Missing Magic (2 page)

Mr. Bishop rubbed his hands together. “All right, class, it’s time we got started.” He took an empty desk from the back of the room and carried it high over his head to the front of the room, where he set it down on the floor.

“Behold! An empty desk,” he said. “How many books are on this desk?”

A few kids chuckled. “None,” someone called from the back.

Mr. Bishop looked surprised. “Are you sure? I could have sworn I put some books here….” He pantomimed searching for books on the desk.

A few more kids laughed, as if their new teacher had a screw loose.

“You there, young man,” he said, pointing to George. “Will you come up here and examine this desk and make sure it has no books
at all?”

George grinned. “Sure.” He went to the desk, waved his arm all around. “No books. No nothing,” he said.

Mr. Bishop shook his head. “Just as I feared. Thank you.” George sat back down, tucking his knees under his own desk with effort, he was so tall.

“This leaves me no choice, I’m afraid.” Mr. Bishop pulled a large polka-dot handkerchief from his pocket. He held it up like a bullfighter’s cape in front of the desk. “Abracadabra, abrakazam!” he cried and, flicking the scarf away, revealed a stack of a dozen books.

For a moment everyone was stunned silent, then the class erupted with spontaneous applause, even B.

“How’d you do that?” Kim Silsby asked. “Are you a magician?”

“Oh, I learned a few tricks in college,” Mr. Bishop said, bowing modestly. “It’s nothing. I could teach
them to you sometime.” He gestured toward the stack of books. “Books have their own type of magic. A great way to get to know someone is to find out what they’re reading. Who wants to tell us about the book they’re reading?”

B was so charmed by Mr. Bishop that she nearly raised her hand. Instead, she shoved it under her leg and sat on it.

Jason waved his hand in the air. “
I
have one, Mr. Bishop,” he said.

Mr. Bishop checked his class list. “And your name is … Jameson. Jason Rudolph Jameson. Well, Mr. Jameson, tell me something you’ve read lately.”

George and B exchanged grinning glances.
Rudolph?

“Stuart Little
,” Jason said, looking smug.

Mr. Bishop nodded, strolling down the aisle toward where Jason sat. “An excellent choice. I should think, then, if you enjoyed a book with a mouse hero, you would learn to empathize with small rodents, and not antagonize them.” He rested one hand on Mozart’s cage.

Jason suddenly became very interested in a speck of paper on his desk.

B bit her lip to squash a laugh.

“How about poetry? Does anyone here like poetry?” Mr. Bishop wandered back up to the chalkboard. After what happened to Jason, no one dared to speak. Except, of course, Mr. Bishop.

“Here’s a piece of a poem I like. The greatest bit of nonsense in the English language:

Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The …”

He paused, and rubbed his chin. “How does it end again?”

B popped up tall in her seat. “
Frumious Bandersnatch!
” she cried. She loved that poem. It was in
Through the Looking Glass.
Then, realizing what she’d done, she scooched even lower in her seat than before. George gave her a reassuring thumbs-up.

Mr. Bishop tapped a finger on her desk. “That’s
right, Beatrix,” he said, again referring to his class list. “Nicely done.” B felt a bit lighter. Maybe her day was getting better.

“Which reminds me …” He hurried to Mr. Bell’s desk and returned with a stack of papers. “Mr. Bell left these for you. They’re your grades on last week’s oral book reports. Sarah? Sarah Aarons? There you are. Jamal Burns? Here you are, Mr. Burns. Lisa Donahue?” And around the room he went.

Jason got his paper back, and held it up high like a boxing championship belt to show everyone his A. Nobody cared. George got an A, too, but he just put his paper away in his English folder. Last of all, Mr. Bishop placed B’s report on her desk. He bent down and said, in a low voice, “You’re going to have to do better than this.”

B glanced at her paper.

She got a
D.

A D, in English, her best subject!

And all because she got so nervous when everyone stared at her, just like on the bus this morning. She hated speaking or even reading in front of other people.

Her D blinked at her like a flashing traffic light. Great. Now her amazing new English teacher thought she was both a troublemaker
and
a poor student. She turned the paper facedown and closed her eyes tight to block out her embarrassment.

“B for Beatrix, D for dummy,” Jason Jameson whispered. She turned to glare at him, but by then he was facing the teacher again, looking like he had a halo hovering over his head.

