I Put a Spell on You

by Adam Selzer

  She wrinkled her nose, like she was saying they named their kids Dirt, Garbage, or Idiot. I thought Starflower sounded like a nice name, actually. Maybe I’ll change my name to Starflower when I become a hippie myself.

  “Did this kid smell bad?” Mom asked. “Hippies always smell bad.”

  I wanted to say “Not ALL of them,” but I didn’t. I guess I hadn’t really met any in real life, and you can’t tell how someone smells based on TV.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “He was wearing a tie and a blazer.”

  “Well, they aren’t hippies, then,” said Mom. “You won’t catch them wearing a tie. Was he foreign?”

  “Didn’t look like it.”

  “Well, then, I guess his parents are just weirdos. You should be able to beat him without too much trouble, right?”

  “I suppose so,” I said, though I really had no idea. We drove along in silence for a bit. “Hey, Mom,” I said. “Did you know they didn’t even have spelling rules when Shakespeare was alive?”

  “Who told you that?” my mother asked.

  “Mrs. Jonson, the faculty sponsor.”

  “That sounds like a myth to me, Jennifer. How could anyone even learn to read if they didn’t have spelling in the first place?”

  “She said people just spelled things however they thought they should be spelled, and people knew what they meant. She says Shakespeare even spelled his name in different ways.”

  “Hmmm,” said my mother. “Do you think she’s just trying to psych you out?”

  “What would she do that for?” I asked.

  “Well, maybe she’s the person Marianne bribed for the word list, and she paid extra to have her sabotage other people. She’s trying to get it into your head that people can spell things however they want, so you’ll stop caring about spelling rules. Oh, that’s sneaky of her!”

  “I don’t think she’s being sneaky, Mom,” I said. “Why would she do a thing like that?”

  “Jennifer,” my mother said with a sigh, “you’ve got a lot to learn about how the world works. There are good people out there, of course, but the corruption goes all the way up to the top, probably even at Gordon Liddy. It wouldn’t be the first time in history that a teacher was trying to sabotage other students. Maybe the Cleavers are paying her. Or maybe Mutual’s parents are in on it somehow.”

  “Or maybe it’s the truth,” I said. “Maybe they really didn’t spell things in certain ways back then.”

  “Well, you can ask people at the next Shakespeare Club meeting, then,” said my mother.

  I was pretty sure she was just being crazy. I mean, surely no one was crazy enough to go around bribing Mrs. Jonson, right? I wished it was Shakespeare Club night, so I could find out for sure. But I wasn’t sure WHERE the heck I was going that night. I had lost track.

  “What activities do I have today?” I asked.

  “You have indoor soccer at seven,” said Mom.

  “Can I skip it tonight so I can work on spelling?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, Jennifer.”

  “Please?” I asked. “Why do you keep making me play sports that I don’t even like?”

  “Parenting today is like developing a product,” she said. “We’re not just raising you, we’re getting you ready to be marketed to colleges. It’s what we did with Val. She signed up for everything, and that helped her get into a great school!”

  Apparently it didn’t occur to Mom that it might hurt my feelings to be treated like I was a new kind of cola. But it did. It always had. What was going to happen if I didn’t win the bee? Would they change my formula? Get me a new look? Discontinue me?

  They’d probably discontinue me, in a way. They’d send me off to military school, have another kid, and hope it’d be a better speller. I didn’t think Mom would ever let Dad sign me up for military school over missing the recycling club or indoor soccer, but the bee was another matter. If I didn’t even make it to districts in sixth grade, the year Val went all the way to nationals, they might decide it was time for drastic measures.

  “But the spelling bee is the most important one right now, right?” I asked.

  “I suppose so,” said Mom.

  “And I want to study for it as much as I can,” I said. “The colleges won’t know that I missed two weeks of indoor soccer. It can still be on my application, even if I just quit!”

  Mom didn’t say anything for a second. “All right,” she said. “As long as you study spelling. I guess you can miss soccer if it gives you a better chance to win the bee.”

