The Runaway Spell (7 page)

B didn’t even look for George at the bus the next morning. She knew he’d be galloping to school, and she knew there was no way to hide the stripes. With each street the bus turned down, B felt disaster coming closer. She was in over her head; she had meddled with magic too advanced for her, and she knew she had to confess to Mr. Bishop. She couldn’t get out of this without his help. And she couldn’t let her friend be transformed into a zebra permanently.

B dragged herself to her locker and through homeroom. “Did you see what George did this morning?” Jamal Burns said to B on the way to
English. “He’s brave, man. He painted himself with tiger stripes for the big game.”

“He … he did?” B tried to pretend she didn’t know. “Orange and black, like a tiger?”

“He only painted the black ones. But it’s all over him. The rest of the team is jealous that he thought of it.”

“That George,” B said, pretending to laugh. “He’s always thinking up something.” Leaving Jamal behind, B plowed her way through the halls, racing to English to be on the scene when Mr. Bishop first laid eyes on her friend.

She found George all decked out in his team jersey and shorts, showing his arms, legs, neck, and face plastered with black zebra stripes. His tail was in plain view today, but no one seemed to pay attention to it, perhaps because he’d been wearing it nearly all week. His teammates were high-fiving him and examining his stripes admiringly.

“My mom would never let me do that.”

“I heard they were tattoos.”

“Don’t be an idiot!”

“You did your back, too? You’re crazy!”

George beamed at B. “I love my stripes,” he said. “This is the best Spirit Week costume ever.”

B sighed. She leaned over to George and whispered, “I’m turning myself in.”

“Aw, come on,” he said. “Can’t you wait till after the game? I’m gonna play like crazy today. I can just feel it. Did you see how fast I was running yesterday at the zoo?”

“Don’t remind me,” B said. “Personally, I might need a lifetime to forget yesterday at the zoo.”

“But I need to be the Zebra to help us win the game!” George pleaded.

Before B could respond, Mr. Bishop came into the room and class began. B watched her teacher like a hawk for any sign of special attention paid to George, curiosity,
anything.
But her magical English teacher seemed just like his usual cheerful self. He was decked out in school colors like everyone else, and wearing a cap with a huge tiger mascot made of foam rubber on top. He even complimented George on his school spirit, all without any sign of concern.

When class ended, George stood up to leave, but B grabbed his arm.

“We’re ending this now,” she whispered. She felt bad about disappointing George, but it was time to fix this.

The other students had filed out, and B practically dragged George to Mr. Bishop’s desk.

“Ready for the big game?” Mr. Bishop asked George.

“I sure am,” George said. “I’m more ready than I’ve ever been.”

B’s heart started thumping and she wanted to bolt out of the room, but she forced herself to stay. Dismantle Squad or no, she was going to have to face the consequences of her magic. “We really need your help, Mr. Bishop.”

Mr. Bishop sat up. “Anything you need, B.”

She was going to do it — confess that she had told George about her magic, that she had turned him into a zebra, and that she’d been hiding it for days — but in the long pause, George interrupted her.

“B and I really want you to come to the game and cheer on the team,” George declared, nudging B hard.

B stared at her best friend.

Mr. Bishop smiled. “Of course! I’ve got to support my students and my school, right? I’ll be there.”

“Great!” George said, grabbing B’s arm and pulling her away. “Gotta get to lunch now. I need my carbs.”

In the hallway, George whispered, “Come on, B. Just let me have a couple more hours and then you can confess.”

B sighed. If she had left it too late and the spell was actually permanent, it would be the least she could do to let George have his moment of glory as a superathlete.

“Okay,” she agreed.

George let out an excited whinny and galloped off.

B followed slowly, brooding.

Would she lose her magic forever? Would she be
banned from the witching community? What would happen to George?

Had too much time passed since the first spell was cast? Would he remain a zebra-boy forever? Stripes today, forelegs tomorrow. That was probably how it would go.

He wouldn’t be able to live at home anymore — they’d put him in the zoo. The zoo that B was banned from visiting!

She ate her lunch like it was her last meal.

After school, B went outside and climbed to the far end of the topmost bleacher to wait for the soccer game to start. She was too upset to want to talk to anyone.

The referees in their black-and-white striped jerseys ran out onto the field. B winced at the sight. Zebras everywhere!

