by Rob Harrell
We all sat around the radio until official word came that school was still on for the day.
The announcer said the Knight Service had been busy throughout the night and had found no trace of wolves. While citizens were told to stay vigilant, we were encouraged to continue on with our normal activities. The croquet tournament at the castle was back on, and the official word from the king was “Have a Nice Day.”
There was no mention of Miss Flett, which I thought was odd, but I hoped that meant she had turned up.
Kevin was, of course, a nervous wreck—so his parents walked him as far as my house. My dad was heading out the door for the docks and stopped us before we left.
“Zarf. Kevin. I just want you to promise me you’ll be on the lookout for anything odd. It sounds like everything’s fine, but just . . . be careful.”
Kevin jumped and twitched more on that walk to school than I’ve ever seen. He was like a Flotswinian Jumping Mushroom on Adderall.
But he was concerned with how I was doing, as well. “Are you okay?? I mean, that was brutal . . . No offense.”
I sniffed and pulled my hood tighter. “I’m kind of hoping the wolf scare knocked the whole Sierra thing right out of everyone’s brains.”
It hadn’t.
* * *
As soon as we stepped in the front doors, someone let rip with a big whistle and a “HEY, LOVER BOY!”
I turned around and started to walk back out, but Kevin grabbed my sleeve and aimed me back into the school.
As I turned down the main hall, people were turning around to point. Sten Vinders made a big trumpet noise with his mouth and yelled at the top of his greasy jerk lungs. “Make way for the Fancy-Pants Festival King!”
There was a lot more of it—from Sten as well as some others—as I made my way to my locker. I just kept my head down and did my best to tune it out.
We met up with Chester, who tried to play it off like the whole thing hadn’t been that bad.
We walked into first period—Miss Flett’s class: Fable-ometry—and the first person I saw was Sierra. Of course.
She looked up, blew a lock of hair out of her face, and gave me a quick embarrassed smile while she rummaged around in her backpack.
I needed to talk with her about what had happened, but not today. Today was about not dying from acute embarrassment.
The entire class was milling around. I heard someone talking about Miss Flett and realized word must have gotten out about her disappearing the night before.
Roquefort was sitting on his desk like he owned the place and blathering on to his ogre bodyguards and anyone else in the room.
“Was I afraid? Not for a second. I once killed three wolves, you know. With um . . . with only a toothpick.” He was extra full of it this morning. “The wolves have a name for me in their world. Blosh . . . um . . . Bloshdwart.”
Chester plopped into his desk and spoke up. Loudly.
“WHOO!” He leaned back and put his hands behind his head.
I tried to stifle a laugh—remembering my promise to my mom—but couldn’t. I blurted a loud “Hah!”
Roquefort’s head snapped around. Using one of the ogre’s paws like a step stool, the prince climbed down from the desk while glaring at Chester.
Chester rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Okay, Bloshdwart.”
Ignoring him, the prince turned to me as I settled into my seat. That evil grin was back. “I trust you had a lovely evening, Zarf.”
Laughter rippled through the room. Anger started to well up from my feet, but just then the bell rang.
Everyone turned at the same time to look at the empty chair behind Miss Flett’s desk. Miss Flett was never late. She usually blew into the classroom about three minutes before the bell on a cloud of Xeroxed worksheets and spicefruit-scented perfume, but she had never been late. And we all knew it. Everyone found their seats quietly, and I heard Tina Squeegar quietly muttering “oh no oh no oh no” under her breath.
Five minutes later, the class was losing its collective mind. Everyone had moved their desks around and was whispering nervously in little groups. Kevin scootched his desk over to mine. There was a fine layer of sweat on his snout.
“What if the wolves got her, Zarf?” He sat looking out the window for a few moments. “And . . . and if they didn’t, we’re supposed to have our test tomorrow, and I have literally a hundred and fifty questions to ask her before I do my studying!” (Kevin is the only person I know who studies up on how to study for a test. Pre-studying, he calls it. Huge eye roll.)
I was shocked. “How can you be worrying about a test?!”
Kevin looked horrified. “NO, NO! You don’t understand! I’m SO worried that something happened to her. So much so that I can’t even think that way or I’ll have a panic attack! But then . . . if I pretend she’s okay, then I start panicking about the test!! I’m . . . I’m in a panic spiral here, Zarf!”
Like I’ve said, the kid has made worrying an art form.
A few minutes later, everyone clammed up as we heard footsteps coming our way. Our principal, Mr. Haggard, waddled in with a death grip on a to-go coffee from MotherGoose in one hand and the last bite of a jelly donut in the other. There was a small spot of what looked like jelly donut right in the middle of his stomach region. He looked stressed out and kind of sweaty.
“We’re unable to reach Miss Flett. That’s not like her, so we’re obviously concerned. We’ll keep trying. We’re in touch with the Knight Service, and we’ll let you know as soon as we know anything.”
I felt sick. I glanced over at Sierra, who looked stunned.
