Wart (5 page)

"But you always told me we didn't want a new mommy at all," said Georgia.

"Well," said Stewart. "That was before Wanda Gibbs came to town on her broom. Now Martha seems pretty good."

Stewart sent Georgia down the stairs, and he waited at the top, just out of sight, but close enough to hear. She didn't go right into the screaming. The kid is really smart, Stewart thought. "Daddy," she said real soft. "Can we just stay home tonight? I'm feeling awful sad inside."

Stewart could imagine his Dad putting down his paper to look at Georgia. "Why baby?" he said. "Why do you feel sad?"

"I'm afraid you like Ms. Gibbs better than me," she said.

Oh, that's good, Stewart thought, and he smiled. The kid has really got it. "Of course, not," Dad said. Stewart inched down the stairs so that he could see what was going on. Georgia sat on the floor leaning against Dad's leg as he sat in his favorite chair. Dad was patting her head. "You and Stewart are the most important people in my life, always."

"Can we just stay home tonight then? You and us important people and fix some popcorn and watch a movie? Please, Daddy."

"Well." He was weakening. Stewart could hear it in his voice. "I wonder if Wanda has started to cook yet."

"Call her, Daddy. Tell her your little girl needs you." Georgia sounded like she might start to cry.

Dad stood up and started for the phone, but just then the doorbell rang. Stewart's hopes took a nosedive when he saw Ms. Gibbs. "I was in the neighborhood," she explained, "when I got this idea that Georgia might want to come on to my house early and help me fix dinner." She was smiling, and Stewart saw his little sister inching closer to the woman.

Stewart ran down the stairs and grabbed Georgia by the arm. "You were going to help me with that special project, remember?" He gave her a threatening look and a little jerk toward him.

"Oh yeah. I forgot." She didn't sound too sure, but she looked up at Ms. Gibbs. "Besides Daddy was going to call—"

"Wait, now, Georgia," Dad interrupted her. "Helping Wanda cook dinner might be a lot of fun."

Ms. Gibbs dropped down to her knees. She was wearing her same necklace, and she started to finger it as she talked. "Actually, I'm sort of lonely." She was looking right into Georgia's eyes. "My little boy stays in his room so much. I could use a little girl for company."

"Oh!" Georgia clapped her hands. " I love to be company!" Georgia was jumping up and down.

"But Georgia, what about helping me, remember?" Stewart squeezed her arm, but she pulled away.

"I'll help you later, Stew," she said.

Before Stewart could think what to do, they were heading toward the door. "Open the door for Wanda and your sister," his father called.

Wanda brushed against Stewart's shoulder as she went out. "Thank you, Wart," she said softly.

• THREE
•

S
tewart and his father spent a few hours working on algebra. It felt good to be working with Dad. Stewart remembered what Martha had said about how he should trust his father. She had called Dad a strong, intelligent man. Surely Dad wouldn't get too involved with the Gibbses. Stewart felt pretty good until they were on their way across town to Ms. Gibbs's house.

Dad was half singing and half humming. Stewart didn't know the name of the song, but every once in a while he caught the word
love,
which made him very uncomfortable. Stewart hunched beside his door and stayed absolutely quiet.

Ms. Gibbs and the little traitor met them at the door. Georgia was just as pleased with herself as she could be. "Wanda let me put things in! Salt and cheese and everything." Stewart got the picture of his little sister and a witch in black clothing stirring a big black cauldron like the ones in Halloween posters. The witch had Ms. Gibbs's face. Stop that, he told himself.

His dad got really close to Ms. Gibbs to say hello. For one terrible minute Stewart thought his father was going to kiss her right there in front of everyone. His expression must have been pretty sour because Ms. Gibbs came over and touched his shoulder.

Her green eyes were dancing, and she gave the boy a wide smile. "Cheer up, Stewart. You look like a prisoner about to have his last meal."

He felt that way too. Feed me, he thought, then finish me off. Ozgood came in just as they were about to sit down and took a chair beside Stewart. "I am undone," he whispered. Stewart looked down at his pants, but they were zipped just fine. Then he remembered "undone" was an old way of saying a person was in a real trouble.

When Stewart saw the food, though, he forgot about Ozgood and all his other problems for a minute. It was wonderful—lasagna, tiny green peas with onions, a great salad, and hot bread that smelled heavenly. Stewart's mouth was watering until his father said, "Lasagna! How did you know that's my favorite?"

Stewart's throat went dry, and all he wanted was water. "I made a lucky choice, didn't I?" Wanda said. She leaned toward James Wright and smiled sweetly, but as Stewart reached for his glass, he caught the look she threw at Ozgood. It wasn't a sweet smile.

Stewart gave himself a little talking to. Come on, he thought, forget it all and chow down. You don't get a chance at food like this very often. So he dug in. Sometimes, though, right in the middle of a wonderful mouthful, the phrase,
prisoner's last meal
would flash through his head. Still, he ate two helpings of everything.

When it was time for dessert, Ms. Gibbs brought in a big cherry pie. "Wow!" Dad had a huge grin on his face. "You must have magic powers. Cherry is my all-time favorite."