Then the home team ran out to the loud beat of their warm-up song. They waved to the crowd in the rapidly filling bleachers, then each player pounded a ball into an unguarded goal. The junior
cheerleaders squealed when George, as team captain, kicked the last ball in.

“Goooooooo, TIGERS!” the cheerleaders screamed. “Gimme a T! Gimme an I! Gimme a G!”

B was almost glad she didn’t feel like cheering. Those cheerleaders nearly tricked her into turning the whole squad into preteen tigresses. Pretty soon she’d have her own zoo, right here at the school.

Just then, Mr. Bishop climbed up the bleacher steps and sat next to another teacher, still wearing his crazy tiger cap. B felt her body stiffen at the sight of him.

No more magic lessons. No more magic, period.

It was the price she had to pay.

The whistle blew, and the game began. The home team Tigers, in their orange jerseys, played the neighboring Falcons, in blue. It wasn’t hard to spot George in the crowd — his height made him different enough, not to mention the stripes all over his body.

But what was he doing out there? A teammate sent him a perfect pass, with an open shot at the
goal, and instead of seizing the opportunity, George ignored the pass and ran in crazy circles around the defensive players from the other team. They punted the ball thirty yards back down the field, and the home team fans groaned.

“C’mon, George,” B said under her breath. “You wanted zebra abilities for this game. You have to use them!”

Coach Lyons rose from the bench and hollered, “Quit clowning around, George!” While the rest of the Tiger team had retreated back to play defense, George had gone down on all fours, sniffing a tuft of grass and taking a bite out of it.

“What’s George
doing?”
some kids near B were saying. “Isn’t he the captain?”

Just then the whistle blew. While B was watching George, the Falcons had scored a goal!

It was painful to watch. George couldn’t seem to pay attention to soccer when there was grass underfoot. Coach Lyons gave him one more chance, but the Falcons scored a second goal, and the Tigers coach benched his captain. A couple of kids booed.

B sat with her chin in her hands. The second
twenty minutes began, and the Tigers did their best without George. This was what he’d had been afraid of — getting benched. Oddly enough, he didn’t seem to care. He was crawling under the bench, nosing the grass.

George, you’re making me crazy!

Then she blinked.

Making me crazy. Troubling me.

The hair of the beast that’s troubling you!

What if the animal transformation reversal spell wasn’t talking about a hair from the
type
of animal, but hair from the actual animal whose transformation had gone wrong?

In other words, a hair from George?

B rose in the stands and hurried down the steps. She still had the stinky sock and zebra hair stuffed into the bottom of her backpack, so she could do the spell again.

With George sitting right there on the bench, it shouldn’t be hard to snag a hair. But before B could reach him, Coach Lyons signaled the ref for a substitution. The other center forward had slipped and twisted his ankle.

“No more shenanigans, George,” B heard the coach tell her friend. “You’ve got to turn this game around. Play like you’ve been playing in practice all week!”

And he was gone. B slumped down into a seat on the front row, thinking hard. How could she reach George? She didn’t dare attempt a summoning spell for a piece of George’s hair, from so far away across the field. Someone might see the magic or she could summon the wrong thing entirely.

Finally, the whistle blew for halftime. The players, flushed in the face, were trotting back to the bench. The score was still at 2–0.

B slipped into the row right behind where the team would sit, hoping that George would sit down and she’d be able to snag a hair. But they didn’t sit. Coach Lyons kept them in a huddle for a long time. When it finally broke up, everyone went for water. George guzzled about a quart of it.

B waved to him, called to him, tried to catch his eye, but her best friend never seemed to notice. It seemed that all he could think of was grazing….

Grazing!

B ran around behind the bleachers and slipped through the metal slats until she was underneath. Here, where the grass grew thick and unmowed, B
found a huge juicy patch of dandelion greens that she scooped up. Then she ran back out to where George stood with his teammates, and called to him.

This time, he turned.

She waved the fistful of greens like she was beckoning to a horse. And George trotted over just as a horse would have.

“Awesome!” he cried, reaching for the greens. “I needed an energy boost, but all they have over there is oranges. Yick!”

B glanced over her shoulder toward where Mr. Bishop was. “Careful,” she whispered to George. “Don’t let people see you eating weeds!”

