Wart (6 page)

Stewart stopped climbing and stared at her. Ham stopped too, and he started to dig into the bag of chips he carried. "Look," Stewart said, trying to sound calm, "this frog stuff is just a joke. I got you two over here to help me search for the kid."

"Witches scare me," said Ham.

When they were outside Ozgood's door, Ham latched onto Stewart's shirt. "Let's just get out of this place," he said.

"Quiet," Stewart whispered. "The little fart can probably hear us. He's hiding somewhere, laughing his head off." He looked over his shoulder and to both sides.

Inside the room, they got down on their hands and knees around the frog. "Poor Ozzy," Ham said.

Stewart jabbed him in the ribs. "Don't call him that. He hates it." Stewart gave himself a little shake. "I mean Ozgood doesn't like the name. This is just a frog." Sweat was dripping from his forehead, as if he were in the middle of a fast-moving basketball game.

"Should I kiss him now, you think?" Rachel was puckering up her mouth.

"Yikes! You two actually believe this is Ozgood!" Stewart wiped at his forehead with his shirtsleeve.

They both looked at him. "You believe it too," said Rachel. "Only you're afraid to admit it."

Stewart put his head in his hands. "Well, would you want a frog for a stepbrother?" A little weak feeling was starting down in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he did believe it. There absolutely was no place for Ozgood to be hiding that he hadn't searched. Just then the frog gave a huge hop and landed on the bed.

"Oh," said Rachel, "the poor little thing wants to go to beddy-bye." She looked around the room. "Let's get his pajamas."

Digging in the top bureau drawer, Stewart found a pair, black with pictures of all the famous monsters in red. He let out a big groan, and he handed them to Rachel. It was so crazy. Rachel was a really smart girl, a genius maybe. How could such a sharp mind believe the frog was a kid named Ozgood who was going through a witch family's version of being grounded?

Rachel was making a sort of little nest of the pajamas, and she put the frog in the center. "Are you going to kiss him good night?" Ham was down on his knees beside the bed, like he was trying to establish eye contact the way they had been told to do during the public speaking class at school.

"Well, sure I am." She bent and gave the frog a big, loud smack on the back. "Poor kid is probably scared to death."

Stewart sort of stumbled out of the room, leaving them to turn off the light. "Don't look for a teddy bear or anything," he said over his shoulder. "Ozgood wouldn't have one, but he might sleep with a favorite skull."

Pretty soon they came to join Stewart on the bottom stair. Rachel had a proud smile. "He seems to have fallen asleep," she said.

Ham put his hand on Stewart's shoulder. "Old buddy," he said, "your life sure isn't going to be dull with a witch for a stepmother."

Stewart jumped up. "Number one," he yelled with one finger in the air. "My dad isn't marrying Ms. Gibbs. Until a few days ago, he was happy dating Martha. And number two." He added another finger. "This is all some joke. Ozgood is a pretty smart little kid, but he is not," his voice got even louder, "I repeat, NOT a frog."

"Don't get excited," said Ham. "Let's find something to eat and just do some thinking.

They passed Ham's chip bag around several times while they brainstormed, but no one had any real ideas. When they heard the car in the driveway, Stewart realized he had to come up with an explanation that covered why Rachel and Ham were with him.

"We decided to work on some algebra problems," he said when they came in, and he held up Rachel's book. "I hope you don't mind, me having company, I mean." He glanced at Ms. Gibbs, who was watching him with her eyes narrowed almost shut, looking, he thought, deep into his soul.

Then she smiled. "Certainly, Stewart. I want you to feel at home here. Were there any problems with Ozgood?"

Stewart stared down at his shoes. What should he say? He wondered what would happen if he came right out and said something about the little frog being settled down for the night, but before he could decide, there was a sound from the top of the stairs.

"Oh, you're home." It was Ozgood's voice. Stewart whirled around. Ozgood was standing there in the pajamas Stewart had taken from the drawer. "I think I'll just go back to bed now. Your friends are quite charming, Stewart, especially Rachel." He gave them a little wave, turned, and walked away. Then he stopped. "Mother, dear," he said without looking back. "I shall be on my best behavior henceforth."

"Sweet kid," said Rachel, looking like she was about to cry. Stewart shot her a dirty look and then gave the same frown to Ham. He didn't want either of them talking. He sank back down on the stairs, too weak legged to stand up. He could feel his father studying him.