  “And if I go to districts, can I drop a few more of them?”

  She thought about it. “I think that would probably be a good idea,” she said. “I’ll talk to your father.”

  I looked out my window, so she couldn’t see that I was breathing a sigh of relief.

  I felt like I had a pretty good chance of winning. Or at least making it to districts, which was all that really mattered. I guessed that Marianne, Mutual, and I would probably all make it—but I hoped that either Mutual or I was the winner. Anybody but Marianne. I wouldn’t mind losing to Mutual as much.

  In fact, I was kind of fascinated by Mutual. I’m not saying that I had a crush on him or anything, but I’d known every other guy in town since they were about four years old. The very fact that Mutual wasn’t from Preston, as far as anyone knew, made him seem sort of…exotic. In a really weird way.

  Plus, no one else knew this, but he talked to me on the way to recess. A little, anyway.

  On the way to recess, he had asked me what I thought of Henry V, a play I’d never read. I was so embarrassed not to have read it that I hadn’t said anything, I’d just sort of run away. He was probably an expert on Shakespeare. But I was going to read Henry V right away, so I could talk about it with him.

  Finally. Someone I might really be able to talk to in Preston! I don’t want to say I had a crush on Mutual, exactly, but I imagined us going head to head at the end of the spelling bee, and he’d be all impressed with how smart I was, and want to hang out with me every day after that.

  I mean, I like to think I’m friends with everyone in class. We’ve all gotten to know each other really well over the years. But the truth is, there was no one like me in town.

  Brittany is a lot smarter than she acts, but she’s afraid that if anyone sees her jump in a snowdrift, they’ll think she’s weird. And Marianne’s not exactly stupid either, but, well, she’s nuts. I mean, I don’t want to sound like a snob or anything, but sometimes I wished that there was someone in my class that I could go to Shakespeare Club meetings with. Someone else who was into that sort of thing. I wasn’t sure Mutual had ever jumped in the snow, but maybe he’d try.

  I mean, you know what I really hate? When we have to find a partner to work on something in class. Everyone else pairs up, and I start to panic, wondering who will want to work with me. I always wish I could just keep working by myself. But maybe Mutual would be someone I could always pick as a partner in class.

  Plus, I hate to say my mom was right, but his parents probably WERE weirdos. In fact, they were probably just as nuts as mine. Maybe HE wanted to run away and be a hippie, too.

  And, to top it all off, he was a guy.

  No one’s going to see this besides the school board people, right?

  Good. Because I don’t believe in violence, but if this gets out…well, let’s just say that people who read Shakespeare learn an awful lot of interesting ways to murder people, Chrissie.

  That evening I was back on my bed, stroking Falstaff behind the ears as he sat next to me—there certainly wasn’t room on my lap for him, since The Complete Works of Shakespeare took up the whole thing. On the other side of me, the side where Falstaff wasn’t, I had a dictionary. Every time I came upon a word in Shakespeare that I didn’t know, which I did pretty regularly, I would look it up. For once, I actually felt like I was learning stuff, not just memorizing things long enough to get a grade off them. The None of the Above study
ing method was working!

  At seven, my dad called me downstairs. I assumed it was dinnertime, but when I got downstairs, the table was empty.

  “Look, Jennifer,” he said. “Good news. I went to city hall today and got the blueprints.”

  “The blueprints?” I said. “What blueprints?”

  “The ones for the school, silly,” he said. “We’ll need to study them really carefully. This is your ticket to getting a great job when you grow up!”

  I suppose it’s worth noting that my dad does not have a good job, exactly. He works for a big company, but his job is really to follow the boss around and agree with whatever he says. He likes to act like he’s really important, but I know that his real job is being a PBK—professional butt kisser.

  He laid out a large blue sheet of paper on the table, which was like a view of the inside of the school from above. It showed every room, hall, window, door, and bathroom.

