Mira's Magical Mishaps (Revised Version Sept.2026)

I stood shoulder to shoulder with the other hopefuls inside the Magicademy Sports Complex, trying not to look as nervous as I felt. Enchanted lights blazed over the court, illuminating the faint scorch marks left by generations of aspiring Fireball champions. The protective wards that shimmered along the walls in translucent waves protected spectators, and the arena, as though wrapping everything in a fire resistant magical blanket.

Sweat had already begun trickling down my forehead, even though the game hadn’t started. I quickly learned that fear of public humiliation worked just as well as physical exertion to make me sweat like a pig eating ghost peppers.

I should have heeded the warning from that cartoon about the importance of bringing a towel. I shook my head to clear my thoughts, sending sweat beads flying into the air around me.

I took a deep breath and refocused on the task at hand, wondering again what had possessed me to try out for the Fireball Squad.

I had spent most of the day practicing with my brother and sister. Every fireball I conjured had emerged exactly as it should: round, reddish-orange, and sizzling with tightly contained energy. I had even dodged most of the shots Micah and Melinda hurled at me, which was impressive considering they held nothing back— their gleeful expressions when a fireball found its mark were almost demonic.

According to the outcomes of our fiery battles over the last week, I was prepared. Unfortunately, reason had very little influence over the knot twisting inside my stomach. No matter how much I practiced I alwayts knew things could all go sideways, or in any direction imaginable, with no warning at all.

After the botched spell at the costume party and the absolute train wreck I had created in speech class, my confidence wasn’t merely shaken; it had packed a suitcase and fled the country. Every instinct I possessed warned me that trying out for the Fireball Squad would end in another colossal, and possibly dangerous, mistake. My magical failures were not satisfied with being small or private anymore.

As the eldest daughter of Meridian’s strongest witch-and-warlock dynasty, I was supposed to embody magical excellence. The Marrenno name carried expectations powerful enough to crush a lesser witch, and everyone seemed to assume I had inherited the talent to uphold those expectations.

Instead, at nineteen years old and in my second year at Magicademy, I was grateful the administration had allowed me through the gates. My grades weren’t the problem. Academically, I could hold my own against anyone in my class.

The problem was my curse. Well, technically it wasn’t a curse, but I wasn’t letting it off on a technicality.

Chaos magic.

I would never forget my parents’ faces when my grandmother pronounced those words. They had looked as if someone had informed them that their prized stallion had transformed into a three-legged donkey and then entered itself in the Kentucky Derby.

Most days, my magic behaved perfectly well, which almost made the unpredictable failures worse. There was no warning, no tingling in my fingers or ominous voice whispering that disaster was approaching. One moment, I would be casting an ordinary spell; the next, the laws of magic would bend themselves into a pretzel, and I would be left standing there while everyone laughed at me, or worse, looked at me with pity in their eyes.

I forced those thoughts aside and conjured a few practice fireballs, watching with relief as each glowing sphere formed neatly above my palm. So far, so good. I stretched my arms, rolled my shoulders, and bounced lightly on my toes while trying to convince myself that this was no different from practicing at home, but with stands full of spectators, and judges and coaches watching from the sidelines. I remained far from convinced.

High above the court, my family watched from one of the skyboxes. They were probably as nervous as I was, although each of them had a different way of showing it. My mother was probably pacing in front of the large window with her attention fixed on the floor below, while my father would be leaning forward in his seat as though he could somehow intervene from three stories above. I imagined Micah and Melinda hovering near the glass, no doubt waiting to see whether their training had paid off or whether their sister was about to become a campus legend for all the wrong reasons.

The referee’s whistle pierced the air, and the candidates scrambled into position. Fireball was essentially dodgeball with enchanted flames. The protective wards kept the fireballs from causing serious injury, but being hit by one was not exactly painless.

A direct hit eliminated you, and the last player standing won. I was good at dodging, perhaps even exceptionally so. My aim still needed some work, so my working strategy was simple. Don’t get hit.

I spotted Duncan DeWitt on the opposite side of the center line, and what little remained of my confidence shriveled. Duncan wasn’t merely the best Fireball player at Magicademy; he was also the biggest show-off on campus. Tall and lean, with blond hair and blue eyes, he looked as though he had stepped directly out of a sportswear advertisement.

You know the type. The one all the girls have crushes on, but he gives none of them the time of day, too caught up in his budding career as a jock to bother with something so trivial as a girlfriend.

I was momentarily distracted by my traitorous imagination as it placed him on a giant billboard, smiling down at me while wearing a uniform tailored to display every muscle he had.

Heat crept into my face, and I shoved the image aside. Focus, Mira. You’re already cursed with chaos magic. You don’t need to add terrible taste in men to the list.

“Ten seconds!” the referee shouted.

The crowd came alive, stomping their feet while the countdown echoed through the arena. I lowered my center of gravity and fixed my attention on the players across from me, shutting out everything except the glowing fireballs taking shape in their hands. By the time the final number reverberated through the complex, every muscle in my body was wound tight and ready.

The horn blared, and I dropped into a slide as the first volley tore through the space where my head had been. Heat swept over my hair, but I was already moving, springing to my feet and twisting around the next shot. Another fireball streaked toward my shoulder, forcing me into a roll that carried me to the edge of the court. Around me, enchanted flames burst against uniforms and players shouted in defeat as the referee signaled one elimination after another. I kept moving, relying on instinct and the hours of practice with Micah and Melinda, until the noise of the game began to recede.

When I finally risked looking around, every member of my team had been eliminated. Every member of Duncan’s team had fallen too.

Only the two of us remained.

