The Cat-Astrophe (4 page)

B decided that she would wear a Black Cats shirt every day that week as a symbol of mourning for the broken band. At school, she found she wasn’t the only one clad in Black Cats wear. She counted eight Black Cats hooded sweatshirts, six T-shirts, and three hats, all with sparkly Black Cats logos. She spotted Trina easily, as she was one of her only friends not wearing any Black Cats memorabilia. B waved but Trina didn’t seem to notice.

“Hi, Trina!” B called but when Trina walked by, B noticed the headphones tucked into each ear. Trina was singing along quietly and enjoying herself. B decided not to disturb her.

B took a final gulp of pomegranate juice just as Jamal Burns slammed his locker, turned, and ran right into her. Dark red juice spilled all over her Black Cats shirt.

“Aargh!” Cold juice ran down her front, staining the light gray fabric. “That’ll never wash out!”

“Oops. Sorry,” Jamal said, disappearing into his homeroom.

The bell rang, and the hall emptied quickly as students scurried away. B stared at the hideous stain on her shirt. The Black Cats logo showed three black cats arching their backs and strutting underneath a full moon, but the pale gray moon was now maroon.

B looked around. Nobody in sight. Staring at the stained Blacks Cats logo, B whispered, “C-L-E-A-N.” The juice leaped out of the fibers of her sweatshirt in a big, jiggly pomegranate blob, then evaporated. Her shirt looked fresh as new.

“Holy cats,” B whispered, grinning. Sometimes she even impressed herself.

Just then, she heard a sound she’d never heard in school before.
A meow?

From around the corner came a small kitten,
smoky black from head to tail. The kitten scampered toward her and rubbed against her legs, then jumped into her arms.

B was stunned. How did a cat get here? She swallowed hard. Could she have accidentally conjured it up when she did her cleaning spell? It would be just the kind of thing her spells sometimes did.
Maybe,
B thought,
it was because I was looking at the Black Cats symbol when I made the spell.

Now what? She was already late for class, but she couldn’t go to class with a kitten.
Mrs. Armstrong will know what to do,
B thought.

B started carrying the kitten toward the office, when, with a meow, it faded and disappeared in her arms, leaving only a sparkle before it winked out.

No question — that cat was magical.

B stood still, thinking. One problem solved: no cat to explain away. Another problem discovered: B’s crazy unpredictable magic was up to its usual tricks, and this time those tricks were creating living creatures! Good thing her favorite band wasn’t the Mighty Mighty Mammoths.

“Do you guys want to come over today after school to start our poetry project?”

B, George, and Trina swiveled around in their seats. The bell had just rung to end English class.

“Yeah, I guess we could do that,” George said to Trina, pretending to be nonchalant.

B tried not to smile. “We’d love to.”

Jason leaned in closer. Eavesdropping, undoubtedly. That snoopy Jason Jameson!

“Why don’t you meet me out front after school,” suggested Trina, “and I can give you a ride?”

Interesting
, thought B.
Why so open and inviting today, when yesterday she was so secretive?

George sat up straighter in his chair. “Sure! Yeah. Absolutely. I love cars.”

“Was there something you wanted to ask us, Jason?” B said.

“I’ve got nothing to ask you,
Wasp,
except for maybe when you’re going to buzz away and never come back,” Jason said. “I had a question for
Trina
. So, Trina, um, want me to come over some time
and bring my Black Cats CDs? I remember you said you weren’t familiar with them.” He patted his chest. “I’m a Black Cats expert.”

“Is that so?” Trina polished her glasses on her sweater, then peered at Jason. “I have a question for
you.
Why would you think I’d want to hang out with you, when you’re always so rude to my friends?” She slung her plaid backpack over her shoulder. “C’mon, guys, let’s go to lunch.”

After school, George and B waited with Trina for her car to arrive.

“Have you guys got a favorite song you’d like to work on?” Trina began. “There’s this new band I like called the Frog Princes, and I thought maybe …”

“Ssh!” B interrupted her. “Don’t turn around, anyone. Trina, Jason Jameson is actually
hiding in the bushes
to spy on you.”

“What?”
Trina rolled her eyes in disgust. “What is the matter with that kid? Everywhere I go, he’s in my face.”

“Maybe he’s got a crush on you,” George said.

“Oh, good, here comes Rick,” Trina said, visibly relieved. The long black sedan swept around the drive and into the parking lot.

