The Cat-Astrophe Read online

  Later that morning, on her way to English class, B saw Trina and waved to her. Then she paused. Following Trina a few yards back, cloak-and-dagger style, was Jason Jameson. He lurked in doorways and peered around corners, dodging other students while never losing sight of her.

  “Jason’s stalking Trina,” B whispered to George as she caught up with him in the hall. “We’ve got to do something. He might stumble onto her secret.”

  Trina was walking toward them. She kept looking over her shoulder, but Jason would duck out of sight at the last minute.

  “I know, but what?” George asked. “He’s just curious, like we were.”

  “I know.” B shook her head. “I still feel bad about the way we found out where she lives.”

  “Hi, B! Hi, George!” Trina said, looping arms with her two new friends and tugging them forward. “Have you spotted my shadow?” she whispered.

  “Yeah, Jason’s a real pest,” B said, whipping her head around in time to catch Jason and glare at him.

  “He won’t leave me alone,” Trina said, her shoulders sagging. “If he finds out, well, then I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t want to move again.”

  “Why don’t we meet after school and work on our poetry project?” B asked, trying to cheer up Trina.

  “I’m in!” George said.

  “How can we with Mr. Nosy tagging along?” Trina asked sadly. “He’ll ruin everything.”

  B pulled her friends to a stop outside their English classroom. “We’ll think of something.”

  Mr. Bishop stepped into the hallway and said, “Why don’t you all come inside? Class is about to start. And that means you, too, Mr. Jameson.”

  Jason blushed as he slipped from behind the trophy case where he had been hiding and slinked, head down, into class.

  B sat through the poetry lecture and readings, fuming over Jason Jameson’s outrageous snooping. A pest like him was sure to turn up something sooner or later. Once he caught onto the fact that Trina was really Kat, the lead singer of the Black Cats, the whole town would know. Reporters and photographers would swarm all over Trina…. She’d probably have to move again! B glanced over at her new friend, who was busily taking notes on Mr. Bishop’s lecture. All she wants is to be normal, B realized. I’ve got to think of a way to get Jason Jameson off her back at least for a little while.

  Then she got an idea.

  “Psst.” George glanced over at her.

  “Pssst.” Trina looked up.

  “Meet me at my locker after school,” B breathed, barely doing more than mouthing the words. George and Trina nodded.

  George and Trina were waiting for B when she reached her locker after the last period. It had taken her a minute to find Kim Silsby and her attached-at-the-hip best friend, Drake, and a minute more to persuade them to loan her their matching Black Cats sweatshirts, but they did.

  “We can throw Jason off the scent with a little switcheroo,” B said. “Here’s the plan….” She explained her idea.

  Trina grinned. “That’s perfect. I think it’ll work.”

  “Incoming,” George said, nodding toward the end of the corridor. “Jason’s on his way.”

  “Make sure he sees us,” B said. She and Trina stood back from the locker so all the world could see them slip on the matching black hooded sweatshirts. Then they took off down the crowded hall, side by side. B glanced back just enough to see Jason set off after them.

  “Now,” she whispered.

  B and Trina began weaving in and out of their classmates, crossing paths again and again to confuse Jason as to which girl was which.

  “Ready?” Trina whispered.

  “Let’s do it.” B and Trina pulled up their hoods and parted ways, each one heading toward the other one’s locker. When she passed a long, glassed-in trophy case, B glanced sideways and saw Jason’s reflection following her. Yes! She hurried to Trina’s locker. After pausing there for just a minute, she headed down the long corridor toward the cafeteria and picked up the pace, sensing Jason’s impatience. If she could make it as far as the cafeteria, she should buy Trina enough time to sneak away to the library and meet George like they had planned.

  Just then she felt a tap on the shoulder. “Hey, Trina,” Jason said in a singsong voice. B turned around slowly to see Jason’s face harden into a scowl of anger.

  “Hello, Jason,” she said in her sweetest voice. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “What in the heck do you think you’re … Hey!”

