Leon and the Spitting Image (21 page)

DRRRRINNNNNG!

The fourth-period bell so startled him that he almost jumped out of his skin. Spit sloshed about inside the pickle jar.

Should have sealed it! Leon told himself angrily.

He got lucky, however. Nothing spilled.

As Leon was refilling the jar at the water fountain, the door hinge creaked again.

P.W. stuck his head into the gym. “Spitter in view!
Repeat
. Spitter in view! Estimated time of arrival—
one minute!”

Leon started to run to the office but soon realized he had to slow down. With the jar filled almost to the brim, the risk of spilling spit on the floor was even greater than before.

By the time he set the pickle jar down on the coach’s desk, he was a nervous wreck. In fact, Leon was so discombobulated that he covered the juice bottle with the baseball mitt and shoved the pickle jar under his shirt, instead of the other way around. He was halfway out the door before he realized the mix-up, and only corrected it seconds before the coach entered the office.

“Looking for me, champ?”

“Y-yes,” Leon stuttered.

The coach gave him a sideways glance. “You okay?”

“Um, fine.”

The coach unzipped his tracksuit and sat down behind his desk. “What can I do you for?”

“Just came by to”—Leon racked his brains for a reason to justify his presence—“to say thanks for saving my master piece.”

“Don’t mention it, kiddo. Like I told you, it’s major-league work.” The coach pointed at the bulge
under Leon’s shirt. “Have you shown that to Miss Hagmeyer yet?”

Leon nearly had a heart attack until he realized that the coach was mistaking the juice bottle for his master piece. “Um, no—ah, not yet,” he stammered.

“Well, when you do, I’m betting that doll of yours will really move her,” said the coach.

“Move her?” Leon gave him a funny look. “I hope so.”

Coach Kasperitis grabbed the pickle jar from underneath his mitt.

Leon suddenly noticed something troubling—the spit and water in the jar hadn’t blended. In fact, the liquids had formed two distinct layers, like oil and vinegar. Leon held his breath and listened intently as the coach turned away to satisfy an urge. He heard the distinct, hollow sound of the metal jar lid rubbing against the glass, followed by an unmistakable
pffut!

If the coach was going to notice anything fishy, it would be right now, Leon told himself—at the very moment the saliva was hitting the water.

It felt like an hour had passed before Leon registered the second scrape of metal on glass. He sighed deeply when he realized his spit theft had escaped detection.

The next phase of the restaining process took place at the maple tree, during recess. Leon proudly showed off the bottle to his friends.

“Gross,” said Lily-Matisse.

“Excellent,” said P.W. “This can’t fail. Dried-out teacher’s spit was
definitely
the problem. I did some research. The Crusaders moistened wounds with saliva to make them heal faster.”

“Well, I did some research, too,” said Lily-Matisse. “Spitting images sometimes need a magic spell to work. I made one up, just in case.”

“Great,” said Leon. “You can say it after we’ve applied the spit.”

“Can we get going?” P.W. said impatiently.

Leon nodded and asked Lily-Matisse if she’d remembered to bring the drop cloth.

“Of course,” she answered, producing a scrap of purple paisley left over from her falcon animile.

Leon tapped the ground with his sneaker. “Set it down here,” he said.

As Lily-Matisse smoothed out the drop cloth, Leon turned to P.W. “Did you find an applicator?” he asked.

“That’s a roger,” said P.W.

“What’d I say about the dumb lingo?” said Leon.

“Fine,” P.W. grumbled.

“Okay then,” said Leon. “Let’s see if the solution is the solution to our problem.” He kneeled next to the drop cloth and placed the juice bottle on top. He then removed the doll from the pouch and gently rested it on its back.

“Anyone snooping?” he asked.

“That’s a nega—” P.W. caught himself. “You’re fine,” he said blandly.

Leon reached for the bottle, giving it a vigorous shake before unscrewing the lid. He placed the lid next to the doll. “Applicator,” he said decisively, holding out his hand.

P.W. slapped the requested instrument into Leon’s palm.

“A pencil?” said Lily-Matisse. “Even a straw would have been better than that.”

“Couldn’t find any clean straws, okay?” said P.W. defensively. “And I didn’t want to use a germy one from the trash. There’s no telling what a milk molecule could do.”

