Too Much Witch

by Nicki Greenberg

  Friday 23 May, 7.30am

  The Bullfrog is sulking on the couch and complaining that he’s going to be bored out of his skull at my place because my telly isn’t working. I said that if he’s that desperate for entertainment, I can leave Barnaby inside to keep him company. That shut him up quick-smart.

  Friday, 5pm

  I lied to my class today. I told them that Mr Bullen was fine, and that he’d be back on Monday, same as ever. They didn’t seem all that happy to hear it. What did excite them, though, was the thrilling possibility that one of their classmates was a witch.

  Phoebe was away today with a ‘headache’. Poor thing. I can imagine what she’s going through. I know she doesn’t want to be revealed. I could see it in her face yesterday, that mixture of fear and guilt and dismay. She isn’t ready, not yet.

  So I lied again. I told them that the only witch here is me, and this witch will not tolerate gossip and rumour-mongering about one of their classmates.

  Zinnia grumbled, ‘We’re not allowed to talk about anything. No talking about witches. No talking about yowlies. What about freedom of speech?’

  To which I replied: ‘You can talk about maths.’

  I am one grouchy witch.

  Saturday 24 May

  Between Barnaby and the Bullfrog, I haven’t had two minutes’ peace all day. Do this. Get me that. I’m hungry. I’m thirsty. I want…I need…I’ve been waiting on the two of them from morning to night like an unpaid drudge.

  In the Bullfrog’s case, I suppose it’s not entirely unfair. He’s too small to reach the light switches or the shower taps. He can’t open the fridge, the cutlery drawer or the kitchen cupboards. And even if he could, everything inside is much too big for him. He won’t let me attempt any more shrink spells – not even on the balcony, so he’s drinking out of an eggcup and using my smallest teaspoons to eat his meals, which, of course, I have to cook for him. He’s picky, too: This yolk’s not runny. You didn’t cut the tomato right. Why is the soup that colour? Are you sure the milk’s not off?

  Barnaby is being extremely ungracious about sharing his personal maidservant with ‘Scaredy-man’. I was making some steps out of stacked-up books so that the Bullfrog could climb up to the toilet, when His Majesty came up behind me and deliberately knocked The Mindful Witch right into the bowl.

  Full Moon cannot come soon enough.

  Sunday 25 May

  Full Moon fail.

  Four grown witches couldn’t reverse the hex. Not even under a mighty May moon.

  We tried everything. Briony’s strongest potions, incantations from A to Z, and even some really dicey switch-spells. The others didn’t want to do those, but I pushed them into it, I was that desperate. Yes, I was willing to flip the shrink-spell onto myself and end up smaller than my own cat if it would bring the Bullfrog back to size.

  None of it worked. All I’ve got to show for our efforts last night is a big greasy smoke stain on the ceiling, an extremely indignant cat (as if he is the one put out by all this!) and a miserable miniature PE teacher curled into the corner of the couch with his face hidden in a cushion.

  When the others had left, he choked out that all he’d ever wanted was to be a PE teacher, and that if he lost his job, he’d be nothing. He wasn’t even angry anymore; he was heartbroken. I didn’t know what to say to him, so I just kept on apologising, uselessly, over and over again. He cried himself to sleep. I feel terrible.

  I don’t know if it was Phoebe or me who threw the first spark. But I can’t hide behind a child. I am responsible for this, and I have to swallow the consequences. Tomorrow morning I’ll take the Bullfrog straight to MM’s office, tell her that I hexed him, and hand in my resignation.

  I feel…nothing. Like I’ve been hollowed out. I can’t even cry.

  Monday 26 May, 7.40 am

  The Bullfrog is refusing to come to school with me.

  What am I supposed to do? I can’t shove him back into the cardboard box and make him go. Can I?

  Monday, 5pm

  Oh, Phoebe Martin! That extraordinary Phoebe Martin!

  I’m…overwhelmed. I can’t get over what she did. What courage. What integrity. And for such a quiet kid, she’s got a surprising flair for the dramatic, too.

