Wart (7 page)

Rachel stopped to read the paper in her hand. "No, it says here, 'Place chopped onion and garlic together, wrap in foil, and place in corners of all rooms in which a witch or warlock is thought to be casting spells. Protection will be provided as long as material has not decayed.'" She shook her head. "There's not a word about cooking. Oh, I forgot about this other story. A woman named Margaret says a witch she worked with wanted the promotion Margaret had been promised. For a while it looked like the boss was leaning toward the witch, but after Margaret did the onion thing, the witch turned in her resignation."

"Sounds bogus to me," said Stewart as they entered the kitchen, "but it's all we've got right now."

They had just spread the onions on the countertop when Georgia came bouncing in. Stewart hurried out the front door to talk to Gran, so that she wouldn't come in.

Back in the kitchen, Ham and Rachel had the wooden chopping board full of onions. "I guess I ought to do the cutting up. I mean it is my life we're trying to save."

"We'll all have a turn," said Rachel. "We're in this with you."

Ham had chopped most of the onions when the doorbell rang. "I'll get it," Georgia called from the family room, where she was watching TV.

"Wait," Stewart headed toward the front of the house. "You know you aren't supposed to go to the door by yourself."

"It's okay," called Georgia. "It's just Wanda. I can see her through the window."

"No," Stewart yelled. "Stop! Don't let her in," but he could already hear Ms. Gibbs's voice saying hello to his little sister. He whirled to look back through the kitchen door. There was Ham, knife in hand, standing beside Rachel who held garlic.

Before Stewart could say anything, Ms. Gibbs was beside him. "Stewart," she said, peering around him into the kitchen, "how nice that you have your friends here." She stepped around him and into the kitchen. "Hello Rachel, Andrew, whatever are you doing?" She reached out to touch an onion that lay unsliced beside the chopping board.

"It's for supper," Ham said. "We're helping Stew get ready for supper."

"Gran already made supper." Georgia had come into the kitchen behind Ms. Gibbs. "She made a chicken pot-pie." She pointed toward the refrigerator. "It's in there. Remember, she told you to put it in the oven at five?"

"Oh yeah," said Stewart, and he knew his voice sounded shaky. "That's right. I kind of forgot, and we were making... soup. Onion soup, it's one of my favorites."

"Such a lot of onions and garlic too," said Ms. Gibbs. "I think you may have overdone it slightly. I can't think of any recipe that would call for that much of either ingredient."

"We... ah," Stewart tried to say something, but gave up.

"I hope you didn't get a recipe off the Internet. You know you can't trust what you find there. I even read a bunch of nonsense there once about how to stop a witch's powers by using onions and garlic." Ms. Gibbs laughed. "Isn't that ridiculous?" She laughed again. "So foolish, believing in witchcraft! I mean this is the twenty-first century." She turned back then to the family room and took Georgia by the hand. "Come along, dear," she said. "I want to measure you because I am going to make you a new dress." She took a measuring tape from her purse. Stewart stepped just inside the room, but he didn't go far from Ham and Rachel, who stood in the doorway between the rooms.

"Oh yes," said Georgia. She grinned and clapped her hands. "I love new dresses. What will it look like?"

"It will be a very special dress." Ms. Gibbs dropped to her knees and put the tape around Georgia's waist. "A dress so special you could wear it to be a flower girl in a wedding. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Georgia squealed. "What color will it be?"

"Oh," said Ms. Gibbs. "I don't think the color scheme has been decided yet for the wedding. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Pink," said Georgia. "I love pink."

Stewart swallowed hard. "Black," he turned toward the kitchen and mouthed the word to Ham and Rachel.

Ms. Gibbs measured from Georgia's waist to the floor, took a pad and pen from her handbag, and wrote down some numbers. "I must fly away now." She laughed. "Of course, I don't mean that literally, but I do have to go. Ozgood's lesson is almost over, and I must pick him up." She rose and moved toward the door.

"What kind of lessons does Ozgood take?" asked Rachel.

Ms. Gibbs turned back slightly and smiled. "Well, aren't you sweet to be interested in a little boy's lessons? I could tell the other night that you and Ozgood had made a rather special connection. He is at the aquarium. Today I think he is scheduled to learn about the lives of frogs." She reached out to take hold of Stewart's arm. "Come walk me to the door, dear."

