The Trouble with Secrets (2 page)

Moments later, George met B at a corner in the hallway, just as Jenny Springbranch and a pack of girls passed by. Jenny made a point of looking at B, then rolling her eyes.

B scowled at their retreating backs.

“What’s the matter?” George said.

“Doesn’t it seem like everyone’s staring at me today?” B said.

George laughed. “You’re nuts. No one’s staring at you. If they are, it’s because you’ve still got grass stains on your nose. C’mon, let’s go in.”

B rubbed furiously at her nose. “Can’t go in yet,” B said. “I’ve got to ask Mr. Bishop something. I’ll wait for him out here.”

“What’s up with Mr. Bishop?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” B said. “Just a question I had for him about, um, something I heard.” B hated to lie to George, but what choice did she have?

“Okay. See you in class.” He went inside, and B blew out her breath in relief. Even the smallest things could turn into headaches when you couldn’t tell someone the whole truth.

Mr. Bishop came around the corner, whistling a tune and clutching a stack of papers in one hand. His shirt and pants were dark, dark green. His clacking black cowboy boots echoed down the hallway.

She hurried to meet him halfway, out of earshot of the doorway.

“Mr. Bishop, I need to talk to you,” she stage-whispered.

“Well, hello to you, too, B,” he said. “I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

B blushed. “Sorry. Hi, Mr. Bishop. How are you? Great. Now can I ask you something?”

Mr. Bishop sighed good-naturedly and stopped walking. “What’s on your mind, B? Counting the days till your Black Cats concert?”

George had won a pair of concert tickets in Mr. Bishop’s class spelling bee, and had given one to B. But that was the last thing on her mind now. She looked both ways to make sure the hall was empty, then tugged at his sleeve so he’d bend closer to her. “This morning I was in a hurry to catch the bus so I, um, used a little magic to help me get there, and I may have set a new Olympic speed record.”

Mr. Bishop’s eyes twinkled. “Congratulations. Nobody got hurt, I hope?”

“Only my muffin. But since then I’ve overheard a bunch of kids saying they saw a witch! A
real
one!” She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye, to see the disappointment she knew would be there. “Have I given the whole secret away?”

Mr. Bishop patted B’s shoulder. “Relax, B. The witching world has survived the adolescence of countless young witches before you. Your friends are talking about a so-called witch who’s part of the traveling fair that’s just come to town. ‘Enchantress Le Fay,’ as she calls herself.”

Whew!
It wasn’t B’s fault! None of those people
had been talking about her. And she’d been so sure they were.

But she was puzzled. “I thought witches weren’t supposed to be public about their witchcraft?”

He let out a snort of laughter. “If she really was a descendant of the legendary Morgan Le Fay, you can bet she wouldn’t be selling tickets to the fair. The real Morgan Le Fay was a powerful sorceress in ancient times. She has a garden named after her at the Magical Rhyming Society.” He shuffled through the papers he was carrying and pulled out a glossy pamphlet. “See? There’s Enchantress Le Fay. The traveling fair dropped off these flyers this morning, and all the teachers got one in their mailboxes.”

B craned her neck to see the picture of the witch on the flyer. Great gobs of dark eye makeup, long black fingernails, bushy black hair, and a tall pointed hat. She looked nothing like any witch B had ever met. In fact, she looked a lot more like people she’d seen passing out candy on Halloween.

“So, she’s a professional fake witch?” B said.

“That sounds right to me,” Mr. Bishop said. “Listen, B, we don’t want to be late for class. But we’ll talk more about this after school, okay?”

B followed Mr. Bishop into the room. Mozart, the class hamster, waved a tiny claw at her from his cage near the windowsill. Checking to make sure no one was watching, she waved back. She and Mozart had bonded when B first discovered her powers.

“Hey look, it’s Stinkbug,” Jason muttered when B passed his seat. B rolled her eyes, but ignored him.

“Okay, class, we continue our grammar work with prepositions,” Mr. Bishop said. The class groaned. “As you’ll recall, a preposition is a little word that shows when something happened or where something is.” He dropped a plastic crate of small instruments on one of the front desks. “I want everyone to take an instrument from this box, and pass it along.” As the students passed the crate around the room, they took out triangles, maracas, bells, kazoos, and wooden blocks. B chose a pair of finger cymbals, and George took a plastic chili pepper filled with beans that rattled when he shook it.

“Okay, class, yesterday we learned about prepositions, so today we’re going to play Preposition Percussion. I’m going to read something to you, and when you hear a preposition, let’er rip, okay? It’s an excerpt from
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz —
anyone ever read it?”

Jason Jameson snickered. “Seen the
movie
a million times.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Jameson, the movie. But before there was a movie, there was a book — a very popular one at that. You should read it.”

Jason shrugged. “What’s the point in reading it if I already know what happens?”

Mr. Bishop sighed. He stroked the pointy tip of his goatee. “Let’s hear it for prepositions! Your objective is to make noise whenever you hear a preposition. Tonight’s homework will be to circle them in a longer excerpt from the same book. Ready? Here we go.”

