Potion Problems Page 12
16 flour tortillas
1 can or jar enchilada sauce
2 cups shredded cheddar cheese
sour cream (optional)
salsa (optional)
guacamole (optional)
In a saucepan, sauté onions and peppers till softened. Add veggie crumbles and spinach. Mix in pan until everything is hot. Add can of crushed tomatoes and taco seasoning packet. Let cool for ten minutes.
Put several spoons of mixture into a tortilla and roll it up. Place rolled tortillas side by side in a baking dish. Fill dish with tortillas. Pour enchilada sauce over the tortillas and sprinkle with shredded cheddar cheese.
Bake in 350-degree oven for 30 to 40 minutes or until hot and bubbly.
Serve with sour cream, salsa, and guacamole.
SLOWPOKE COOKER FETTUCCINE
11/2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breast
2 8-oz packages mushrooms
2 8-oz packages light cream cheese
11/2 cups parmesan cheese
2 sticks butter
11/2 cups skim milk
1 pound fettuccine
garlic salt
pepper
Put all ingredients except fettuccine in slow cooker.
Cook on low for 4 hours, or high for 2 hours.
Cook fettuccine according to package directions.
Add to slow cooker.
Mix fettuccine and sauce in slow cooker
and let warm through for 20 minutes on low.
AWESOME VELVETY RED-CARPET CAKE WITH FILLING
1 stick butter, melted
4 oz cream cheese, softened
1 cup buttermilk
3 eggs
1 cup premade vanilla pudding
1 tsp vanilla
3 drops red food coloring
1 box butter-flavored cake mix
1 tsp cocoa powder
1 can or jar raspberry or strawberry pie filling
1 can butter or cream cheese frosting
Blend melted butter, softened cream cheese, buttermilk, eggs, pudding, vanilla, and food coloring with a hand mixer. Add cake mix and cocoa powder. Blend thoroughly until the batter is a rich red. Add additional food coloring if necessary. Divide evenly into two greased cake pans. Bake at 350-degrees until cooked through. (Time will depend on your pan; approx. 20 minutes for a 9-inch baking pan.)
Let cakes cool, then remove from pans.
Spread pie filling on top of one cake, then place the second cake on top of the filling.
Cover entire cake with frosting.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Recipe for successful writing:
5 crunchy critique partners: John, KB, Jane, June, Chris, Janis, Kathleen, and Greg
1 scrumptious editor: Alyson Heller
1 delicious agent: Alyssa Henkin
3 fabulous children: Ellie, Evan, and Happy
1 understanding hub: Kevin
1 bazillion encouraging family members
A sprinkling of friends who tolerate this life of mine
And the cherries on top: The readers, librarians, and teachers who send me e-mails, letters, pictures, selfies, posts, and Tweets
TURN THE PAGE FOR A LOOK AT WHERE IT ALL BEGAN.
1
The Secret in the Attic
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 po
oped in her yard again. Would you please go over and pick it up?”
Mrs. Silvers is my older-than-dirt neighbor from across the street and she’s as nasty as a witch. She’s convinced that Rosey, our beagle, flies over, or tunnels under, our fenced-in backyard every day for the sole purpose of pooping in her yard. One day, when Rosey was a puppy, before we had the fence, she actually did poop in that yard and Mrs. Silvers saw her. Rosey hasn’t left our yard since. Still, thanks to that incident, I scoop for every dog on Coyote Street that uses Mrs. Silvers’s yard as their personal bathroom.
While scooping didn’t thrill me, I was dying to get out of the hot attic to get some sunlight and fresh air. “Sure,” I said, and Mom vanished back down the stairs.
Darbie said, “She looks like she’s arming herself to enter a chicken pox colony.”
“Unlike you, my mom hates bugs and spiders. She won’t touch them. When she cleans, she’s afraid they’ll land in her hair or crawl into her ears,” I explained.
Darbie considered this. I could tell she was thinking about the bug thing.
“Before you ask, no. You can’t stay and catch any. Besides, bats and rats hang out in attics, not bugs,” I told her.
When our attic work was pretty much done, we headed across the street to Mrs. Silvers’s house. I walked, pooperscooper in hand, while Darbie Rollerbladed. She blades pretty much everywhere. The crazy thing is that Darbie isn’t a great blader. She’s an okay blader who just manages to keep herself upright. (Of course, I don’t tell her that.) She stumbled to the driveway, to the sidewalk, to the street, to the grass. I held out my arm in case she needed it for balance.
I couldn’t get the Secret Recipe Book out of my mind. “Why do you think they’re hidden in the encyclopedia?”
“What? The recipes?” Darbie asked.
“Darb, not just any recipes, secret recipes.”
“Right. Well, they are probably hidden because they’re secret.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.” As we got to the yard I warned Darbie, “Don’t look directly into Mrs. Silvers’s eyes. You’ll turn to stone.”
Mrs. Silvers yelled from her front porch, “If I see that mutt again, I’m going to call the pound!” She was surprisingly loud for a woman who looked old enough to be dead. Besides the flabby wrinkles that hung from a face covered in a perpetual scowl, her white hair made her recognizable from miles away. It was short and somehow able to defy gravity by sticking straight up in the air. It reminded me of one of those toy trolls that sits on top of a pencil. And while I assumed she had feet, we couldn’t see them under the weird muumuu/housedress thing she always wore.