  “What’s the point of this?” I asked. “I know my way around the school.”

  “Don’t be so confident, honey,” said my dad. “We can’t leave anything to chance. Now, here’s the office.” He pointed down at the room near the front door, which I knew perfectly well was the office. “Do you know where they keep the word list?”

  “In one of the file cabinets, I think,” I said. “They’re along this wall, here. But two of them are locked, so you won’t be able to get into them anyway.” I pointed to the wall on the blueprint.

  So there you have it. It’s true. I told my dad where they keep the master list, which I guess makes me an accessory to the break-in.

  “I see. Well, how are they locked? Is it just a cheap padlock?”

  This was when I realized what Dad had in mind. I had hoped he was just going to have me do some weird exercise where I concentrate really hard on thinking about the filing cabinet. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing he’s tried. One time some wacko told him that if you listen to Mozart and stand on your head while you study, it helps you learn stuff. He tried to make me study while standing on my head for a good week. That was nuts. But this was the first time he had turned to crime.

  “Dad, please,” I said. “You don’t need to break into the school!”

  “You should be grateful, dear,” said my mother, as she began to set the table for dinner. “Not every daddy would do that sort of thing for his daughter.”

  But I wasn’t grateful. I was horrified.

  I ran back up to my bedroom, got my Shakespeare book out, and tried as hard as I could to just focus on that instead of thinking about Dad. I even opened the window to make the room really, really cold, so the blankets would feel even better. I knew how much it bugged them when I opened the window when the heat was on; they usually came in shouting that we weren’t trying to heat the whole stinking street. I guess it made me feel a bit better to do something that I knew annoyed them, even though I chickened out and closed it again after about five minutes.

  I fell asleep with my light still on, Falstaff at my side, and the book open to Macbeth.

  8

  INTEROFFICE MEMO

  FROM: Mrs. Boffin

  TO: Mrs. Rosemary

  Out of curiosity, why isn’t Mutual taking science? Yesterday he went to the library during science and gym, and today his mother sent a note saying that if I don’t “watch out,” he may end up there for history as well. Are his parents very religious?

  INTEROFFICE MEMO

  FROM: Mrs. Rosemary

  TO: Mrs. Boffin

  I don’t think so—they’re just afraid of germs and blood and guts.

  INTEROFFICE MEMO

  FROM: Mrs. Rosemary

  TO: Principal Floren

  Just had a call from Mrs. Scrivener—she’d like to know if you’re a member of the Brickcutters. You know—those guys who drive the little cars around in the parade. She thinks they’re “in charge of the whole world” and said to tell you that she knows your “tricks and manners.”

  INTEROFFICE MEMO

  FROM: Principal Floren

  TO: Mrs. Rosemary

  Please tell them that I’m only a simple, law-abiding principal. What a wacko that woman must be!

  INTEROFFICE MEMO

  FROM: Mrs. Rosemary

  TO: Principal Floren

  I’ve relayed your message to her. She says that she “knows all about Marianne Cleaver” and how you’ve “groomed her,” but that Mutual will “certainly show you.” I told her I had no idea what she meant—which is true, of course.

  INTEROFFICE MEMO

  FROM: Mrs. Rosemary

  TO: Principal Floren

  Guess what? Mrs. Scrivener called again. She told me that when Mutual wins the bee, all of your “wicked ways” will be exposed. Next time she calls, can I pretend not to be here?

  INTEROFFICE MEMO

  FROM: Principal Richard M. Floren

  TO: Chrissie Woodward

  Please see what you can find out about Mutual’s parents—see what they have against Marianne Cleaver and those guys in funny hats who drive the little cars in the parade. Destroy this message. Eat it or something. I’ll have Doris in the cafeteria slip you an extra cookie. More memos later.

  INTEROFFICE MEMO

  FROM: Principal Richard M. Floren

  TO: Mrs. Boffin

  Have you found out if Mutual is as good a speller as they say?