Ozgood let out a strained little cough and poked Stewart. "Ozgood," said his mother, do you need to leave the table?" This time Stewart was certain of the dirty look Ozgood's mother sent her son.

"I am recovered," Ozgood said, but when Ms. Gibbs's back was turned to serve the pie, he leaned close to Stewart. "Woe is me," he whispered. "She knows I have betrayed her."

Stewart wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. Here was this little wimp of a kid who said things like, "I am undone," and "Woe is me." It would have been hilarious except that he had this horrible feeling that his dad was going to get them all mixed up with the little fruitcake and his wacky mother. Wacky Wanda, he thought. Then he changed it to Wanda the Witch. Alliteration! His English teacher would have been proud of him. But even making up names for her didn't improve his mood. Oh, he wasn't really taking the witch business seriously, he told himself, but he knew Wanda and Ozgood were too weird for his straitlaced dad and his two motherless children. Boy, was he sorry he hadn't warmed up more to the idea of his father and Martha getting married.

After dinner, Stewart thought maybe they'd hang around for just a little while, then go home. Of course, it didn't work like that. "I think Wanda and I will go out for a while and hear some music. You kids could watch some TV or something," Dad said.

They were in the kitchen, everyone pitching in on the dishes. Stewart turned to his father, "I was hoping to get in some more algebra study." Stewart thought Dad would be impressed, but he just laughed. "Besides," he added, "there isn't a TV downstairs."

"Oh, I should have told you last night." Wanda was bent over to put away pots and pans. She straightened and looked at him. "There's a TV in the game room."

He left the kitchen and went to the room behind the dining room. The door was open, but he couldn't remember it being open when he'd been in the living room the night before. He stepped into what had been an empty room. The first thing he saw was a pool table at one end of the room. At the other end stood a cozy arrangement of a couch and two chairs, centered around a big-screen TV. It was one of those thin ones, and the screen was huge. This was crazy. This room had been totally empty last night. Why hadn't Ms. Gibbs just said the stuff had arrived today? A person would think she had just zapped it up.

"I never thought Mother would allow a television in her house. She hates some of the silly witch things they have on. Guess she wanted to go out rather fiercely." Ozgood stood in the doorway behind Stewart. "I've never seen one so large." He walked around Stewart and went over to examine it like he was seeing the thing for the first time. He picked up the remote and pushed a button. "There," he said triumphantly when it came on.

Georgia came in rubbing her eyes, tired from the sleepover the night before. "I'm just going to rest my eyes a little bit." She stretched out on the couch and was asleep immediately. Great, Stewart thought, he was headed for another evening alone with weirdo Ozgood.

It didn't take his dad and Wanda long to finish in the kitchen. Stewart could see that they seemed eager to dump the kids and be gone. "You guys have fun," Dad said, and Stewart grunted.

"Yes." Ms. Gibbs had her hand on Ozgood's shoulder, and she bent her head to look right into his face. "Have a good time, but follow the rules."

"She expects me to tell you that I made up the witch story," Ozgood said as soon as they heard the front door close. He began to pace the floor, his hands clasped behind his back. "I won't do it. There is my integrity to consider!" He dropped into a big chair. Sitting there with his face in his hands, he looked small and pitiful, but before Stewart could think of anything to say, Ozgood was up and walking again. "In all likelihood I shall be severely punished. Woe is me!" He paced out of the room.

He's not a bad actor, Stewart thought, and he walked over to make sure Georgia was asleep. He sure didn't want her to hear this crazy stuff. She already had bad dreams sometimes.

"I'm going up to await my fate," Ozgood called from the other room. Stewart got in there just in time to see him sort of dragging himself toward the stairs. His expression was so dejected that Stewart forgot he was acting and felt sorry for him, but the sympathy didn't last long because he put on that eardrum-splitting music right away. It sounded like a funeral with the volume turned way, way up.

It didn't take Stewart long to get up the stairs and to his room. He pounded on the door. Of course, Ozgood couldn't hear him, so Stewart pushed the door open. "Ozgood," he yelled, trying to be louder than the music. "Turn it down!" He was already crossing the room to shut the thing off himself when he realized the room was empty. He's hiding in the closet or under the bed, Stewart thought. Ha-ha! Big funny joke. Stewart was ready to find him and let him know he wasn't laughing.

He stopped the music and went for the closet door, ready to jump on the kid and drag him out. What he saw was not Ozgood. Still, Stewart jumped all right, practically out of his pants. He yelled too, two short squeals like a scared rabbit. There, hanging between the shirts and pants was a skeleton, and it sort of swayed toward him. "Serious science student," he reminded himself, when he could think again, and he dropped to the floor for a look under the bed. "Planned the whole thing, knew I'd look in the closet. Probably giggling over the scream," he muttered aloud.

But Ozgood wasn't under the bed. Stewart was getting really aggravated "Ozgood," he yelled. "Front and center! Move it! Now!" There was no response. Stewart looked around. It was a little room with no other hiding places.

