The Cat-Astrophe (6 page)

“Why don’t you do another poem thingy to make the cats disappear?” George suggested.

“I don’t know,” Trina said, scooping up a cat that was rubbing up against her legs. “Usually one of the other Black Cats or my grandma has helped me undo any magical mistakes.”

“So all the Black Cats are witches?” B asked. “And your grandma, too?”

Trina nodded. “Maybe the cats will just vanish in a minute.”

“We can’t risk it,” B said. “What if one of the teachers decides to go to the library, or some kid wants to return a book after sports practice?”

“Or what if the cats find a way out?” George added, watching the creatures explore every inch of the library. “Cats are pretty smart, you know.”

“I’ve never messed up this bad before,” Trina said, as if she wasn’t really listening.

“You can do it, Trina. Just relax and concentrate. You’re great at rhyming.” B tried to sound encouraging, but she knew Trina had to fix this. If someone stopped by the library, how would they ever explain?

Trina closed her eyes. She took a deep, singer’s breath from her diaphragm, filling her body with air, then sang:

“Cats, cats everywhere, from up high to way down low.

You all are black and beautiful, but now it’s time go.”

And in a flash, the library was cat-free.

“Did it work?” Trina asked, her eyes still closed.

“See for yourself,” B said.

Trina opened one eye, then the other, and let out a huge sigh of relief.

“That was crazy,” George said, looking around to make sure every cat was gone.

Trina laughed a little, then turned to B. “Are you really a witch? I can’t believe it!”

“Really and truly,” B said. “But my magic is different from most witches’. I do spells by spelling words, not by speaking couplets. I’m still trying to get the hang of it.”

“Wow, I never heard of spelling magic.” Trina looked at B more closely. “My magic’s offbeat, too. Speaking spells doesn’t work for me. I’ve got to sing them.”

“A singing witch!” B smiled. “And that fits, since you’re such an incredible singer anyway.” Then B snapped her fingers. “That’s it!”

Trina nodded.

“What’s
it?” George asked.

“The reason the Black Cats broke up. I get it! You can’t have a singing witch singing all those songs. It would turn the world upside down.”

Trina sighed. “Pretty much. I caused a lot of havoc before we figured it out. I moved out here to
live with my grandma. She’s a singing witch like me. She’s trying to help me control my powers, but it’s not easy.”

“I know what you mean,” B said. “Maybe in the M.R.S. library there’s a book that explains what to do about that. If there was a way you could sing with the band again, would you want to?”

“More than anything,” Trina said. “I miss it so much. I feel like a fish out of water without my singing.”

“Wow,” George said. “I can’t believe it. Both my friends have these amazing superpowers, and what’ve I got? A decent soccer scoring average. Big deal.”

“It
is
a big deal,” B said. “You’re going to be a soccer star someday! That’s a superpower. And believe me, magic isn’t everything. Sometimes it’s more trouble than it’s worth. You’ve seen it yourself.”

B knew that George remembered some of B’s magical mishaps, yet he still didn’t seem convinced.

“Friendship matters more than magic,” Trina said, looking at them both seriously. “You’re a terrific
friend, George. Both of you are. I’m really lucky to have met you.” She smiled. “Thanks for your help with the Jason switcheroo after school, too.”

B dropped her backpack on the ground. “After school,” she repeated.
“Right
after school. Oh, no!”

Her magic test! She’d forgotten all about it! B scooped up her bag, turned around, and started running.

“Wait up!” George was chasing her.

“What’s the matter?” Trina was following, too.

B’s feet tore up the sidewalk. What should she tell them? She didn’t want Trina to know that she was such a witching disaster that she needed a remedial makeup magic test.

“I, uh, have a tutoring appointment with a teacher after school,” B managed to gasp between sprinting strides. “Forgot about it. Hope I’m not too late! See you tomorrow.”

B vaulted up the school stairs in one giant step, wrenched the door open, and skidded through the freshly waxed corridors.

“Watch where you’re going,” the janitor hollered after her.

She threw open the door to Mr. Bishop’s room. He was at his desk reading a book. He closed the pages with a thud.

“I’m sorry!” she blurted out. “I had a friend emergency, and I just …”

B’s voice trailed off when she saw the look on Mr. Bishop’s face.

“Keeping Madame Mel waiting is generally not the wisest idea,” he said. “I called and postponed your test after you didn’t show up.”

B’s knees wobbled. She slid into a chair. Saved! “Thanks.”

“If we leave right now, we’ll just make your new appointment.” He reached for B’s arm, uttered a couplet, and in seconds the traveling spell deposited them once more in the corridor outside Madame Mel’s curious door. Her head poked out before they could even knock.

