“But first,” Archie says, “we need to make sure there’s enough magic in this room. So when I shout ‘Who believes in magic?’ I need you all to shout ‘We do!’ as loud as you can. Ready?”
“Who believes in magic?”
“We do!”
“Louder!”
“WE DO!”
“Perfect.” Archie turns to me. His eyes are sparkling with the particular malice of someone who’s been waiting for this moment all day. “And now, Sparkle…”
Oh no.
He points at me.
I know what’s coming. We rehearsed this. I agreed to this. But agreeing to something in private and doing it in front of all these children and their camera-wielding parents are two very different experiences.
“Tell everyone what you are, Sparkle.”
The children’s expectant faces stare at me.
“I’m the proof,” I say.
“Sorry, Sparkle, I don’t think they heard you. Unicorns need to project.”
“I’m the proof.”
“Sparkle, those children in the back row believe in magic, and they deserve to hear you. One more time?”
“I’m the proof!”
The children erupt. Archie beams at me like a proud parent, which is deeply patronizing given that he’s the one who wrote this material.
“Beautiful,” he says. “Really felt that one.”
I’m going to get him back for this. I don’t know how. But it’s happening.
“Now, everyone find a spot to sit down, crisscross applesauce, eyes on me.” Archie waits while fifteen children scramble into position with varying degrees of coordination. “Perfect. Now, I’m going to need my lovely assistant Sparkle to bring me my magic bag. Sparkle? The sparkly one. Yes, that one. No, the other sparkly one. There are several sparkly bags, as you can see.”
I grab the bag covered in sequined stars and bring it to him, feeling the children’s eyes tracking my every move.
“Excellent. Now, for my first trick, I’m going to need a very special volunteer.” Archie scans the crowd of eager faces, hands shooting up everywhere. “Someone who looks like they have magic in their soul. Sparkle, do you have magic in your soul?”
“I have sweat in my onesie. Does that count?”
The parents laugh. The children look confused.
“Sadly, no. Sparkle is what we call ‘magically challenged.’ It’s a real condition. Very sad.” Archie shakes his head mournfully. “But he makes up for it by holding things and looking impressed. Sparkle, can you show everyone your impressed face?”
I stare at him.
“That’s his impressed face,” Archie tells the children. “I know. It needs work. We’re trying.”
I should be annoyed. I am annoyed. But I’m also fighting the urge to laugh, which is an uncomfortable combination.
The first trick involves silk scarves that Archie pulls from a hat. Except it quickly becomes apparent that the hat isn’t the only source.
“Sparkle, could you turn around for the audience?”
