Leon and the Spitting Image (16 page)

Even the doll’s hair, fashioned out of ordinary black yarn, looked like the shiny helmet of possibly fake hair on the head of the original. The coach lifted the yarn and revealed the doll’s ears.

“You got the gnarls
exactly!”
P.W. said admiringly.

Leon smiled. “The lobes still need some work,” he said humbly.

“How’d you think this up?” Lily-Matisse asked.

“Miss Hagmeyer kind of gave me the idea.”

The coach shook his head. “I knew this kid was a champ. I
knew
it. And it’s like I tell all you guys at the start of every season. Passion and practice. Combine the two, and you’ll make magic every time.”

Fear of flunking also helps, Leon said to himself.

Antoinette Brede pushed to the front of the growing crowd. “Where’d you get those boots?” she asked jealously.

“My friend Maria found them for me. There was a doll convention across the street from my building.”

“She get you the hair, too?”

“No, I made the hair. It’s yarn and shellac. I tested real hair, but it didn’t look right.”

“That’s because the Hag wears a wig,” said Lily-Matisse.

“We don’t know that for sure,” said P.W.

“Do, too. My mom
heard
her adjusting it.”

Leon smirked. “Did it sound like this?” He grabbed a hank of the doll’s hair and gave it a gentle tug.

Sccritchh!

“Velcro!” cried Lily-Matisse.

“Pretty slick,” P.W. admitted. “But it still doesn’t prove that the Hag’s hair is fake.”

After the bell rang and the crowd around Leon began to thin, Lumpkin approached him.

“Hey, Leon. Sorry about being such a spoilsport.”

“No problem,” Leon replied suspiciously. It was the first time he could recall Lumpkin using his actual name.

“Here, you’d better take this.” Lumpkin handed Leon the smashed pastry box. “I found it near the water fountain.”

“Um, thanks.” Leon eyed Lily-Matisse and P.W. Understanding his cue, they headed off to find the coach, who was rounding up Rhinos at the far end of the gym.

“Can I see this dolly everyone’s so wild about?” Lumpkin asked.

Leon froze. Now he
knew
something was up. “I don’t think there’s enough ti—”

Lumpkin yanked the animile out of Leon’s hands and raced off.

“Hey! Give that back!” Leon yelled, running after him.

Lumpkin scrambled up to the top of the bleachers. When Leon confronted him, he was all set to toss the doll into the rafters.

“Stop!” Leon cried.

Lumpkin paused to draw out the agony. That’s when he noticed the coach’s pickle jar resting a few feet away. “Well, well,” he said as he reached for the jar.

“No!” Leon screamed.

Lumpkin tucked the doll between his knees and unscrewed the jar lid.

Leon made a heroic lunge for the master piece, but Lumpkin scooted out of the way just in time. Leon took a nasty tumble. His foot went through a gap in the bleachers, and his ankle got twisted (that, in addition to the already scraped elbows and knees).

Wounded and helpless, Leon repeated his plea. “Stop.
Please!”

Lumpkin smiled maliciously. Then, with terrifying calm, he tipped the jar and dribbled some of the tarry brown teacher’s spit directly onto the master piece.

“Poor Sir Panty Hose,” he said. “His master piece is all stained. Now he won’t be able to hand it in.”

“Give it back!” Leon cried.

“Sorry, no can do. You know what the Hag says about everything having its place.” Lumpkin drew back his arm like a spear thrower. “Say good-bye to your—”

Thhhwomp!

A dodgeball smacked against the wall.

“LUMPKIN!” Coach Kasperitis hollered from across the gym. He was flanked by P.W. and Lily-Matisse. “You’ve got to the count of three to give Leon back his whatchamacallit. And if you don’t, son, you’re going to find out—
painfully
—how I made the all-star team two years running.”

Lumpkin glowered at Leon, then grudgingly relinquished the doll.

Leon grabbed it and limped out of the gym.

By the time dismissal rolled around, Leon’s ankle was throbbing, his knees and elbows were burning. His morale was battered, his animile damaged.

Sitting at his desk, Leon inspected the master piece. Spit had soaked through the cape and the dress, penetrating deep into the doll’s panty hose–stuffed core.

One might think that the black cloth would have hidden the stain. But it didn’t. A horrible blotch discolored a large expanse of torso. Lumpkin was right. There was no way the doll could be submitted in its current condition.

Maybe Maria can help, Leon told himself. She had all those special cleansers back in Housekeeping. Her Poop-B-Gone had worked miracles after a cheetah had an accident near the key rack. Maybe the stuff removed teacher’s spit, too. It’s worth a try, Leon concluded.

In the meantime, he did what he could to limit permanent damage. Not wanting to touch the spit directly, he rubbed the tarry blemish with the hand of the doll, failing to realize that his intervention would only spread the stain more.

As Leon brushed, the doll gave off a slight warmth. Then, for the briefest moment, a tiny sparkle of light seemed to enter the doll’s dull eyes.

Leon stopped rubbing.

Giggles suddenly spread through the room. At first Leon thought he’d been caught cleaning the doll. But to his considerable relief, Miss Hagmeyer hadn’t heard him and none of his classmates were looking toward the back of the room.

He returned his attention to the stain. But as soon as he did, more laughter erupted. He looked up and saw Miss Hagmeyer acting
very
oddly, even by her standards.