Stewart didn't want to go. He looked back at his friends. "Watch me," he wanted to say. "Don't let her zap me." He said nothing. Somehow, he made his feet move and his hand reach out to open the door for her.

"Get to school early in the morning, Stewart," she said when she had stepped outside, and there was no asking tone to her voice. "Yes, get to school in time to come by my room. I need to talk to you, and, dear, come alone. Don't bring Andrew, Rachel, or the onions."

"Woe is me," said Stewart to Rachel and Ham when the woman was gone. "I am undone."

• FIVE
•

W
ait for me in the library," Stewart told Ham when they were inside the building the next morning. "If I don't make it back, you can have my iPod." He was only half kidding. Very few kids were in the hall that early, and Stewart imagined the sound of his footsteps on the wooden floor echoed along with the sound of his heartbeat.

"Stewart!" Ms. Gibbs seemed almost surprised to see him. "How nice of you to come." She smiled at him.

He shrugged. "You told me to come. I thought... you know, that I had to."

"Well," she said, "come sit beside me while we talk." She walked to her desk and pointed to a bright red overstuffed chair near the desk chair. The chair had not been there yesterday, and Stewart wondered if she had zapped it up just for him. He bent to run his hand across the seat before he sat down.

"I'll get right to the point. You know I offered to help you with Taylor and your basketball playing." She paused. Stewart held onto the edge of the red chair and nodded his head. "Let's start with basketball. You have a game after school today, don't you?" He nodded again. "The thing is, Stewart, that I feel you may just lack confidence. Don't you suppose that might be your problem?"

"Well, sure, I guess so." Stewart had a strange feeling, like he was dreaming the entire conversation.

Ms. Gibbs put one hand up to touch her green necklace. "I'll tell you something, Stewart, when you are playing just glance up at me. I think just seeing me might remind you to have confidence in yourself. I'll sit on the first row of bleachers, so you will have no trouble seeing me." She stood then, but Stewart didn't move.

"You may go now, Stewart. Go find Ham. I'm sure he is waiting for you, right?"

Stewart nodded, and she said, "Oh, you're welcome, Stewart. You did say thank you, didn't you?" Stewart nodded again.

Stewart stepped out into the hall, but he couldn't think where he intended to go. He heard laughter and saw two boys shoving each other. Getting out of their way crossed his mind, but he didn't move. A body pushed against him. His backpack slipped from his shoulder, and he fell against the wall. Bending to pick up his pack, he remembered that he was supposed to meet Ham in the library.

Rachel was there with Ham, sitting at a table near the door. "What happened?" Ham reached out to take the backpack Stewart was almost dragging.

"Sit down." Rachel pulled out a chair beside her for him.

He took the chair, then motioned to Ham. "Lean over here. I don't want to talk loud." Ham half crawled over the table, and Stewart drew in a breath. "She wants to help me." His words came out in a hoarse whisper.

"With what?" Rachel asked.

"Basketball and . . . stuff."

"Wow!" Ham relaxed back into his chair.

The bell rang. Rachel and Ham pushed away from the table, but Stewart didn't move. "Wait." He put a hand out toward each of them. "What am I going to do?"

"We'll talk at lunch," said Rachel, and she hurried away.

Ham waited for Stewart to get up, and they left the library together. Just before they separated for first period, Ham put his hand on Stewart's arm. "You didn't tell about Taylor," he said.

"Huh?" Stewart pulled away.

"You left out the part about helping you get Taylor to like you, didn't you?"

"Don't mention that in front of Rachel, Ham. Rachel wouldn't like it, and we need her help to figure this all out." Ham didn't say anything. "Okay? You hear me, Ham?"

Ham shrugged. "Okay, okay. Don't get excited."

"Sure," said Stewart. "Getting involved with a witch isn't anything to get worked up over." He turned to go toward English class.

Somehow, he kept his mind on the lesson about gerunds, and he was surprised by how interested he was in the earthquake discussion in science class. How could he concentrate on school right now? Maybe Ms. Gibbs had already cast a spell on him. "There she is," Ham said to Stewart as they walked toward third period art class.

Stewart didn't say anything, couldn't form a word in his totally dry throat. Ms. Gibbs stood beside the door and watched them move toward her. Squirming, he imagined her eyes shot fiery darts into his body. He ducked his head, studying his shoes as he shuffled forward. Even Ham was quiet. Just before they got to the room, Stewart dropped back to follow Ham.