“Rick?” B asked.

“The driver,” Trina explained.

“Don’t drool on the bushes, Jason,” George called. His cover blown, Jason poked his face out of the shrubs to scowl at them.

They climbed into the backseat of the car, and Trina introduced them both to Rick, a short, muscular man with friendly eyes. “Afternoon, ladies and gentleman,” he said, nodding to George. “Where are we bound today?”

“Just home, thanks,” Trina said. B elbowed George so he’d stop
ooh
ing and ogling the car’s luxurious leather interior and all its features: a minirefrigerator, snack bar, television, and even a video game system.

“Wow, do you use all this stuff?” George asked.

“Mostly only on long trips,” Trina said. “Anyway, about the song for our project, what would you think of —”

“Where d’you
get
a car like this?” George burst out.

B watched Trina’s face closely. George was excited about the car, she knew, but she could tell he was also keeping up his quest to find out where Trina came from.

“At a dealership, I guess,” Trina said. “I didn’t buy it personally.”

Rick pulled the car into the driveway at Trina’s house. They climbed out, and Trina invited them inside through the back door. They passed through the kitchen, where Trina opened the fridge and offered them sodas and juice, then headed into the living room. It was big, but otherwise pretty much like any normal living room, except that the walls were bare. No, not bare exactly — nails were spaced high on the wall as if they once held pictures. B noticed a bunch of picture frames leaning against the wall near the bookcase, with the pictures themselves facing the wall.

“You just moved in, right?” B said. “You’re unpacked except for the pictures.”

“Oh, you don’t want to see those,” Trina said quickly. “They’re … boring. I have an uncle who likes to photograph … dirt. Grandma says we have to hang them on the walls, but I don’t want to.” Trina grabbed a throw off the couch and tossed it over the stack of frames. “Pull up a chair, guys, and make yourselves at home.”

“Hey, is that an actual suit of armor?” George headed toward the front entryway, where a knight stood guarding the door.

“Wait! You can’t go out in the hall.” Trina blushed as they both turned to look at her. “You, um, have to stay in here. My grandma doesn’t really like visitors, so I’m only allowed to have people in the kitchen and the living room. The noise in the hallway would disturb her.”

B and George sat back down. B felt bad for Trina, living with a grandma who seemed so restrictive. Still, why all these secrets? Yesterday they weren’t welcome inside. Today they could come in, but so many things were off-limits. Strange.

“What about your parents?” George said. “Do they like visitors?”

“I live with my grandma,” Trina said. “My parents are, um, traveling.”

A telephone rang in the kitchen, and Trina excused herself to go answer it. While she was away, George and B exchanged a look. They didn’t need to speak. B knew George was thinking the same thing she was. Trina was getting more mysterious by the minute.

“I’m back,” Trina said, returning to the living room. “Let’s get started. Did you guys have a song in mind?”

“‘Yowl’!” George and B said the word together.

“What’s that?” Trina said. Then, as her gaze rested on B’s Black Cats sweatshirt, she snapped her fingers. “I know. It’s by that band everyone’s talking about, right?”

“The Black Cats!” B exclaimed. “You still haven’t heard their music?”

Trina shrugged. “Maybe once or twice.”

“I know,” George said. “For our group project, instead of doing an essay or a poster, why don’t we
sing
the new song we write? I’ll bet Mr. Bishop would give extra credit for that.”

“No way,” B said. “You know I don’t like performing in public.”

“I don’t sing.”

George and B both looked at Trina. “Not even in the shower?” B asked.

“At
all
.”

Even stage-fright B was surprised at the determination in Trina’s voice.

“Okay,” George said. “I guess we’ll scrap that idea. The first thing we need to do is write down the lyrics to the song.”

“Ready,” B said, pulling out her notebook. “The song begins, ‘Midnight in the alley, the cats are on the prowl, they see the full moon risin’ —’ ”

George cut in. “‘That’s when they YOWL, yowl, yowl, yowl….’”

“It’s really just one ‘Yowl.’ The rest are the backup singers,” B said.

“Doesn’t matter,” George replied. “It’s still repetition. That’s a poetic element.”

“Whatever,” B said, writing as fast as her hand would go. “‘That’s when they yowl, yowl, yowl, yowl, yowl…. That’s when they yowl, yowl, yowl….’ Man, this line repeats three times! They could have thought up some lyrics with more variety.”

