Wart (8 page)

Georgia looked up from her play. "You could be a doctor."

"Nah," Stewart shook his head. "I don't like blood."

"Well, then you could be a psychologist," suggested Martha.

"Would you treat me for free?" His father grinned slightly.

"I'm not sure you can wait that long, Dad," Stewart said.

They were all laughing when the waitress came to take their order. "It's nice to see a happy family," she said. They didn't correct her, just smiled at each other. Stewart hated to see the meal come to an end. They all walked out together. It was a beautiful fall night. Stewart moved as slowly as he could, hoping that Dad would say something about seeing Martha again, but he didn't.

All the way to the car, Stewart kicked at a small rock in the parking lot. Before getting into the car, he gave it one last kick and watched it bounce under the car parked beside theirs. No one said much on the way home. He started thinking, of course, about Ms. Gibbs. Had she really made him play so well? When he was on the court, did she rub that necklace of hers? He wondered if she would be powerless if she lost that thing like Rachel seemed to think. Was there a chance they could get their hands on that green stone? "Necklace." He said it aloud without realizing it until his father spoke.

"What?"

He had to think quickly. "Reckless, I was just saying I can't get reckless with the ball because I made one three-pointer. Even though it was dark, he had to turn away from his father. Lying wasn't his best skill.

"Oh, I don't know." Dad laughed. "They'll probably be calling you Magic Wright pretty soon."

Stewart put his head back against the seat. "It did seem like magic, all right." Of course, his father had no idea what he meant. It wouldn't do him any good to try another round at convincing him that Ms. Gibbs was a broom rider. He had to get proof, had to get his hands on that necklace. But how?

"Think I'd better go up and hit the algebra book," Stewart said when they got home. At least that was the truth. He had an algebra test tomorrow. The idea of being a psychologist had been just talk, but something about it had sparked his interest. Anyway, it was true that he was going to high school next year, and it was time to get serious about his schoolwork.

The next day started off great. Stewart had just put his books in his locker when he realized Taylor was standing beside him. He was so shocked he could barely get out a "hi."

"I liked watching you play yesterday." She was wearing a blue sweater, and he thought she must be the most beautiful girl on the planet.

"Thanks."

"I'm having some kids over on Friday night, you know Halloween." She leaned on the locker next to his. "Are you doing anything?"

" I . . . I don't think so." He closed the locker door pretty hard on his hand, but it didn't even hurt.

"Don't injure yourself." She was batting her eyes at him. "The team needs you. I mean, really!" Then she was gone.

"Don't injure yourself," said a mocking voice from behind him. He turned to see Rachel glaring at him. "No, don't injure yourself. Let me do it for you!"

"Hey what are you so fired up about?"

"Stewart Wright," she had her face screwed up really tight. "If you think I'm going to be over at the Gibbs's place risking my life on Halloween night while you trot off to spend the evening making eyes at Taylor Montgomery, you're even crazier than I thought you were." Without waiting for him to say anything, she stomped off.

"Oh wow." He rested against his locker. His life had sure become complicated since the day Mr. Harrison went bonkers and climbed into the supply closet.

At lunch he tried to smooth it over with Rachel. He held out his hand to stop her when she started to walk by the table where he sat with Ham. "Wait," he said, "you didn't give me a chance to explain. Sit down, so we can talk."

Rachel settled* across from him, but her face was not friendly. She sat there leaning on her elbows, one eyebrow raised. Her brown eyes made him feel uncomfortable, partly because she was glaring at him, but partly too because for the first time ever a strange thought came to his mind. Rachel was pretty! Really pretty. He wasn't quite comfortable with the thought.

He gave his head a slight shake to clear his mind. "I didn't know for sure that you guys were really planning to go to Ms. Gibbs's house on Friday night, but if you are, of course I'll go too."

"That's good of you." Rachel rolled her eyes.

"We haven't even talked about what to do over there," said Ham.

"I know what we'll do," said Stewart. His voice was strong, and there was a tone of determination to it. It was, he noticed, enough to make Rachel warm up. She leaned toward him. "The necklace," he said. "We're going for that necklace."