He was so close to Ms. Gibbs that their shoulders almost touched, but he did not look up. "How nice to see you, Stewart, or is it Wart?" Her words were almost a whisper. She reached out, and for just a half second, she touched his shoulder, ever so lightly. "You must decide, you know."

It was the longest class Stewart had ever suffered through. Each time Ms. Gibbs turned his way, he pretended to be absorbed in drawing. He put his energy into hoping she did not come to stand beside him, and she did not.

When the bell rang, Stewart bolted out the door, leaving his art stuff for Ham to put away. He headed straight to the cafeteria. Ms. Gibbs wouldn't come in there to talk to him in front of everyone. Still, he kept looking back as he stood in line. He chose an empty table and sat facing the door. He did not want to be surprised. After what seemed like a long time, Rachel and then Ham came to join him.

"Did she say anything to you?" Stewart asked when Ham had dropped his tray on the table.

"Nope. Didn't even look my way." Ham sat down. "You going to eat that corn dog?"

"No, but don't get any ideas about the chocolate cake."

"What we have to get ideas about," said Rachel, "is a plan of action."

"I'm even half hoping I don't get to play in the game at all." Stewart started on the cake. "I don't want her putting some kind of spell on me." He shifted on the cafeteria bench. "Do I?"

Ham shrugged. "Look at it this way, if she's determined to help you, why not go along with it? I mean, it isn't like you have much choice about having her in your life. You might as well get some good from it."

"Or some proof," said Rachel. "If you go along with her, maybe we can get some proof that she's a witch." She twisted her face. "You know, I've got a feeling her power has something to do with that green necklace. She's never without it." She nodded decidedly. Stewart studied his plate and wished he could be as certain of anything as Rachel always was.

In gym class Coach Knox was all hyped up over the game. He even called the team, "men" in an effort to build their confidence. "When you're out on the court this afternoon in the middle of the action, remember you're a Ram, and you're representing us all," he said in a tone like they were going out to save the nation. "It's a big responsibility."

"Don't look so worried, Wart," said Brad to Stewart under his breath. "You probably won't have to be in the middle of the action. Not much happens on the bench."

Stewart just looked at him. He wondered why Brad had turned so mean, but maybe it was just so he could use the nickname. Stewart had to admit the use of that name would be hard to resist. Oh well, Brad couldn't get to him, not now. What did Brad Wilson know about action? Had he ever battled a witch?

The game was right after school. Stewart kind of got into the spirit of things during the warm-up, really felt pretty good out there in his red and blue uniform, representing the whole school. He enjoyed passing the ball and shooting even though he only made it once out of five times. Then he saw his father come in with Ms. Gibbs. Stewart hadn't mentioned the game to his father. Why should he? He certainly didn't expect to get to play. Ms. Gibbs must have told him. Dad waved at him, and Ms. Gibbs gave him a thumbs-up sign. Stewart turned away and pretended he hadn't noticed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw them settle on the very first row, just where she had told him she would be. Stewart didn't feel so good anymore.

Brad was right about Stewart not seeing much action. For the first three quarters he warmed the bench. Even Ham got to play while Brad picked at the dirt under one fingernail with the nails on the other hand. About the middle of the last quarter when it was pretty certain the team was going to lose anyway, Coach motioned for Stewart. "Come on," he said, "you can go in for Brad."

Stewart's heart was pounding. Brad gave him a dirty look when he touched his hand to signal that Brad was being replaced, but Stewart didn't care. It was his first time to play in a real ball game, and he liked the feeling. Without even thinking about it, he glanced at Ms. Gibbs. She waved to him, then rubbed her green necklace.

That's when it started! The other team had just put up an unsuccessful shot. Time for the rebound. Suddenly, like he was jet-propelled, Stewart shot up above the others and grabbed the ball. It was as good as a dream, the way he drove down that court, moving from right to left, dodging their defense, like the other players were kindergartners. He made that layup so easily, him, Stewart Wright!

The crowd was cheering really loud, but the miracle wasn't done. The kid who took the ball out threw it way over Stewart's head. Somehow he jumped higher than he had ever imagined he could, intercepting the pass. That ball felt perfect in his hand, a natural part of him. He started toward the basket, but they were all around him, five of them, determined to block another layup.