  B and Jason noticed Trina in the distance at the same time, wearing her Black Cats hoodie. Why was Trina still here, and not on her way home? Why would she come back in the building, after all their efforts to double-switch Jason?

  Jason took off after Trina, and B took off after him. Trina was booking it down the hall. B would never have guessed Trina could move so quickly. Jason was only barely keeping up. The hallways were nearly empty now, so B risked using some magic to slow Jason down. She hoped it wouldn’t go haywire again.

  “S-T-I-C-K-Y,” she spelled, concentrating on Jason’s shoes. His footfalls began to squeak; then each foot became stuck to the ground. Jason yelped in surprise as he struggled to wrench each sneaker off the floor, as if he’d stepped in a huge fresh wad of chewing gum. B giggled. This was a little too much fun.

  Trina was opening the double doors to the gym when Jason recovered and took off after her, B right at his heels. Jason reached for Trina’s hood and yanked it to reveal not Trina’s long dark hair, but a mop of dirty blond curls.

  George! B was so shocked, she nearly fell over.

  “Why, you …” Jason fumed, kicking at a stray basketball.

  George smiled and flashed B the thumbs-up. That was the signal: Trina had gotten away.

  Trina greeted B and George with high fives all around — after she had checked to make sure B and George didn’t have a Jason Jameson–size shadow. “We did it! Your plan was brilliant, B.”

  “Your and George’s switch was what really did the trick,” B said.

  “I’ve got an idea — let’s create a song inspired by Jason Jameson,” George said, and then he began to sing off-key: “When Jason comes a-stalking, we don’t even care.”

  “Keep going,” B cheered.

  “Oh, I’m horrible at rhyming. What rhymes with ‘care’?” George asked.

  B thought for a second and then dashed off all the rhyming words she could think of. “Bear. Dare. Fair. Hair. Pear.”

  Trina broke out into a silly grin and sang:

  “When Jason comes a-stalking, we don’t even care.

  He’s no match for us; black cats are everywhere!”

  Trina stopped singing abruptly and clasped both hands over her mouth.

  “What is it, Trina?” George said. “Is Jason back?”

  Trina shook her head vigorously and slowly lowered her hands. “I really shouldn’t have done that.”

  “What?” B said, but then she looked around. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She turned in a slow circle.

  Black cats were everywhere. Crawling on bookshelves and lounging on tables. Swinging from light fixtures. The floor was covered in a sea of black cats. B had never seen so many felines in her life. “Holy cats!” she exclaimed.

  Only one thing could cause this type of disaster — magic!

  “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!” Trina’s panic-stricken voice roused B from her own shock.

  While Trina rushed around the library trying to herd the cats, George leaned in and whispered to B, “She’s a witch, isn’t she?” He sounded dazed, like someone waking from a dream. “One of the rhyming ones.”

  “No time for that now,” B said. “We’ve got to help her.” Now all B’s recent magical problems — the trunk springing open, the mysterious black cat in the school — made sense. Her magic wasn’t out of control; Trina’s was.

  B walked over to where Trina had stopped, holding two squirming cats. “It’s all right, Trina,” she said. Th
e two cats wriggled free and B put her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “It’s all right. Or at least it will be.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Trina said, pulling away. “You don’t understand.”

  “Yes,” B said, “I do understand. Boy, do I understand. You’re a witch.”

  Trina’s eyes widened in shock.

  “It’s okay. I’m a witch, too.”

  For a second, B thought Trina might faint. The lead singer of the Black Cats blinked.

  “My magic isn’t always in control, either,” B said.

  George walked over, trying not to step on any cats. “What are we going to do about all these cats?”

  “It’s okay,” B said to Trina. “He’s not a witch, but he totally gets it.”

  “Maybe not totally …,” George mumbled.

  “But I thought humans weren’t ever supposed to know about the existence of witches. How does he know?” Trina looked from B to George.

  “That’s a long story.” B stared at the hundreds of cats crawling around the library. “I think we should figure out how to fix this problem first.”

  Chapter 10

  “Why don’t you do another poem thingy to make the cats disappear?” George suggested.