“And you think that’s safer?” said Lily-Matisse. “News flash, P.W.—pencils have germs, too.”

“Guys!” said Leon, shooting them both looks. He gingerly dipped the eraser of the “applicator” into the bottle and dabbed some spit on the spot of the original stain.

“All done?” said P.W. eagerly.

“I think so,” Leon answered.

“What about my incantation?” said Lily-Matisse.

“Oops, sorry. Go ahead.”

Lily-Matisse paused for a moment. “Drab, dribble, pour … Make Miss Hagmeyer soar!”

“Not bad,” said Leon.

“Thanks,” said Lily-Matisse.

P.W. abruptly resealed the bottle. “Can we hurry up?” he said. “I’m dying to see Lumpkin’s face when the Hag crams a pair of panty hose over his head!”

“That’s not going to happen,” said Lily-Matisse. “Birdwhistle caught him trying to sneak out of school. He’s birdcaged.”

“All day?” asked P.W.

“No, but every single recess until Carnival,” said Lily-Matisse.

“Guess we’ll just have to concentrate on the Hag,” said Leon, not sounding all that upset.

As they headed toward the recessed doorway to conduct further tests, P.W. couldn’t resist whispering into his wristwatch. “Target in view.
Repeat
. Target in view!”

“Knock it off,” Leon said. He took up position in the doorway. “Right,” he said, sneaking a peek at the teachers’ bench.

Miss Hagmeyer was, as usual, sitting alone. Less usual, however, was the object she had in her bony hands.

Leon said, “Lily-Matisse, take a look and tell me if that’s what I think it is.”

Lily-Matisse peered around the corner. “It is! It’s the black SOV binder that my mom told me about!”

Leon reached for his doll. “I’m going to make her bring it to us! Maybe we’ll finally find out who she’s
selling our animiles to!” He leaned forward and worked the legs to pull Miss Hagmeyer toward them. But the doll’s eyes didn’t sparkle, and its body didn’t warm up. Nor did any telltale changes take place at the teachers’ bench.

Lily-Matisse whispered, “What’s wrong?”

“Beats me,” Leon said. “It should’ve worked. I dabbed the exact same place Lumpkin did.”

A frustrated silence filled the doorway.

“Maybe
that’s
the problem,” P.W. said all of a sudden. “You
dabbed
. Lumpkin
poured.”

“So?” said Leon.

“So
… maybe the spit works like yeast,” said Lily-Matisse.

“Right,” P.W. continued. “Not enough and your cake won’t rise! We’ve got to add more spit!”

The second time around, Leon didn’t bother with the applicator or the drop cloth or the incantations. He pulled out the juice bottle right where he was standing, unscrewed the lid, and gave his doll’s mid-section a good thorough soaking.

L
eon, Lily-Matisse, and P.W. ran halfway across the playground before they realized their plans had hit yet another snag.

The teachers’ bench was empty.

They scanned the schoolyard. Basketball court … foursquare boxes … wall ball … jungle gym …

“There!” cried Lily-Matisse. “Over by the jump ropers!” They dashed toward their target and stopped just out of range.

Miss Hagmeyer was standing before a circle of girls, two of whom were linked by a pair of motionless jump ropes that reminded Leon of a suspension bridge.

“Repeat it!” Miss Hagmeyer barked at Antoinette Brede. “Do you hear me, Miss Goody Two-Shoes? Repeat that vile song!”

Leon and his friends traded looks. When was the last time Antoinette had gotten in trouble?

“I’m
really
sorry, Miss Hagmeyer,” she whimpered.

Miss Hagmeyer kicked a jump rope with her boot. “Did I
ask
for apologies, Miss Brede?”

“No, but—”

Miss Hagmeyer cut her off. “No ifs, ands, or buts. You have a decision to make. Either you recite those
horrid lyrics, or you join Mr. Lumpkin in Principal Birdwhistle’s office.”

Faced with that choice, Antoinette began to sing, and as she did, the two “enders” started twirling their ropes to mark the musical beats.

“Miss Suzie had a steamboat, the steam—”

“Stop!”

The ropes and the singing halted.

“That was
not
the version I heard,” Miss Hagmeyer said angrily, tapping her ear.

Antoinette started over.

With each new line, Antoinette had a harder and harder time holding back the tears.

Miss Hagmeyer didn’t seem to care. “Keep going!” she commanded. “I distinctly recall two more stanzas!”