“Hurry in, hurry in!” Madame Mel intoned. “Heavens, how I hate to be kept waiting!” She seemed annoyed, but not really cross. B still couldn’t believe her good luck. She hoped it would hold long enough for her to pass the test.

B followed the Grande Mistress of the M.R.S. into her office, spotted Hermes on the carpet, and quickly began the first spell. “S-P-E-A-K —”

“Ah, hold it there a minute.” Madame Mel cut her off. “Each test is different. Can’t have you knowing the questions in advance, can we?”

“That wouldn’t do at all,” chipped in Hermes. B smiled to herself. Her spell might not count, but at least it had worked!

“Indeed,” Madame Mel continued. “So this time, make Hermes fly, if you’d be so kind.”

B studied Hermes’s bulgy-looking body. He looked as aviation-worthy as a serving of mashed potatoes.

“Okay, Hermes, don’t be scared. F-L-Y.”

Hermes lolled over onto his back, poking his little paws up in the air, and basked in the sunshine. Not flying at all. B felt her palms begin to sweat.

“Maybe he needs help with takeoff,” she told Madame Mel, stalling for time and praying her theory was right. She reached down and picked up Hermes, depositing him gently on Madame Mel’s desk, noting with surprise how silky-soft his fur felt.
“Hermes, run across the desk and leap into the air, okay?”

“As you suggest. Please be prepared to catch me if your magic is, ahem, insufficient.” Hermes waddled at full tilt across the end of the desk, then leaped into the air. B held her breath.

He dipped down only slightly. Then he spread out all four paws and glided leisurely around the room, soaring above both their heads.

“This is rather exhilarating, I must say!” he called with a high-pitched giggle. “Look at me! Wheeeeeee!”

B watched Madame Mel’s face anxiously. The corners of the Grande Mistress’s mouth twitched as Hermes’s fur ruffled in the breeze. “He’s starting to show off,” Madame Mel observed.

“Better come down now,” B told the skunk.

“Certainly not! This is the best flying spell I’ve had in years!”

“Never mind; let him enjoy himself,” Madame Mel said. “I’ll tend to him later. Now, for the potion. This time, I will choose the type of brew.”

B’s hopes fell. She’d been planning to concoct a truth potion, something she’d had some success with in the past.

Madame Mel dumped out the drawer of ingredients once more. “Would you make a politeness potion?”

After some consideration, she chose a glove, a breath mint, a moist towelette, and a postage stamp — which made her think of sending thank you notes. She wasn’t sure if it was a strong enough mixture of politeness objects, but she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and spelled, “P-O-L-I-T-E.”

B opened her eyes and saw that the objects had formed into a tangerine-colored liquid. She breathed its citrusy fragrance before pouring it into a little goblet. Her nose tingled. Uh-oh … she’d inhaled some of the potion!

Madame Mel pursed her lips and drank a sip.

“Thank you, B,” she said, her voice syrupy-sweet. “I don’t know when I’ve tasted a lovelier potion.”

“No, thank
you,”
B replied. “It was a charming idea for an assignment.”

“My pleasure entirely,” Madame Mel said. “Won’t you pull up a chair? Please, make yourself at home. Can I offer you any refreshment? It’s nearly teatime.”

“Oh, I’d hate to trouble you,” B said. “I’m perfectly all right. But thanks for offering.”

Madame Mel hiccupped. “Gracious! Excuse me.” She dabbed at the corner of her lips with a napkin. “I do believe your potion has been successful, B.”

“He flies through the air with the greatest of ease…,”
warbled Hermes, floating belly up and pretending to backstroke. His altitude was dropping. B plucked him from midair before he bumped into the grandfather clock.

“I say!” the skunk cried indignantly. “Another flying spell, please!”

“S-P-E-E-C-H-L-E-S-S,” B spelled before he could lecture her any further. Then she returned to her chair.

“Awfully kind of you to rescue my skunk. And my clock,” Madame Mel said.

“Not at all,” B said. “My pleasure.”

“Ahem. Yes, well, I do apologize for asking anything more of you, B, but we must be moving on with the test. I have another student waiting, and I’d hate to inconvenience him. If you’d be so kind, for your final exercise, would you turn this globe” — she gestured to the magnificent antique globe of the world behind her desk — “into cheese?”

“What an interesting challenge,” B said. “I’d be honored to give it a try.”
Holy cats!
B thought.
This politeness potion is a doozy! I can’t get it out of my head.

She focused on the spinning model of the world and thought about cheese. Cheese, cheese, a world of cheese. She thought of the magic-run creamery her mother frequented, the Magical Moo, and all the delicious cheeses they sold from around the world. Swiss, Camembert, Manchego, Stilton, American, Cheddar, provolone …

This was it. Would she pass the test? Were her other spells enough?

“C-H-E-E-S-E.”