"That's her power. I'm sure of it." Rachel had totally forgotten about being mad.

Stewart pounded his fist against the table. "Okay, team," he said, "let's get that necklace!"

Before anyone had a chance to say anything, Stewart felt a touch on his shoulder. "Oh, Stewart," Taylor said, "I wanted to say you could bring your friends." She used her hand to indicate she meant Rachel and Ham. "Andrew, isn't it, and Ruby?"

"You can call me Ham. It's my nickname on account of my last name being Hamilton." Ham grinned up at Taylor.

"And you can call me Rachel." There was no smile on her face. "On account of it's my name, as you hear every day in English and geography class."

"Sorry," said Taylor, "but anyway, Stewart, you can bring your friends, whatever their names are. The more the merrier, right?" She patted Stewart's shoulder and without waiting for an answer she moved away. He had to pull his gaze from her swaying hips.

"Man oh man, we've been invited to Taylor Montgomery's party. Are we going?" Ham's voice sounded hopeful.

"We are not," said Rachel. "She knows my real name." She made a face like she tasted something bad. "No one can be that stupid." Then she shrugged her shoulders. "Or maybe you guys think we should drop everything and run over to Taylor's. After all, Stewart might like living with a witch and a frog."

Women! Stewart groaned inwardly. Sometimes he thought they were all witches, but he certainly didn't say anything. He really, really needed Rachel. Why did Rachel hate Taylor? Maybe he'd write to Sammi to see if she could explain it.

Stewart was on his way to algebra when he looked up to see Ms. Gibbs coming toward him. What the heck, he thought, why shouldn't he give it a try? It would be a way to find out for sure if she was a witch. He took a deep breath. "Ms. Gibbs." It was the first time he had ever started a conversation with her, and she seemed surprised and pleased, giving him a big smile.

"You should call me Wanda. Of course, not in class, but when we're alone."

"I was thinking about, you know, what you said." He was beginning to get itchy all over. Maybe it was nerves, but he wondered if she was causing it.

"What was that, Stewart? I'm not sure I know what you mean."

He wasn't sure he knew what he meant either. Of course she had on that necklace, all sparkling like her eyes. "About helping me and everything." His head itched so badly he had to scratch it.

So there he was standing in the hall acting like a dog with fleas. "Are you referring to my offer to give you some pointers on girls or basketball?" She seemed less eager now to be his buddy.

"Yeah, both, sort of." Stewart scratched around his waist. "Except that what I really need help with right now is algebra. We're having a test next period."

"Stewart," she sounded like just a regular teacher, not someone who wanted to be his mother. "I don't know a thing about math. It's been years since I had math. A liberal arts major, you know. Besides," she frowned and shook her head in disapproval, "don't you think it is a little late to ask for help with a test next period?"

Stewart scratched his neck and felt like a total idiot. "But the game. You helped me, didn't you?"

"Do you mean the basketball game?" She was looking at him strangely. "Are you talking about what I said about giving you confidence?" Stewart nodded. "Do you think that helped you? Oh, I'm so glad. That's all I could have done to help you. I wish I knew more about the game, but I have never played or paid much attention to it." She started to back away from him. "It was lovely to talk with you dear, but we both need to get to class now."

Great move, Wart, Stewart said to himself as he moved down the hall. What did all that mean? All he had done was confuse himself more and fill his head with things to interfere with thinking clearly for his test. At least the horrible itching stopped as suddenly as it had started. Actually, Stewart was a little disappointed about that. The idea of being sent home for having lice and missing the test had come to his mind.

Mr. Payne stood at the door of the algebra classroom. "Ready for your test?" He sounded almost gleeful, like a man who enjoys watching others suffer, and Stewart thought, as he had often before, that
pain
was a perfect name for an algebra teacher.

"I'm hoping for a little magic," Stewart muttered, and made his way to his seat. He received no magic. Every answer was a struggle, especially the second page of equations. God, Stewart was certain, never meant for man to mix numbers and letters. When he finished he took his paper up to the desk, and Mr. Payne graded it right then. "C minus," he announced. "An improvement, but not exactly magic. Work a little harder."

