FOR TWO WHOLE WEEKS, Z practiced the French drop, plus a few other sleights. His friends were getting better at the tricks, too. Loop had bought a chop cup that made balls appear and disappear. He’d also bought a quarter shell, which he gave to Dominic, but because Dominic preferred mentalism, he’d stuck it in his locker and forgotten about it.

In Z’s opinion, all you needed for impressive magic was a deck of cards. That’s what he spent all his time on. He’d almost mastered palming and pinkie breaks already. In fact, every time he had a free moment, he practiced card sleights and studied routines on YouTube or in books from Mr. Garza’s library. There were so many tricks you could perform with a simple deck. And cards weren’t expensive at all—except for trick decks or gaff cards (which you could make yourself, if you wanted). Luckily, Loop was nice enough to buy Z a Svengali deck, and Z couldn’t wait to learn how to use it.

They met at Dominic’s apartment nearly every day and walked to Conjuring Cats from there. They hadn’t figured out their routine for the competition yet, so they gave themselves a schedule. While Dominic was in Corpus (he was leaving the next day), they’d brainstorm, and when he returned in two weeks, they’d find a way to merge all their ideas.

Z knew that by teaming up with his friends, he had a better chance of getting first place. “I hope we get more than a ribbon,” he said. “All I ever get is ribbons when I compete in things.”

“That’s because you never win,” Loop said. “You just participate.”

“I win sometimes!” Z wanted to offer an example, but he couldn’t think of one.

Loop said, “I bet we get a big trophy.”

“That’d be cool,” Z said. “What does a magic trophy look like anyway?”

“Probably a giant cup,” Dominic suggested. “Have you ever noticed that trophies are shaped like cups even for stuff that has nothing to do with drinking?”

Z had to admit that Dominic was right again—trophies did look like giant cups.

“At least there’s such a thing as cups and balls in magic,” Dominic went on, “so a giant cup makes a little bit of sense.”

“Maybe the trophy is shaped like a top hat or a wizard’s hat,” Z said.

“Or a thumb tip,” Loop added, and they all laughed at the idea of a trophy in the shape of a giant thumb.

“We better not get a certificate,” Z said. “They’re the lamest awards you can get.”

Loop laughed. “I made a paper airplane out of the last certificate I got.” He pretended to throw a plane and made exploding sounds to show that it had crashed.

“What’d you get a certificate for?” Dominic asked. It was a good question, because Loop was always in trouble at school.

“Most Likely to Start a Garage Band,” Loop answered.

“But you don’t even play an instrument,” Z said.

“Exactly!” Loop lifted his chin and showed them the fake stitches he’d drawn on his neck. Then he showed them his hands. Every other fingernail was black. “I think they were talking about my style. I guess people who start garage bands look like me.”

“Well,” Z said, “I’d rather get a certificate for Most Likely to Start a Garage Band than Most Likely to Be a Pop Star.”

“But that sounds like a compliment,” Dominic said.

“Not when you don’t get it for singing.”

“Why’d you get it, then?”

“Because I drink soda pop during lunch. Get it? I’m a pop star.”

His friends laughed. Z laughed, too, even though the joke was on him. Then he wondered why teachers were so desperate to give awards, even to the slackers. Loop said the teachers were taking bribes from parents, and Dominic said they were just trying to help kids with their self-esteem.

“In a real competition,” Loop explained, “you don’t get anything for just participating. Like in the Olympics. There’s gold, silver, and bronze. Sometimes they don’t even bother with bronze. My dad—I mean, Rubén—took us to a chili cook-off, and there was a winner and a runner-up. That’s it.”

They arrived at Conjuring Cats. They stepped inside and said hello to Mrs. Garza before going to the Vault, where Ariel was practicing with a dancing cane in front of a full-size mirror. Z remembered a video of David Copperfield doing this routine. That guy could make a cane dance in midair, but Ariel wasn’t having any luck because the cane kept hitting the floor. She didn’t drop it exactly, but it sure didn’t look like Copperfield’s routine. She started over. For a few seconds, the cane floated between her hands, but when she tried to make it dance, it hit the floor again.

Her moves looked clumsy, so Z giggled. But Dominic tried to encourage her. “You almost had it that time.”