Madame Mel gasped with delight. She opened a cupboard and pulled out a tray covered with assorted crackers.

“What a masterpiece!” she exclaimed. “Parmesan for Italy, all the little Swiss cheese holes in the Alps.” She dipped a cracker into the Pacific Ocean and tasted it. “Mmm … you have an artist’s touch. Not many students would have thought to make a blue cheese dip for the oceans.”

B dipped a cracker into the British Isles and tasted the soft, nutty Cheddar.

Madame Mel clapped both her hands, and the door to her office opened. Mr. Bishop appeared, smiling. “Bravo,” Madame Mel said. “Your pupil did a marvelous job today. She passes the test with flying colors.”

“And flying skunks,” B said.

“Now, then, B.” Madame Mel slipped Hermes a cracker, then put the tray away. “You’ve earned a reward for your performance today. You may conjure it up yourself. Would you spell ‘CHARM,’ please? And concentrate on the experience of taking this test.”

“C-H-A-R-M,” B said as soon as she felt ready. She held out her wrist, where she always wore the silver charm bracelet she’d received when she first figured out her powers. A new charm appeared next to the sparkling silver “B.” It was a smiling skunk nibbling a wedge of cheese.

B showed it to Hermes. “Now I’ll never forget you, Hermes,” she said. He nuzzled her hand in reply.

“Lovely to visit with you two, but I must get on to my next appointment,” Madame Mel said. “Whew! That politeness potion is only just beginning to clear up. Strong stuff, B. Excellent work. See you soon!”

Back in Mr. Bishop’s classroom and with the test behind her, B still couldn’t relax. She remembered the other events of the day — especially the surprise news about Trina’s magic, and how it put an end to the Black Cats. There must be some way to help her out.

“You’ve tutored other beginner witches besides me, haven’t you, Mr. Bishop?”

Her teacher nodded. “Many of them. Why do you ask?”

Should she divulge the secret? If it could bring Trina some help …

“You know Katrina, the new student, right?” B paused. “She’s a, well, did you know —”

“She’s a witch,” Mr. Bishop interrupted. “She’s got a special brand of magic, just like you.”

B’s eyes widened. “You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was her secret to tell,” Mr. Bishop said, taking a seat on his desk.

“Then you know about her problem?” B began to pace from Mozart’s cage to Mr. Bishop’s desk and back again. Should she reveal the secret about the Black Cats, too? “Well, um, Trina’s sad about the singing thing, because … she really loves to sing, and she’s great at it, only since that’s how her magic works, she doesn’t dare. It’d be kind of like me competing in spelling bees. Not the best idea.”

Mr. Bishop opened a desk drawer and began searching for something. “You wouldn’t, by any chance, have a particular reason for being interested in this dilemma, would you?” He grinned. “A reason that has something to do with that sweatshirt you have on?”

B stopped pacing for a second and looked down at her borrowed band sweatshirt. “Is there anything you can do to help?”

Mr. Bishop leaned back in his chair and laughed. “I know all about Trina. And about the Black Cats.” He pulled a parcel from his pocket and unwrapped the tissue paper wrapping. “I’ve been working on something to help her. This is an amulet to block her magic if she wears it when she sings.” He held up a necklace with a silver pendant shaped like a treble clef. “I’ve been having a bit of trouble making it work. Amulets are a tricky business. Maybe you can help.”

“Me?” How could she help? She was good at making messes, not cleaning them up.

“Yes — you know Trina and the Black Cats better than I do.” Mr. Bishop began to swing the amulet back and forth. “We can make it your next lesson. Complex spells.”

“What?” She’d just passed her first M.R.S. exam. She wasn’t sure she was ready for anything complex.

“Some magic requires a series of spells. I’ve prepared the amulet to provide lasting protective powers, but I need someone to cast the spells
specific to Trina.” He handed the necklace to B. “I know you can do it. Take your time.”

B stared at the amulet and thought about Trina, her voice, and all of the Black Cats songs B loved. She imagined the concert and how badly she’d wanted to go.

“S-I-N-G-I-N-G,” B began. The treble clef pendant rotated in midair on its silver chain. “S-P-E-L-L C-A-S-T-I-N-G.” A ripple of rainbow prism color flashed across its surface. “S-H-I-E-L-D.” B finished her triple-spell incantation, and the silver amulet glowed with silver-white light.

“Singing. Spell casting. Shield,” Mr. Bishop repeated. “It could work!”

“Do you think so?” B asked, trying not to smile too widely.

“Strong desire makes strong magic,” Mr. Bishop said. “There’s only one way to find out. Why don’t you present this to Trina yourself?”

The next morning, B and George cornered Trina by her locker. B looked both ways to make sure no one
was close by to hear. “I’ve got something for you,” she said.