By the time he got out to the hall his temper was really rising. "Ozgood has disappeared," he could imagine himself saying to Ms. Gibbs and his father when they came back. For all he knew Weird Wanda might be glad to be rid of the little dork, but Dad would definitely see the whole thing as an indication that he was just not a responsible individual. At this rate he wouldn't be allowed to drive or go to a concert until he was at least thirty. The baby isn't supposed to turn up missing when you babysit, even if the baby is an eight-year-old nutcase.

It was clear Stewart would have to search the upstairs. He looked at the doors that were not Ozgood's, drew in his breath, and headed toward one. It led to a small bathroom, no place to hide except the shower. Reaching for the curtain, his hand shook, but he jerked it back. His breath came out in heavy relief. After the skeleton, he expected something bloody, but all he saw were panty hose hanging there to dry.

Next, he went into Ms. Gibbs's room. The closet didn't have bones, and it didn't have Ozgood. He switched on a light to be sure. There were two big shelves on each closet wall, and they were full of bottles. The closet was full of mixed smells. Stewart shook his head. The woman must make perfume, but none of the smells appealed to him. The kid wasn't under the bed either. Frantically, he ran back to the hall.

It was then that he almost stepped on the frog. Probably he would have squashed it if it hadn't let out a really big croak and jumped out of his way. Stewart stopped short and stared at the thing. "Ha-ha," he said loudly and sarcastically. "Very good, Ozgood, you can come out now."

The frog made a little hop toward Ozgood's room. Stewart jumped over him, ran down the stairs, and searched frantically. He looked in the kitchen cabinets. In the little laundry room off the kitchen, he opened the dryer and the clothes hamper. Ozgood was not inside the house, but the front and back doors still had the inside lock turned.

Absolute panic threatened to overtake Stewart, and he began to shake. He had to have help. It seemed ridiculous to call Ham, who was the only person Stewart knew who was a bigger goof-up than himself. Still, he didn't know what else to do. He did not know the number for Frog Busters.

"Listen," he said when Ham answered. "You've got to get over here." Ham said that he could get a ride with his sister, who was about to leave the house anyway. Stewart told him where Ms. Gibbs lived. Then he had another idea. "Stop by Rachel's and get her. Don't tell her anything except that I need help with my algebra." Rachel was always trying to help him, but he didn't want to tell her right off why he wanted her to come. She would think it was some kind of joke and refuse to play along.

"Why do you want Rach? I thought you didn't much want her around anymore."

Stewart felt uncomfortable. So Ham had noticed. Stewart twisted his face, wondering if Ham had also picked up that sometimes Stewart wasn't really eager to be around him either. There was no time to dwell on the "popular" issue now, though. He thought for just a minute before he answered. "We might need a girl to kiss a frog and turn him back into a boy."

Ham drew in his breath. "She did it, huh? Ms. Gibbs turned her own son into a frog. That's big-time stuff!"

"It was a joke, Ham." Stewart wasn't certain he had sounded very sure. He added, "There are no such things as witches, not in real life."

Ham ignored what Stewart said. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll be right over there to help you."

Stewart wasn't about to stop worrying, but he did want company. "Hurry," he said and was ready to hang up, but Ham had a question.

"Is there anything over there to eat?"

"Sure, if you don't mind food cooked in a witch's cauldron."

"I'll bring my own snacks," said Ham before he put down the phone.

Sitting at the bottom of the stairs seemed like the best thing to do. First, though, he would go up to check on the frog. It was in Ozgood's room, jumping and croaking like it was upset. "You think you've got troubles?" Stewart said to it. "Wait till you see what my dad does to me."

Then a thought came to him. The windows! There must be a tree or maybe even a balcony. He raced around the bed and over to the only window in the room. Nothing was visible when he moved back the curtain, but he wanted to raise it to be sure. There were no locks. Leaning against the frame, he pushed up with all his might. Nothing budged, probably painted shut.

Leaving the frog, he dashed into Ms. Gibbs's room and then checked the bathroom. No windows would open. Slowly, he went back down the stairs and dropped, exhausted, onto the bottom one. He tried to daydream about Taylor. He couldn't get his mind on that, so he sat there sweating until the doorbell rang.

"Where's the poor little thing?" Ham asked when Stewart opened the door.

"What poor little thing?" Rachel stepped around Ham. "You were acting awful funny on the way over here." She turned to Stewart, her face all screwed up, making her freckles run together. It was the expression she got when she was about to get worked up. "What's the deal?" she demanded. Stewart sank back on the stairs. It just wasn't a story he could tell standing up.

Stewart was amazed at the way Rachel believed the witch thing right off. Oh, sure, Ham believed it, but that didn't shock Stewart much. Ham was no rocket scientist, but Rachel! Stewart expected her to be full of questions and skepticism.

"Is the frog male or female?" she asked when they had started to climb the stairs.

Stewart threw his arms up in exasperation. "How would I know if it's a boy or a girl? It wasn't wearing pink or blue booties."

"Well," she complained, waving her algebra book, "if you had told me the truth, I'd have brought a good biology book. The frog's sex is important because if it is a girl, it isn't Ozgood."