THE WHOLE FAMILY WAS COMING TO THE PARTY. YOU PROBABLY THINK THAT’S a lot of people, but it’s not. We have a small family. Just me, Ape Boy, Mom, and Dad, plus Dad’s sister, Aunt Trudy, and her husband, Uncle Pete. Oh yeah, and Grandma Melvyn. It’s probably a good idea to warn you about Grandma Melvyn in case you’re expecting her to be a sweet little grandma who brings me cookies and milk and knits me cozy blankies. She’s not. But if you have an extra grandma like that, I’m interested.

Grandma Melvyn is not even my real grandma. She’s not anyone’s grandma. She’s my great-great-aunt, but trust me, it doesn’t matter how many “greats” you put in front of her title—there is nothing great about her. Dad started calling her Grandma Melvyn after our real grandma died. I guess he felt sorry for her because she didn’t have anyone to call her Grandma.

This might be a good time to point out that feeling sorry for Grandma Melvyn is like kissing a scorpion. You get over the idea real fast. I know that sounds mean, but it’s not. All it takes is one look at Grandma Melvyn to understand. She’s about as tall as a mailbox and she wears glasses that are two inches thick and make her eyes look as big as baseballs. You can see every vein and every floater and sometimes, when she gets mad, her eyeballs wobble. That is not something you want to see. Trust me.

I once saw her make a nine-year-old cry at his own birthday party. Okay, it was me. But you’d cry, too, if she gave you the Wicked Wobble Eye. Grandma Melvyn never smiles and she never ever, ever laughs. Did I mention never?

One last thing about Grandma Melvyn. She calls everybody “Trixie.” And I mean everybody! Keep reading. You’ll see what I mean.

When Ape Boy yelled, I ran out of the kitchen and looked out the dining room window. Uncle Pete was trying to help Grandma Melvyn up the sidewalk. Every couple of steps, she pushed him away and waved her cane at him like a fencer with a foil. Then she tottered forward a bit and tilted to the right, then the left and backward, until she looked like she would fall over.

Even through the window glass, I could hear her yell, “Get over here, Trixie! Are you going to let an old lady fall down and die out here in this zoysia wasteland you call a yard? Zoysia? Who plants zoysia?”

Uncle Pete grabbed Grandma Melvyn’s arm and helped her for a couple of steps, until she pushed him away and the whole thing started all over again, like some weird modern dance.

Aunt Trudy walked behind them, carrying an enormous lopsided cake on a fancy tray. This was bad. Aunt Trudy was supposed to buy the cake instead of making it. She is the worst cook in the world. She burns everything. (She even burned yogurt one time. Don’t ask.) Aunt Trudy walked up the sidewalk holding the unnaturally black cake like it was the greatest thing in the world.

I just hoped it was chocolate.

By the time Grandma Melvyn, Uncle Pete, and Aunt Trudy sat down in the dining room, the pizza arrived. Mom got off the phone and came into the dining room, too. The table was beautiful. The pizza looked cool on the fancy dishes like it was all dressed up for the party. Mom was impressed by the improved tablecloth. She ran her fingers along the edge and shook her head. She was speechless. And she hadn’t seen anything yet!

Grandma Melvyn liked the pizza.

“Your cooking has improved, Trixie,” she said.

“It’s delivery,” Mom said.

“Exactly,” Grandma Melvyn said. “That meal was only half as poisonous as Trixie’s meat loaf.”

She threw a suspicious look at Aunt Trudy while she stuffed a pepperoni into her mouth. Mom sighed.

Everything was going great. Even Ape Boy was under control. Every time he put his feet on the seat of his chair and looked like he was ready to climb something, Grandma Melvyn gave him the Wicked Wobble Eye and he slid down in his seat and stared at his shoes.

At last, it was time for Mom’s cake and presents. Aunt Trudy put the cake on the table. I stood up and made an announcement.

“Before we sing ‘Happy Birthday,’” I said, “I have a special birthday trick for Mom.”

Aunt Trudy elbowed Uncle Pete, who glanced at the door and scooted his chair a little closer to it. I think he was trying to get a better view of the trick.

“Oh, Robbie, honey,” Mom said. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Of course I do!” I said. “It’s your birthday.”

“I know,” she said. “Just … just …”

Mom was so excited about my act, she was actually nervous! I could feel the excitement in the air. Perfect!

“Good luck,” Mom said.

“Thanks,” said Uncle Pete.

I cleared away the dinner dishes and brought out the gold-rimmed dessert plates. Then I filled all the crystal water goblets except Grandma Melvyn’s.

“I have my own,” she said as she took out a water bottle and filled her glass.

Then she tapped her cane impatiently on the floor.

“Speed it up, Trixie,” she said. “I don’t have that many years left, and I don’t want to spend half of them waiting for that burnt offering Trixie calls a cake.”

Aunt Trudy muttered something under her breath, but I couldn’t tell what it was because Uncle Pete cleared his throat right then.

I lit the tall beeswax candles.

“Just one more thing,” I said.

I went to the hall closet and pulled out the black satin cape I had stashed inside it earlier. It was part of the Dracula costume Mom had sewn three Halloweens ago, but it made the perfect magician’s cape. I put it on and went back to the dining room. Showtime.

I tapped a crystal water goblet with a table knife.

Ting … ting … ting …

“Ladies and gentlemen!” I said in my most dramatic voice. “In honor of Mom’s birthday and to celebrate this most auspicious occasion, I will now perform a trick that will both amaze and delight you!”

I paused for effect. Then I grabbed the edge of the red tablecloth and, with a snap of my wrists, jerked it toward the floor. Like magic, it slid under the gold-rimmed plates and the cake. In a heartbeat, I was standing before the amazed crowd with the cloth in my hands and the bare wood of the table gleaming in the candlelight.

I did it!

I dropped the tablecloth on the floor and raised my hands over my head. Then I leaned over and took the biggest bow of my life.

“Ta-daaaa!”

And that was my first mistake.