  “I don’t know,” Trina said, scooping up a cat that was rubbing up against her legs. “Usually one of the other Black Cats or my grandma has helped me undo any magical mistakes.”

  “So all the Black Cats are witches?” B asked. “And your grandma, too?”

  Trina nodded. “Maybe the cats will just vanish in a minute.”

  “We can’t risk it,” B said. “What if one of the teachers decides to go to the library, or some kid wants to return a book after sports practice?”

  “Or what if the cats find a way out?” George added, watching the creatures explore every inch of the library. “Cats are pretty smart, you know.”

  “I’ve never messed up this bad before,” Trina said, as if she wasn’t really listening.

  “You can do it, Trina. Just relax and concentrate. You’re great at rhyming.” B tried to sound encouraging, but she knew Trina had to fix this. If someone stopped by the library, how would they ever explain?

  Trina closed her eyes. She took a deep, singer’s breath from her diaphragm, filling her body with air, then sang:

  “Cats, cats everywhere, from up high to way down low.

  You all are black and beautiful, but now it’s time go.”

  And in a flash, the library was cat-free.

  “Did it work?” Trina asked, her eyes still closed.

  “See for yourself,” B said.

  Trina opened one eye, then the other, and let out a huge sigh of relief.

  “That was crazy,” George said, looking around to make sure every cat was gone.

  Trina laughed a little, then turned to B. “Are you really a witch? I can’t believe it!”

  “Really and truly,” B said. “But my magic is different from most witches’. I do spells by spelling words, not by speaking couplets. I’m still trying to get the hang of it.”

  “Wow, I never heard of spelling magic.” Trina looked at B more closely. “My magic’s offbeat, too. Speaking spells doesn’t work for me. I’ve got to sing them.”

  “A singing witch!” B smiled. “And that fits, since you’re such an incredible singer anyway.” Then B snapped her fingers. “That’s it!”

  Trina nodded.

  “What’s it?” George asked.

  “The reason the Black Cats broke up. I get it! You can’t have a singing witch singing all those songs. It would turn the world upside down.”

  Trina sighed. “Pretty much. I caused a lot of havoc before we figured it out. I moved out here to live with my grandma. She’s a singing witch like me. She’s trying to help me control my powers, but it’s not easy.”

  “I know what you mean,” B said. “Maybe in the M.R.S. library there’s a book that explains what to do about that. If there was a way you could sing with the band again, would you want to?”

  “More than anything,” Trina said. “I miss it so much. I feel like a fish out of water without my singing.”

  “Wow,” George said. “I can’t believe it. Both my friends have these amazing superpowers, and what’ve I got? A decent soccer scoring average. Big deal.”

  “It is a big deal,” B said. “You’re going to be a soccer star someday! That’s a superpower. And believe me, magic isn’t everything. Sometimes it’s more trouble than it’s worth. You’ve seen it yourself.”

  B knew that George remembered some of B’s magical mishaps, yet he still didn’t seem convinced.

  “Friendship matters more than magic,” Trina said, looking at them both seriously. “You’re a terrific friend, George. Both of you are. I’m really lucky to have met you.” She smiled. “Thanks for your help with the Jason switcheroo after school, too.”

  B dropped her backpack on the ground. “After school,” she repeated. “Right after school. Oh, no!”

  Her magic test! She’d forgotten all about it! B scooped up her bag, turned around, and started running.

  “Wait up!” George was chasing her.

  “What’s the matter?” Trina was following, too.

  B’s feet tore up the sidewalk. What should she tell them? She didn’t want Trina to know that she was such a witching disaster that she needed a remedial makeup magic test.

  “I, uh, have a tutoring appointment with a teacher after school,” B managed to gasp between sprinting strides. “Forgot about it. Hope I’m not too late! See you tomorrow.”

  B vaulted up the school stairs in one giant step, wrenched the door open, and skidded through the freshly waxed corridors.

  “Watch where you’re going,” the janitor hollered after her.

  She threw open the door to Mr. Bishop’s room. He was at his desk reading a book. He closed the pages with a thud.

