The Chocolate Meltdown (5 page)

The next day, during English class, B found it hard to concentrate on Mr. Bishop’s lesson. She kept trying to imagine what Madame Mel might have meant by Mr. Bishop’s “history of incidents,” like poisoning the entire witching community. If he was such a threat, why did they let him teach students?

B decided to confront him directly. For this, she knew, she should be alone. So as soon as the bell rang, she whispered to Trina and George, “I need to talk to Mr. Bishop. I’ve got to find out what he knows. Why don’t you guys keep an eye on Jason and see what he’s up to? I’ll meet you in the cafeteria.”

“Okay, B,” George said, “but do you remember what the banana said to the monkey?”

B blinked.
What on earth?
“No, what did the banana say?”

George grinned. “Nothing,” he said. “Bananas can’t talk.”

Oh, toads.

“What has that got to do with anything?” Trina shouldered her backpack, looking thoroughly confused.

“Just George being George,” B said. “And I know when Jason is being Jason. He’s up to something. I can smell it! So keep an eye on him.”

Trina, whose spots and sneezing had cleared up, but was still looking pale and tired, nodded. “Okay, B,” she said. “We’ll watch him. But remember, I can’t do anything, er, you know, special if we do find a clue.”

Meaning magical. B sighed. Poor Trina.

“Just watch him,” B said. “I’ll be there soon, and then we’ll make a plan.”

Mr. Bishop called over from where he was tidying the papers on his desk. “Everything okay, B, George?” he asked. “You feeling okay, Trina? You look a little under the weather.”

“I’ve had better days,” Trina said. “See you tomorrow.” And she and George left the classroom. B went over to Mozart’s cage and lifted the lid. Mr.
Bishop’s classroom hamster, who had shared some magical adventures with B in the past, hopped into her outstretched hand.

B stroked his soft fur and tried to think of the best way to bring up the delicate subject of Mr. Bishop’s possible guilt, but her magical tutor beat her to the punch.

“So, B,” he said, sitting down on the desk in front of her, “you didn’t poison the witching world the other day, did you?”

B gasped. “Me?”
Why does everybody always suspect me?
“I was going to ask you the same question!”

Mr. Bishop started with surprise. “Me? You think I might have done it?” He twisted the tip of his pointy beard.

Mozart could sense B was upset. He nuzzled his head against her palm.

“I would never do anything to make people sick,” B said. “I can’t believe you think I might.”

Mr. Bishop smiled. “Don’t be upset. I know you wouldn’t mean to hurt anyone. But, maybe, did you brew up a potion to make the chocolates more delicious? Something like that, to help your dad
with the launch of Fabulous Fruits? If you tell me what you used, I could probably brew up an antidote.”

“I swear I didn’t do anything magical,” B said. “Madame Mel said you were the only witch she knew there with a history of causing mischief like this.” Whoops! She probably shouldn’t have said it out loud.

He threw back his head and laughed. “She said that, did she? Hilarious!”

“I don’t see what’s so funny about it,” B said. “My whole family has lost their magic from this sickness. I’m the only one who can still make spells, because I never tried the nasty chocolate fruity junk.”

“Not a fan of Fabulous Fruits?” Mr. Bishop wiped his eyes, still shaking with laughter.

“Well? Is it true that you have a history of things like this?”

“Oh, I may have gotten into some mischief when I was younger —
much
younger — but nothing major,” he said. “I’m not the potion poisoner you’re looking for.”

“Well, neither am I,” B said.

Mr. Bishop studied B for a minute. “Fair enough,” he said.

B poured a few hamster pellets into her palm to feed to Mozart.

“And anyway,” she went on, “how do you know you’re not? What about that jingle you sang? It rhymed. How do you know it didn’t work some kind of spell? Like Trina’s singing magic? Which, incidentally, is gone now, too.”

Mr. Bishop got up off the desk. “You worry too much, B,” he said. “I know how to sing a song without making dozens of people sick. Rest assured that the M.R.S. is working hard on this, and I’m doing all I can to help.” He went back to his desk and began sorting through piles of student work, as if it were the most everyday thing in the world, but B got the feeling that Mr. Bishop was more worried about the magical epidemic than he was letting on. She gave Mozart a kiss, placed him back in his cage, shouldered her backpack, and headed for the door.

