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Middle School, with long tables topped by thick black stone. As she walked in, two counselors were setting up what looked like place settings for dinner—plates, silverware, glasses, napkins—at each seat.
    As she walked in, she saw someone she knew.
    â€œBen!” she said happily, waving to him.
    Ben brushed the floppy hair from his eyes and smiled.
    â€œHey,” he said. “Abby, right?”
    â€œRight,” she said.
    He adjusted his knife and fork absentmindedly. “So how’s your first real day of camp going?”
    â€œGood,” she said. “Fun stuff.” She took a breath and pointed to the chair next to him. “Can I sit here?”
    â€œI’m sorry, ma’am, we’re expecting a party of sixteen at any moment.” He grinned at her.
    â€œWell, they’ll just have to wait, won’t they?” she said, flouncing down onto the seat. Her day, and her mood, were rapidly improving.
    This
, Abby thought,
is the perfect opportunity to ask Ben about his magical power.
She just didn’t know how to bring it up.
    As it turned out, there wasn’t time.
    â€œGood morning, my people!” came a voice from the front of the room.
    Abby turned to look. It was a short, pudgy guy wearing a flowered Hawaiian shirt and a greasy, blond ponytail.
    â€œMy name is Ferd. Kindly note that it’s not Fred—it’s Ferd. Short for Ferdinand. Please make a note of it. And for the next two weeks, I’ll be teaching you amateurs about the marvels of impromptu magic.”
    He was strolling slowly down the aisles between the tables, like a king surveying his peasants, but his voice was high and thin.
    â€œImpromptu. Adjective: ‘without prior planning.’ In magic, there’s nothing better. You’re hanging out with friends. Or waiting for the waiter. Or waiting to be picked up from school. Or you’re at someone else’s house, and the six-year-old says, ‘Do a trick!’ What are you going to do—run home to get your suitcase full of props?”
    Ferd opened his eyes wide, expectantly.
    â€œI think not!”
    Abby, highly entertained, snuck a look at Ben’s face. He was fascinated, too, with a you-gotta-be-kidding-me expression.
    â€œIn such scenarios,” Ferd continued, “impromptu magic is your only way out. You pick up something that you’ve got on hand, be it a salt shaker, be it a dollar bill, be it a writing implement. And you commence to conjure.”
    With this, Ferd stopped by one of the tables, picked upa salt shaker, and wrapped it in a napkin. Then he picked up a pepper shaker—“the spice of life!” he declared—and sprinkled some pepper onto the napkin.
    Then he crushed the napkin. The salt shaker inside was gone.
    â€œNow,
impromptu
may mean ‘no preparation.’ But what is unprepared, my people, are the
props—
not the
magician.
You, my people, must do quite a
lot
of preparation—and you’re going to be doing it here, in my class, over the next two weeks. You are my Frankensteins. I am going to create you. I am going to turn you into impromptu magicians, capable of performing miracles with ordinary unprepared objects—on an audience, I assure you, that is completely unprepared for
you.”
    Ferd had returned to the front of the room, where he picked up a spoon from his place setting.
    â€œToday, we talk about presentation. In today’s class, you will not learn a trick, you will not perform any tricks, you will not even discuss tricks. We will learn the art of
presentation.
Showmanship. Patter. Personal style. If you master the presentation, the trick part will come easily. As Harry Houdini didn’t say, the secret is only the last five percent. All right: kindly examine your spoon.”
    The campers, intrigued by Ferd and
his
memorable presentation style, picked up their spoons and held them up off the table, following his lead. 56
    â€œFor