Mr. Bishop went back to the blackboard. “If we’re here to learn English, let’s start with the basics,” he said. He picked up the chalk and wrote “W-O-R-D-S” on the board. “Words,” he said. “The building blocks of the English language. And that means spelling! Who wants to have a class spelling contest?”

Some kids groaned, but B’s spirits lifted. Spelling was one thing she knew she could do well. Words just stuck in her brain, once she’d read them a few times. She naturally invented little tricks to memorize difficult spellings. B wanted Mr. Bishop to know that she loved words as much as he did. And here was her chance.

“Best of all,” Mr. Bishop said, pulling two small pieces of paper out of his wallet, “the winner takes a prize: two front-row tickets with backstage passes to the upcoming Black Cats concert!”

Holy cats!
B thought. Black Cats tickets?

Kids squealed and cheered. Jason pumped his fist in the air. Even George sat up taller. But B was already forming a study plan. Those tickets were as good as hers.

Mr. Bishop went to his desktop computer and printed something, then came back to the front of the room. “This is the list,” he said, waving the paper in the air. “Two hundred and fifty juicy words. That should keep us busy. Wouldn’t you like to know what they are?” He grinned, then tucked the list away in a black folder. “We’ll practice them tomorrow.”

Jenny Springbranch shot her hand in the air. “Excuse me, Mr. Bishop,” she said.

“Yes, Jenny?”

“Did you just say this spelling test will have
two hundred and fifty
words?”

Mr. Bishop looked surprised. “It’s not a test. It’s
going to be a spelling
bee.
Everyone will take their turn, standing here in front of the class, spelling their word out loud.”

B deflated like a week-old helium balloon. Out loud? In front of the whole class?

“You’ll only need to know the words you’re given,” Mr. Bishop said. “Problem is, there’s no way to tell what they’ll be.”

He found a thumbtack and stuck the two tickets to the bulletin board on the side wall.

“Keep an eye on these for me, will you, Mozart?” he joked.

B felt her stomach flutter. Oh, she wanted those tickets! But how could she stand in front of the class and spell well enough to win?

She stared at the white tickets printed with “Black Cats” in big, bold type. She’d never wanted any prize so badly.

She could read the dictionary. She could review her entire spelling notebook. She could stay up late every night studying. But standing up in front of others — well, there was nothing that could prepare her for that horror.

B clenched her fists. If only she had her magic and could work a spell to eliminate stage fright.

But she couldn’t.

She’d have to earn those tickets the hard way.

As usual.

When B got home, all she wanted was peace and quiet. She’d had enough attention for one day. She wanted to disappear to her room and study her spelling words. But as usual, she heard laughter coming from upstairs. Dawn was always on the phone.

Maybe her first spell would be to conjure magic earplugs. B tiptoed upstairs, as quiet as Nightshade tracking a mouse. She knew better than to disturb her sister.

When she reached the hallway landing, she paused. Several girl voices came from Dawn’s room, not to mention colorful splashes of light spilling
out under the door, and tinkling sounds, and perfumey smells.

Dawn was practicing magic — she just knew it. B pressed her face against the keyhole and peeked in. Maybe she could learn a tip or two from her big sister. But all she could see was the back of someone’s head — someone with sleek black hair. Definitely not Dawn, or any of Dawn’s friends that B had met before.

“Ooh! Mahvelous, dahling!” Dawn’s voice said. “You look like a star!” And several voices laughed.

If only I had magic,
B thought,
I could think up a rhyme to spy on Dawn unnoticed.
She got an idea, and whispered:

“I’m wishin’, I’m prayin’, I’m dreamin’, I’m hopin’

My magic will start and that door will fly open.”

Nothing happened. B wasn’t surprised, but she smiled — at least a little. Even if it wasn’t magical, the rhyme was pretty clever. And that was magic, of a sort.

But it still didn’t give her a view of what was going on in there.

“Me next,” a voice from inside Dawn’s room said. “I’ve got a good one.”

A good one
what
? Curiosity was killing B.
It figures,
she thought. She’d probably never find out. Just like everything else today — all she had to show for her efforts was frustration.

She scooched her eye closer to the keyhole. “
C’mon, open,”
she whispered. Her mind flashed to Mr. Bishop’s classroom and tomorrow’s spelling bee practice. “O-P-E-N.”

