The Cat-Astrophe (5 page)

B arrived at school early the next day. She’d barely slept, worrying about her unpredictable magic, so in the morning she decided to go straight to the person who could help.

She tiptoed into Mr. Bishop’s classroom. “Good morning.”

Her magic tutor jumped at the sound of her voice. “B! What brings you here so early?”

B greeted Mozart and poured some kibbles into his dish. “It’s my magic. It’s gone haywire. First I failed the test. Then, yesterday morning, I did a quick spell to remove a stain from my shirt, and a little magical kitten appeared. I have no idea why. It jumped into my arms, then vanished.”

“Hmm.” Mr. Bishop twirled the tip of his black beard. “Go on.”

“Then, yesterday afternoon, I was at a friend’s house. I didn’t spell anything. All of a sudden this trunk springs open, bang!” She closed Mozart’s cage. “What’s wrong with me?”

Mr. Bishop pulled on his jacket. “Hmm … could be a magical malady. And now’s not a good time for one! Madame Mel asked to reschedule your makeup test for after school today. So we’d better get your magic examined.”

“How?” Then B shook herself. “Wait a minute. Did you say my retest is
today?”

Mr. Bishop nodded. “Same time, same place.”

B rocked on the heels of her sneakers. “But I can’t! I’m not ready. I need more time to iron out the kinks. And the kinks are getting weirder than ever.”

“Then there’s not a moment to lose.” He looked at his watch. “Come on. I’ll take you to someone who can help.”

“Who?”

Mr. Bishop’s cowboy boot heels clicked on the
floor as he moved to stand next to B. “To a witch doctor, of course!”

Mr. Bishop’s travel spell deposited them in a waiting room filled with magical mobiles that spun without any breeze and chairs spangled with stars. In one corner sat a miserable-looking young witch with a boxful of tissues. Every time she coughed, a ladybug flew out from her throat.

“At least it’s not spiders, Maudie,” the older witch beside her said.

A witch in long, loose robes covered with cartoony pictures of frogs and a stethoscope around her neck handed them a clipboard.

“New patient? Yes, I thought so. Fill out these forms, please. All twenty-seven of them.”

“Can we bypass the formalities this time, Dorcas?” Mr. Bishop said in a low voice. “This is a special, rush-rush case. This young lady here has a magical exam in just a few hours.” He dropped his voice even lower. “I think she might have caught Spontaneous Spellulitis.”

B gulped. That sounded awful!

The nurse’s eyebrows rose. She consulted her watch, then beckoned for them to follow her. “Right this way.”

She showed them into a small room with a counter, sink, desk, and cot. The walls were plastered with bits of parchment with poems written on them — things like,
ORAL HYGIENE WON’T BE RUSHED, HAPPY TEETH ARE FLOSSED AND BRUSHED,
and
COLDS DON’T HAVE TO BE AN ISSUE, CATCH YOUR SNEEZES WITH A TISSUE.

“I thought you said this doctor treated magical maladies,” B said, pointing to the couplets on the wall.

“Witches can get regular sicknesses, too,” Mr. Bishop explained. “Dr. Jellicoe treats magical and nonmagical illness.”

B was just reading the diploma on the wall for Marcellus K. Jellicoe, Doctor of Magical Medicine, when there was a knock at the door. “Who’s there?” Mr. Bishop called.

“Doctor Boo,” the voice replied.

“Doctor Boo who?” Mr. Bishop said, grinning at B.

The door burst open. “Don’t cry — you’re not getting shots today!” The doctor threw back his head and laughed. “That’s a good one, isn’t it? Just thought it up on my way down the hall.”

B stared at the man. He was short, barely taller than B herself, and round as a soccer ball, yet light on his feet. His witching robe was a large white lab coat, big enough to fit around his girth. He thrust out a hand to B. “I’m Dr. Jellicoe. What can I do for you?”

“This is my student, B,” Mr. Bishop said. “She’s been having strange magical anomalies — spells cast around her when she never said a thing. She’s a spelling witch, Doc, not a rhyming one. We wondered if you could give her a quick checkup before she goes into a witching exam today to make sure she doesn’t have Spontaneous Spellulitis.”