“Don’t forget, we’ve got a tutoring session after school today, B,” Mr. Bishop called. “See you then.”

B walked slowly toward the cafeteria. So, it wasn’t Mr. Bishop who’d done it. She felt certain he wasn’t lying. He was as anxious to solve the mystery as she was. That left Jason Jameson where he’d always been, at the top of B’s list of suspicious characters. But it wasn’t enough to accuse him just because he was a known sneak. B needed facts: means, motive, and opportunity.

She entered the lunch line and ordered a sandwich without even checking to see what was in it. Trina and George weren’t seated at their usual table. B scanned the lunchroom for her friends. She nearly dropped her bottle of chocolate milk back into the cooler when she caught sight of Trina sitting opposite Jason, chatting and smiling like they were old friends. Then Jason rose, returned his tray, and left
the cafeteria. George, whom B had just located peering out from a janitor’s closet, followed after him, staying focused on his target like a shark trailing its prey. What on earth was going on?

B joined Trina at the lunch table and sat in the seat Jason Jameson had just vacated.

“What’s up, Trina?” B took a bite of her sandwich, which turned out to be a tuna melt. “Ugh! H-A-M, A-N-D, S-W-I-S-S,” she whispered, watching her sandwich closely. “Ah. That’s better. H-O-N-E-Y, M-U-S-T-A-R-D. Perfect.”

“Lucky,” Trina said. “It’s not so easy to sing a sandwich. Even if I did have my magic.”

“They’ll find a cure,” B said, reaching over to squeeze her friend’s hand. “I know Madame Mel can do it, as soon as they figure out what caused the sickness. So, why on earth were you having lunch with Jason?”

Trina made a face. “Just following your orders to investigate him.”

“Really?” B said. “What’s George doing?”

Trina scraped the last of her pudding from its cup. “Well, we had different points of view on how to investigate. I thought the best way to learn what
Jason was up to would be to talk to him, but George didn’t trust Jason. He wanted to follow him instead.” She crumpled her pudding cup. “So we split up.”

“Hm,” B said. She wasn’t sure whose strategy she liked better, but two strategies might be better than one. “Did you learn anything?”

“You bet,” Trina said. “For one thing, I’m certain that Jason’s got some mischief planned for today, after school.”

B swallowed a big bite of ham and Swiss. This sounded promising. “How do you know?”

“Jason’s such a phony. Remember how he treated me so rotten when I first moved here? And then, when everyone found out I was in the Black Cats, he was fawning all over me, trying to get invited to my house or to ride in the car?”

B nodded. How could she forget?

“Well, I figured if I invited him to come over to hear a new track from the Black Cats, that would be an irresistible opportunity for him, and maybe he’d let down his defenses so I could ask him more questions.”

“Jumping jinxes,” B said. “You actually invited Jason Jameson to your house?”

“Yeah, but get this,” Trina said, leaning closer. “He said
no
.”

B was staggered. Jason Jameson turned down a private invitation to the Black Cats’ lead singer’s mansion, and a private screening of their newest music? Cats fans would give their front teeth for such a chance. Next Trina would say the sky was falling.

“He said he had chess club at the town library, right after school,” Trina said. “So I said, no problem, come on over after that. But he still said no. He had something to do after chess club that couldn’t wait. And he wouldn’t say what.”

“That’s really strange,” B said. “You’d make a really good detective.”

“Or a spy,” Trina said. “Being a spy sounds more glamorous. So, are you going to meet me after school at the library to do a little spying on this chess club of Jason’s?”

“Wish I could,” B said. “I’ve got magic tutoring right after school with Mr. Bishop. But when that’s done I could meet you there. Probably Jason would still be in his chess club.”

“Works for me,” Trina said. “Meet you outside the library, whenever you can get there.”

B found George heading toward their gym class. “Hey, guess what, George?” she said. “Trina thinks Jason’s planning something sneaky for this afternoon.”

George removed his glasses and polished them on the bottom of his Wilmington Warlocks jersey. “Could be important,” he said. “But I found something a little more concrete when I followed him out of lunch.”