  I went into MM’s office as planned, carrying the Bullfrog Steve hidden in his cardboard box. He finally agreed to come with me when I told him that the school couldn’t legally fire him for being small, but they could fire him for not showing up to teach. I don’t even know if that’s true, but it worked.

  I confessed to everything. I didn’t mention Phoebe; I just told MM that I lost control and hexed Steve by mistake. MM reacted exactly as you’d expect. She said I’d proven myself unfit to be a teacher. That I was a threat to the reputation of the school, and a danger to everyone around me. I clenched my teeth and took it all. It was only when she stuck out her hand and asked for my staff ID card that I felt the tears start to prickle and burn.

  And then Phoebe appeared.

  As in, appeared out of thin air. Eyes first, then the rest of her, right beside me. I nearly choked. She must have been in the room the whole time.

  MM went pale and gasped, ‘Phoebe! What are you doing?’ She looked wildly from Phoebe to Steve, and I could almost see the thoughts spiralling through her brain: Now he knows Phoebe’s a witch! Will he work out that I’m one too?

  Phoebe didn’t answer her aunt. She turned to Steve and said, ‘Ms Stitch didn’t shrink you. I did. I lost my temper when you were mean to Rose, and I threw a spell at you. I shouldn’t have done it, and I’m sorry.’

  Is it true? Did Phoebe do it? I think she really believes that she did. But I wonder…was it all her doing, or was some of the magic mine? I don’t know. But what I do know is that Phoebe was brave enough to confess.

  MM closed her eyes, grimaced and said, ‘Phoebe, why?’

  It was one of those questions where you don’t actually expect an answer. But Phoebe jumped right in and gave one. Not to MM, though. To Steve. She looked down at him and said, ‘Because you bully us, Mr Bullen. You yell at us and call us names and put us down, just because you’re bigger than we are. I got mad, and I guess I wanted to show you what it feels like.’

  Steve put his face in his hands. When he finally looked up at Phoebe, there were tears in his eyes and his voice caught in his throat. He said, ‘I know. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I already know what that feels like. And I should know better.’

  Then he told her how his dad used to yell at him. How he berated him for being too slow, too clumsy, too chubby, too soft. ‘And now I’ve done the exact same thing. I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to be like him.’

  Emotional scenes are clearly not MM’s thing. By now, she was looking properly frazzled. She said in a strangled voice, ‘Right! I’m glad we’ve got that sorted. Phoebe, turn Mr Bullen back now, please.’

  Not so simple, I’m afraid. If this were a fairytale, Phoebe would have waggled her fingers and – ta da! – Steve would be transformed from frog to prince, and we’d all live happily ever after.

  Unfortunately real life isn’t quite so straightforward. Phoebe couldn’t do it. She’d already tried everything. And I mean everything.

  It turns out there weren’t four witches in my apartment on Saturday night. There were five. Four grown adults, and one invisible witchling who’d found my address, crept out of her bed and flown across the city to join the party in time for Full Moon. But even when she combined her powers with ours, the hex wouldn’t budge.

  MM was so shocked, she had to sit down. She stammered, ‘Phoebe! You can’t just…Your parents—’

  I know she wanted to give Phoebe a tongue-lashing about Invisibility Etiquette, too, but with Steve in the room she had to keep her lecture to herself. She massaged her temples as if she had a splitting headache and said, ‘I suppose I’ll just have to…manage this. All of it.’

  So there is some ‘happily ever after’ after all. Steve and I get to kee
p our jobs. And when we’d all walked out of MM’s office, Phoebe turned to me and whispered, ‘Thank you.’

  No, Phoebe Martin. Thank YOU.

  Steve perked up remarkably on the way home. He said that if he’s going to be small forever, he might as well work out the best way to do it – starting in the kitchen. I’m pretty sure he was about to make a nasty crack about my cooking, but then he stopped himself. He said that he’d really like to help make some meals, and maybe he could show me a few new recipes as well. Hmm. A new and improved Steve Bullen? We’ll see.

  In any case, we’re both still employed, and that deserves a celebration. Fish and chips, and eggcups of cranberry juice all round!