Dr. Jellicoe nodded. “I love a good case of Spellulitis! One time a patient of mine conjured a hot air balloon right in the middle of a shopping mall. Spellulitis is always good for some laughs.”

“Not if it exposes witchcraft to the nonmagical world,” Mr. Bishop said sternly.

Dr. Jellicoe sighed. “Yes, there is that aspect.” He gestured for B to sit on the cot. He took a peculiar helmet out of a cupboard and put it on. Strange wires, visors, and antennae stuck out every which way. A rotating hourglass, a spinning prism, and a tuning fork all whizzed and spun.

“What’s that thing for?” B asked.

“Protection,” the doctor said. “If you’ve got runaway magic, anything might happen to me!” He snapped a purple visor over his eyes, then held up a magnifier flashlight to B’s face. “Say ‘ahhh.’”

B said, “Ahhh.” Dr. Jellicoe peered into her throat.

“Excellent. Now, would you light my flashlight here for me?”

B spelled, “L-I-G-H-T,” and a soft light beamed from his magnifier.

“Marvelous! Spelling magic.” Dr. Jellicoe pulled four crazy-colored dice from his coat pocket, showed them to B, then shook them together between his cupped hands. “Think you can pull off a twenty-one for me?”

“Huh? Oh!” She quickly spelled the number, “T-W-E-N-T-Y O-N-E!”

The doctor tossed the dice onto the examining room counter. They rolled to a quick stop, a four, two sixes, and a five.

“Good … good.” He pulled a little device from his pocket, made of a shiny rod around which rainbow-colored beads spun in circles, with no sign of attaching strings. Dr. Jellicoe studied the revolving beads and nodded. “Excellent. Your magical potency index is quite strong. Four point nine. Now, would you please conjure up some sort of dessert?”

“What kind?”

“Surprise me.”

B thought for a minute. “S-U-N-D-A-E,” she spelled. A jar on the counter became a goblet, piled high with ice cream, caramel sauce, and whipped cream.

Dr. Jellicoe licked his lips. He examined the sundae closely, then pulled a test tube from his pocket. He spooned ice cream into it and pulled a cord that dangled from the ceiling. A bell rang.

“Lab work!” he cried. A witch nurse in pale green scrub robes appeared and snatched away the tube. Once she’d shut the door, Dr. Jellicoe scooped a big mouthful right out of the sundae with his spoon.

“Nothing wrong with this magic,” he said. “I don’t even need to wait for lab results to know that.” He took off his helmet. “You’re fit as a frog, Miss B,” he said. “Get hopping.”

“Then what about all the odd things that keep happening around me?”

Dr. Jellicoe ate an even bigger spoonful of ice cream. “The world is nothing but a jumble of strange things happening everywhere you look. Some are magical; some are just part of being alive. But rest assured, your magic is in tip-top condition.”

B wasn’t convinced, but Mr. Bishop seemed entirely satisfied.

Dr. Jellicoe took a notepad and a pen from his pocket. “I have a prescription for you.

To make most magical malaises stop,

I prescribe one lollipop.”

Dr. Jellicoe twirled his hand with a flourish, seemingly plucking a pink-striped sucker right out of thin air. He handed it to B.

B examined it. “Is this full of some magical medicine?” she asked. “Will it taste terrible?”

Dr. Jellicoe beamed at her. “Try it and see.” B took a lick. Watermelon!

“Watermelon lollipops always make me feel better,” Dr. Jellicoe said. He tucked his prescription pad back in his pocket. “You’ll do fine in your magical exam today,” he said. “Stay healthy!”

Mr. Bishop and B said good-bye and returned to the waiting room, where Mr. Bishop spoke a quick “back-to-school” couplet. They landed in Mr. Bishop’s classroom just as the line of school buses began forming outside.

“I’d better get to homeroom,” B said.

“Meet me here right after school, okay, B?”

B felt the lunar moths in her belly wake up from their sleep. Dr. Jellicoe may have said she was healthy, but right now B felt sick with worry.

“Today, students, we will continue our work on animal portraits in a new medium — scratchboard. Instead of painting with dark strokes on white paper, we’ll be etching white into black-coated paper. You need to suddenly see things in reverse. Let me demonstrate.”

