Sal and Gabi Break the Universe: Chapters 1–9

I stowed my history book and grabbed math so I could do my homework during lunch, then opened my bag of magic tricks and put on my GOTCHA! stamp ring. We would be doing introductions in my eighth-period theater class, and I thought I could use it to demonstrate some sleight of hand.

Apparently he thought he could, because he stepped up to me fast, ferocious, chest out, arms wide.

I tugged the lock open dramatically and, with a flourish, removed it.

“And what did I tell you then, Mr. Robles?”
“That I was on probation.”
“That you were on probation. One more altercation with another student and it would be a-di-os.”

I want you to know that, even though right now I am serving as Yasmany’s counsel, this in no way means I have anything against you. I am your advocate, too, and when you need representation someday, you will see how well I defend you from miscarriages of justice.

Mr. Milagros says that there was no carcass to clean up. And if there’s no chicken, I must acquit ’im.

“Sal induced a panic with his trick,” said Gabi.

“He put dozens of students at risk with his, his...shenanigans!”
She sounded so outraged. I didn’t even think you could be outraged and say the word “shenanigans.”

Do you think it’s in any way appropriate for you to induce mass hysteria in my school? People could have been trampled!

Slowly, skeptically, Gabi uncrossed her arms and opened the hand I’d shaken earlier. She gasped.

When I looked over my shoulder, I saw her bounding toward me.

The pain was starting to subside.

I massaged my patella and looked mournfully at the ceiling.

“Diabetics don’t heal like other people, you know. Even a small cut can lead to gangrene. And a smashed kneecap? They’ll probably have to cut off the whole leg. Ah well,” I said, now speaking directly to my leg, “we had a good run, old pal, didn’t we?”

The Textile Arts teacher was Dr. Doctorpants. That wasn’t his real name—“Dr. Doctorpants’s Cosplay Carnival” was the name of his mask-and-masquerade shop on Etsy, so that’s what everyone called him.

For this trick, I was thinking I’d need a mirror box, a classic magic prop about the size of a cat carrier. It looks like an empty box, and there’s even a window to let people see inside it, but a mirror creates a seemingly invisible compartment the magician can hide things in.

She looked a little scared and a little defiant and a lot like she wished she could send me to the center of the Earth with her eyes.

I started waving my hands around mysteriously. Nothing in my right hand, I showed Octavio, and nothing in my left. Then, after three great flourishes, I materialized from behind my hand...my middle finger.

“Personal foul, Vidón! You’re going...” Then he faltered.

These were all serious actors dedicated to perfect pronunciation and crystal-clear enunciation.

At the front of the room, Mrs. Waked, wearing a black velvet dress and a bustle that gave her a bumblebee butt, was arranging folding chairs in rows close to the stage.

“Mrs. Waked, may I go first today?” I asked. “I like to be the opening act of a show.”
“Well. Far be it from me to curtail your enthusiasm. But I was hoping you’d go last, Sal.”

He was pushing a hospital gurney that held a weird-looking helmet resting on the pillow.

On the first day of class, Mrs. Waked had told us, “All of you are geniuses. Culeco only admits the best. Therefore, as your teacher, I have three jobs. One, to help you do your best work. Two, to help you do your best work more often. Three, to get out of the way while you do your best work. Three is my favorite, because it’s like I am getting paid to sit around and watch great artists perform. It is the epitome of decadence and laziness. You will help me be lazy, won’t you, dear children?”

On the first day of class, Mrs. Waked had told us, “All of you are geniuses. Culeco only admits the best. Therefore, as your teacher, I have three jobs. One, to help you do your best work. Two, to help you do your best work more often. Three, to get out of the way while you do your best work. Three is my favorite, because it’s like I am getting paid to sit around and watch great artists perform. It is the epitome of decadence and laziness. You will help me be lazy, won’t you, dear children?”

The tragic soliloquies made it hard to breathe.

She shot to her feet and bent toward us, leering. “I will need a volunteer. Bwa-ha-ha.”

I waved at the audience and, as they applauded, thought fast about how to confound the lie detector.

“Now, are you ready?” asked Gabi, smug as a sandwich.

The power indicator light on the computer showed the hard drive working hard to try to process my answer.

“How is that false?” said Mrs. Waked. “It was inspired!”

“I ripped a hole in the space-time continuum and borrowed a chicken from another universe.”

The audience tittered the way you do when you don’t quite know how to react.

“You were both incredible. What timing! What panache! And, Sal, that soliloquy! Where in the world did you learn so much about parallel universes?”

I blinked at Mrs. Waked and answered, “My papi’s a calamity physicist.”