Duncan stood across the court with a fireball balanced above his palm and an infuriating smirk on his face. He could have thrown it immediately, but I suppose defeating me wasn’t enough. He wanted to savor it.

“I’m doomed,” I muttered.

All I needed to do was perform the fireball spell. Two words and a circle traced over my palm—simple enough that first-year high school students could master it within a week. I drew the symbol carefully, gathered my energy, and aimed straight at Duncan.

“Flaming Fireball!”

A yellow rubber chicken shot from my hand, struck the floor beside Duncan, and released an indignant squeak.

Silence swallowed the arena.

Duncan and I stared at the chicken lying between us. Its painted eyes gazed blankly at the ceiling, as though it was every bit as confused about its existence as we were.

Oh. No. Absolutely not.

I cast the spell again, concentrating harder on the image of a blazing sphere. A second chicken sailed across the court and bounced near Duncan’s shoe. The third spun through the air in a flurry of white feathers, which raised several troubling questions because rubber chickens did not ordinarily have feathers. I pushed those questions aside and poured more energy into the spell, but the chaos in my magic had settled on the evening’s menu, and chicken was the only available entrée.

By the fourth attempt, Duncan’s arrogant smirk had vanished. He still held the fireball that could eliminate me, but he seemed to have forgotten what to do with it. He stared as another rubber bird hurtled toward his midsection, his expression suggesting that I had insulted every known law of magic.

Humiliation burned through me, then suddenly it hardened into fury. Enough. If my magic wanted chickens, then chickens were exactly what it was going to get.

I traced the circle again and unleashed every ounce of power I possessed. Rubber poultry erupted from my hand in a squeaking, feather-filled torrent, pelting Duncan faster than he could defend himself. Chickens bounced off his chest, wrapped around his arms, and tangled beneath his feet as he stumbled backward. The barrage continued until he lost his balance and crashed onto the court beneath a ridiculous heap of yellow rubber limbs and a few drifting white feathers.

The silence in that moment was almost as loud as what came after it. The arena erupted with hysterical laughter, a pyroclastic flow of amusement and mockery that was funny to everyone but me. It burned my very soul.

The referee blew his whistle and hurried into a conference with the other officials. They gestured toward Duncan, the pile of chickens, and me. What could they possibly be discussing? Were they searching the rules for a section addressing enchanted poultry? After several moments, the referee returned to the center of the court and pointed in my direction.

“Winner!”

“That’s not fair!” Duncan roared as he fought his way out of the pile. He snatched up a chicken and hurled it toward the referee. “This is Fireball, not the Chicken Chucking Championship!”

“The ruling is final,” the referee replied with a shrug.

Duncan’s face darkened to a dangerous shade of crimson. He aimed two fingers at me like a pistol and mimed pulling the trigger before turning away. My brief surge of victory evaporated. Wonderful. Meridian’s most gorgeous athlete now wanted me dead, and I had achieved that distinction without ever managing to throw an actual fireball at him.

“Chicken Chuckin’ Champion!” someone shouted from the stands.

“Triple C!” Yelled someone else.

The chant caught immediately, rolling through the arena until hundreds of voices were calling out the title in unison. I lifted one hand in a weak acknowledgment, hoping the gesture looked more victorious than mortified, and hurried toward the exit. My teammates intercepted me before I reached it, surrounding me with laughter and enthusiastic slaps on the back.

“Triple C!” one of them crowed. “That’s your new name!”

Fantastic. Exactly the kind of branding I wanted.

I squeezed through the group and stabbed the elevator button as though it had stomped on my last nerve. This was my “curse” in action. It was getting worse and worse. Lately, my magic never failed quietly; it performed. It took a perfectly ordinary spell, twisted it into some elaborate cosmic joke, and waited until the largest possible audience had gathered before delivering the punch line.

The elevator carried me to the skybox, but even behind the glass, I could hear the crowd chanting my new title. When the doors opened, my family was waiting for me with varying degrees of concern and amusement. Melinda had both hands pressed over her mouth in a failed attempt to contain her laughter, while Micah looked downright proud.

If everyone wanted chickens, I decided bitterly, I would give them chickens.

“Flaming Fireball!” I shouted, tracing several rapid circles over my palm.

Rubber chickens burst into existence above the stands and rained onto the spectators. The celebration descended into chaos as people dove for souvenirs, wrestled over the best specimens, and waved their prizes over their heads. Security rushed into the aisles to restore order, only to be pelted by stray poultry as the chanting doubled in volume.

Micah slapped my palm in a high five. “Way to start a riot.”

“Oh, Mira.” My mother folded her arms, but the amusement shining in her eyes ruined the severity of her expression.

“How about a chicken dinner?” Dad asked, grinning as he pulled me into a hug. “You won, Mira. We’re celebrating.”

Melinda plucked a rubber chicken from his shoulder and squeezed it. The toy answered with a pathetic squawk, sending all four of them into another fit of laughter.

At this rate, I wouldn’t have been surprised if someone pitched a reality show about my life. Mira’s Magical Mishaps. The ratings would be phenomenal.

I laughed with my family because the scene below us was genuinely funny, and because laughing was easier than admitting how deeply the joke had begun to hurt. Beneath the humor was a part of me I rarely allowed anyone to see, a part that had grown exhausted from being the freak, the weirdo, and the walking magical disaster everyone remembered for the wrong reasons. Just once, I wanted people to notice what I had meant to accomplish instead of whatever chaos magic decided to do in its place.

Tonight, however, Magicademy had chosen my identity for me. I was Mira Marrenno, eldest daughter of Meridian’s most powerful magical dynasty, the one and only chaos witch, and the newly crowned Chicken Chuckin’ Champion.