She leaned her head against the doorknob.

It turned, just a little, and the latch clicked.

B was thrown off balance. She tumbled forward into the room. She caught a glimpse of four startled teen girls’ faces staring up at her, right before she tripped over Nightshade and toppled to the floor.

Nightshade yowled.

The girls laughed.

B picked herself up and brushed carpet fuzz from her face. She dreaded looking back at Dawn, but there was no avoiding it. Dawn’s blue eyes flashed with annoyance, but she kept her face from
showing it. To her friends, she was a calm, mature big sister. Especially to
these
friends, who must be new. Dawn always found a way to look good. That was another one of the family talents that B hadn’t inherited.

“Is this your little sister, Dawn?” the girl with the shiny black hair said. She was dressed all in black and looked really sophisticated, maybe older than Dawn.

B saw three sets of strangers’ eyes watching her like she was a hamster in a cage. Her tongue went dry.

Dawn nodded. “This is B. Short for Beatrix. She’s in sixth grade.”

“Hey, B,” the girl said. “I’m Angela.” A sparkly silver bracelet on Angela’s wrist stood out against the dark clothes. The bracelet B still hadn’t received. Witches only got their charm bracelets when they got their magic and started their lessons. Angela had two charms, one shaped like a diamond and the other like a tiny cauldron.

Another girl with short, spiky brown hair nodded knowingly. Her brightly colored T-shirt matched
the rainbow colors in her wild eye makeup. But she, too, wore a bracelet with two charms.

“Yo, B,” the girl said. “I’m Stef. Sixth grade, eh? What does that make you, ten?”

“Eleven,” B said quickly. Then she realized her mistake as Stef’s gaze went toward her bare wrists. At eleven, she ought to have her magic.

“No bracelet, huh?” Stef observed.

B felt her face get hot.

“Hers is broken,” Dawn said. “Dad’s got it so he can fix the clasp.”

B turned sharply and stared at Dawn. Her sister’s cheeks were pink, but her face was defiant.

“Geez, Stef,” a tall girl with glasses and dark red hair said. “You’re embarrassing her.”

“There’s nothing embarrassing,” Dawn said, looking directly at B. “B has her magic.”

B got the picture — Dawn didn’t want her friends to know that her sister was a magical freak.

“Excellent!” the red-haired girl said, fingering her own bracelet, which had a flower, a cat, and a cloud charm. B wondered what the significance of each charm was. “I’m Macey. You sit down, and let’s
see if your newbie magic can get these complicated spells to last longer than a minute.” The girl grinned at Stef. “After all, Stef can’t manage it….”

“Hey!” Stef said. She whapped Macey with a fuzzy pink pillow. Both of them giggled. Macey threw the pillow back at Stef.

B knew that beginner’s magic didn’t always last, but hers didn’t even start.

“Uh, well,” Dawn said. “It might not work —”

Macey interrupted, “When my brother first got his magic, his fourth spell lasted a whole week!”

“Let’s just try it,” Angela suggested, smiling at B and patting a spot on the floor where she could sit. For the first time, B noticed a big pink handbag sitting open in the middle of the circle where the girls all sat cross-legged, and a pile of random objects next to each girl. “We’re doing magical makeovers. Want us to make you glamorous?”

“Um,” B finally managed to speak. “No, thanks.” She caught sight of Dawn’s frown. “I’d better go. I’ve got homework….”

“Overruled,” Angela said. “Your presence is requested by a unanimous vote. Right, girls?”

“Right,” Macey said.

“Sure,” Stef said.

Everyone turned to look at Dawn. She blinked, then shrugged. “She can stay if she wants,” she said.

And before B could think up a way to escape, they’d pulled her onto a cushion on the floor beside them.

Macey laughed and gave B a sideways hug. “Watch and learn, my little witchy friend,” she said. “Then it’ll be your turn.”

This spells disaster,
B thought. She gritted her teeth and prayed that she’d make it through the next few minutes without embarrassing her sister and herself.

“Watch closely, B,” Angela said, pointing to the pink bag on the floor. “I’m going to show you some beauty tips.”

Stef leaned over and flicked on Dawn’s stereo. The latest Black Cats song, “Yowl,” filled the room. Angela rummaged through her pile of stuff on the floor and selected a handful of small objects. B craned her neck to see what they were.

