Leon and the Spitting Image (17 page)

A tropical bird congress was leaving at the very moment the editorial board of
Weasel Weekly
was checking in. Squawks, honks, and coos (from the birds) competed with screeches, trills, and chirps (from the weasels).

“Hey there, kids!” Emma Zeisel yelled as she raced by with a broom raised over her head. “Sorry. Can’t stop. Red-billed toucan on the loose.”

The fugitive guest dive-bombed a weasel before flapping back toward the reception desk.

Leon coaxed Lily-Matisse and P.W. into the coffee shop with the promise of his news (and some Haffenreffer dough balls). He sat down on one side of a booth and gave his friends the other.

“Okay, so what’s so
important?”
P.W. said impatiently.

Leon looked around the coffee shop to make sure no one could hear. “Before I start, I want the pledge.”

“Which one?” said Lily-Matisse, between bites of a dough ball.

“The crossmyhearthopetodiestickaneedleinmyeye pledge.”

“But you
hate
that one,” P.W. reminded him, fiddling with a glistening black toucan feather he had found in the lobby.

“Yeah, well, I’ve changed my mind.”

After Lily-Matisse and P.W. swore the needle oath, Leon said, “And just so you know, if either of you
does
blab … the needle that does the sticking will be as long as the Hag’s—and rusty.”

“Sheesh, what’s up with you?” said Lily-Matisse. “We get the idea.”

Leon took a breath. “All right, Lily-Matisse—remember when your mom fought with the Hag at the Cloisters?”

“Hard not to,” said Lily-Matisse. The memory clearly embarrassed her.

“Remember how she said something about a piece of cloth springing to life when stitched with passion?”

“Mom’s
always
saying junk like that,” said Lily-Matisse.

“Well, it’s
not
junk. What she said is true.”

“For like the ten millionth time, what are you
talking
about?” said P.W.

Leon took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Right. Here goes. When the Hag pulled the wig off during dismissal, you know why she did it? She did it because
I
pulled off
my
wig—well, not my wig, obviously, I mean
my master piece’s.
I
caused all the weird stuff the Hag did in the classroom
—all of it!
The strumming and the arm raising and the wig removing and the—”

“Slow down,” P.W. interjected. “You’re saying
you
made the Hag rub her stomach?”

“Yup,” said Leon.

“Maybe she has a rash,” Lily-Matisse conjectured.

“Lots of teachers scratch themselves,” said P.W.

“This is
different,”
Leon sputtered. “I did tests. The Hag raised her hands because I raised the doll’s hands. And what about the hair? How do you explain
that?
How many teachers rip the hair off their heads?”

“You’re telling us your doll has magic powers?” P.W. asked.

“You got it,” said Leon.

Lily-Matisse and P.W. both burst out laughing.

“I’m
serious.”

P.W. gave Lily-Matisse a sidelong glance and twirled the toucan feather in circles near his ear. “I think our friend’s gone totally bonkers.”

“All those stitch counts must have pushed him over the edge,” said Lily-Matisse. “The Hag’s gotten to him.”

“Wrong!” cried Leon. “It’s the exact opposite.
I’ve
gotten to
her
. She told me to make her a master piece. Well, that’s what I did. Only guess what? I’m the master of that master piece.
I
control
her.”

“The doll or the Hag?” P.W. asked.

“Both!”
exclaimed Leon.

P.W. rolled his eyes. “Give. Me. A. Break.”

“You guys don’t believe me?”

“N-O,” said P.W.

“That goes D-I-T-T-O for me,” said Lily-Matisse.

“Okay, Mr. and Ms. Skeptical. I’ll show you. Tomorrow. Recess. Meet me at the tree.”

The following day at recess, Leon, Lily-Matisse, and P.W. gathered behind the giant maple.

Leon chose the spot because it provided a protected view of the whole playground: the teachers’ bench, the jungle gym and jump-rope area, the ball wall, and the foursquare grids.

A creature of habit, Miss Hagmeyer was sitting where she usually sat (on the teachers’ bench) doing what she often did (embroidery).

Leon reached for his purple pouch.

“Why did you bring the travel book?” Lily-Matisse asked.

Leon loosened the drawstring and removed his master piece.

“What happened to the pastry box?” said Lily-Matisse.

“Don’t you remember? Lumpkin destroyed it with the Rhino. Besides, I can’t exactly walk around school with a pastry box. And anyway, the master piece fits better in the pouch, and the pouch fits in my backpack.”

“Can we skip the packaging instructions and get on with it?” P.W. said.

“Right,” said Leon. He squinched and clucked, took aim, and began working the legs of the master piece.

Nothing happened. Miss Hagmeyer didn’t budge.

“I swear it worked yesterday,” Leon sputtered.

“Well, it’s not working today,” said P.W.

Leon flexed the legs of the doll with increasing desperation. Suddenly Miss Hagmeyer put down her needlework, rose up, and walked toward the maple tree.

For a brief, glorious moment Leon thought he had caused her to move. But it soon became clear that Miss Hagmeyer was responding to some jump ropers causing a disturbance.

Leon switched his grip and worked the arms of the doll, rotating them like helicopter blades.

Lily-Matisse abruptly cupped her hand over her mouth, and P.W. blurted out, “Holy mackerel! That thing you’re doing, Leon. Keep doing it!”

Leon continued to spin the arms of the doll.

