“Oh, murder!” I said.
“Precisely!” replied Miss Blossom.
“You look splendid!” exclaimed Guinevere.
“I look stupid,” I said. “You don’t have to be nice.” I had just returned from examining my image in the bathroom mirror. I was wearing the leotards my mother had dredged up for me from her brief fling with ballet lessons right after I was born. I also had on a cape she had made out of an old gray chenille bedspread, and on my head I wore something that, no matter how I tilted it to make it look cool, still looked like what it was: a red shower cap with a dyed pink ostrich feather stuck in it.
“I’m not just being nice,” said Guinevere. “I mean it.”
“I wish I could find a pair of leotards for me,” Caruso said wistfully “Think how I’d look in them doing Pagliacci!”
The picture of a turtle in leotards silenced us all for a few moments.
“Caruso, I don’t mean to be unkind,” said Fred patiently, “but that idea is about on a par with you riding around on Rupert’s shoulder in a basket.”
“Worse, I expect,” said Caruso glumly
“Never mind, dear,” said Guinevere. “You do have a beautiful voice.”
“It’s just a good thing I don’t have to sing for the show tonight,” I said.
“Have you had any sign yet of what Mr. Dorking has in store for you?” asked Fred. My pets, of course, had had detailed reports of everything that had been happening at school.
“Not a peep, Fred,” I said. “It’s going to be bad enough having to stand up there looking like an idiot, no matter how good my acting might be, without being scared stiff that I might evaporate or who knows what right there in front of my parents and the whole PTA.”
“Terrible!” said Guinevere. “And Miss Switch hasn’t come up with anything?”
“No eye of newt, or wing of bat, or anything else?” Caruso said. Like my other pets, he was as much into witch buzzwords as I was.
“Not a molecule of anything,” I replied.
By then I was pulling my jeans and sweatshirt over the leotards. I wouldn’t be caught dead walking into the school in that outfit.
“Well, gotta go now, pets,” I said.
“We’ll be anxious to hear all about it when you get back,” said Guinevere.
I hesitated at the door, “If I get back,” I said.
“You will,” said Guinevere.
“Miss Switch has never let you down yet,” said Hector.
“Witchcraft can accomplish anything,” Caruso chimed in.
I had to shake my head at this. “Not always. Not when it’s witchcraft versus witchcraft.”
“Well, we all have the greatest confidence Miss Switch will pull you through,” said Guinevere. “Now you just go on that stage and break a leg.”
Suddenly there was a huge flapping of wings in Fred’s cage. “What do you mean ‘break a leg’? Isn’t he in enough trouble as it is?”
I had to grin. “It’s all right, Fred. We’ve switched from witch to stage talk. ‘Break a leg’ is what you say to actors. It’s a good luck charm.”
“Live and learn,” said Fred. “I guess there’s more to learn in life than where to put the decimal point. Okay, then, break a leg for me, too!”
“Same from us!” said Hector and Caruso.
“Thanks, pets!” I said.
I knew they were sounding more cheerful than the way they really felt. So was I. I was just glad they couldn’t see the goose bumps rising under the leotards every time I thought of what might lie ahead!
12
Hocus Pocus in a Janitor’s Closet
The folding chairs in the Pepperdine auditorium were still being set up when we arrived. That’s because my mother insisted on being early enough to grab a front-row seat.
Some other sixth graders were gathered where we were all supposed to stay until the business meeting was over, when we were to file out while the parents were having punch and cookies. Miss Blossom was with them, and she caught sight of me.
“Who’s that waving to you, Rupert?” my father asked.
“That’s Miss Blossom,” I said.
“Your … your teacher?” My mother’s eyebrows rose up to meet her hairline.
“That’s the one,” I said.
“How is it you’ve never—er—explained her to us, Rupert?” my father asked.
I merely shrugged. I mean, how could anyone explain Miss Blossom?
“Does—does she always look like that, dear?” my mother asked.
“Worse,” I said, which was the truth. Miss Blossom had actually improved herself a little, even though I knew she couldn’t do too much to herself without blowing her cover. Her eyelashes, however, had been clipped a couple of millimeters, and she had another dress that wasn’t quite as wild as the first one. The yellow beehive on top of her head unfortunately remained the same.
“I can’t quite tell from here,” said my mother, “but her dress looks almost as if—as if—well, as if it was something left over from a yard sale.”
“Probably was,” I said.
“Is she in—in strained circumstances, dear?” my mother asked sympathetically
“I don’t know,” I said, “but I do know she helps out a lot of kids.”
“How generous!” murmured my mother.
“Maybe we should help her out a little,” said my father. “You know, hold a benefit for her or something of that sort.”
“I think I’d leave it alone,” I said.
Then, before I could be asked to explain that further, I made a hasty departure from my parents.
When I reached Miss Blossom, I raised an eyebrow at her, but she shook her head and hissed under her breath, “Nothing!”
Then Mr. Dorking finally arrived. He came marching down the aisle to seat himself at the table up front with Mrs. Fanna and the other members of the PTA committee. All the ladies present were in a sudden state of swooning. Mrs. Fanna was fluttering to such a degree when he sat down at the table, I thought she’d flutter right out of the auditorium. My mother, of course, was sitting with my father,