"Stewart looks a little pale, must be exhausted. Maybe I'd better gather up Georgia and head for home," he said.

"Good." Stewart held onto the bannister and pulled himself up. "I really don't feel so good."

The good-byes were short because Dad was holding Georgia in his arms. In the car nobody said much. Stewart leaned back against the seat and tried to rest. They dropped Ham off at his house. Rachel unloaded at the Wrights to go next door. "Don't worry," she whispered to Stewart before the car stopped. "I'll help you."

He did worry, though. Stewart worried a lot. For a couple of hours he sat in the window seat and stared out into the night, wondering what was going to happen next. Finally he stumbled over to his bed and fell asleep, but when he woke the next morning, his first thought was Witch! She's a witch!

• FOUR
•

S
unday was a quiet day. Stewart stayed in his room a lot because he just couldn't handle looking at his father. He even did some extra algebra problems. He thought some about the first basketball game that was coming up on Tuesday after school. He wondered if he'd get to play or just warm the bench. Basketball had been so important to him once, but now he couldn't feel too concerned. Nothing mattered when he compared it to his father's involvement with the witch and her little warlock.

By Monday morning, Stewart's strength had begun to return. Even just a day removed from the outrageous events of Saturday night made them seem less true. Witches weren't real, were they? There had to be an explanation for the frog stunt, but whether Ms. Gibbs was a real witch or a very strange lady with a kid who wanted to drive him crazy wasn't the actual point. She had to be stopped from getting more involved with his father.

Stewart lay in bed awake before his alarm went off, and he tried to plan. Maybe he'd go to Mr. Dooley. "Look," he could say. "You've got to get rid of Ms. Gibbs. The woman is a witch who turns people into frogs." Oh sure, great idea. He'd probably end up in a straitjacket, maybe sharing a room with Mr. Harrison at the funny farm.

Maybe he should just go straight to Ms. Gibbs. He could slick his hair back, borrow a black leather jacket, and try to be a tough guy. "Me and my Dad," he could sort of snarl the words, "we ain't lookin' to get involved with no witches." He was enjoying the scene in his head, but suddenly he couldn't see himself standing there in the tough pose. Instead, he got a picture of a frog hopping out of the art room, trying to catch up with Ham.

Well, why should he be thinking of going to Mr. Dooley or facing Ms. Gibbs? He hadn't even tried talking to his own father, not really. It wouldn't be easy. Neither Stewart nor his father were communicators. Stewart knew for sure that his father loved him and that his father would always take care of him, but they didn't spend a lot of time talking, not about important things. There would have been lots more talking in the family if his mother hadn't been taken away from them, but still, Dad was a reasonable man. Stewart would talk to him. He had it. Just as Dad and Georgia started out for school, he'd ask to ride along, telling Dad there was something he wanted to discuss. Right after the alarm went off, he called Ham's house.

"Please tell Ham not to wait for me this morning," he told Mrs. Hamilton. "I've got to ride with my dad." Stewart felt pretty confident about his plan as he went downstairs to eat.

His father was in a great mood. "Sure," he said when Stewart said he wanted a ride so they could talk. On the drive their father kept pointing out pretty trees for Stewart and Georgia to look at. It was late October. The leaves were bright with color, but Stewart hardly noticed. He was planning what to say. This might be the most important speech of his life.

When Georgia jumped out at her school and waved at them, Stewart got his courage up. He wasn't doing this just for himself. He had a little sister to consider. They were pulling back onto the main street, when he started. "Dad, you've got to be careful!" The words came out faster and more excited than he'd meant for them to, sort of a scream.

Dad slammed his foot on the brake and threw his head from side to side looking for the car or body he supposed he was about to hit. "Stewart," it was Dad's turn to yell, and his face was red. "What the devil are you doing?"

It was not a good beginning, but Stewart swallowed hard and pushed on. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean driving, I meant with Ms. Gibbs. That's why you've got to be careful. She's . . . she's not normal like us. Ozgood got turned into a frog Saturday night, just hopping around and croaking all over the place."

His dad didn't say anything, but he pulled off the street and stopped under a huge maple tree. A red leaf drifted down on the windshield as they stopped. Stewart thought it would be a great place for a picnic, but he knew they weren't about to have one.