“Okay.” Angela gestured to Stef. “Do you think I can turn this punk goddess into a fashion supermodel?”

“Uh …” B didn’t dare answer.

“Pay attention, B,” Angela said. “You might learn something. First of all, did you know that even a
purse can be a cauldron? And not every concoction is liquid. All those messy, stinky brews, ugh!” Tossing a blue Christmas bauble into her bag, she said:

“Like Rapunzel’s — grow, hair, grow!

Long and thick, highlights aglow.”

Stef’s short brown spikes elongated. B’s jaw dropped. She’d seen magic before, of course, but Mom and Dad never did stuff like this!

Stef shook her head, and a thick head of wavy, shiny hair spilled over her shoulders. This was way stronger stuff than Dawn’s eyelash enhancer.

“Wow!” B said.
Grow, aglow.
She never would have thought of that rhyme.

“I’m just getting started,” Angela said. She tossed a smooth, beach-polished stone into the pink bag.

“Cleanser, toner, beauty cream,

My magic facial makes skin gleam.”

The wild-colored makeup vanished from Stef’s face. Her pimples and freckles disappeared, and her cheeks took on a smooth, healthy shine. Macey and Dawn applauded.

Stef examined herself in a mirror. “That’s not me, is it?” she said. “I feel naked without my purple eyeliner.”

Angela rolled her eyes. She sprinkled a pinch of glitter, a handful of buttons, and two red feathers into the pink bag.

“Magic beauty is such a breeze

With the right makeup and accessories.”

Stef closed her eyes while invisible brushes and wands stroked cosmetics over her face. Her pirate skull and crossbones earrings shrank and turned into diamonds, with a necklace and bracelet to match.

“Holy cats!” B said. “Those rhymes made you gorgeous!”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Stef said, sticking out her tongue.

“But you’ve got to admit, the jewelry doesn’t exactly fit the clothes,” Macey said, pointing to Stef’s camouflage shorts and high-top sneakers.

“Leave that to me,” Angela said. “Stand up, Stef.” She reached over toward Dawn’s desk and grabbed a tissue, which she dropped into the bag, followed
by the most recent issue of
Vogue,
a can of Coke, and a bottle of children’s bubbles.

“Italian shoes, designer gown, with style in every stitch.

The secret’s out: A fairy godmom’s just a stylish witch!”

And in a twinkle of pink light, Stef’s punk clothes disappeared, and in their place was a long, elegant silver evening gown. Stef, standing taller in her strappy high heels, gasped when she saw herself in Dawn’s door mirror.

B shook her head in amazement.
That
was some gifted rhyming.

“Bravo, Angela!” Dawn cried.

Stef held out a hand to get everyone’s attention. She tossed a paper clip into the bag and said:

“Dress and makeup, fine. So are jewels from Tiffany’s.

Now tweak this look so it’s still hot, yet also Stephanie’s.”

Her diamond necklace turned into a black pearl choker. The hem of the silver evening gown rose to knee-height and turned frayed and jagged. Her
strappy silver heels transformed into tall black leather boots.

Macey let out a wolf whistle, then giggled. Angela frowned slightly. She clearly preferred Stef’s original look.

“There it goes,” Macey said, pointing to Stef’s hair. It was
un
-growing, retracting back into her head. Her movie-star makeup changed back to purple and green, and she grew shorter as her leather boots transformed into canvas high-top sneakers. With a puff of smoke, the old Stef stood before them. She took a bow, and laughed.

“If only the spell could last,” Stef said.

“No kidding,” Macey said. But everyone knew that only adult witches who’d passed all their classes could make complicated spells last — or newbies with accidental power surges.

“Angela,” Dawn said. “That was incredible. You need to do that in the spelling competition!”

B blinked. Spelling competition? “You mean high school kids have spelling bees, too?”

The girls wore puzzled expressions. Then Stef giggled.

“No, silly,” she said. “We don’t mean spelling like
A-B-C
spelling. We mean magical spelling. You know, making up spells?”

B wanted to disappear. If she had her powers, she would have known all about spelling competitions.

“They hold the competition every year at the Magical Rhyming Society,” Dawn explained, as if it was perfectly normal not to know.

“Hey, B, let’s see what you can do,” Stef said. “Make up a bag-cauldron concoction to turn me into a supermodel again.”

