Ignoring the sweltering heat, I squeezed my eyes shut, imagining the cool flow of rushing water pounding against the rocks lining the riverbed. I pictured myself dipping my fingers into that river, feeling the swift current pummeling my hand. Thrusting my palm downwards, I concentrated furiously, hoping as hard as I could to feel the tug of water, and… My fingers connected with a mound of scorching sand. I yelped as I scampered to my feet. No luck. 

My sister, Amelia, stared dejectedly at my antics, cupping her face into her hands. “Okay, Layla, so let me get this straight.” She said, narrowing her eyes to slits, “You thought you could try reality? Even though Dad personally told us we can only do that when we’re, like, twenty-something?” 

“Shut up,” I snapped, glaring daggers at her, “That was just a little mistake. I just wanted to teleport us to the ice cream place. I’ll get us out of here.” 

“Yeah, right,” Amelia snorted, “‘a little mistake.’ So maybe it’s a mistake you got us into the Sahara?” 

I ignored her, swallowing a retort. As much as I hated to admit it, our current predicament was my fault. Yeah, I had tried to pull off a reality warp, and it sort of worked. Or not. It did get us out of school, but we didn’t land in the ice cream shop, we somehow plopped into the stinking Sahara Desert. Well, let me backtrack. You probably want to know what reality warping is. Well, in simple terms, reality is a huge, confusing computer program, and if you managed to concentrate hard enough, you could reprogram the coding to your will. But reality warping was random, like the shifting tides, and when you tried one, it was like pulling a wild card from a deck. You almost never knew what might happen. And, apparently, that was the one minor detail I overlooked. 

Sweat poured off me like a waterfall, dripping into the ground and almost immediately evaporating into the air. Our surroundings consisted of a depressingly vast expanse of sand, sand, and more sand, with rolling dunes snaking across it. 

“Well?” Amelia said, arching her eyebrows. “I already tried getting us out of here, but you have…a knack for that. Ugh, I can’t believe I just said that.” 

I smirked, “Oh, I’m never going to forget that. But can we cut the quarrel and just, y’know, focus on going back home?” 

“Fine.” She replied, rolling her eyes so hard I thought they would pop out of their sockets. The blaring sun beat heavily down on us, and trying to think became almost as impossible as lifting Mount Everest. I steeled my nerves and tried to formulate a picture of our small, crammed row house in my head, imagining strands of color extending from my mind and weaving in and out through the sand.

A key component in reality warping is being able to express what you want to happen in your mind in clear definition, like painting a portrait with flawless accuracy. But the most important one is that you have to believe it, truly accept that you could magically change the fabric of creation with a simple idea. And trust me, when you’re sitting in your bedroom, being told by your dad that this stuff isn’t make- believe, trying to suppress laughter, it’s really hard to take seriously. Until your dad demonstrates by drawing a dog on a slip of paper and letting you watch as it peels off the paper, solidifying into a yapping, brown schnauzer that immediately begins using your bed as a bathroom. You probably might start running out of the room, screaming on the top of your lungs. That’s what Amelia did. Me? I chose to discreetly keel over and pass out. And really, waking up in a dog-pee sodden bed while a schnauzer is clambering all over you and dispensing its waste in your hair is traumatizing enough to send you into shock. 

I remembered sitting up, propping myself against the bedpost and staring into space. At least I finally had the dog I’d always wanted since kindergarten. On the other hand, the price was a dangerous secret. I wasn’t sure if I’d received a present or been tossed a thousand-ton lead to carry. 

“Layla! C’mon!” 

I snapped out of my thoughts, and before me, there was a raucous, swirling, glowing blue funnel spiraling into the air, vacuuming the sand and drawing me forwards like a magnet. I sighed. Why did my portals always have to look like tornadoes? Amelia had extended her hand, mouthing a few unintelligible words and gesturing wildly for me to quicken my pace. Dashing towards her, I grabbed her wrist, and we simultaneously leaped in the tornado. Shards of sand whipped my face like a million tiny knives, and I cringed as I recalled the saying “death by a thousand cuts.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Crack! We hurled into a wall, tumbling into a tiled floor. Groggily shaking my head, I tried to gather my bearings. Mind you, that’s hard enough when you’ve left your stomach all the way in the Sahara. I did a quick vitals check, brushing myself off and testing for any broken bones. Amelia was lying spread eagled on the floor next to me, groaning and massaging a purple bruise on her forehead. A spider webbed cracked sign dangled above her, reading: Ice Cream Parlor. Huh. Not home, but a close second. A man dressed in a white worker’s uniform loomed over us, gaping. 

“How—? What—?” He sputtered, his eyes widening. 

Amelia thought quickly, staggering to her feet, “Th-that never happened. We’re, um, just a couple of customers?”

Blue light shimmered around him. “Yeah…” He blinked, “Nothing outta the blue.” A glazed smile crossed his face. “What can I get you?” 

She grinned devilishly. “Can we have two strawberry cones? Oh, my sister also needs a few napkins. She doesn’t know how to eat properly.” 

I sat up and punched her.