She had her back to them, but she could see their reflections in the mirror. “Almost isn’t good enough,” she said. Then she put her cane away and headed to the curtained door. Ariel usually left the Vault as soon as the boys arrived.

Z said, “You can stay if you want. Maybe you can show us some tricks.”

She turned and glared at him. “Magicians never share their secrets.”

“Sure, they do,” Mr. Garza said. He was at his computer on YouTube. “But only with people who are serious about the craft. Like these boys. They’re getting better every day.”

Ariel crossed her arms. “Are they now?”

“Yeah! Look at this,” Z said.

He wanted to redeem himself after dropping cards the first time he tried a cascade, so he took out his deck and palmed a card. He did a great job of hiding it in his hand, but instead of clapping, Ariel rolled her eyes and said, “Big deal. You haven’t even put that in a routine.”

Before Z had time to respond, Mr. Garza said, “Here it is!” He waved them over. Everyone except Ariel gathered around the computer, though instead of exiting the Vault, she went to the counter on the far side of the room, jumped up, and sat there with her legs dangling.

Meanwhile, Mr. Garza started the video. “This magician is named Bill Malone. Pay careful attention.” Z and his friends leaned forward. When the video started, there wasn’t any sound. Z wondered why Mr. Garza had forgotten to turn up the volume, but he didn’t want to embarrass him, so he didn’t mention it.

On the video, Malone sat at a table and shuffled cards. He then threw out four kings. After cutting the deck, he revealed four queens. He kept shuffling, talking, and cutting the deck. Z wished he knew what the guy was saying because the audience was laughing. Malone repeatedly mixed up the cards and threw out a few. They seemed totally random—six, five, four, two, and then a three and a nine. Sometimes Malone did one-handed cuts, and little by little, the deck in his hands got smaller while the pile on the table got larger. Finally, when all the cards were in a messy pile, the audience clapped and Malone thumped his chest like a gorilla.

“Did you like that?” Mr. Garza asked. He winked at Ariel, but she just turned away.

Z glanced at his friends. They seemed just as confused as he was, but after a few moments, Dominic answered the question. “I like how the magician did a lot of shuffles and flourishes before throwing out the cards.”

“That one-handed cut is textbook,” Loop added, “and he has a great ribbon spread, too.”

Z wrinkled his forehead. How did Loop know about one-handed cuts and ribbon spreads? Those were card terms, but Loop didn’t like cards. That was Z’s domain. Z was supposed to talk about the guy’s card handling, but once again, his friends had pushed him aside, leaving him with nothing to say.

Mr. Garza looked at him. “What did you think?”

At that point, Z was confused, since his friends had already given answers—answers that should have come from him—so he said, “I don’t know. It’s hard to follow when you can’t hear what the guy’s saying. I mean, what’s the point of throwing out random cards?”

“Aha!” Mr. Garza’s finger pointed at the sky. “But are they truly random?”

This sounded like a deep philosophical question, so Z thought about it—seriously—but in the end, he could only shrug. He didn’t know anything about deep philosophical questions.

“Let’s watch again,” Mr. Garza suggested.

This time, he turned on the volume. Malone was talking about a guy named Sam the Bellhop, and he began his tale, the whole time shuffling, cutting, and throwing out cards. When Malone said, “Four gentlemen walked into the hotel dressed as kings,” he threw out four kings. When he said, “They were joined by two brunettes and two redheads,” he threw out the black queens and then the red ones. Every time Malone mentioned a number, he threw out the matching cards. Z was amazed by Malone’s ability to predict the next card. He said, “Sam went to the 654 Club,” as he threw out a six, a five, and a four. He said, “Sam got a two-dollar tip,” as he threw out a two. He said, “Sam was thirty-nine,” as he threw out a three and a nine. Finally, all the cards in the deck had been mentioned in the story, and that’s when Malone thumped his chest.

Z and his friends laughed, not only because they had enjoyed the trick but also because Malone’s chest thumping looked silly.

Once again, Mr. Garza wanted to know if they liked the performance.

The boys nodded, and Z rushed to speak before his friends stole his ideas again. “I’m not confused anymore,” he said, all proud.

“Well, duh,” Ariel called from her spot on the counter. “Of course you’re not confused, since you can hear him now. That’s the most obvious thing you could say.”

Z’s shoulders slumped. Why couldn’t he do anything right?