or … ”—I paused to narrow my eyes as if I wasn’t being fooled for a minute, and was ready to deal with any situation—“or whoever you really are.”

“What do you mean by ‘whoever you really are’?” asked Miss Blossom, peering out from under her huge eyelashes. “Haven’t we just established that?”

“You have,” I said with the best sneer I could manage under these conditions. “You … you could be just about anybody, for all I know.”

“Well, then,” said Miss Blossom, “please wipe that silly look off your face, step outside the classroom, close the door behind you, then stand and wait until I call you.”

My chance to escape! The school doors were all unlocked on the inside. I could easily get away and race home. Instead, all I did was wipe, step, close, stand like a dumb dodo—and wait.

“What’s up?” came the voice from my pocket.

I groaned. “Don’t even ask,” I said, hoping I wasn’t making the biggest mistake of my life.

I couldn’t have waited more than three minutes, when the order was given from behind the door: “You may return now, Rupert!”

I did, and was I ever glad I hadn’t turned chicken and run off! Standing right where Miss Blossom had stood was a familiar figure all in black—black dress, long black cape, and over long, charcoal-black straight hair, a tall, pointed black hat. From under the brim of the hat, a pair of eyes, slanted and glassy green, shot out sparks that fell hissing onto the teacher’s desk. The mountain of lemon-yellow curls was gone. The long eyelashes were gone. The pink dress with the bows and frills was gone.

No, not quite gone. Because those items were all lying on a desk—mine, as it turned out. The yellow curls that were now nothing but a collapsed wig, the eyelashes that looked more than ever like a pair of dead centipedes, and the ridiculous pink dress. That was, for the moment, all that remained of Miss Blossom.

7

 

The Stupidest Man Alive

 

“Satisfied?” inquired Miss Switch.

“Well … well, why did you have to go and disguise yourself in that loony outfit?” I asked, rising to my own defense. “No … no wonder I didn’t know who you were.”

“Loony?” said Miss Switch.

Oops! I could tell by the tone of her voice that I had made a huge mistake. On a scale of one to ten, it was several million degrees below the temperature of ice. I could practically feel her glass-green stare boring a hole in my lame brain.

Now I have to admit that much as I liked Miss Switch, every time I met up with her as her actual self, it was pretty scary It always took me a while to get used to the idea of what she was. I mean, when you’ve spent all your life thinking certain things about certain kinds of people, it’s hard to start thinking something else on a moment’s notice. So even though I knew I’d be crazy to think good old Miss Switch would ruin my future by turning me into a toad or a bat or a lizard just to prove a point, still, a witch is a witch is a witch. There are certain things in life it pays to bear in mind, and it seems to me that’s one of them.

“What I meant to say is ‘unusual,’ Miss Switch. It’s really okay. Actually, not bad at all,” I said, backpedaling like crazy. “How did you come up with that … er … interesting hairdo?”

“That came from a picture in a fashion magazine I found while I was swooping around one night,” Miss Switch said. “Of course it wasn’t exactly a new magazine.”

I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut on this one. “Where did you find it?” was all I asked.

“I happened to float by a house where some people were clearing out their attic. I spotted the magazine, and went floating back for it later. And I found the dress there as well. What a find! Don’t you agree?”

“Sure do!” I replied, getting smarter by the minute.

“I designed the eyelashes myself!” Miss Switch said proudly

“The finishing touch!” I said.

“Of course, I had some trouble with the lip paint,” Miss Switch said, giving me a narrowed, sideways look.

“It … it looked fine to me,” I said.

“Now I know you’re lying, Rupert!” Miss Switch snapped. “But the point is, does your fertile mind have any ideas as to how to modify the fashion picture?”

This sounded like a question loaded with land mines. I hesitated. Then I hesitated further.

“Oh, come, come, Rupert,” said Miss Switch. “I need some help here.”

“Well,” I said, “how about … how about getting rid of some of the frills and bows on the dress.” My heart was going a mile a minute as I waited to see how Miss Switch would take this.

Her eyes narrowed further. Her eyebrows raised. Then she dropped down at her desk, picked up a pencil, and started making notes. “Rid of frills and bows,” she muttered as she wrote. “Next?”

I was feeling a little bolder. “You might trim the eyelashes,” I suggested.

“Trim eyelashes,” wrote Miss Switch. “Next?”

“I’d work a little harder on the … er … lip paint,” I said. “Straighten it out a bit.”

“Work on lip paint,” wrote Miss Switch. “Next?”

“That leaves the wig,” I said, and gave a deep sigh. “I’m afraid I don’t know what to tell you about that.”

“Hopeless?” said Miss Switch.

“Sort of,” I replied.

“Hopeless. Do the best you can,” wrote Miss Switch. She laid down her pencil with a thump. “Now that’s done with, but I can’t tell you how good it feels to be back in my own cozy outfit. Even that gray number I wore in the past is better than my latest disguise.”

“Then why don’t you just go back to it, Miss Switch?” I asked. “The class would sure be glad to have you back.”

“Impossible!” said Miss Switch. “I can’t blow my

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