“Do something,” Lily-Matisse whispered.

“Yeah, start the retest pronto,” said P.W.

“I can’t,” Leon told them. “Not here. We’ll get caught.”

P.W. glanced around the playground. He pointed. “There! By the wall ball!”

They rushed over and positioned themselves along the concrete wall, out of view. Leon placed himself between his friends and watched Miss Hagmeyer watching Antoinette choke her way through the song.

“Coast’s clear,” Lily-Matisse confirmed.

Leon unpouched his resaturated master piece.

“Prepare for retest,” P.W. said.

Leon began bending the arms and legs of the doll.

“The spit’s working!” exclaimed P.W.

“The Hag’s responding!” Lily-Matisse whispered excitedly.

Leon didn’t need their status reports. He could feel the heat emanating from deep inside the master piece. And though he couldn’t see the doll’s face—it was, after all, aimed away from his—he was sure its eyes were now sparkling.

“What are you going to do?” Lily-Matisse asked.

“Watch,” said Leon. He guided Miss Hagmeyer toward the spinning ropes.

The teacher’s trancelike approach so startled Antoinette that she stopped singing.

Leon began bending and unbending Miss
Hagmeyer’s legs to the rhythm of the spinning ropes.

“D-d-do you want to jump rope, Miss Hagmeyer?” Antoinette stammered.

Leon gave the doll’s head a couple of swift nods.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” Lily-Matisse asked him.

Leon nodded his own head, all the while monitoring the action taking place some twenty feet away.

“Just remember to keep the Hag in the center of the ropes,” Lily-Matisse advised. “That’s where the loop is the biggest.”

“Thanks,” said Leon. He fiddled with the doll until Miss Hagmeyer’s shoulder lined up with the shoulder of the nearest ender. It took especially fine motor skills to synchronize the movements of the doll with the motion of the ropes, which were spinning in opposite directions, like eggbeaters.

“Her cape!” Lily-Matisse warned urgently. “It’ll get caught.”

Leon deftly wedged the doll’s miniature cape between its fingers so that Miss Hagmeyer would do the same.

“Nice move,” said P.W.

Leon had no time for compliments. “Lily-Matisse, tell me when I can send her in.”

“Are you sure about this?” she again asked.

Once more Leon nodded.

Lily-Matisse stared fiercely at the spinning ropes.
“Get ready … three … two … one….
Now!”

Her timing was perfect. She helped Leon inject Miss Hagmeyer into the vortex without a snag.

“Incredible!” said P.W. “She’s doing it!”

“You mean
we’re
doing it,” Lily-Matisse said proudly.

News traveled quickly. Students rushed from all over the playground to see Miss Hagmeyer’s command performance.

“Way to go, Miss Hagmeyer!” yelled Thomas Warchowski. “Can you show us some tricks?”

Leon tried to get Miss Hagmeyer to say no. But given all the motions he had to sustain—the pumping, the swaying, the clamping, the flexing—he couldn’t spare the fingers needed to make the doll shake its head.

“Can you do mumbles, Miss Hagmeyer?” Antoinette asked tentatively.

The crowd started to chant, “Mumbles! Mumbles! Mumbles!”

“What are mumbles?” Leon asked Lily-Matisse.

“That’s when you put both feet together and do super-small hops.” She demonstrated the move.

Leon decided to give it a shot. He brought the doll’s legs together and bent them up and down as the ropes
thwapped
against the ground.

“That’s it!” said Lily-Matisse.

“Sweet!” said P.W. “She looks like a tap-dancing bat.”

“What about doing some kick-bys?” Antoinette said more daringly.

Leon again turned to Lily-Matisse.
“Kick-bys?”

“Don’t sweat it,” said Lily-Matisse, gaining confidence. “You can handle ’em. All you have to do is kick one foot out and one foot in, one foot out and one foot in … ”

“Like this?” said Leon as he worked the doll.

“That’s pretty good,” said Lily-Matisse. “Just try to keep her legs down.”

Leon made some adjustments.

“Perfect,” said Lily-Matisse.

But no sooner had Leon mastered kick-bys than someone shouted out a new challenge: “Peppers!”
“Peppers?”
Leon gasped.

“Peppers are about speed,” Lily-Matisse explained. “Keep your eye on the enders.”