She was stony faced, as if in a trance. Yet she appeared to be strumming an imaginary guitar. Her gestures so startled Leon that he again stopped rubbing the stain. The moment he did, Miss Hagmeyer stopped flailing her arm and regained her normal expression. It was as if master piece and master were playing a game of Simon Says.

No way, Leon told himself. Not possible. Definitely not possible.

He decided to run a test.

“Leon says, ‘Lift up your arms,’” Leon whispered to himself as he raised the arms of the doll. He watched and waited.

Within seconds Miss Hagmeyer was lifting
her
arms!

“Leon says, ‘Lower your arms,’” Leon murmured, releasing the arms of the doll.

After a brief pause, Miss Hagmeyer flopped
her
arms to her sides!

Leon’s heart began to race. Could his doll be controlling his teacher?

A more challenging test was in order. But what?

Leon initially decided to make Miss Hagmeyer stick her finger in her ear. But as he brushed back the doll’s hair, he changed his mind. Here was a unique opportunity to resolve a dispute that had been lingering since the very first day of school.

Though getting the right hold proved tricky, Leon eventually managed to curl the tiny fingers of the master piece around its black yarn wig.

He did his good-luck squinch and cluck, then gave the wig a quick firm tug. A faint, scratchy sound of Velcro could be heard at the back of the room.

Sccritchh!

Leon watched his teacher closely. For a moment, he was concerned she might have heard the scratchy noise coming from his desk. But her hypnotic gaze quickly told him she had other things going on inside her head—and
above
it….

A second sound, exactly like the first (only much,
much
louder) suddenly erupted at the front of the room.

SCCRITCHH!

An eerie silence filled the room. Everyone was shocked by the sight of Miss Hagmeyer’s exposed scalp, with its sparse
outcroppings of snow white hair and the three strips of patented adhesive glued down in a perfect row.

Leon immediately let go of the doll. Once he did, Miss Hagmeyer awoke from her trance. Seeing her wig in her hand, she instantly turned the color of a red marking pencil.

“Class dismissed!” she yelled, fleeing from the room as her students began to squeal.

I
eon stumbled down the school steps with the master piece pressed against his chest. The powers of his doll so flustered him that he had fled the classroom nearly as fast as Miss Hagmeyer. In the race to escape, he had left his backpack behind.

Out on the street, he squeezed the doll tightly and stared fiercely at its features. How, he asked himself, could a spit-stained clump of cloth and panty hose
control
the actions of a teacher?

An ambulance siren prompted Leon to loosen his grip. As the ambulance zoomed by, he imagined the lifeless body of his bony, bald fourth-grade teacher strapped to a gurney inside. Could squeezing the doll squeeze the life out of the
real
Miss Hagmeyer? Suppose his careless clench had crushed her rib cage? Suppose his breathtaking power was exactly that—
breath taking!
Could he get sent to jail? And if so, what would he get sent to jail
for?
Telepathic suffocation?

Questions kept popping into Leon’s head. What had activated the power? How long would it last? Had anyone seen what he’d been doing at the back of the
room while the Hag was performing in the front? He didn’t think so. And even if someone had turned around, it wouldn’t have mattered. He’d kept the doll hidden under his desk.

A familiar voice pierced his panicked thinking.

“Hey.”

Leon swung around. He was relieved to see Lily-Matisse. “Hey,” he said.

“You tore out of class so fast, you forgot this.” Lily-Matisse handed him his backpack.

“Thanks,” said Leon. He quickly shoved the master piece inside.

“Can you
believe
what happened?”

Leon gave a distracted nod.

“What’s got into you?” said Lily-Matisse. “You’re acting weirder than the Hag—and that’s saying something.”

Before Leon could answer, P.W. bounded down the steps. “What do you mean, what’s got into him? The Hag, obviously. She’s wigged him out.”

“Very funny,” said Lily-Matisse. “And by the way, P.W., you owe me an apology. I
told
you that hair of hers was totally one hundred percent fake.”

“Technically speaking, the Hag does have
some
hair,” said P.W. “I saw a few strands.”

“That’s not the point,” said Lily-Matisse.

“Fine,” P.W. grumbled. “But I’ll tell you one thing.” He bent down and grabbed a sneaker strap. “From now
on, this will always remind me of her.” He gave the strap a yank.

Sccritchh!

“Stop it, P.W.!” Lily-Matisse cried.

P.W. turned to Leon for a reaction, but Leon had more pressing matters to consider. He had to figure out if his backpack now contained a time bomb or a treasure.

P.W. suspended the sneaker sonata and stood up. “Earth to Leon, Earth to Leon. Come in, Leon.”

“I—I—” He was having a hard time threading words together.

“Spit it out,” said P.W.

Leon grimaced. That was the
last
expression he wanted to hear.

“Don’t push him,” said Lily-Matisse protectively.

“It—It was
me!”
Leon blurted out.

“What
was you?” said P.W.

“What happened—
inside.”
Leon tugged on his hair. “I did that to the Hag.
Me!
I wigged
her
out!”

Lily-Matisse and P.W. traded looks.

Leon was all set to spill the beans when a car horn intruded. Napoleon waved from the street.

“Hey, can you guys come over to the hotel?” Leon asked urgently. “I’ve got some important news.”

The Trimore, with its unusual guests and on-site bakery, was an attractive after-school destination under normal circumstances. The added promise of important
news only made his proposal more appealing.

“Definitely!” said P.W.

“Sure,” said Lily-Matisse.

The hotel lobby was even more of a zoo than usual when Leon and his two friends pushed through the revolving door.