“Really? What?”

“Saw him opening his locker,” George explained. “On the top shelf were a handful of Fabulous Fruits, plain as day, in a clear sandwich bag.”

“That’s weird,” B said. “Saving them for later?”

“If he just wanted to eat them, they’d be gone by now,” George said. “He must have some kind of plan for them.”

“That’s true,” B said, nodding. “I knew it! Jason’s up to something. But what?”

“Only one way to find out,” George said, “and that’s keeping Jason under surveillance.”

“That’s just what Trina suggested we do after school,” B said.

At this, George’s face fell. B was puzzled. She couldn’t think what would have made him unhappy.

“Are you okay, George?” B asked.

“Yeah.”

They went into the gym and sat on the bleachers to wait for Coach Lyons. George still seemed pretty glum.

“You
sure
you’re okay?”

George let out a sigh. “It’s just …” He lowered his voice. “It’s just, you and Trina, it’s so weird… .”

B felt a flutter of worry. “You found a great clue, George.” She put a hand on his arm. “Don’t you like Trina?”

“No, no, that’s not it.” George took a deep breath. “My two closest friends turn out to be witches. You guys can do these amazing things, and what am I? Boring.”

B couldn’t have been more surprised if her own face started breaking out in purple spots. She never saw this coming. Poor George!

“You? Boring? You’ve got to be kidding me! George, you’re … I mean, you’ve been my best friend since forever. You’re not boring; you’re hilarious.”

George waved this away. “Come on. You know my jokes are lame. You’ve got all these
powers.”

“Your jokes are
not
lame.” Other kids started looking over at them, so B lowered her voice again to a whisper. “Okay. Maybe they are lame. But you’ve got lame jokes down to an art. George, you’re the smartest kid in this school, and the best athlete, and the best friend a kid could have. Those are powers, too. I wish I had more of them!”

George wasn’t convinced. “Lots of kids are smart or athletic. But you can just spell words, and Trina can just sing songs, and make things happen,” George said.

“No, she can’t,” B said. “Not now. Her magic is gone. And if we don’t find a cure for this illness, a lot of witches will lose their magic and stop being witches.”

For a second, B imagined losing her own magic. It felt like losing her ability to breathe. Magic was so
much a part of who she was now. She felt a new sympathy for how George must be feeling.

“Don’t feel bad, George,” B said. “There’s no way we can solve this mystery without you. We need your help. Magical or not.”

George looked up at B from under his curly hair. A little smile broke through. “I’m sorry,” George said. “I don’t mean to complain about not having magic.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “Just don’t forget, every kid in this school wishes they were more like you.” She smiled. “Including me.”

Coach Lyons came into the gym, late as usual, blowing his whistle and barking orders. He made the kids count off into teams, which meant B and George got separated.

“I’ll meet you at the library at four o’clock,” George said. “Don’t worry. We’re going to solve this mystery. I’m on the case.”

B already knew what she wanted to learn that afternoon when she arrived in Mr. Bishop’s classroom for her magical tutoring session.

“How hard is it to turn yourself invisible, Mr. Bishop?”

Mr. Bishop poked his horn-rimmed glasses back up his nose. “Well, now. Invisibility. That’s challenging, especially for beginner witches, and I imagine that even with your spelling brand of magic, it’ll test your abilities.”

“Why?” B said. “What’s so hard about it?”

“For starters, like all magic, it requires tremendous focus. You have to really train your mind not to wander and float from this subject to that. You have to be very quiet in your mind, and quiet in your body, too.”

“Huh? Quiet in your body?”

Mr. Bishop laughed. “I know it sounds funny, but that’s the best analogy I can think of. If you don’t want someone to hear you, what do you do? You go as quiet as you can. If you don’t want someone to see you, you have to, er, quiet the image of yourself. Make yourself fade out. Be so still, so physically and mentally still, that it won’t take much more work for the magic to make you just disappear. Does that make sense?”

B considered for a moment. “I think so. It sounds simple, but I’ll bet it’s hard.”

“Like most things. But it’s not just the spells. You know that. Magic is more than hocus-pocus.”

“Rhymes with ‘focus,’ ” B pointed out.