“ ‘Dorothy lived in the midst —’ ” B clanged her cymbals “ ‘— of the great —’ ” she clanged them again, and Mr. Bishop smiled over the top of his book. “That’s right. ‘In’ and ‘of’ are prepositions.”
He continued, “ ‘Kansas prairies, with Uncle Henry’ ” — the rest of the class was beginning to catch on and starting to sound their instruments, — “ ‘who was a farmer’ ” — a bunch of kids shook their instruments, but Mr. Bishop shook his head and winked at B, who had kept her cymbals silent.” ‘Who’ is not a preposition. Common mistake.” He cleared his throat and turned his gaze to the book again.

Just then the principal stuck his head into the doorway. “What is this, band practice?” Mr. Bishop hurried to the door to explain and stepped into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him. A bunch of kids started goofing around with their instruments.

Jason was dinging his triangle like he was ringing a fire alarm. “I’m totally gonna win this preposition contest,” he said.

“It’s not a contest, Jameson,” George said, twisting in his chair to glare at Jason. “And in case you hadn’t noticed, B’s been getting them all first.”

“Whatever,” Jason replied. “I got a magic potion from Enchantress Le Fay yesterday to make me
smarter, with better-looking thrown in at no charge.”

“Too bad it didn’t work,” George said.

“Ooooh,”
Jenny and a few of her friends said, then laughed.

“Like you know anything, Georgie-Porgie,” Jason said. “Enchantress Le Fay is a real witch. And you know what?
I’m
going to be her apprentice, and when I’m a real magician, I’ll make myself a rich-and-famous potion, and you’ll all be sorry.”

B twiddled her pencil between her fingers. She trusted Mr. Bishop when he said Enchantress Le Fay was a phony — he ought to know. But this whole conversation made her nervous.

“You serious, Jameson?” George said. “You sound like you think it’s real. You’re nuts if you believe in a fake witch.” He started to laugh. “Everybody knows there’s no such thing as
witches.”

B’s pencil slipped from her fingers, rolled off the desk, and clattered to the floor.

George reached down and picked it up.

B’s mind was whirling. Well, what had she expected? That George would believe in witches? No, of course not. Then why did his words leave her feeling so uneasy?

George gave her a grin as he handed her the pencil. For a moment, B wished that she could go back to the good old days, before discovering her magic, when everything was normal between her and George. Could there ever be such a thing as normal between two friends when one of them was secretly a witch?

After class, George lingered by the door, waiting for B so they could walk together to their lockers before lunch. He picked up an extra copy of the homework packet and handed it to her.

“Want to go check out the fair after school? I hear they’ve got a decent roller coaster.”

“Sure!” B said. “And we could stop and see Jason’s new girlfriend, the witch.” B had to see what this “witch” was all about.

George shook his head, laughing. “He’s crazy. Witches and potions! That’s baby stuff.”

B smiled, keeping her thoughts about witches and potions to herself. Then she realized — she’d forgotten her magic lesson! Her first one was right after school. Rats!

“I can’t go right after school,” B said, watching George closely. “I’ve got, um, some tutoring with Mr. Bishop. How about four o’clock?”

“Tutoring?” George asked. “Since when does Mr. Bishop tutor? I never heard him mention kids staying after.”

Oh, no. More secrets!
“Well, he’s, um, private about it. Doesn’t want anyone to get embarrassed.
How about if I meet you at four o’clock in the park?”

George hesitated. “Okay.”

After classes ended that day, B returned to Mr. Bishop’s empty room. Empty, that is, except for Mozart, the hamster, who jumped off his wheel and twisted his little body around in happy circles at the sight of B.

“Hi, Mozart,” B said, going over and lifting the lid off his cage. He squeaked and cheeped at her. She peeked over her shoulder, then whispered into the cage, “S-P-E-A-K!”

As if a switch had flipped, Mozart’s squeaking turned into talking. “Hiya, missy, what’s the matter, you got too much homework or something? How come you ain’t been stopping by to chat lately, huh? I was starting to think you weren’t my pal anymore.”

B smiled. “Of course I am.” She reached in a hand, offering it to Mozart, who climbed into her palm. She lifted him out and stroked between his soft shoulder blades with the tip of her pinky finger.

“Then I got a favor to ask you,” he said. “Friend to friend. Listen, can you put a word in with the boss to get me some variety in my diet? All I ever get is box pellets, box pellets, and water. Blech. Is it so much to ask for a little celery stick now and then? A broccoli bud?” He sighed. “Some spinach?”

“The boss, eh?” B said. “Is that what you call him?”

“Yeah, and he’s standing right behind you,” Mozart said.

“Hi, Mr. Bishop,” she said, without even turning around.

“Hi, B. C’mon, we have to go. Better turn off Mr. Talkative before he tells the janitor where we’re going.”