"Look, Stewart," his father talked slowly and calmly, and Stewart's hopes rose. Maybe Dad was going to be reasonable. "I know you don't want me to get involved with Wanda. You don't want me to marry anyone." He stopped for a minute and looked at Stewart, who knew his father wasn't finished and that he should keep his mouth shut. "I can understand that, son. I know it's hard for you to think I'm replacing your mother. What I can't understand is your making up crazy stories in an effort to stop me. We've always been straight with each other, haven't we?"

Stewart bit at his lip. "Dad, it's true. She's a witch. Ask Ham and Rachel."

Dad reached over and put his hand on Stewart's shoulder. "Give it some time, Stew. We've got time."

"Probably not much," Stewart looked down at the floor. He knew there was no use saying anything else.

Dad started the car again, and neither of them said anything more until he stopped in front of the school. Stewart opened the door. "You know," said his father, "you need a mother and so does Georgia. Maybe someday Wanda could be a big help to all of us."

Stewart sighed and closed the car door after him. Help? Sure. She could zap him up a Porsche when he learned to drive. Of course by then he'd probably be a permanent member of the frog kingdom. Frogs don't need sports cars.

He sat through his first two classes in a sort of daze, noticing nothing until Taylor got up to go to the pencil sharpener. Even then he watched her swinging hips as if he were in some dream instead of real life, but he was wide awake when he walked into the art room.

Ms. Gibbs was waiting at the door. "May I speak to you, Stewart?" She smiled sweetly at him. He felt cold all over, but with his eyes down he followed her to the corner of the classroom and stood beside her desk. "Don't fight me, dear," she said in a half whisper. "You can't win, Wart. Besides you should give me a chance to show you what I can do for you."

"Do for me?" He looked down at the floor. She had her hand on that strange green necklace, and Stewart was afraid to meet her eyes.

"Yes," she said, "for instance, I know you like Taylor Montgomery. A woman could give you little tips and things about how to impress girls. I know too that you love basketball. Who knows, I might even be a help with your game."

"How?" Let her believe she's convincing me, he thought.

"Oh," she touched his shoulder, "let's just say I have my ways."

"Ms. Gibbs," someone yelled. "I spilled paint." She turned away to look, and Stewart escaped to his place at the table beside Ham.

"What'd she say?" Ham whispered.

"Says she can help me with Taylor and basketball." Stewart kept his eyes on Ms. Gibbs while she cleaned up the paint. "I'm going to play along with her. Get proof. You know, beat her at her own game."

"Man," said Ham. "That will be hard to do. You haven't had a bit of experience turning people into frogs."

At lunch, Ham and Stewart headed toward a table where Rachel sat at one end by herself. Stewart put down his tray. "I hope no one bothers us," he said.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Ashley won't be here all week. She's going to Alaska to see her brother. No one else is likely to sit down. It's not exactly like the whole world is dying to eat with us."

"We've got to get a plan." Stewart had been repeating those words to himself over and over. He knew there was a desperate sound to his voice as he said them aloud. Ham had begun to spread mustard on his hamburger and didn't even look up, but Stewart could see that Rachel was about to say something.

"Halloween is coming up real soon," she said slowly, still thinking as she formed the words. "Witches are supposed to do special things on Halloween." As she talked she waved her spoon back and forth. Rachel frequently ate her dessert first, and the spoon had chocolate pudding on it, but Stewart didn't even care if the stuff flew off and hit him in the face. If moving her spoon helped Rachel think, he could take some goop in his face.

"Yeah. Yeah." He urged her on by using his hands like he would to call a dog to him. "Keep thinking. What else?"

"Well, if she thinks you've warmed up to her, maybe she would be off guard. We might catch her at something."

"Take pictures or stuff for proof." Stewart leaned across the table, resting his elbows as close to Rachel as he could get.

"No, wait." Ham pointed to his mouth and the others waited while he swallowed his bite of hamburger. "I read in this book that witches can't have their pictures taken. They don't show up on film or something."

"I think that's just made-up stuff, you know, for books." Rachel went back to eating her pudding.

"Well," Ham said, and Stewart could see that his feelings were hurt. "How do we know the business about witches doing junk on Halloween isn't just made up for books too?"

"That's good thinking, Ham," Stewart nodded. He couldn't afford to let either of them get discouraged with helping him. They weren't much, but they were all he had. "But still I think Rachel's idea is worth a try."

"Halloween is Friday night. We don't have much time to plan our strategy," said Rachel. "We're going to have to go over there."