Yeah, Stewart thought, work a little harder. Work at algebra, work at getting Taylor to like me without making Rachel hate me, work at basketball, and most of all work at keeping a woman who might be a witch from marrying my dad. He could see the headline in the paper, BOY WORKS HIMSELF TO DEATH.

He was pretty down by gym class. Coach Knox gave him a private pep talk just before they started to scrimmage. "Wright, I'll have my eye on you. Give us your all, like you did in the game." Just then Stewart looked up to see Ms. Gibbs step into the gym. Because last period was her preparation period, she was free to watch practice, but it definitely was unusual.

Things started off great, with Stewart stealing the ball from Brad and passing to Jake who made a basket. Next, he stuffed the shot a player on the other team was about to make. When he got his hands on the ball, he drove in and made a great layup. Boy was he on a roll.

Then his luck changed. He missed a pass aimed right at him. Next he walked with the ball, like a kid who had never heard the rules. Once Ham passed him the ball when he was wide open for a perfect shot. He put up the ball with confidence, but it went over the backboard. He whirled around to look up in the stands. Ms. Gibbs was gone.

Later in the dressing room, Stewart waited for a chance to talk to Ham. "Did you notice, Ham? When she left, my luck sure took a nosedive." Ham nodded.

Coach Knox didn't say anything to Stewart on the way out. He turned his back and started to gather up the balls.

"I've got to know," Stewart told Ham on the way out of the gym. "I can't take this up and down business. If Ms. Gibbs is messing in my life, I have to prove she's a witch. We're going to her house Friday night, and we're getting our hands on her necklace."

"How? She always wears it."

Stewart stopped walking. "We'll get it even if we have to hide in her closet until she goes to sleep. Surely she doesn't sleep in the thing." He began to move again.

"You talking about spending the night in Ms. Gibbs's house?" Ham's eyes were big with surprise.

"Well," Stewart hesitated. "I guess I am." Then with a determined nod of the head, he said, "It's the only way. You're with me, aren't you?"

At first Ham didn't answer. His head was turned away, and Stewart wondered if maybe he hadn't heard. "Ham," Stewart gave his shoulder a little shove. "Ham, you're with me, right?"

"Well, sure. The thing is I was just thinking about Rachel. She's a girl, you know."

Stewart looked at his friend. "Yeah, Ham, I've known about Rachel being a girl since we were babies. You know, the pink and blue thing? What's your point here?"

"Well, she might be afraid," Ham said. He did not look at Stewart.

Stewart was pretty sure Ham wanted Rachel to refuse to go, hoping Stewart would then drop the idea. He didn't say anything to Ham. No one wanted to be called a coward. Besides, it didn't seem likely that Rachel would be afraid. The truth, though, was that he had never really thought of Rachel as a girl, not until she got so angry about Taylor Montgomery. Could it be that Rachel thought of him as a potential boyfriend? That would be weird.

While they walked home, Stewart thought about Taylor and how she had finally noticed he was alive. Was that because of some spell? How would he feel if it was? Even without closing his eyes he could imagine Taylor leaning against his locker inviting him to her house for a party. But he couldn't go. Maybe somehow he'd get another chance with Taylor.

"Taylor's party is out," he told Ham just before they separated in front of Stewart's house. "We've got to put all our energy into the witch hunt."

"Oh well," Ham said, "You would probably just have gotten beat up anyway. Brad has the hots for Taylor real bad. Anyone can see that. He might just kill you if Taylor shows any interest in you."

Stewart moved up the walk to his house. So, Brad was likely to kill him. "Thanks for sharing that bit of bright news," he called to Ham, then walked into the house.

• SIX
•

T
he rest of the week went by pretty fast because they had a lot of planning to do. When Stewart told Taylor he couldn't come to her party, she seemed to be truly disappointed. He had stopped her in the hall. "Oh," she said. "That's too bad." She reached out and sort of pinched his cheek. "We'll just have to find some other way to get better acquainted, won't we?"