Miss Willow, immersed in her art lesson at the front of the room, was unaware of Jason harassing Trina behind the back row of easels.

“You’re hiding something, Katrina. I know it.”

Trina stared at the front of the room as if Miss Willow’s demonstration contained the answer to the mysteries of the universe.

“Leave her
alone,”
B said. “I’m sick of you bugging her.”

“You’re the only one who’s bugging, Bumblebee,” Jason replied.

“Why don’t you make like a bee and buzz off?” B said a little too loudly.

“Beatrix,” Miss Willow called, “please don’t distract the class with your chatter.”

B’s cheeks burned. Jason hid behind his easel so Miss Willow wouldn’t see him laughing.

Later that morning, on her way to English class, B saw Trina and waved to her. Then she paused. Following Trina a few yards back, cloak-and-dagger style, was Jason Jameson. He lurked in doorways and peered around corners, dodging other students while never losing sight of her.

“Jason’s stalking Trina,” B whispered to George as she caught up with him in the hall. “We’ve got to do something. He might stumble onto her secret.”

Trina was walking toward them. She kept looking over her shoulder, but Jason would duck out of sight at the last minute.

“I know, but what?” George asked. “He’s just curious, like we were.”

“I know.” B shook her head. “I still feel bad about the way we found out where she lives.”

“Hi, B! Hi, George!” Trina said, looping arms with her two new friends and tugging them forward. “Have you spotted my shadow?” she whispered.

“Yeah, Jason’s a real pest,” B said, whipping her head around in time to catch Jason and glare at him.

“He won’t leave me alone,” Trina said, her shoulders sagging. “If he finds out, well, then I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t want to move again.”

“Why don’t we meet after school and work on our poetry project?” B asked, trying to cheer up Trina.

“I’m in!” George said.

“How can we with Mr. Nosy tagging along?” Trina asked sadly. “He’ll ruin everything.”

B pulled her friends to a stop outside their English classroom. “We’ll think of something.”

Mr. Bishop stepped into the hallway and said,
“Why don’t you all come inside? Class is about to start. And that means you, too, Mr. Jameson.”

Jason blushed as he slipped from behind the trophy case where he had been hiding and slinked, head down, into class.

B sat through the poetry lecture and readings, fuming over Jason Jameson’s outrageous snooping. A pest like him was sure to turn up something sooner or later. Once he caught onto the fact that Trina was really Kat, the lead singer of the Black Cats, the whole town would know. Reporters and photographers would swarm all over Trina…. She’d probably have to move again! B glanced over at her new friend, who was busily taking notes on Mr. Bishop’s lecture.
All she wants is to be normal,
B realized.
I’ve got to think of a way to get Jason Jameson off her back at least for a little while.

Then she got an idea.

“Psst.” George glanced over at her.

“Pssst.”
Trina looked up.

“Meet me at my locker after school,” B breathed, barely doing more than mouthing the words. George and Trina nodded.

George and Trina were waiting for B when she reached her locker after the last period. It had taken her a minute to find Kim Silsby and her attached-at-the-hip best friend, Drake, and a minute more to persuade them to loan her their matching Black Cats sweatshirts, but they did.

“We can throw Jason off the scent with a little switcheroo,” B said. “Here’s the plan….” She explained her idea.

Trina grinned. “That’s perfect. I think it’ll work.”

“Incoming,” George said, nodding toward the end of the corridor. “Jason’s on his way.”

“Make sure he sees us,” B said. She and Trina stood back from the locker so all the world could see them slip on the matching black hooded sweatshirts. Then they took off down the crowded hall, side by side. B glanced back just enough to see Jason set off after them.

“Now,” she whispered.

B and Trina began weaving in and out of their classmates, crossing paths again and again to confuse Jason as to which girl was which.

“Ready?” Trina whispered.

“Let’s do it.” B and Trina pulled up their hoods and parted ways, each one heading toward the other one’s locker. When she passed a long, glassed-in trophy case, B glanced sideways and saw Jason’s reflection following her.
Yes!
She hurried to Trina’s locker. After pausing there for just a minute, she headed down the long corridor toward the cafeteria and picked up the pace, sensing Jason’s impatience. If she could make it as far as the cafeteria, she should buy Trina enough time to sneak away to the library and meet George like they had planned.

