who Wander travel agency. The lampposts were adorned with fresh garlands of vibrant leaves, overflowing flower boxes boasted clusters of cheerful chrysanthemums, and street parking remained free as ever. Everything seemed fine, but . . . something was off. No children in the town square, jumping in piles of raked leaves. No jack-o’-lanterns grinning from the windows. And . . .

Oh! She realized with a start. Where are the gourds?!

In Oak Haven, autumn had always meant gourds. Gourds in every shop window, gourds piled in the town square, gourds everywhere you looked. There were gourds shaped like swans and UFOs. There were gourds with warts and gourds with wings, bicolored, tricolored, and multicolored, too. Gourds by the hundreds, by the thousands—a parliament of gourds, a berserk of gourds, a madness. A level of gourd-intensity that could only be achieved via multiple spells maintained by a coven of gourd-obsessed witches.

But as the Uber made its way down Main, Scarlett saw no berserk of gourds. In fact, she saw none whatsoever.

Then she noticed the weather. It was just . . . okay. Not perfect, a little cloudy. Just . . . fine. That’s when she realized the gourds were just a symptom. The illness was normalcy.

Oak Haven looked like any other lovely, tastefully decorated New England village. It used to be an enchanted place. Now it was just a place.

Several days earlier, her sister Delilah had left an urgent voicemail, summoning Scarlett home immediately. At the time, Scarlett had just rolled her eyes, unable to imagine what her sister was all worked up about. But now, gazing out the window at her unrecognizably normal town, Delilah’s cryptic message became alarmingly clear: there was a problem with magic in Oak Haven.

The voicemail had said, “Scarlett, come home. It’s happening again.” And then, almost as an afterthought, “Oh and Nate’s been asking about you.” Click.

***

Dropping Nate’s name had been a cheap shot on Delilah’s part.

The will-they-or-won’t-they drama of teenage Scarlett and Nate had been closely followed by everyone in Oak Haven. After all, the two were children of the town’s most prominent families, the Melroses and the Williams. For that reason alone, many said that their union was fated from the start. And when witches tell you something is fate? They aren’t kidding. To the elders of Oak Haven, the tale of Scarlett and Nate wasn’t so much will-they-or-won’t-they but when-will-they-dammit.

Alas, the witches misunderstood something fundamental about teenagers: if you want them to do something, the worst thing you can do is tell them they should. The more Scarlett and Nate were told they were meant to be, the more they clung to the “friend zone.” The two were inseparable, yes, but platonically so—stubbornly, platonically so. They ignored the whispers, giggles, and side-eyes from all the opinionated observers in town, remaining steadfast in their commitment to chart their own, just-friends course.