“I’m certain Miss Flett will show up, so in the meantime, we’re all going to carry on with our day. Right?” Haggard looked around the room from student to student. He stuck the last of the donut in his mouth—clearly a stress eater—and wiped his sugary fingers on his khakis. “In a weird coincidence, we had a new substitute teacher stop in this morning looking for work. So . . . Y’know . . . That was convenient.” He turned toward the door.
The class turned as one to see what the Substitute Lottery had brought us today.
At the risk of sounding like a jerk, Mr. Woolentail was odd. Profoundly so. His voice was high and nasally like he had a cold. And he was a sheep who just barely looked like a sheep. He had an elongated, wrinkly-looking muzzle and his tail looked all out of whack. Here’s a drawing I did.
He just looked uncomfortable in his own skin—or in his own wool, in his case. It seemed to hang on him like a cheap suit.
Something about him made my paws itchy. That’s a weird thing that happens to me when I get a bad feeling about things.
The sub spun around and pumped Principal Haggard’s large hand enthusiastically.
Oh, no. We all quickly realized that this was a substitute of the Over-Eager variety. The kind that would clap his hooves together a lot and try to get us to think of him “less as a teacher and more as a pal.”
As soon as Principal Haggard was gone, Woolentail hopped up and parked his big sheep butt on Miss Flett’s desk.
“Listen, gang. I know some of you are a little concerned about your teacher. But she’ll be fine, I’m sure. And I think we can really have some fun here! I want you to think of me less as a teacher and more as your pal.”
• 7 •
COUNTING SHEEP
Mr. Woolentail insisted we go around the room and tell a bit about ourselves. This seemed like a huge pain, considering this guy would in all likelihood be a one-day sub. But we did it. He slowly circled the classroom as we talked, completely absorbed in our answers—filling the room with the smell of his oddly familiar cologne.
I won’t make you suffer through the “Getting to Know You” exercise, but it was as awkward and soul crushing as you’d expect. The prince went last, and of course his “little bit about himself” lasted for ten minutes.
When that awfulness was done, Mr. Woolentail saw there were only a few minutes left in class. “Does anyone have any questions? I see Miss Flett has a test scheduled for tomorrow.”
Kevin nearly launched out of his desk. “I actually have quite a few questions! Like, will it all be story problems? Will we be required to show our work? Is it multiple choice? How MANY choices? Will it include the material from chapter twenty-six? Will the Humpty Dumpty Theory be covered? Can I bring my inhaler?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Woolentail got up and strolled, smiling, over to Kevin.
Mr. Woolentail leaned down until he was right in front of Kevin’s face. “Someone seems extra nervous about the exam. Perhaps I can help, friend-o.”
Kevin looked a little uncomfortable. “Yeah?”
Mr. Woolentail suddenly straightened up and laughed. “I’ll tell you what, Kevin. After school, I plan on staying around and doing some paperwork. I can take a look at the exam Miss Flett has in her folder. So if you want to swing by after last period, I should be able to—”
He was interrupted by the bell. When it was done ringing, he looked back at Kevin. “How’s that for a deal?”
Kevin collapsed back in his chair, relieved.
I stuffed my books into my backpack, and by the time I looked back up, Sierra was out the door—which I guess was okay, since I wasn’t sure what I’d say to her anyway.
As I left the room, Prince Roquefort slid by and patted me condescendingly on the back. “You really were hilarious last night, troll.”
I couldn’t help firing back at him. I remembered my promise, but it was like my voice had a mind of its own.
The prince froze. His smile disappeared and his little face started turning red. He got up in my face—or as close as he could, being about a foot tall.
“Did you just suggest that I eat butts?” His eyes narrowed. “ME?? The PRINCE of NOTSWIN??”
I clenched my teeth and fought back the urge to stuff his stupid little royal boots down his stupid little royal throat.
The prince pointed one tiny, gloved hand up at me. “You’ll get yours, troll. Someday soon. And when that day comes, I’ll be there watching and laughing. Enjoying it. With a tub of popcorn and a nice big soda to wash it down while I take in the show.” Then he turned and stalked off down the hall.
I was fuming. I had to stand there rubbing my ears and counting to ten, trying to get my troll anger under control so long that I was late to my next class.
* * *
Something about that sub Mr. Woolentail wasn’t sitting right with me. He just seemed . . . unnatural. It was like watching a bad actor in a movie, but I couldn’t put my finger on what was so off about him. I was all lost in thought about this as I entered the cafeteria for lunch. And the lunchroom at Cotswin is one place where it doesn’t pay to have your head in the clouds.
I slammed face-first into one of the school’s larger giants—my nose taking a sharp poke from his studded belt.
While it felt to me like I’d walked into a brick wall, I don’t think the big guy even realized I was there. But my collision hadn’t gone unnoticed, as someone behind me (I think it was Sten Vinders) told someone else, “See? Trolls are clumsy in addition to being stupid and smelly.” It was like they were discussing the properties of cumulus clouds or something.
I let out a low grumble as I clenched my paws and fought hard to not dive over the table at Sten. One good rule of school life is to avoid confrontation in rooms where there is access to pudding. Insults may hurt, but a well-aimed cup of tapioca can gum up your fur for the rest of the day.