  INTEROFFICE MEMO

  FROM: Mrs. Boffin

  TO: Principal Floren

  I have told you already that I do not know whether Mutual is as good at spelling as “they say.” And I have told you all I am going to say on the matter—you can find out for yourself on Bee Day.

  INTEROFFICE MEMO

  FROM: Principal Floren

  TO: Cafeteria staff

  I know that the hot lunch today is fried chicken, but I have a terrible craving for hamburgers. Can you please whip some up for me?

  INTEROFFICE MEMO

  FROM: Mrs. Boffin

  TO: Mrs. Rosemary

  As a matter of curiosity, why DID we need to hand in a list of names of children who would be taking the written test? The students found it strange, and so did I. Why is Richard so interested in the bee?

  INTEROFFICE MEMO

  FROM: Mrs. Rosemary

  TO: Mrs. Boffin

  Once again, I must remind you that, as principal, Richard Floren had every right to request the lists for whatever purpose he felt necessary. I do not know the answer, but it is his own business.

  P.S.: Your tone in your memo re: Mutual Scrivener’s spelling skills was uncalled for.

  INTEROFFICE MEMO

  FROM: Principal Richard M. Floren

  TO: Chrissie Woodward

  Does Mutual ever talk about having “connections” with the governor of Illinois?

  INTEROFFICE MEMO

  FROM: Principal Richard M. Floren

  TO: Chrissie Woodward

  Out of curiosity, what would you say the odds are that Harlan can win the bee? I’m thinking ten to one or so. Sound about right?

  INTEROFFICE MEMO

  FROM: Principal Floren

  TO: All staff

  At 4 p.m. on Friday, all staff MUST attend the seminar on bee-related conduct. We will discuss how to prepare our students for the bee and how to prepare them for the local reporters who will be covering the event. Attendance is mandatory. Location will be determined at a meeting over lunch today.

  9

  HARLAN

  infamous—adjective. Having an extremely bad reputation. Walter thought that bringing his collection of scabs to school would make him famous, but it only made him infamous.

  There’s this saying I learned from my cousin Brian. It goes, “You might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.” It’s a really old saying, I think.

  I’m not sure how it started, but apparently a long time ago some guy was going to break into a farm and steal a lamb. Then he realized that if they caught him, they’d hang him. So, instead of a little lamb, he
decided to steal a big sheep. If he was going to be hanged, he figured he might as well be hanged for something good.

  And I kept repeating that phrase to myself over and over while I made my plans for the bee. The spelling bee was such a big deal that anything I did to disrupt it was probably going to get me in major trouble anyway, so I figured I might as well cause a BIG disruption, not a small one.

  What I had in mind was going to be no small operation. And as soon as I got it into my head, I knew I’d need your help, Chrissie. The school trusts you—or it did back then, anyway. And you’d be the only person in class who wasn’t actually IN the bee, so you’d have a pretty good chance at getting to the mixing boards. I was going to need someone who could mess with the sound system.

  So I waited around for you while you followed Mutual out to his car on Wednesday.

  Should I call you “you” in this thing? I know that this is really for the school board, right?

  Okay.

  I waited for Chrissie Woodward while she followed Mutual out to his car on Wednesday. Then, when she started walking back toward the school, I stepped out from behind the bushes where I’d been hiding. I think I scared the crap out of her for a second there.

  “Hey, Chrissie,” I said.

  “Hey,” she said, like she wasn’t that glad to see me at all. She looked down at her notebook and tried to just walk past me, but I stepped in front of her and tried to keep talking. This was important stuff.

  “Finding out much about Mutual?” I asked.

  “Nothing yet,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

  “Hang on a second,” I said. “I have something to tell you. It’s…sort of a secret.”

  Chrissie stopped in her tracks. I’d planned this whole meeting in my head over the last couple of days, and I knew that if Chrissie didn’t seem much like talking, all I really had to do was say something about a secret. She wouldn’t be able to resist that.