“Man, Silvers is a grouch-a-saurus,” Darbie said under her breath.
“You would be too if you were a hundred years old and bent over all crooked,” I said. I didn’t actually know how old she was, but a hundred sounded about right.
“Why do you have to scoop the poop?” Darbie asked.
“Since Rosey’s mostly my dog, I have to be responsible for her.” I mimicked my dad on “responsible for her.” “And because, if I don’t, I won’t get my allowance, which I need to support my Swirley habit.” Darbie nodded understandingly. She and Hannah had the habit too.
Super Swirleys were the best milkshakes in Delaware, and possibly the world. They’re ice cream and all kinds of other stuff blended into a heavenly frozen concoction. I can’t live without them. They were made at Sam’s Super iScream, which, luckily, was within walking distance from my house.
After a refreshing breath of mid-Atlantic air, we headed back across the street and entered my house through the garage. We stopped in the kitchen for ice water.
Our vegetable-themed kitchen was my favorite room in the house. The walls were painted artichoke green. Our plates were eggplant purple and stacked nicely in a tall glass-doored cabinet. The wallpaper border was a conga line of dancing carrots, cucumbers, bell peppers, radishes, and mushrooms, all with legs, holding pretty much every kitchen appliance, gadget, and accessory imaginable.
Mom appeared, thankfully sans her protective gear. Her spider-free blond hair was flipped up in a clip. She’d changed into a clean LIFE IS GOOD shirt, gray cotton mini-skirt, and cute sandals: undorked. “If I pretend Darbie isn’t wearing Rollerblades in my kitchen, will you girls load all the attic stuff into the minivan?” she asked.
We kept quiet, not excited about loading.
“After that, maybe we’ll get you two busy bees a soda.”
Silence. No sale, as my dad would say.
“Oh, all right. After we drop off all the attic stuff at Goodwill, I’ll pay you for your work and treat you to Swirley’s.” We smiled.
Darbie asked Mom, “Can we maybe meet Hannah-Hoobi-Haha at the pool after her laps?” Darbie loved to add a little jazz to Hannah’s name.
Mom said, “I think we can do that.”
SOLD to the lady with the minivan!
Darbie and I looked at each other and did our happy dance by swiveling our hips in a small circle and shifting our bodies from side to side. We sang, “Oh yeah. It’s your birthday, it’s my birthday.”
Darbie switched to flip-flops and we loaded the van. I worked quickly because I was anxious to fill my belly with a Super Swirley and read the Secret Recipe Book. When we were done, I stuck the book in a canvas messenger bag that I wore across my chest.
As luck would have it, my little brother, Buddy, tagged along. He was five going on annoying. The only thing good about having Buddy with us was that he couldn’t be rummaging through my bedroom and smearing his boogers on the wall. (Seriously, I actually caught him doing it.) Before we were even out of the driveway he was singing “The Wheels on the Bus” painfully loud. Darbie and I put our hands over our ears. As we drove off in the noise polluted, air-conditioned van, I saw Mrs. Silvers looking out her living room window.
Buddy sang, “ALL THROUGH THE TOWN!”
About the Author
CINDY CALLAGHAN writes stuff tweens love to read. Her books—Just Add Magic, Lost in London, Lost in Ireland (previously titled Lucky Me), Lost in Paris, Lost in Rome, Lost in Hollywood, and Sydney Mackenzie Knocks ’Em Dead—entertain young book lovers and reluctant readers alike. When asked what it is about her books that tweens love, she said, “The funny! Without a doubt, it’s the funny situations, characters, and dialogue. A few milk shakes and farts don’t hurt either.” Cindy’s first book, the much-loved Just Add Magic, is now a breakout Amazon Original live-action series.
In addition to writing, Cindy’s passions include animal advocacy, exercising, moviegoing, weekends in the mountains, reading, podcasts, and girlfriends, all of which take a backseat to her three children, husband, and menagerie of rescued pets. She lives in Delaware.
CINDYCALLAGHAN.COM
ALADDIN M!X
Simon & Schuster, New York
Visit us at simonandschuster.com/kids
Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Cindy-Callaghan
ALSO BY CINDY CALLAGHAN
Just Add Magic
Lost in London
Lost in Paris
Lost in Rome
Lost in Ireland (formerly titled Lucky Me)
Lost in Hollywood
Sydney Mackenzie Knocks ’Em Dead
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ALADDIN
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
First Aladdin paperback edition August 2018
Text copyright © 2018 by Cindy Callaghan
Cover illustration copyright © 2018 by Annabelle Metayer
Also available in an Aladdin hardcover edition.
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ALADDIN and related logo are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
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Book designed by Nina Simoneaux
The illustrations for this book were rendered digitally.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Names: Callaghan, Cindy, author.
Title: Potion problems / by Cindy Callaghan.
Description: First Aladdin hardcover edition. | New York : Aladdin, 2018.
Series: Just add magic ; 2 | Identifiers: LCCN 2018001761 | ISBN 9781534417403 (hc)
ISBN 9781534417410 (pbk) | ISBN 9781534417427 (eBook)
Subjects: BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Cooking & Food. | JUVENILE FICTION /
Social Issues / Friendship. | JUVENILE FICTION / Girls & Women. |
Classification: LCC PZ7.C12926 Po 2018 | DDC [Fic—dc23]
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018001761