  Tuesday 27 May

  Melody ‘Manage It’ Martin does not mess around. Today a letter went home to all parents about Steve’s ‘condition’. The letter was signed Clarence Biggins, Principal, but it was definitely MM who wrote it. I could hear her voice in every word. Seriously, does Principal B do any work around here??

  This is what it said:

  Dear families,

  Re: Mr Steve Bullen, Specialist Teacher (Physical Education)

  As some of you may be aware, our specialist PE teacher, Mr Bullen, experienced an accident last week. Mr Bullen has recovered well, but he is now significantly altered in size. This is likely to be a permanent condition.

  Mr Bullen is a highly valued staff member, and I am pleased to announce that he will continue in his role teaching PE at the school. We will make all necessary modifications to our facilities so that the school remains a safe, accessible and welcoming environment for people of all sizes.

  I trust that staff, students and families will demonstrate sensitivity and respect as Mr Bullen adjusts to his situation.

  Sincerely,

  Clarence Biggins

  Principal

  Steve starts back at school tomorrow. There was plenty of chatter in the staff room today, with everyone speculating about what had happened to him and what he would look like. As soon as I walked in, the whispers stopped dead. They obviously thought I had something to do with it, which was a reasonable enough guess.

  Only Ben and Priya actually fronted up and asked me about it. Priya said, ‘Go on, what did you do to him?’ I said, ‘Nothing,’ which is possibly the truth. They didn’t believe me. Ben elbowed me in the ribs and smirked, ‘Wicked witch!’ He never liked the old Steve. But I wonder whether the new one might surprise us all.

  My class wasn’t nearly as interested. For them, tiny Mr Bullen was old news. Nobody even asked me when he’d be back. I guess in their minds he doesn’t really exist outside of PE class. Maybe they don’t think I exist outside school hours either – although they’re still very interested in the private life of my cat. They would have loved the story about Barnaby terrorising Steve, but of course I didn’t tell it.

  Steve is making us dinner right now. He spent his entire day off going up and down the stepladder, rearranging everything in the kitchen and rigging up steps and ropes and pulleys so that he can cook. Lucky he’s got all those muscles – the utensils are nearly as tall as he is. I’m relieved to see that Barnaby has stopped tormenting him. Mr Greedy Guts knows better than to chase away the only decent cook in the house.

  PS – Steve said it was obvious that I haven’t been exercising my arm properly. He was shocked that I hadn’t gone back to the hospital to see the physio. I told him why, and he offered to do some exercises with me at home instead. He has no idea if it will help with my magic, but at least it will get the arm moving properly again.

  Wednesday 28 May

  Steve’s first day back was tough. The ‘sensitivity and respect’ aren’t exactly overflowing so far. Someone called him ‘Bull Ant’, and of course the nickname caught on right away. The Preps couldn’t stop giggling when he lifted a basketball over his head and toppled backwards. And during the lunchtime stampede, a Grade One kid tripped over him in the corridor and almost squashed him.

  I’m happy to say that my class behaved better than most of the others. I gave them a Talk first thing, and told them that I would be extremely disappointed if any of them treated Mr Bullen with any rudeness or unkindness whatsoever.

  Blake objected that Mr Bullen was always horrible to them, and Eleanor asked why I’d hexed him in the first place, if it was so important to be nice to him. Tricky questions, but I was prepared. I said that both Mr Bullen and I had learned a lot from this experience, and that everybody would treat one another more respectfully from now on. How’s that for a smart answer? I looked over at Phoebe, and she gave me a grateful smile. Whew. Top marks for managing it, Ms Stitch.

  Steve didn’t manage things quite so well. By home time he looked like he’d spent the past seven hours fighting off a mob of Barnabys. So when we got back to my place, I gave him a few handy tips for getting through the school day in one piece. I never thought I’d be giving teaching advice to anyone, least of all a PE specialist. But I do know a thing or two about surviving school as a teacher who is…out-of-the-ordinary. True, I’ve never been the size of a cat. But I am a witch, which is probably even weirder.

