The fact that Mrs. Robinson’s magic actually seemed to work gave me hope for the next day. The sun had set, and the temperature had dropped by the time I crossed my front yard carrying my brick and my purchases from the grocery store: two mason jars, a bag of cornmeal, two cans of coffee, and ingredients for a modest salad to justify my walk across town in case Mom asked. In the kitchen, I dumped ancient flour out of an old Tupperware container into the trash, rinsed out the inside of the container, and poured the ground coffee from both cans into it. Then I placed the plastic lids back on the now-empty cans, and voilà: two makeshift bongos—at least the closest thing to drums I was going to get my hands on before the next day.

Realizing I could no longer put Henry off without jeopardizing our plan, I called him from my bedroom and ran him through the steps we’d have to take at Gundarsson’s. He did not dismiss the plan or doubt its potential because it sounded ridiculous. But he did say, after mulling everything over, “If we pull this off, it’s going to be a miracle.”

“Don’t say that,” I warned him, thinking about the approaching new moon. “This has to work.”

The tutorial I had watched on YouTube about making red brick dust had suggested all I needed to do was set down some newspaper on concrete to catch the dust, place the brick on it, and hit it with a hammer while wearing safety goggles. I knew without checking that we didn’t have safety goggles in the house, so I fished Mom’s swimming goggles out of the linen closet in the bathroom.

Outside in the driveway, I was numbly focused on setting about this task. The day had been emotionally draining; all I really wanted to do was curl into a ball in my bed and pretend that none of this was happening. But there was no one coming to save me. Although I knew I had my friends, I was going to have to fight for myself if I wanted to live.

So I set down a large sheet of newspaper, placed the brick on it, secured my goggles, and took a swing at the center of the brick with a hammer from the garage, expecting the brick to split in half, or at least crumble.

Instead, a shockingly powerful jolt of pain shot up my arm, surged past my eyes, and throbbed at the very top of my skull, in which it felt like my brain was rattling. I felt the impact of the hammer striking the brick in the very roots of my teeth. White orbs blinked and swirled in front of my eyes, making me truly wonder for a moment if I was dead.

After recovering enough to think straight—and realizing I should have lightly but steadily tapped a corner of the brick instead of striking it with all my might at its strong center—I looked up at the waning gibbous moon in the clear dark sky. Surely, Violet’s evil spirits were having a good laugh at my expense.