"Sure," he said. Then she went on into her English class. It was all Stewart could do to keep from following her like he had that first time he had really noticed her.

After that Stewart did everything he could to keep his mind off Taylor and on what lay ahead. The first problem was to work out things with his father. "You got any plans for Friday night?" he asked on Wednesday evening while they were folding laundry.

"Well, Wanda and I were thinking of making it a family evening. Maybe take Georgia and Ozgood trick or treating, come back here and watch movies, make some candy apples or something."

It didn't sound like much of a Halloween for a witch and her little warlock. Maybe Ham was right about real witches not paying special attention to that day, or maybe the action didn't start until after midnight. Stewart put his stack of towels in the basket. "I was sort of planning to spend the night at Ham's," he said. Lying was getting to be a habit.

"Why not have him here?" Dad stood up to fold a sheet. "If we do the family thing, I want you to be around."

"I want to spend the night with Wendy," Georgia protested. "We're going to play witches and black cats. We're going to play like we turn Wendy's little brother into a toad because he's too little to know anything. They've got a black cat." She took a deep breath. "Me and Wendy are going to play lost children, too, and we're going to trick-or-treat at all the houses on her block." She went over to pull at Dad's leg. "Please, Wendy's mother is going to call you tonight."

Dad gave a little shrug. "If she calls, you can go, I suppose. Wanda will understand. Of course, Ozgood may be a little disappointed."

A brilliant idea came to Stewart. "I think Ham and I might go over to see Ozgood. Take the basketball and see if he wants to practice some handling techniques."

Dad was pleased. "That's very generous of you, son. Wanda will be glad."

Yeah, glad, Stewart thought. That is unless she finds out I'm about to ask her son to help me prove she's a witch.

"Daddy," said Georgia with a wistful voice. "Don't you think it would be fun if there really and truly was a witch, and she really truly did ride a broom and really truly did have black cats for helpers and everything?"

"And could really truly turn strange little boys into frogs," Stewart added, but his father's threatening look kept him from going on.

"I thought you were coming around to being reasonable," he said in a voice that told Stewart he had better be.

"I am," he said. "It was just a momentary slip, just a joke." Stewart gave his father a big grin, but Dad didn't grin back, just handed him a stack of laundry to put away.

The next day before art class started, Stewart asked Ms. Gibbs about coming over to see Ozgood.

"I'd like to get to know him better," he said, but he did not look directly at the woman as he spoke.

"Me too." Ham was standing just behind Stewart. "Me and Stewart don't have any brothers, just sisters. He's real excited about maybe having a little brother."

She giggled like a young girl. "Why, Stewart, has your father said anything to give you such an idea? We've never discussed marriage. It seems too early."

"Oh," Stewart ducked his head. "I guess I shouldn't have said anything. Dad likes you a lot." He shrugged. "That's all, and me and Georgia, well, we're starting to get our hopes up, I guess."

"You dear, dear boy," she said, and Stewart was afraid she might hug him. "By all means come over after school. I'll make cookies. Do you need a ride?"

Stewart and Ham looked at each other. For a second, a picture flashed through Stewart's mind, Ham and he riding behind Ms. Gibbs on a broom. "We'll ride our bikes," he said, and Ham nodded his head.

Ozgood was waiting outside for the boys. "All right," he said, "for what purpose did you come?" He pushed up his glasses, put his head back slightly, and studied Stewart's face. He folded his arms across his chest.

"We came to see you, old buddy." Stewart moved to stand beside him then put his arm around Ozgood's shoulders. "Thought we might pass the basketball some." He pointed to the ball in the basket of his bicycle.

"I don't care for basketball or for pretense." Ozgood turned his head away, but Stewart thought he saw the beginning of tears in his eyes, and his conscience hurt.

"Okay," he said. "It wasn't very nice of us to pretend we just wanted to be your friends. We're going to tell you the truth, aren't we, Ham?"

Ham rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. "Hey," he said, "this is your deal and your stepbrother to be." He walked back to the bike to get the ball.