B lowered Mozart into his cage. “Bye, Mozart,” she said. “S-P-E-E-C-H-L-E-S-S.” Mozart silently scritch-scratched his way through the cedar chips, back to his exercise wheel.

“Ready?” Mr. Bishop asked. After B nodded, Mr. Bishop said,

“Our lesson is short, we have so little time.

Whisk us to the library of Magical Rhyme!”

“Good one, Mr. Bishop!” B said. Even though rhyming couplets weren’t how her own magic worked, she was still impressed by the talented rhymers in the witching world.

Her words were swallowed up by the wind that swept through the classroom, ruffling papers on the bulletin board and setting B’s hair flying. It swirled around Mr. Bishop and B like a magical cyclone, blurring the room. In a blink, B found herself standing in the great round library of the Magical Rhyming Society.

Stacks of bookshelves stretched upward for what felt like miles, and witches in glittering robes whizzed around on rolling ladders, browsing the shelves. Books and scrolls danced through the air, carried by sparkling magical spells, trailing scents of cinnamon and apples or honeysuckle.

“Before we get started, B,” Mr. Bishop said, “I want to explain a few things to you. Let’s sit down.” He gestured toward a table. “As you know …”

Poof!
B jumped at the magical appearance of a tall, thin woman in a sea green robe covered in
silver magical charms. Her baby blue hair was twisted up into an elegant bun, and her purple spectacles sat crookedly on the tip of her pointy nose.

“Hi, Madame Mel,” B said, grinning. She found it impossible not to be cheerful around Madame Mellifluous, Grande Mistress of the Magical Rhyming Society and Head Librarian of the Society’s spell collection.

“Good afternoon, B, Doug,” the Grande Mistress replied. “Lessons beginning, I see? Good. I’m here to give you your orientation. It’s always my job. Though perhaps,” she said, frowning at her crooked spectacles, “I should call it the dis-orientation.” She straightened them. “Ready? Here we go.

Mr. Bishop applauded. “Excellent!” He winked at B. “She makes up a new rhyme every time.”

“It was nothing,” Madame Mel said, blushing all the same. She glanced at her watch, a huge time-piece with a crystal ball face and flying purple bats that told the hour. “Heavens to Pete! I must fly. I’m late for the Annual Senior Witches Rhyme Off. I’m the judge. Can’t keep a room full of professional rhymers waiting. They’ll have their hair in a snare or their rhymes out of time.” She rested a hand on B’s shoulder. “See you soon, B.”

She rose from her chair and chanted,

“Don’t bother with elevators, spare me the broom.

But scurry me now to the Grand Conference Room!”

And she was gone.

B blinked.

“She is a bit of a whirlwind, isn’t she?” Mr. Bishop said, laughing. “Where was I?”

“Um, I don’t think you’d gotten very far.”

“Right. Well, then. Being a witch means you
inherit powers that most people could never dream of. But you have to make sure that you just blend in and keep your magic hidden. No one who’s not a witch should ever know about our powers.”

“Then how can witches be friends with nonwitches,” B asked, “without all the secrets getting in the way?”

Mr. Bishop’s dark, sparkling eyes gazed thoughtfully at B. “You’re thinking of George, aren’t you?”

B nodded.

“I’ve seen the two of you together,” Mr. Bishop said. “Remember this, B. Friendship is a magic stronger than any spell. I have faith in you. You’ll figure it out.”

B took a deep breath.

Mr. Bishop rose from the table. “Let’s have a look around, and I’ll show you some of the subjects we’ll be working on over the course of your training. You get to pick what area we work on first.” They started climbing one of the ladders that stretched to the top of the library. “On this floor, we have volumes and volumes on spells.” They climbed to another level. “And this one has potions. These books tend to be
full of strange stains, I’m sorry to say. And up here” — they reached another floor — “are charms, and above that, crystal balls. The levels beyond are advanced magic you probably won’t reach until your college years.” He jumped off the ladder, landing lightly, despite his cowboy boots. “Well, B, what’ll it be?”

B turned to look down into the enormous room filled with books and words and knowledge. This place was amazing. So many choices, and all of them hers to devour! She turned back and looked at the spines of all the magical volumes, inlaid with silver and gold letters and glistening gemstones. She couldn’t wait to read them all. But where to begin?

“Potions,” she said, surprising herself with her decision. What could be more witchy than potions?

“Good choice.” Mr. Bishop clapped his hands.

“Potions, from Latin ‘po-tar-e,’ to drink
,

Will challenge my pupil to learn and to think.”

The magical cyclone formed again and carried Mr. Bishop and B to a huge laboratory with shelves full of jars and bottles of colorful concoctions lining the walls. At individual workstations, witches
were tossing a pinch of this and a fistful of that into shiny copper cauldrons, or frowning over tubes full of bubbling solutions. Every now and then somebody sneezed, or something popped, or someone’s hair turned pink.

“Welcome to the Magical Rhymatory,” Mr. Bishop said, “where new rhyming remedies are brewed up daily.”