To show how short their time really was, the first bell rang, which meant they had to scarf down their last bites and put up the trays. Stewart saw Rachel in the hall before last period. "Wait for me after school," she said. "I've got something to tell you." There was an excited tone in her voice. He wanted to ask her what was up, but she hurried on to her class. Stewart did not go after her. He couldn't chance being late to gym class.

After school, Ham and Stewart stood out front until finally Rachel came out. "What took you so long?" Stewart asked.

Rachel put her hands on her hips. "If I had a friend who was trying to save me from a witch, I wouldn't complain about having to wait for her for a few minutes." She started to walk, and the boys fell in on either side of her.

"Sorry," said Stewart. "You sounded like you were on to something, and I'm anxious to hear about it, that's all."

"I think I am on to something." Rachel's expression was full of satisfaction and so was the nod of her head. Stewart waited, but she didn't say anything else. He chewed on his lower lip.

"What? What? Spill it!" said Ham.

Rachel stopped walking, drew in a deep breath, and said, "Well, I asked myself, where could we turn for help, and, of course, I knew the answer—the Internet. You can find anything on the Internet. When I got my English assignment finished early, I asked to go to the library. You know how they have the computers fixed so what you look up is limited? Well, I was pretty sure I couldn't use those computers to look up witches, so I just went to Mrs. Reynolds and I told her right out that I wanted to read about witches, and she didn't even ask me why, just said I could use her computer."

"Sure the librarian is going to like you when you've read practically every book in the library," said Ham.

Rachel went on "Well, let me tell you when you put in witches, you get all sorts of stuff. Mostly these people want to charge you for spells or potions to make you attract love or money or success or something."

"I don't have much money." Stewart tried to remember how much cash he had in his top bureau drawer. "Maybe fifteen dollars."

"Not enough." Rachel shook her head. "Even the cheap spells cost nineteen ninety-nine."

"I could chip in," said Ham.

"No," said Rachel. "The thing is, I'm pretty sure those things aren't real. I'm pretty sure real witches wouldn't have a Web site and be willing to take Visa cards. Why would they? A real witch wouldn't need to make money that way, now would she?"

"So, did Ms. Gibbs have a Web site?" asked Stewart.

"She did not. I kept on looking. Finally I got to things people had posted, free stuff, about spells and how to undo them. I was just about to write some things down when I realized the bell was about to ring, so I went back after school." She reached around to get her backpack and pulled out a sheet of paper. "I had to take notes because I couldn't print that stuff. You know how they have to approve anything you print, and I thought I might be pushing Mrs. Reynolds too much if I asked to print it."

Stewart reached for the paper, but Rachel held it away from him. "You couldn't read my writing. I wrote down what seemed like the best thing we could do. We have to get several onions and some garlic, chop it all up and mix it together. Then we divide it up into small portions and stick them in corners of the house. A witch will have no power in a house protected by onions and garlic."

"Oh, I don't know." Stewart's shoulders slumped. "That doesn't make much sense to me."

"Wouldn't it be awful smelly?" said Ham.

"No, listen, the article said the stuff could be wrapped up tight, you know in foil or something. Regular people don't have to be able to smell it, but a witch can. We can even hide it under rugs and stuff. I read a testimonial by this woman who claimed she had a friend, and she didn't know her friend was a witch until the woman went running out of her house after she did the onion and garlic thing."

Stewart shook his head. "So if she didn't suspect her friend was a witch, why did she put the junk around her house in the first place?"

"She was having bad luck. She thought it was caused by her husband's sister, but it turned out she was blaming the wrong person." Rachel put the paper back in her backpack and started to walk. "Of course, it's up to you, Stew, but if I thought my dad was about to marry a witch, I would try just about anything."

There was a supermarket just a block off their way home. Stewart shrugged. "Okay," he said, "we'll go to the store. How much money do you two have? I'll pay you back."

"I've got a five-dollar bill," said Ham. "Are onions and garlic expensive?"

"Who knows? I hope not because I've only got fifty cents," said Stewart.

"I don't have any money with me, but I can go home and get some if I have to." Rachel smiled at Stewart. "We're going to help you, just like I said."

More money wasn't necessary. With five dollars they were able to buy four onions and a whole pound of garlic. Ham even got a little change. "We're in luck on one thing," Stewart told the others after they had paid and were on their way home. "Dad told me this morning that Gran isn't staying today after she brings Georgia home. She's just going to make sure I'm home before she leaves. We can go to work right away. Do we have to cook the stuff?"