Just then she felt a tap on the shoulder. “Hey, Trina,” Jason said in a singsong voice. B turned around slowly to see Jason’s face harden into a scowl of anger.

“Hello, Jason,” she said in her sweetest voice. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“What in the heck do you think you’re … Hey!”

B and Jason noticed Trina in the distance at the same time, wearing her Black Cats hoodie. Why was Trina still here, and not on her way home?
Why would she come back in the building, after all their efforts to double-switch Jason?

Jason took off after Trina, and B took off after him. Trina was booking it down the hall. B would never have guessed Trina could move so quickly. Jason was only barely keeping up. The hallways were nearly empty now, so B risked using some magic to slow Jason down. She hoped it wouldn’t go haywire again.

“S-T-I-C-K-Y,” she spelled, concentrating on Jason’s shoes. His footfalls began to squeak; then each foot became stuck to the ground. Jason yelped in surprise as he struggled to wrench each sneaker off the floor, as if he’d stepped in a huge fresh wad of chewing gum. B giggled. This was a little too much fun.

Trina was opening the double doors to the gym when Jason recovered and took off after her, B right at his heels. Jason reached for Trina’s hood and yanked it to reveal not Trina’s long dark hair, but a mop of dirty blond curls.

George!
B was so shocked, she nearly fell over.

“Why, you …” Jason fumed, kicking at a stray basketball.

George smiled and flashed B the thumbs-up. That was the signal: Trina had gotten away.

Trina greeted B and George with high fives all around — after she had checked to make sure B and George didn’t have a Jason Jameson–size shadow. “We did it! Your plan was brilliant, B.”

“Your and George’s switch was what really did the trick,” B said.

“I’ve got an idea — let’s create a song inspired by Jason Jameson,” George said, and then he began to sing off-key:
“When Jason comes a-stalking, we don’t even care.”

“Keep going,” B cheered.

“Oh, I’m horrible at rhyming. What rhymes with ‘care’?” George asked.

B thought for a second and then dashed off all the rhyming words she could think of. “Bear. Dare. Fair. Hair. Pear.”

Trina broke out into a silly grin and sang:

“When Jason comes a-stalking, we don’t even care.

He’s no match for us; black cats are everywhere!”

Trina stopped singing abruptly and clasped both hands over her mouth.

“What is it, Trina?” George said. “Is Jason back?”

Trina shook her head vigorously and slowly lowered her hands. “I really shouldn’t have done that.”

“What?” B said, but then she looked around. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She turned in a slow circle.

Black cats were everywhere. Crawling on bookshelves and lounging on tables. Swinging from light fixtures. The floor was covered in a sea of black cats. B had never seen so many felines in her life. “Holy cats!” she exclaimed.

Only one thing could cause this type of disaster — magic!

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!” Trina’s panic-stricken voice roused B from her own shock.

While Trina rushed around the library trying to herd the cats, George leaned in and whispered to B, “She’s a witch, isn’t she?” He sounded dazed, like
someone waking from a dream. “One of the rhyming ones.”

“No time for that now,” B said. “We’ve got to help her.” Now all B’s recent magical problems — the trunk springing open, the mysterious black cat in the school — made sense. Her magic wasn’t out of control; Trina’s was.

B walked over to where Trina had stopped, holding two squirming cats. “It’s all right, Trina,” she said. The two cats wriggled free and B put her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “It’s all right. Or at least it will be.”

“No, it isn’t,” Trina said, pulling away. “You don’t understand.”

“Yes,” B said, “I do understand. Boy, do I understand. You’re a witch.”

Trina’s eyes widened in shock.

“It’s okay. I’m a witch, too.”

For a second, B thought Trina might faint. The lead singer of the Black Cats blinked.

“My magic isn’t always in control, either,” B said.

George walked over, trying not to step on any cats. “What are we going to do about all these cats?”

“It’s okay,” B said to Trina. “He’s not a witch, but he totally gets it.”

“Maybe not totally …,” George mumbled.

“But I thought humans weren’t ever supposed to know about the existence of witches. How does he know?” Trina looked from B to George.

“That’s a long story.” B stared at the hundreds of cats crawling around the library. “I think we should figure out how to fix this problem first.”