“Whew!” I said. “I’m glad that’s settled. There’s something terrifically important we have to discuss. I’m sure it hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice that here we are talking to each other. I’d like to know what you think is the reason for it.”
“Miss Switch!” Guinevere exclaimed.
“My thoughts exactly,” I said. “We can talk when Miss Switch is here.”
“Oh, Rupert, is she back?” Guinevere asked. “I’m really glad. But on the other hand, doesn’t it mean something dreadful has happened?”
“To your first question, she must be,” I replied. “But I haven’t seen her. And I can’t think of anything really terrible that’s happened. Well, our new substitute principal is so handsome all the female population of Pepperdine Elementary School is swooning over him. It’s pretty sickening, but not dangerous enough to bring Miss Switch running. Then there’s our weird new teacher, Miss Blossom. You should see that hair piled on top of her head like a huge lemon ice-cream cone, and those giant eyelashes. And her dress is nothing but a bunch of frills and bows top to bottom.”
“The dress sounds rather fetching to me,” said Guinevere. “Of course, I’m only a guinea pig, so what do I know about fashion? But have you ever stopped to think, Rupert, that Miss Blossom might be Miss Switch in disguise?”
“Oh, please!” I said, throwing a hand to my forehead. Then I added quickly because I didn’t want to hurt Guinevere’s feelings, “It’s a clever idea, but if you ever saw her, you couldn’t ask that. Besides, Miss Switch would never put up with the kind of stuff Miss Blossom lets go on right under her nose. The sixth grade is a disaster zone. And another thing, if Miss Blossom were Miss Switch, she’d have given me a sign. She always has.”
“Sounds to me like Miss Blossom might not be Miss Switch, but she could just be the reason for Miss Switch being here, if the sixth grade really is a disaster zone,” Hector said thoughtfully.
“Maybe,” I said. “But I don’t think Billy Swan-son’s spitballs are enough to do it. It’s got to be something bigger than that, and I just don’t know what. But I think we all agree she’s back, only where is she, and who is she?”
There was a sudden flapping of wings in my ear, and Fred drifted down on my desk. “Well,” he said, “all I know about this Miss Switch is what I’ve heard you saying here tonight, and what—and I must apologize for this, Rupert—I’ve read in your letters to the person you call Spook, but could Miss Switch be someone else in your school? I mean, does she have to be your teacher?”
“Fred’s absolutely right, Rupert,” said Hector. “Where was it ever written that Miss Switch had to come back as a teacher? She could come back as just about anyone, couldn’t she?”
“I guess so,” I said doubtfully “The question is, who? Do you have any other ideas, Fred?”
“Nope. Sorry,” replied Fred. “I’m afraid you’re on your own. But you did say something about being given a sign. Are you sure no one you bumped into at school today was trying to do that and you missed it because you weren’t looking for it? Now, stop and think.”
I did. In my mind I ran back over myself in the cafeteria, the library, the playground, and even in the boys’ room. Nothing. I couldn’t think of anyone who looked promising, much less who’d given me any sign.
“Nobody,” I said.
“Well then,” said Guinevere, “you’ll just have to keep your eyes peeled tomorrow. But I have been wondering about something. You don’t suppose that. … that nonsense with your computer might have something to do with Miss Switch, do you?”
Well, wasn’t that exactly what I’d supposed when it had happened? Miss Blossom appearing at the sixth-grade teacher’s desk instead of Miss Switch had driven that idea out of my mind. But Fred had put a new spin on the whole thing. Maybe Miss Switch was not our teacher, but someone else entirely!
“Thanks for reminding me, Guinevere,” I said. “I’m going to reenter that Web site now and see what it has to say for itself. You all know what a Web site is, don’t you?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Rupert,” said Guinevere. “I may not be a fashion expert, but I’m not entirely computer illiterate. None of us is after listening to you muttering away at your desk.”
“I’ll try to stop if you like,” I said.
“Oh, please don’t!” Hector said. “How else do you think we learn anything?”
“Compute away!” said Caruso.
“Well,” I said, “the Web site belongs to Saturna. You probably remember her. This is scary stuff. If the computer is going to put on the same crazy act it did the last time, Fred, you might want to get off my desk and retreat to your cage.”
“Not on your life!” Fred exclaimed. “Now I know I’m not going to be ground into bird meat by that machine, I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
“Well, okay, then,” I replied.
I turned on my computer. Then we all sat in breathless silence while it warmed up. Finally, I typed in “computowitch.”
My computer screen did exactly the same thing it did before, but this time I knew better than to touch it. I just sat there feeling old Fred’s claws digging a little harder into my shoulder. At last there it was, the word “computowitch.” I quickly added the “.com,” entered the password “SATURNA,” and saw the computowitch.com Web site appear on the screen.
But the poem had been replaced by another one, and I read it aloud to my pets.
“How very sweet
Tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet,
I’ll have my chance
To howl and dance,
No one’s in sight
Except that fright,
No you know who
Is in the brew,
Bats may squeal
And