B panicked. She opened her mouth to say she couldn’t, then clamped it shut again. There had to be a way out of this mess! But before she could think up an answer, Dawn spoke.

“Nobody
could top Angela,” she said. “B’s only eleven, for heaven’s sake. Her magic is too new for that. Let’s play Truth or Dare, okay? Anyway, B probably needs to go start her homework. Don’t you, B?”

B nodded, for once in her life grateful that her big sister was kicking her out of her bedroom.

“Phooey,” Stef said. “How much homework can a kid her age have? I’ve got tons, and that doesn’t stop me.”

“Yeah, Dawn, let your sister stay,” Macey said. “I want to see what the cute little newbie can do.”

B knew that Macey meant to be nice, but right then she wished
she
had a pillow to throw at her.

“B goes first,” Angela said. “Truth or dare, B?”

B tried to think, but it was so hard with all those eyes watching her. If she chose truth, and they asked her questions about her magic, then she’d really be in trouble. If she chose dare, they might ask her to do something embarrassing, bark like a seal or something, but that would be better than
really
embarrassing herself.

“Dare,” she said, her hands sweating.

“Dare it is,” Angela said.

“I’ve got one,” Stef said. “I dare you, B, to turn yourself into an animal.”

B glanced helplessly at Dawn.

“Don’t be shy, B,” Dawn said.

What?
B tried to read what Dawn’s eyes were telling her, but all her sister did was nod encouragingly. “Just think of your favorite animal, put a few objects into the bag, and say a rhyme,” she said.

“Nothing man-eating, okay?” Macey added.

“Ha-ha,” B said, unconvincingly. Her throat was dry. It was hard enough to think of an animal, much less a rhyme. If only this were a class assignment, not a public performance …

B’s mind drifted back to English class, and the couplet Mr. Bishop had read. No, she decided, she’d better not rhyme about the Jabberwock, just in case it did work this time. She’d better settle for Mozart the hamster. He was harmless enough.

Hamster. Dumpster? Not quite. Amster-dam? Hamster, clamster, “Fry with Pam”-ster.

She had no idea what to choose, but she picked up a little white bead from Angela’s pile and a piece of ribbon from Stef’s pile and put them in the bag. Then she said:

“Tiny nose, and ears, and paws …”

B licked her lips, then realized Dawn’s lips were moving, too. She was repeating B’s words softly.

“
Soft fur that hides my scratchy claws!
”

That could be anything,
B realized. A mouse, a gerbil, a guinea pig. But it was too late to change it. B could feel her nose shrinking! And her ears, and her hands and feet, and all of her, sinking down toward the ground, her head coming low to the carpet as her body turned from two-legged to four-legged. It hurt! Well, not hurt, exactly, but B didn’t like it. Her skin sprouted soft, gray fur that made her want to sneeze. And strangest of all was the sensation near her lower back — it was a long tail, twitching. She was a mouse!

“Make it stop!” she tried to say to Dawn, but all that came out was “peep-pe-peep.” And Dawn! She was gigantic! Monster Dawn, with her monster sidekicks, all of whom were making cooing noises and reaching out their tree-size hands to try to pet … her!

B scurried under a chair, panting. What if the spell couldn’t be undone and she was stuck in a mouse’s body forever? Her heart beat wildly.

“Better come on out of there,” Stef’s voice boomed in B’s mouse ears.

Before mouse B could respond, the room seemed to shrink, and something bonked her in the head. It was the rungs of the chair, which toppled from B crouching underneath it.

B blinked at the sight of Dawn’s friends, normal-size once more. She blinked again. They were applauding her!

“That was amazing, B,” Macey said, beaming. “I was thirteen at least before I could do a cauldron-bag spell.”

“Yeah,” Stef said. “I tried to turn my brother into a frog when I was your age, but all I got was a single ribbit. You must be gifted or something.”

“You’ll get your first charm in no time,” Angela said. They all smiled, and B smiled back, but her heart wasn’t in it.

It hurt to take their compliments, knowing that really, she had as much magic in her as a licorice whip.

She stood up and put on a brave face. “Thanks for letting me hang out,” she told Dawn’s friends.
“I’ve got to get started on my spelling homework. Nice to meet you all.”

B went into her room, feeling awful. Would she have to go through life
pretending
she had magic? What was wrong with her?