“I thought you really liked the song,” Trina said.

“Oh, definitely,” B said. “I just don’t like transcribing it.”

George continued. “So after the third ‘yowl, yowl, yowl’ bit, they say, ‘Throw your head back and HOWL, howl, howl, howl….’ ”

“‘The cats are on the prowl.
Yeah!
’” B finished her notes.

They wrote out the second verse in the same way, and once again it ended with plenty of yowls.

“No shortage of rhyme here,” George said. “What about the next verse?”

“This one has a different meter. Slower,” B said. “‘Night’s — the — hour — for — keep — ing — se — crets….’”

“Is that the chorus?” George asked.

“The bridge,” Trina said quickly.

B turned toward her, surprised. “The
who?”

“The bridge,” Trina said. “That’s what you call that part of the song, where the verses and the tune change to something different. It’s not the chorus; it’s the bridge.” She looked confused for a minute. “At least, I’m pretty sure I saw that once on a TV show.”

“Learn something every day,” George said. Then he burst into song. “‘But — we — Black — Cats — ain’t — got — se — crets, want — the — whole — wide — world — to — hear — us — YOWL, yowl, yowl, yowl!’”

“You were a little bit off there, George,” B said. “It’s ‘But — we — Cats — ain’t — got — no — se — crets….’ ”

George shook his head. “No, I’m positive it’s ‘we Black Cats ain’t got.’ ”

“Nope. They don’t say ‘Black’ in that line,” B said. “I’ve only listened to this song about a million times.”

Trina cleared her throat. “You’re both wrong. It’s But — us — Cats — don’t — want — no — se — crets.”

George and B stared at Trina. “You said you didn’t know the song!” B exclaimed.

“Who cares? I think she’s right.” George started singing again, and B joined in. Even Trina hummed along.

“Mad dogs in the alley

Show their teeth and growl.

But they’re no match for street cats

Who bare their claws and YOWL, yowl, yowl, yowl….”

B stopped singing. Even just humming, Trina’s voice was amazing! It seemed to fill the room, despite the noise she and George made.

Trina swayed back and forth to the rhythm of the song, closed her eyes, and sang.

“Night’s the hour for keeping secrets.

But us Cats don’t want no secrets,

Want the whole wide world to hear us YOWL….”

A trunk in the corner of the room sprang open with a bang all by itself, as if by magic. Clothes, shoes, and papers came flying out. Trina stopped singing. George shot a glance at B. She knew what he was thinking, because she had the same concern. She hadn’t spelled a thing! How could her
magic be this uncontrollable? What if Trina got suspicious?

Trina hurried to clean up the spilled things and close the trunk. “Boy, that’s weird,” she said anxiously. “Must be the springs are broken or something.”

B wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. Then she caught sight of something on the floor.

“That’s a Black Cats suit!” B cried. “The catsuits they wear, with the rhinestones. And the boots! Where’d you get a costume like that?”

Trina didn’t answer, but stuffed the costume back in the trunk and closed the lid.

“And where’d you learn to sing like that?” George demanded. “You said you
don’t
sing, and you
don’t
like the Black Cats! You … you could practically impersonate them.”

Trina turned to face them, looking sheepish. “Well …,” she said, “… I guess I am a secret fan after all.”

“Why keep it a secret?” B reached down and picked up a Black Cats album cover that had blown out of the trunk with the clothes, but escaped
Trina’s notice. B stared at the cover. Then she stared back at Trina. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Why hadn’t she seen it before?

“Holy cats!
You’re
the lead singer! You’re KAT!”

Trina blew out a long, slow breath. “Well,” she said, “so much for secrets. That one didn’t even last a week.”

George and B both sank down onto the couch, too stunned to speak. B pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

“I knew I’d seen you before,” George said. “I thought, maybe, I’d seen you at the mall.” He laughed. “I guess I probably have seen you at the mall, at the record store.”

“And the movies,” B added. “Remember they did that movie last summer?”

Trina sat on the floor and plucked at the carpet.

“What’s the matter, Trina?” George said, playing on an imaginary electric guitar. “I’d love to be in a rock band. Most kids would kill to be you.”

“It is fun,” Trina said. “But that’s just the problem. Kids might think they’d like to be me, but once they find out I’m Kat from the Black Cats, they treat
me differently. All they see is a rock singer.” She leaned back on a cushion. “Not a person.”