  In return, Steve showed me how to make a really good stir-fry. After dinner we did my exercises, and then spent the rest of the evening swapping school stories and poring over the IDEA catalogue. There were loads of handy steps, stools and gadgets that would make life easier for Steve. I think he might stay here for a bit.

  Thursday 29 May

  You’ll never believe what Steve just pulled out from under the fridge.

  A little card, with this written on it:

  I nearly choked.

  Steve gave me a wicked grin and said, ‘Turn it over.’

  On the back were two initials: CB

  CB. Not SB for Steve Bullen. CB. It took me a good minute before I worked it out. I’d seen those initials before, signed at the bottom of staff bulletins. CB. Clarence Biggins. Principal Clarence Biggins!

  Steve was laughing so hard, he was crying actual tears. Principal Biggins, enchanted by Zelda Stitch! Ha ha ha!

  I let him have his fun (‘Biggins and Zelda, sitting in a tree, M-A-R-K-I-N-G!’), and when he’d finally stopped hooting with laughter, I told him the truth. The awful truth that had just dawned on me.

  Principal B is in love…with my mother.

  The card has got to be from those roses. Mother didn’t buy them for me. Of course she didn’t. Principal B gave them to her!

  This explains why she’s been so secretive all term: she’s been sneaking around having romantic trysts with my boss! She didn’t just unhex him, she ‘enchanted’ him while she was at it! And now I understand why Principal B has been avoiding me. He’s not afraid. He’s embarrassed. As well he should be! This ‘romance’ is the most gruesomely embarrassing thing ever. I’m cringing just thinking about the two of them spooning around together like a pair of love-budgies!

  Steve laughed at me some more and said it was actually very sweet. ‘Who would have thought Biggins had it in him, the sly old dog?’

  Ew. Gross.

  Even Barnaby is disgusted. Or possibly jealous. He’s always been Mother’s favourite, and now she’s off lavishing all her attention on some Ordinary.

  PS – There is some good news. No blowout! I didn’t let off so much as a spark, not even when I had to read an actual love note from my boss to my mother! I don’t know if it’s the meditation or Steve’s exercises or both, but in the epic battle of Witch vs Arm, it looks like the witch is finally winning!

  Friday 30 May

  I’ve been keeping out of MM’s way all week, but today I couldn’t avoid her. We’d already arranged to have our camp preparation meeting in my classroom after school. When Steve and I arrived, MM was there, waiting. The smell was there, too, and it seemed even more pungent than usual. It actually reminded me a bit of spent-magic fumes. I’d warned Steve that my classroom was kind of stinky, but he laughed and said this was nothing, just wait until I smelled the camp toilet block after Mystery Mea
tballs.

  Steve has already designed the entire camp program. He is ‘totally pumped!’ for the whole thing, despite being less than a quarter of the size of the monster children he’ll be leading. Brave or foolish? It’s hard to say.

  As for MM, I can’t imagine that Ms Perfect Ponytail is a huge fan of the Great Outdoors. But every teacher has to do at least one camp, and I’m pretty sure MM picked this one so she could keep an eye on me. As usual, she’s plonked herself in for more work than anyone else, supervising not only twenty kids, but also a gung-ho goblin and a wonky witch. I bet Principal B doesn’t have to do a camp. He doesn’t seem to do anything, apart from mooning around after my mother.

  Anyway, as if MM didn’t have enough on her plate, at the end of the meeting the rats started up again in the roof. MM turned a sickly shade of pearl. Steve did, too: those rodents sound like they’re almost as big as he is.

  I said to MM, ‘We really need to do something about these rats.’

  To which MM replied: ‘There. Are. No. Rats.’ Then she picked up her things, strode out of the room and slammed the door.

  I think the pressure is finally getting to her.

  I’m feeling a bit under pressure myself. Camp is less than two weeks away, and I am definitely not prepared. Not for swarms of biting insects, feral children, wet socks and gastro explosions. I don’t even own a sleeping bag. And what kind of pyjamas does one wear so as not to look like a dork in front of one’s students?