“Ha. Right. I’ll bet that, with practice, you’ll be able to do it for a few minutes, at the most. Even very experienced witches can’t keep up invisibility for long. Ready to try it?”

“Sure.”

Mr. Bishop locked his classroom door. “Okay. Get yourself as still as you can, and as calm, then spell ‘invisible.’ ”

B leaned against the back wall of the classroom
and tried to relax. She imagined her appearance fading. She breathed slowly and quietly. “I-N-V-I-S-I-B-L-E,” she whispered.

And she disappeared!

For a second.

Then she disappeared again.

Her body seemed to be turning on and off, like a lamp when a little kid is playing with the switch. Watching herself disappear was fun, and she felt a little drop in the pit of her stomach each time, like a dip on a roller coaster. But try as she might, she couldn’t get the effect to last.

“Not bad, not bad,” Mr. Bishop said. “It can take years of practice to develop the concentration to disappear even once. You’re off to a great start.”

“But I want to go totally invisible,” B said. “Think how useful that would be!”

“Are you planning a career as a jewel thief?” Mr. Bishop smiled. “All right. I’ll add a spell to help you this time. You perform your spell again, and then I’ll add mine, and I think that’ll do the trick.”

B spelled “invisible” again, and Mr. Bishop said,

“Vanishing’s no easy art.

B needs a boost. She’s done her part.”

And,
poof
! B disappeared!

She bent forward to look through where her torso ought to be and saw the wall behind her. This was so fun. But just as she was about to say so to Mr. Bishop, rushing breezes swept into the room. Madame Mel appeared, flanked by a squadron of large, tough-looking witches in sunglasses. They wore tall, heavy boots, and uniform robes with the letter “D” emblazoned across their backs. Two of them immediately checked the doors, closed the blinds, and examined the room. B had to hold her breath when one of them passed within inches of her.

With a flash, B realized who they were. They had to be the Dismantle Squad!

A burly witch with a brush cut, standing next to Madame Mel, said, “Doug T. Bishop. You are under suspicion of using a potion as a poison, and tainting a large batch of chocolate for the purpose of making large numbers of witches seriously ill and compromising their magic. As a suspect in this most serious crime against the witching community, we request you now come with us. You are advised that, should you refuse to come peacefully, we will be forced to
apprehend you.” At this, the other Dismantle Squad members folded their arms across their chests.

Jumping jinxes! It was all B could do to stay calm and invisible. This was serious! That Dismantle Squad was scary. She’d never seen this side of the M.R.S. before.

“I’ll come with you,” Mr. Bishop said loudly, “because I’m happy to cooperate. I haven’t done anything wrong” — here two Dismantle Squad members each grabbed one of his wrists — “and no one should worry about me, or try to do anything to help me. I’m innocent, and everything will be fine in the end.”

Madame Mel’s forehead crinkled with puzzlement. “A moving speech, Doug,” she said, “but it will be up to the Magical Rhyming Society’s Council of Justice to determine innocence or guilt after the Dismantle Squad has completed its investigation. Let’s go.”

Mr. Bishop turned toward where B stood and winked at her. She looked down and saw her sneakers beginning to flicker into view and tried not to gasp.

“Something in your eye?” Madame Mel asked Mr. Bishop.

“Er, yes,” he said. Then he added:

“Make my last spell a little bit stronger.

Stretch its effects out a little bit longer!”

B looked down again. Her feet had vanished.

“What, exactly, was your last spell?” Madame Mel said, tapping the toe of her high-heeled boots.

“Oh, just something to make sure my hamster, Mozart, gets fed and watered every day, without me needing to worry. Who knows how long I’ll be gone?”

The chief Dismantler, or so he seemed to be, uttered a staccato spell, and the whole group whisked off to the M.R.S.

B blew out her breath. “V-I-S-I-B-L-E,” she spelled, thinking about her body, and she popped back into focus. Then she sank into Mr. Bishop’s desk chair.

Mr. Bishop! Arrested! She was sure that he was innocent. And Jason Jameson, she was even surer, was
not.
She had to solve this crime and prove who the real poisoner was. She set off running down the hall and out the door of the school, to the library and chess club, as fast as she could go.