“It’s like—like she’s trying to throw a couple of lassos!” said Lily-Matisse.

“Only without the lassos!” gasped P.W.

“I
told
you the doll controlled her!” Leon said.

“She must have been out of range when she was on the bench,” said P.W. “This is incredible!”

“Shush! She might hear us,” warned Lily-Matisse.

Leon shook his head. “Don’t worry. Her radar doesn’t work when I’m doing …” He struggled for the right word.

“Dollwork?” suggested P.W.

“Right,” said Leon. “Dollwork puts the Hag into a kind of trance.” He stopped the arm spinning. “Keep going,” said P.W.

“Cool your jets. My hands are cramping.” Leon shook out his fingers and then bent the doll’s legs. This time his efforts were rewarded. He was able to march Miss Hagmeyer across the blacktop and over to the deserted jungle gym.

“She’s like a zombie!” P.W. cried enthusiastically.

“Maybe Lily-Matisse’s right,” said Leon. “Lower the volume. I don’t want anyone to hear us or see what I’m doing. And it’s hard to concentrate with you shouting.”

Once Leon had “walked” Miss Hagmeyer to the jungle gym, he again switched his grip. Handling the doll’s arms like joysticks, he made Miss Hagmeyer raise
her arms straight up in the air.

“Reach for the sky, pardner,” said P.W.

Lily-Matisse laughed. “It
does
look like she’s been caught in a stickup.”

Leon ignored the banter. He was too busy bending legs and curling fingers.

With the doll and teacher properly positioned, he performed a bouncy motion that made Miss Hagmeyer grab for a jungle-gym crossbar a few feet above her head. Then he flexed the doll’s arms.

“Ohmigosh!” cried Lily-Matisse.

“Un-freakin’-believable!” P.W. exclaimed.

All of a sudden, skinny old Miss Hagmeyer was doing pull-ups like an army cadet. Up-down. Up-down. Up-down.

“Can you make her do those
one
-handed?” asked Lily-Matisse.

“I’ll give it a shot,” said Leon. He released one of the hands while continuing to pump the other. The result: Miss Hagmeyer performed a series of one-handed pull-ups worthy of an Olympic gymnast.

“How about a loop-the-loop?” P.W. proposed.

“There’s no such thing as a loop-the-loop,” said Lily-Matisse. An avid gymnast, she knew the proper names for all sorts of moves. “But you could try and get her to do a straddled Tkachev. No, wait, I’ve got a better one. A double twisting Yurchenko! And while you’re at it, have her finish off with a full-twisting
double layout dismount. Now
that
would be something.”

“A double twist?” said Leon skeptically. “I don’t think so.”

“What about a single?” P.W proposed, in the spirit of compromise.

“That’s still
way
beyond me,” said Leon. “I’d need to practice to do stuff like that.”

“Hey, can I give it try?” P.W. asked.

Leon wavered. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“C’mon,” begged P.W. “I’m a level twelve grandmaster on Turbo Titan VI. If I navigated Zoltan through the Cave of Calamity, I’m pretty sure I can handle a few twists.”

Reluctantly, Leon relinquished the doll. The instant he relaxed his hold, Miss Hagmeyer let go of the crossbar. Her lace-up boots landed against the blacktop with a thud, and her arms flapped limply to her sides.

P.W. yanked the doll this way and that, but his efforts had no effect whatsoever. Only Leon could move Miss Hagmeyer.

“What do you think’s doing it?” Lily-Matisse asked.

“I bet you it’s the spit,” said P.W. “Remember the Fun Facts in chapter seven? Spit can contain magic power, just like Monk Jonas said.”

“It’s probably more complicated than that,”
said Leon. “There’s also the Hag’s panty hose to consider.”

“Well, whatever’s doing it, we’d better go easy on the dollwork,” said Lily-Matisse. “I mean,
look
at her.”

They stared at Miss Hagmeyer as she staggered to the teachers’ bench.

“Go easy with the dollwork?” said P.W. “Are you kidding me? Do you realize the power Leon’s got?”

The bell rang. Recess was over. Miss Hagmeyer struggled to pull herself up off the bench.

“Maybe Lily-Matisse has a point,” said Leon as Miss Hagmeyer teetered toward the door. “We’ve got to take things slowly. We’ll use the doll only when no one’s looking. This could get me in serious hot water.”

“You’re not seeing the possibilities,” said P.W.

“We can talk about possibilities at lunch,” Leon said, slipping the doll into the pouch. “Meanwhile, no one says anything to anyone. Got it?”

“Got it,” said P.W.

“Got it,” said Lily-Matisse.

“Good,” said Leon. “Now let’s do a spit pledge and head in.”

Lily-Matisse made a face. “But we already crossed our hearts yesterday, in the coffee shop. Remember?”

“I’m not taking any chances,” said Leon. “Spit pledge. Now.”

P.W. was perfectly happy to expel a sidewalk oyster, as a tribute to Monk Jonas and the miracle of the
doll. Lily-Matisse proved harder to convince. But after some prodding, she made a spitting sound—an indifferent
ptooey
—which Leon, feeling charitable, accepted as legit.

A
fter the pull-ups in the playground came the powwow in the lunchroom. As Lily-Matisse, P.W., and Leon snaked through the lunch line, they found it tough to keep quiet. Still, they knew better than to discuss the doll in public. They remained mum until they had set down their trays at an isolated spot behind the steam tables.