But George buried his face in the fresh-picked salad. B could only hope no one saw him doing it. She leaned forward, grabbed a couple of his shaggy blond hairs, and yanked them out.

“Ow!”

“Whoops, sorry,” B said, trying to sound innocent. “Have some more dandelions.”

He hadn’t gotten far before the warning whistle blew, and he galloped off to rejoin the game. B crept
back under the bleachers where she could hide. She pulled out the stinky sock once more and held it in one outstretched hand, with George’s hair in the other. She closed her eyes and thought about George, his ears, his tail, his stripes. This had to work. It
had to.

“U-N-D-O,” she spelled.

The whistle blew to kick off the second half. B climbed out from underneath the bleachers and resumed her seat on the top row, watching George intently. Were his stripes fading? She couldn’t tell. He did seem to be standing taller, though, and he was definitely more focused on the game. In fact, his footwork was outstanding! Twice he completely buffaloed a Falcon defender and got past him easily.

“GO, GEORGE!” The crowd was noticing a difference as well. “GO, GEORGE!” they yelled.

B joined in the cheer, but kept her eyes glued on her friend. He swept past the bleachers, and B squinted. The stripes were less noticeable now. She was 99 percent sure of it.

A Tiger defender sent a long pass sailing down
the field, and George was there to meet it. He passed to a teammate, who dodged a Falcon and sent it back to George. George put it in the net!

The Tiger bleachers went berserk. B almost wished she had her pom-poms.

The whistle blew, and the game resumed.

No doubt anymore — none whatsoever. Those stripes were on their way out. Relief flooded over B. She cheered herself hoarse.

With ten minutes left on the clock, George scored another goal to tie the score. Feet flashing, clock ticking, the Falcons and Tigers were dueling it out for the ball every second. B was on the edge of the bench, watching every move. George was having a great game, not as La Zebra, but as himself. With seconds left on the clock, he maneuvered a brilliant pass to Jamal Burns, who headed it into the goalie’s net.

The whistle blew.

The Tigers had won!

The Tigers swarmed George and Jamal and hoisted them up on their shoulders, cheering. The cheerleaders surrounded the team, and the fans in the bleachers surged onto the field. B had a feeling she might get laryngitis for a week, she was screaming so loud. Relief that the spell was over made her giddy, and to see her best friend play so well — without magical help — and win made her happiness complete.

She hurried down the bleachers to wait for George’s feet to hit the ground. She had to wait for Coach Lyons to put him in a headlock and give his scalp a noogie. Finally George broke away from the adoring masses and saw B. He ran to her and gave her a big hug.

“Did you see, B? Did you see how I played like La Zebra? I don’t ever want you to switch me back. I don’t care how weird I look. I have you to thank for this!”

B handed George a cup of energy drink she’d snagged from the team manager. “No, you don’t, silly,” she said. “Look at yourself.”

George held up his arm and stared. “The stripes are gone!” He rubbed his skin.

B couldn’t stop laughing.

George grabbed at his shorts. “And my tail is gone!”

B nodded. “Gone for good. You should sleep better now. No more hearing double.”

“Oh, no!” George panicked. “Now I’ll never play that well again!” He wiped his face with his jersey.

“It just so happens, George,” B said, “that I turned you back before the second half began. All your good playing today was after I switched you. If you don’t mind my saying so, as a zebra you were pretty lousy on the field. More interested in grazing than in scoring.”

George seemed dazed. He twisted himself
around and swatted at his lower back, still searching for his zebra tail.

“Believe me, George, you won that game on talent and skill — and guts. You believed you were La Zebra, so you played like him. You can do that every week. And you don’t need a tail to do it.”

It took George a minute of scratching where his zebra ears had once been to really believe it was all true. Then he stood a bit taller. “Thanks, B. For trying to help, and for believing in me. How did you figure out a way to reverse the spell?”

“Magic,” B said with a smile. “That’s my secret.”

B glanced over to where Mr. Bishop stood, talking with Coach Lyons. He turned slightly, met B’s gaze, and winked.

Hmmm …

“Well, I knew you’d figure it out,” George said. “I was never worried. Not really. I’ll bet you’re the best young witch in that whole M.R. whatever-it-is world you’re always talking about.”

“Ssshhh!” B said. “Ready to go?” she asked, heading out to the street behind the school. George fell into step beside her.

“No more transformations,” said B. “And no more spells on humans!”