"Okay," Stewart said again, trying to think how to go on. He had to be careful. "It's true that we came to ask you for a favor, but it's also true that we like you." Suddenly, he realized the truth of his words. Ozgood was just a little boy, who seemed very lonely. "We want to be your friends."

"I've never had a friend," he said, and Stewart thought he didn't look like a warlock at all, just a sad kid.

"You've got two now," said Ham.

"What is the favor you seek?" Ozgood walked to the big porch swing to sit down. Ham and Stewart settled on either side of him.

"Ozgood," Stewart put his arm around him again and pressed his shoulder. "Tell us the truth now, please. Is your mother really a witch?" When Ozgood didn't answer right away, Stewart gave him another squeeze. "Tell us," he pleaded.

"Do you believe in such things?" Ozgood turned his face up to Stewart and from behind his glasses his eyes gave Stewart a long, searching look.

"I don't know," said Stewart, and for once he was aware of telling the absolute truth.

"I believe," said Ham. "At least I do if you say your mother is one, because I don't think you would tell us something that wasn't the truth."

"Well, then, believe this," Ozgood said. "I will be severely punished if I discuss this with you." He folded his arms across his chest again, and Stewart could tell the subject was closed.

"Let's play some ball," Stewart said. In a few minutes he realized he had forgotten that Ozgood didn't like basketball, but it seemed to him that Ozgood must have forgotten too because he smiled while the boys passed the ball with him. While they showed him how to dribble on the driveway, his smile grew even bigger.

After a while, Ms. Gibbs came to the door and called them in for cookies and milk. The cookies were homemade and delicious. As he ate them, Stewart started to wonder if the whole thing could be a crazy joke Ozgood had started. Would a witch serve cookies and milk and be so happy because her little boy had someone to show him how to pass a ball?

"Ask him about Friday night," Ham whispered to Stewart when Ms. Gibbs left the room, but Stewart waited until they were ready to go.

Ozgood walked out with them. "Ozgood," Stewart said, "I've got to know the truth about your mother. If you won't talk to us about it, will you give us a chance to find out for ourselves?"

Ozgood pushed up his glasses. "Using what method?" "Let us in your house Halloween night. We want to hide in your mother's closet until after she goes to bed," said Ham.

Ozgood looked shocked. "You wish to watch my mother disrobe?"

"No, no," Stewart said, "we wouldn't do that! We just want to look at her necklace, you know the green one she always wears. We want to examine it."

"We won't hurt it," said Ham.

"The necklace? You want to look at it? Do you plan to take it home with you?"

"If we do, we will bring it back," said Stewart.

"I don't think taking the necklace would be wise. I don't think I should have anything to do with your plan." Ozgood stepped back toward the door.

Stewart put his hand on Ozgood's arm. "You don't want your mother to marry my father, do you?"

Ozgood smiled slightly. "You would be my brother then, though, wouldn't you?"

Stewart could see that Ozgood was starting to like the idea. "But we might have more fun as friends," he said, and he looked at Ham to mouth, "Help!" when Ozgood glanced away.

"There's Georgia to consider," Ham said. "She's not easy to live with." He shook his head. "I can tell you, I'd hate to try to live in the same house as that girl."

"That's right," Stewart put in quickly, "and she's scared to death of things. You'd have to give up all your monster stuff and bones and everything. That kid is so easy to scare. We've got this new neighbor, nice old lady, but her name is Mrs. Wolf. My little sister won't go near her house, insists on calling her, 'the wolf,' like in big, bad wolf." That part was true, but then Stewart began to make things up. "Dad gets real worried about her, makes sure she is never exposed to anything scary at all."

"Your music would have to go," said Ham. He turned to Stewart, "I wonder if your dad would even let Ozgood wear those neat pajamas anymore."

"Oh no," Stewart shook his head sadly, "the pajamas would definitely have to go."

Ozgood let out a deep sigh. "What time shall I expect you to arrive?"

Stewart's heart raced. They were going to get into the house. "What time do you think we should come?"