  “I’m sorry!” she blurted out. “I had a friend emergency, and I just …”

  B’s voice trailed off when she saw the look on Mr. Bishop’s face.

  “Keeping Madame Mel waiting is generally not the wisest idea,” he said. “I called and postponed your test after you didn’t show up.”

  B’s knees wobbled. She slid into a chair. Saved! “Thanks.”

  “If we leave right now, we’ll just make your new appointment.” He reached for B’s arm, uttered a couplet, and in seconds the traveling spell deposited them once more in the corridor outside Madame Mel’s curious door. Her head poked out before they could even knock.

  “Hurry in, hurry in!” Madame Mel intoned. “Heavens, how I hate to be kept waiting!” She seemed annoyed, but not really cross. B still couldn’t believe her good luck. She hoped it would hold long enough for her to pass the test.

  B followed the Grande Mistress of the M.R.S. into her office, spotted Hermes on the carpet, and quickly began the first spell. “S-P-E-A-K —”

  “Ah, hold it there a minute.” Madame Mel cut her off. “Each test is different. Can’t have you knowing the questions in advance, can we?”

  “That wouldn’t do at all,” chipped in Hermes. B smiled to herself. Her spell might not count, but at least it had worked!

  “Indeed,” Madame Mel continued. “So this time, make Hermes fly, if you’d be so kind.”

  B studied Hermes’s bulgy-looking body. He looked as aviation-worthy as a serving of mashed potatoes.

  “Okay, Hermes, don’t be scared. F-L-Y.”

  Hermes lolled over onto his back, poking his little paws up in the air, and basked in the sunshine. Not flying at all. B felt her palms begin to sweat.

  “Maybe he needs help with takeoff,” she told Madame Mel, stalling for time and praying her theory was right. She reached down and picked up Hermes, depositing him gently on Madame Mel’s desk, noting with surprise how silky-soft his fur felt. “Hermes, run across the desk and leap into the air, okay?”

  “As you suggest. Please be prepared to catch me if your magic is, ahem, insufficient.” H
ermes waddled at full tilt across the end of the desk, then leaped into the air. B held her breath.

  He dipped down only slightly. Then he spread out all four paws and glided leisurely around the room, soaring above both their heads.

  “This is rather exhilarating, I must say!” he called with a high-pitched giggle. “Look at me! Wheeeeeee!”

  B watched Madame Mel’s face anxiously. The corners of the Grande Mistress’s mouth twitched as Hermes’s fur ruffled in the breeze. “He’s starting to show off,” Madame Mel observed.

  “Better come down now,” B told the skunk.

  “Certainly not! This is the best flying spell I’ve had in years!”

  “Never mind; let him enjoy himself,” Madame Mel said. “I’ll tend to him later. Now, for the potion. This time, I will choose the type of brew.”

  B’s hopes fell. She’d been planning to concoct a truth potion, something she’d had some success with in the past.

  Madame Mel dumped out the drawer of ingredients once more. “Would you make a politeness potion?”

  After some consideration, she chose a glove, a breath mint, a moist towelette, and a postage stamp — which made her think of sending thank you notes. She wasn’t sure if it was a strong enough mixture of politeness objects, but she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and spelled, “P-O-L-I-T-E.”

  B opened her eyes and saw that the objects had formed into a tangerine-colored liquid. She breathed its citrusy fragrance before pouring it into a little goblet. Her nose tingled. Uh-oh … she’d inhaled some of the potion!

  Madame Mel pursed her lips and drank a sip.

  “Thank you, B,” she said, her voice syrupy-sweet. “I don’t know when I’ve tasted a lovelier potion.”

  “No, thank you,” B replied. “It was a charming idea for an assignment.”

  “My pleasure entirely,” Madame Mel said. “Won’t you pull up a chair? Please, make yourself at home. Can I offer you any refreshment? It’s nearly teatime.”

  “Oh, I’d hate to trouble you,” B said. “I’m perfectly all right. But thanks for offering.”

  Madame Mel hiccupped. “Gracious! Excuse me.” She dabbed at the corner of her lips with a napkin. “I do believe your potion has been successful, B.”