I’d forgotten my lunch that morning, so I sulked over to the line for some of Goldie’s porridge. As she slopped my tray, she leaned over the sneeze guard, looking serious.
She whispered, “I don’t mind telling you I’m concerned.”
I told her I thought she’d show up soon, but what did I know? Goldie just looked off and nodded a few times before moving to pour gruel on the next student’s plate.
The fair maiden table was really cackling it up as I went by. Sounded like the post-festival gossip was flowing freely—I just hoped it wasn’t about me or Sierra. I kept my head down as I passed the rugby table—they sounded like they were up to something, and it paid to stay off of their radar when possible.
I took my seat with Kevin and Chester at the end of the long back table. Chester had his face buried in a Knoble Knight comic book. Kevin looked up from gnawing on a dried piece of mutton.
Generally, it was best to keep your fingers and toes away from the table when Kevin and mutton were near each other. So, for Kevin to make this offer, he had to be in a relatively good mood.
“You seem fairly chipper.” I sat down and started emptying packets of sugar on my flavorless, gray government-issue porridge.
“Honestly? I’m still worried about Miss Flett, but I’m just so relieved about the test! I was all tied up in knots about it, but now Mr. Woolentail’s gonna give me the inside scoop.” Then he waggled his eyebrows hard enough to make his snout bob up and down.
I shoveled another scoop of gruel into my mouth. “That guy doesn’t weird you out a little?”
Kevin sat back, looking surprised. Then he shook it off and grabbed another piece of jerky. “Pssssh. You’re jealous.”
Just then, there was a flash of light and a pop to my left. I turned to see Rebb Glumfort sitting a couple of seats down the table. He was by himself, which wasn’t all that unusual. Even the other wizard kids found him a little odd—so we’d told him a while back he was welcome to park it at our weird little table when he needed to.
Rebb, sporting a massive case of bed head, was waving his magic wand over a Fazzle candy bar and a bowl of onion and cabbage soup. I hadn’t even realized he was there. He leaned in and sniffed at the Fazzle bar.
“Looks like it’s still a candy bar, Rebb.” I realized with an inward groan it must be the start of Spell Month in the wizard classes, a thankfully limited period of time that everyone but the magically inclined students dreaded.
“That’s precisely what one would think, wouldn’t one, Zarf?” (This is how he talks, I swear.) “One’s assumption would be wrong. I reversed their appearances. But do not be fooled by this magical tomfoolery! This”—he pointed at the candy bar—“is still a bowl of soup. And this”—he pointed at the soup—“is still very much a candy bar.”
Almost glowing with pride, he broke off a piece of the Fazzle bar.
I don’t usually eat science experiments, but that Fazzle bar looked about a thousand times better than my porridge. I popped it in my mouth and immediately regretted it.
It WAS soup! It felt like a candy bar in my mouth, but there was no mistaking that onion and cabbage taste. It even smelled like soup.
Rebb was laughing. “The spell can exchange all of the inherent physical properties except smell and taste, for some reason. And it lasts for hours. All due to the Copperfield Principle, of course, where the subatomic magical quarks’ effectiveness are limited by an inverse system of . . .” And just like that, I remembered why I don’t spend more time with wizards.
I was rinsing my mouth with my chocolate milk when Kevin, who’d been watching intently, leaned over.
• 8 •
A BIT SLOW ON THE UPTAKE
After last period, Chester and I passed Kevin as he excitedly hurried down to Miss Flett’s room to meet the sub. I had to admire the little nut job’s study ethic.
I was kind of distracted as Chester and I made our way to the treehouse—my mind kept going back to that sub. His over-eagerness. His weird, misshapen body—all lumpy and awkward—like he was smuggling a bunch of elbows under his coat.
Chester tried out a new joke on me. He used me as a test audience a lot, much to my agony.
“Okay. Okay. How do you make a tissue dance?”
I cringed, wond
ering how bad the punch line would be.
I groaned and gave him a courtesy chuckle.
I think we were both avoiding talking about Miss Flett. Chester spent most of the walk telling me about a gnome in his English class whose parents had let him get a tattoo.
“Whose parents allow that? My dad would kill me—or take away my Benny Hill videos at the very least.”
We were approaching the Wishing Tree, and I was doing my best to stay engaged in the conversation.
“It’s like an eagle holding a big ugly wolf in its claws or something. But the thing is huge. It’s maybe six inches tall. Six inches! His entire body is maybe twelve inches tall! The wolf barely fit!”
He was starting to go on, but he must have seen the blank look on my face. My entire body had gone cold. Something about that wolf tattoo had flipped a switch in my brain.
The wolf barely fit.
Big teeth.
Smells like Gramps.
Miss Flett missing.
We stood there at the base of the Wishing Tree in complete silence while all of the pieces fell into place in my brain.
“We have to get Kevin.” I must have sounded like a robot. “We have to get him right now.” Then I unfroze and took off running. Chester didn’t hesitate, and in a moment was running at my side.