"I'm to have a babysitter while your father takes Mother out to dine."

"Hey," said Ham, "why couldn't we hide in Ozgood's room, wait until his mom is sleeping, and then sneak into her room?"

"You could stay outside, near my window, and await my signal." Ozgood's voice was full of excitement, and the boys knew he was getting into the sprit of the adventure. "When an opportune moment arises, I could let you in the back door."

"We'll be there about nine," Stewart said.

"Three quick blinks of my light," Ozgood said, and he put out his hand for shaking to Stewart and then to Ham.

From Ozgood's they went straight to see Rachel. "We will all wear black," she said. "That way no one will see us waiting outside." No one else was home, and Rachel walked the family room floor as she spoke.

"Food," said Ham. "We'll need lots of it, not just chips, something serious like sandwiches. Got to keep our strength up."

Rachel grabbed a pad and pencil from beside the telephone. "A flashlight, of course, and a camera in case we need a picture of evidence, perhaps a small tape recorder."

Rachel studied her list, thinking about what else they would need. Ham planned the menu. Stewart swallowed hard. His friends were busy, so was he—busy trying not to think, trying not to face what they were about to get into. He looked at the pillows covering one end of the couch and wanted to hide his head under them.

At school on Friday, Stewart moved in a sort of trance. It's lucky, he thought during lunch, that nothing important was happening today. At least, he didn't think it was. After school he explained to his father that Ham and he were going to hang out at their house first and end up at Ham's. He knew Ham was telling his folks that they would be at Stewart's. Rachel planned to tell her folks she was going to a slumber party at her friend Ashley's house.

Stewart worried about phone calls. Rachel would have her cell phone. If her parents wanted her, they would call it. Like Stewart, Ham didn't have a cell phone. If Stewart or Ham should get a phone call from home, the plan would be ruined.

As soon as Mr. Wright pulled out of the drive, Rachel and Ham showed up.

"Let's watch TV to get our minds off what's about to happen," Stewart said, but after flipping through the channels, he gave up the hope of finding anything they could really get into.

Ham passed quite a bit of time raiding the refrigerator, making sandwiches and filling a small ice chest with cans of soda. "Hey, Stew, will your dad say anything about the missing food?" he called from the kitchen.

"Nah, he's used to that when you're over here. We've got a lot more to worry about than an empty fridge." A new worry came up around eight. They were about to begin the thirty-minute walk across town when they heard a loud roll of thunder.

Stewart stepped out of the sunroom room door onto the deck and stepped right back in very wet. "It's pouring," he said.

"We may have to give this up," said Ham, and Stewart could see the hope in his eyes.

"No," said Rachel. "Get us some raincoats."

"All I have is one all-weather jacket." Stewart wiped water from his arms with a paper towel. "We don't usually go for long walks during rainstorms."

"Trash bags," said Rachel. "Two for each of us."

They each wore one over their head with a face hole cut out. The others were tied around their waists like skirts. Rachel carried another bag filled with her equipment. Over his shoulder, Ham slung a trash bag with food in the bottom.

At first the walk was pretty miserable, rain hitting them in their faces and splashing up their jeans' legs. About halfway through the journey, the drops got smaller and farther apart. The rest of the way was not so bad, just sprinkles.

"Bell Street," Rachel said when they came to a corner. "We're almost there." She leaned for a minute against the pole that held the street sign.

The house stood on the next corner. The front part of the first floor was bright, the second story dark. They were in the driveway before Stewart noticed the car. He stopped walking and reached out to grab the edge of the bags each of the others wore. "Wait," he said, "that's Martha's car!"

"Are you sure?" Rachel asked.

"Yes, that's hers all right." He pointed. "See the book bumper sticker. 'Take a book to bed.'"

They huddled together under a tree near Ozgood's window. Stewart couldn't stop thinking of Martha inside with Ozgood. "This doesn't make sense," he said. "Martha is in there babysitting while that woman goes out with the man she loves." He felt too tired to stand up. Leaning against the tree, he lowered himself to the wet grass.