Free Abby Carnelia's One and Only Magical Power by David Pogue

Camp Cadabra had changed.
    She didn’t see Ben until Impromptu class that morning. As soon as he loped into the room, he broke into a huge smile and gave her a quick, clumsy hug. “You did great,” he said.
    â€œIt was your idea,” she countered.
    â€œYeah, but it’s your power.” He seemed convinced at last.
    When Ferd entered the room, once again wearing a huge Hawaiian shirt, the class began. At last, Abby could sink back into the routine of being nobody special.
    But it didn’t last long.
    Ferd’s class that day, as often happened, had more to do with presentation and style than with the step-by-steps for performing one particular trick. At the end of the class, Ferd wrapped up by saying: “And this, my people, is my final word of advice to you in your blossoming impromptu career: Know when to stop. A magician who performs just one unforgettable effect is a genius; a magician who performs just one too many is a fool. Be good, my people. Now be off.”
    As the campers began rounding up their stuff andputting the props back in the prop baskets, he added: “All but you, Miss Carnelia. I’d like a word, if you will.”
    Abby looked up, startled. What on earth would Ferd want with her?
    She looked at Ben, who looked back at her with the same
what-the-heck?
look.
    â€œDon’t worry. He won’t bite,” he whispered. “Just don’t let him give you any fashion tips.”
    As the room cleared, Abby stepped up to the front of the room. “Did—did you want to see me?”
    Ferd opened a drawer and pulled out a clipboard. He stepped over to one of the tables and gestured toward a chair for her. “Please.”
    He pulled out a chair across from her and lowered his substantial body onto it with an audible sigh. He laid his palms flat on the black stone tabletop.
    â€œMiss Carnelia. That was quite a performance last night,” he began.
    â€œThank you,” she said.
    â€œMay I have a word with you about your little demonstration?”
    â€œOh—okay,” she said, uncertainly.
    â€œMiss Carnelia, you may consider me little more than an eccentric camp counselor with a ponytail and an emphatic mode of dialectic.”
    Abby’s face told him that she didn’t understand.
    â€œThat is to say, I talk funny. Or so I have been told by campers, on occasion.”
    â€œI think you talk fine,” said Abby, truthfully.
    â€œDespite the peculiarities of my speech,” Ferd went on, “here’s something you may not realize: I may know the art of legerdemain better than anyone you’re likely to meet for some time. As a teenager, I took first place in close-up at the National Young Magicians’ Competition—three years in a row.”
    One pudgy finger stabbed the table for emphasis with each word.
    â€œThe point is, I know a thing or two about the art.” He cleared his throat. “Now then.”
    To Abby’s total surprise, Ferd reached into a small props bag and extracted an egg.
    â€œI wish to offer you some suggestions,” he said, gently placing the egg on the hard black table.
    Abby couldn’t believe her ears. “That’s why you wanted to see me?”
    â€œAbsolutely. This is my purpose in life, Miss Carnelia: to foster the most promising magicians, to help them blossom, to guide them along their paths. And I believe that perhaps I can improve the impact of your effect. Would you do me the honor?” He gestured toward the egg. “Please. Proceed.”
    Deep inside, Abby had a queasy feeling, as though the train of her life was about to jump off its tracks. But she didn’t have much of a choice.
    â€œOkay, so I have this egg,” she began. “And I can make it spin when I pull on my earlobes.”
    And she did.
    Ferd’s face didn’t change at all. After a moment, he looked up at her.
    â€œThat’s quite remarkable, actually. I can’t