“Nee-hee-hee!”
George whinnied.

B halted in her tracks.

George laughed. “Just kidding!”

B shook her head, then laughed with him. “Let’s go home and get something to eat.”

“I’ll say,” George said. “I’ve gone a whole week without chocolate!”

B’s charmed adventures continue in

Read on for a sneak peek!

B’s paintbrush hovered over the rough paper tacked to her easel. With the faintest of strokes, she trailed the tip of the bristles in a graceful arc.

Another whisker for Nightshade, her cat. Only about twenty more to go.

Beatrix, or “B” for short, glanced at the photo of her black tomcat pinned to the corner of the easel. She was so absorbed in her work that a voice at her shoulder made her jump.

“Quit your humming, Bumblebee,” Jason Jameson said. “You sound like a beehive, and you’re giving the rest of us a headache.”

B glowered at Jason, who’d been a raging pest ever since preschool. Now that sixth grade was here, he was worse. He and his insect insults, reserved especially for B because of her nickname, drove her buggy.

“I thought everyone liked the Black Cats,” B said, pretending to sound innocent.

“Was that ‘Yowl’ you were humming?” Jamal Burns asked.

“I bet that’ll be the first song they play at
Saturday’s show,” Kim Silsby said. “I’m so jealous you’ve got tickets, B!”

B grinned. “Only because George won the spelling bee, and shared one of his tickets with me,” she said. “I can barely wait until Saturday night.”

“You’re not the only one with tickets, Cockroach,” Jason scoffed. “My parents bought me a seat in the second row. Betcha don’t know how much that cost.”

“Who cares what it cost? Quit showing off, Jason,” Kim said.

B dipped her brush once more and carefully traced another whisker, and then another, peering at the photograph between strokes to get each one perfect.

She was on her second-to-last one when Miss Willow’s voice made her jump, dragging her brush across Nightshade’s face and smearing one of his amber-colored eyes.

“Everyone,” her art teacher said in an extra-cheery voice, “I have an announcement to make.”

B groaned silently. Her painting was ruined! Here was where a little spot of magic would come
in handy. Checking quickly to see that no one was looking at her easel, B whispered, “E-R-A-S-E.” The errant black stroke disappeared, as B had known it would—but so did all the whiskers she’d added that morning! B sighed. Typical of B’s special brand of magic. When she spelled words, things happened, but not always the things she had in mind!

“Now, class,” Miss Willow said, “I want you all to meet a new student in our school, just joining us today. Her name is Katrina Lang.”

Next to Miss Willow’s cluttered desk stood a shy-looking girl in a dark skirt and a cream-colored sweater, very trim and proper except for her dark hair pulled back into a messy bun.

“What a
nerd!”
Jason whispered to Jenny Springbranch, who tittered softly.

“Beatrix, will you show Katrina where the paints are kept? Katrina, we’re painting animal portraits today.”

“Her name may be
Kat
-rina,” Jason whispered loudly to Jenny, “but she looks more like a mouse to me. Hey,
Kat
-rina!” His freckle-plastered face broke
into a nasty grin. “Why doncha paint a mouse self-portrait?”

Katrina’s jaw set in a hard line. B steered her toward the back counter where the paints were kept. “Don’t pay any attention to him,” B told Katrina. “Most people here are nice.”

Katrina studied B’s face for a minute, her dark green eyes wary and doubtful.

“Here, let’s fill your paint tray,” B said. “What animal are you going to paint?”

“A panther,” Katrina said without hesitation.

“Excellent!” B said. “Here’s the bottle of black.”

“Thanks, Beatrix,” Katrina said, this time with a warm smile.

“Not a problem. Call me ‘B.’ Most everyone does.”

“Okay.” Katrina grinned. “Call me ‘Trina.’”

“Sounds good.”

They returned to their workstations. Jason Jameson grabbed bottles of green and orange paint, squirted way too much of it into the tray on his easel, and bumped into B’s easel accidentally-on-purpose after returning the bottles to the back counter.

Jason snickered and dipped his brush in the orange paint. “Stinkbug!” he said.

B fumed. She stared at Jason’s paints. “S-P-I-L-L,” she whispered under her breath.

Jason’s easel pitched toward him. His paint tray flipped upside-down, landing on the legs of his pants before clattering to the floor.