A quick glance at the clock told him seconds were precious. There was no one to pass to. A shot from that far was ridiculous, but what else was there to do. For a split second, he glanced toward Ms. Gibbs. He aimed and threw. The ball swished into that net like it had been programmed by a computer.

"Yeah, Stewart! He's our man!" He'd know that cheerleader's voice anywhere. It was Taylor Montgomery.

"The buzzer sounded. Stewart's team had lost the game, but his three points made the score much more respectable.

Most of the guys gathered around him. Even Brad slapped him on the back. "Great lucky streak, Wart," he said.

"Coach should have put you in a lot sooner," said Jake.

As Stewart walked off the court, the coach motioned him to come over to the bench. Coach put one foot up on the bench, and he put an arm around Stewart's shoulder. "Good going, Wright," he said, "real good going."

Stewart's head was swimming as he headed for the dressing room. It really was like a dream, and he remembered the one he'd had the week before about him and Ham's grandmother winning the race. You couldn't have played like that by yourself, a voice whispered in his mind, but Stewart didn't want to think about Ms. Gibbs. He wanted to enjoy what had just happened.

The coach talked to them before they got dressed. "We lost the first one, men," he said, "but we learned some things about our strengths and weaknesses." Stewart could feel some of the guys looking at him.

After the talk, Stewart started to change his clothes. He had untied one basketball shoe when Ham dropped the bombshell. "Well, looks like Ms. Gibbs is a witch, all right. We've still got to get close enough to spy."

While Ham talked, Stewart didn't move, just stayed bent over halfway to the floor. He felt cold, like he'd just been thrown into an icy pool. Ms. Gibbs! He had to admit to himself that she was behind his great improvement on the court. Still, he didn't want to talk about it, not even to Ham.

"Right," was all he said. He fastened his attention on untying and tying his shoes like he was just learning. He did not want to think, but the glow inside him was definitely less bright. Coming up the steps from the dressing room, Stewart kept his gaze down. He didn't want to look toward where Dad and Ms. Gibbs were probably still sitting, waiting for him. When he was on the top step, his father's voice forced him to look up. "Here's our star," he said, and Stewart was surprised to see it was Martha, not Ms. Gibbs who waited with his father.

He wanted to run to Martha and hug her, but instead he gave her a big smile. "Wow," he said, "I didn't know you were here."

"I came in near the end, but I saw the important part." She reached out and gave him a quick hug. Stewart wanted to hold on to her and beg her to marry his dad and come home with them.

His father reached over to punch him on the shoulder. "Some game, Stew," he said. "Wanda had to leave, but she wanted me to congratulate you for her."

Stewart ignored the mention of Wanda Gibbs and smiled at his father. He felt good. Dad was pleased over his playing well because he knew it made Stewart feel good. He wasn't one of those fathers pushing his kid to be an athlete so he'd have something to brag about to his friends. Dad had always been great to him, no matter what. Stewart resolved to tell Ms. Gibbs he didn't want her help anymore. He didn't want her near his father either.

He decided to make a suggestion. "Hey," he said, "let's go home and get Georgia and all go out to eat. Gran can put tonight's supper in the fridge." He could see from the look on Martha's face that she liked the idea. They both looked at his father.

"Georgia's missed you." His father looked down, embarrassed.

"We all have," Stewart added quickly.

"Yes," Dad laughed, and he seemed to relax. "We've all missed you."

"Let's go to the Stagecoach," Dad suggested. "We'll meet you there after we pick up Georgia." It was a burger place where all the booths were shaped like stagecoaches.

"You know," said Martha to Stewart and Georgia at the restaurant when their father went to the restroom, "this is where your father and I came for our first meal together. It wasn't a date, just a chance to grab a bite after a meeting we were in together." Her voice sounded sad.

Stewart felt miserable. "Martha," he said, "I'm sorry I didn't want you to marry Dad. I was acting like a baby."

His hand rested on the table, and Martha reached out to pat it. "You've grown up a lot lately, haven't you?" she said.

Dad came back just in time to hear that. "He really is growing up, isn't he?" Georgia played quietly with her toy horse while the others spent some time then talking about Stewart's future. It wasn't just pressure talk about making good grades. Martha and Dad were asking questions about his interests and making suggestions about professions.

"You've always loved history," said his father. "You might want to be a college professor, too, or work in a museum."