Trina opened the package and pulled out the necklace and pendant. “Wow, thanks! That’s so pretty. You didn’t have to do that.” Trina fastened it around her neck, obviously pleased.

“It’s not just a necklace,” B said. “It’s an amulet to shield your singing magic. If you wear this when you sing, you won’t create crazy spells.”

Trina’s eyes were wide. She fingered the treble clef.
“You
made this?”

B blushed. “Well, I did have some help from a friend.” She grinned. “I am your biggest fan, you know.”

“Watch it, there,” George said. “I think
I
am.”

Trina’s eyes shone. “Is it really true? Can I sing again?”

“Try it and see,” B said.

“What, here? In school?”

“Trust me,” B said, crossing her fingers and toes and holding her breath. It had to work. It just had to.

Trina bit her lip. “Okay. Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll
sing the first song that ever produced a spell for me. It was at my cousin’s birthday party just a few days after my eleventh birthday.” She pointed to George.

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!

You look like a monkey, and you smell like one, too!”

George sniffed his underarms. Trina and B leaned in and sniffed, too.

Trina laughed delightedly. “You’re fine. I don’t even want to tell you what happened to my cousin Andrew.”

They all laughed. Trina flung out her arms and spun around. “I can’t believe it! I can sing again!” She stopped and grinned at her friends. “I’ve got to go call my manager right away. The concert tour is back on!” She ran off.

“Holy cats!” B whooped.

“What’s the matter, B?” Kim Silsby said, pausing on her way down the hall.

“The Black Cats are back!” B cried. “The Black Cats are BACK!”

“George, have you ever heard so much noise in your entire life?” B yelled.

“What?”

“I said, ‘Have you ever heard so much noise in your entire life?’”

“What?”

“Never mind!” Even screaming, she couldn’t make George hear her.

It was Saturday night. They had pushed their way through the throngs of screaming Black Cats fans that filled the stadium, heading for their front-row seats. The opening band was finishing its act, but the fifteen thousand people gathered to see the Black Cats were too excited to pay much attention to them.

“Hey, this is us,” George said. “Front and indent!” He bounced up and down in the springy seats. “Can you believe it? Front row at the Black Cats, all for winning a spelling bee?”

“You were the winner, not me,” B reminded him.

“Yeah, well, you would have won if it weren’t for your magic,” George said. He dug in his pocket. “Backstage passes, too!”

B nodded. She scanned the crowd behind them. The stadium was full now, and the crowd had begun chanting, “Black! Cats! Black! Cats!”

“How much longer until they start?” B asked. George peered at his watch.

Just then the lights went out. For a second the arena fell almost silent. Then strobe lights began to flash. The audience whistled and stomped their feet. A massive spotlight swirled around on the back curtain, way up toward the ceiling.

Loud guitar chords ripped through the massive speakers. Everyone screamed. Drums kicked in, and everyone went wild.

Then, from high above the stage, a giant crescent moon suspended by cables appeared in the spotlight, with girls in black perching on its inner curve, and Trina on the very tip.

“Kat! Kat! Kat!” screamed the fans.

“Trina! Trina!” George and B added. She looked so different in her cat costume and makeup.

The moon descended slowly. The band members swayed to the beat.

“Look at her up there! Can you believe it?”
George said, elbowing B. “Does it seem possible that that’s our poetry project partner?”

“Not really,” B said, laughing.

When the moon was about three feet off the ground, it halted. Kat, dressed in a black catsuit studded with rhinestones, leaped off the platform, landing in a catlike crouch.

“Midnight in the alley,” she sang. “The cats are on the prowl, they see the full moon risin’….”

Just then a pair of security guards in black clothes appeared in front of George and B. “This way, please,” one of them said.

“What’s the matter?” said George, panicked.

“Just follow us, please,” one security guard shouted over the music.

B’s pulse pounded in her ears, louder even than the bass drum. She hurried after the stage guards, who urged them on, moving aside the cordons that kept fans away from the stage. Were they in trouble? She didn’t want to miss a moment of the show — not after everything she’d done to bring back the Black Cats.

“This way,” the security guard said. B gasped as the man lifted her up at the waist and set her on the stage!

Blinding spotlights, screaming fans waving flashlights … B stopped in her tracks. It was an ocean of people! Talk about stage fright. Trina smiled and waved them over. B couldn’t move. George prodded her from behind. Trina danced over and grabbed B’s and George’s hands and led them to indent stage.

“But they’re no match for street cats, who bare their claws and YOWL, yowl, yowl….”

Trina cupped a hand over her headset microphone. “Thanks, guys, for everything.”

B inched away, but Trina roped her back in. She put an arm around each of them. Together they all belted out,
“Night’s the hour for keeping secrets. But us Cats don’t want no secrets, want the whole wide world to hear us YOWL!”