“Yeah, but …” George was so excited he could barely find the words. “You get to ride around in a limo, and travel all over the world, and … sign autographs!” He collapsed back into the couch. “Buckets of money for all the chocolate you could ever want!”

Trina laughed, but only for a second. “That stuff’s fine, but people chasing you gets old pretty quick. Photographers and reporters’ll follow you into the bathroom if they can.”

B whistled. She’d never thought of it that way before.

“It’s like hundreds of Jason Jamesons,” Trina continued. “He’s only hovering around because he thinks I’m rich. That’s nothing compared to how people react when they find out you’re
famous.”
She sighed. “I thought, if I came here and lived with my grandma, I could start fresh.” She smiled sadly. “It was really fun having genuine friends again.”

B jumped up. “Well, who says we’re going to change? We’re not!”

“We’re not like that,” George said. “We were just surprised for a second. Nothing’s going to be different.”

Trina sat up. “You mean that?”

“Of course we do.” B tossed a couch cushion at Trina playfully. “We can keep a secret, can’t we, George?”

“Sure.” George gave B a knowing look. She knew he was thinking of the secret they already shared — B’s magic.

“We won’t treat you differently, so long as you promise not to treat me differently when I’m a world-famous soccer player,” George said.

They all laughed.

“Deal,” Trina said. “What will you be famous for, B?”

B shrugged. “Oh, I dunno … I’m pretty good at, um, spelling.”

Trina’s eyes lit up. She lobbed the couch cushion back at B. “I get it — Spelling B! You’ll be a world-famous spelling bee champion. You’ve got the perfect name for it.”

B grimaced. “I don’t need to be famous. I’d hate to have everyone watch me.” B remembered her most recent spelling bee, before she understood how her spelling magic worked. She’d flooded the whole school building! “Let’s get back to work on our project before it gets too late.”

Trina jumped up. “I’ve got a better idea. You’ll like this.” She reopened the trunk in the corner. “Do you guys want to see my Black Cats stuff?”

“Absolutely!”

Trina unloaded one thing after another — costumes, props, promotional posters, jam session tapes, autographed photos. In no time the living room was full of Cat-abilia.

“This is so cool,” George said. “You guys are the hottest band around. Why did you cancel your concert tour?”

Trina sank back on her heels. “I know. I’m so sad about it. I’ll miss the band so much. They came over yesterday to say good-bye. At least for now.” She pressed her lips together. “But, that’s a band secret that I can’t share.” She shook her head. “Sorry.”

B considered teasing her for more info, but the look on Trina’s face changed her mind. She and George had almost stumbled onto the Black Cats’ farewell yesterday. She tried not to show it, but she was even more impressed with Trina. It took the sting out of the canceled tour.

“We all felt terrible about it, but it was unavoidable.”

“Ka-TRI-na!”

It was the crackly voice B’d heard the day before, calling from upstairs.

“Grandma,” Trina said. “Sorry guys, but …”

“Are those children still here, Katrina?”

George and B climbed to their feet. “We were just leaving,” B said. “We’ll figure out another time to work on our project. Thanks for having us over, Trina.”

“Yeah, and thanks for showing us all this stuff!” George said.

“Wow, can you believe that? Kat from the Black Cats, right in our class!” George exclaimed on the
way home. “This kind of thing just doesn’t
happen
!”

“I know,” B said. “I’m so glad we got to know her first.” B still had a strange feeling that there was something else Trina wasn’t telling them.

George said, “So now I’ve got a witch and a Black Cat for a friend. Which reminds me … why did you use magic to open that trunk? That was pretty risky to do in front of somebody else, wasn’t it?”

B shivered. “Oh, my gosh, I was so nervous that Trina would get suspicious. Turns out she was more worried about her own secret. But that’s just it. I didn’t
mean
to do it. I have no idea how it happened.”

George scratched his curly blond head. “You mean, you didn’t spell any words in your head or something?”

“I’m sure I didn’t.” B jumped over a puddle in the sidewalk. “Did I?”

George stopped to look at B. “You wouldn’t ever let her in on the secret, would you?”

B shook her head. “No way. I can’t. You’re not even supposed to know, George. But I’m worried. There’s more than just that trunk. Somehow, today, without meaning to, I conjured up a magical kitten. Something’s really wrong. More proof that my magic is out of control.”