by Anna Myers
"Don't mention that in front of Rachel, Ham. Rachel wouldn't like it, and we need her help to figure this all out." Ham didn't say anything. "Okay? You hear me, Ham?"
Ham shrugged. "Okay, okay. Don't get excited."
"Sure," said Stewart. "Getting involved with a witch isn't anything to get worked up over." He turned to go toward English class.
Somehow, he kept his mind on the lesson about gerunds, and he was surprised by how interested he was in the earthquake discussion in science class. How could he concentrate on school right now? Maybe Ms. Gibbs had already cast a spell on him. "There she is," Ham said to Stewart as they walked toward third period art class.
Stewart didn't say anything, couldn't form a word in his totally dry throat. Ms. Gibbs stood beside the door and watched them move toward her. Squirming, he imagined her eyes shot fiery darts into his body. He ducked his head, studying his shoes as he shuffled forward. Even Ham was quiet. Just before they got to the room, Stewart dropped back to follow Ham.
He was so close to Ms. Gibbs that their shoulders almost touched, but he did not look up. "How nice to see you, Stewart, or is it Wart?" Her words were almost a whisper. She reached out, and for just a half second, she touched his shoulder, ever so lightly. "You must decide, you know."
It was the longest class Stewart had ever suffered through. Each time Ms. Gibbs turned his way, he pretended to be absorbed in drawing. He put his energy into hoping she did not come to stand beside him, and she did not.
When the bell rang, Stewart bolted out the door, leaving his art stuff for Ham to put away. He headed straight to the cafeteria. Ms. Gibbs wouldn't come in there to talk to him in front of everyone. Still, he kept looking back as he stood in line. He chose an empty table and sat facing the door. He did not want to be surprised. After what seemed like a long time, Rachel and then Ham came to join him.
"Did she say anything to you?" Stewart asked when Ham had dropped his tray on the table.
"Nope. Didn't even look my way." Ham sat down. "You going to eat that corn dog?"
"No, but don't get any ideas about the chocolate cake."
"What we have to get ideas about," said Rachel, "is a plan of action."
"I'm even half hoping I don't get to play in the game at all." Stewart started on the cake. "I don't want her putting some kind of spell on me." He shifted on the cafeteria bench. "Do I?"
Ham shrugged. "Look at it this way, if she's determined to help you, why not go along with it? I mean, it isn't like you have much choice about having her in your life. You might as well get some good from it."
"Or some proof," said Rachel. "If you go along with her, maybe we can get some proof that she's a witch." She twisted her face. "You know, I've got a feeling her power has something to do with that green necklace. She's never without it." She nodded decidedly. Stewart studied his plate and wished he could be as certain of anything as Rachel always was.
In gym class Coach Knox was all hyped up over the game. He even called the team, "men" in an effort to build their confidence. "When you're out on the court this afternoon in the middle of the action, remember you're a Ram, and you're representing us all," he said in a tone like they were going out to save the nation. "It's a big responsibility."
"Don't look so worried, Wart," said Brad to Stewart under his breath. "You probably won't have to be in the middle of the action. Not much happens on the bench."
Stewart just looked at him. He wondered why Brad had turned so mean, but maybe it was just so he could use the nickname. Stewart had to admit the use of that name would be hard to resist. Oh well, Brad couldn't get to him, not now. What did Brad Wilson know about action? Had he ever battled a witch?
The game was right after school. Stewart kind of got into the spirit of things during the warm-up, really felt pretty good out there in his red and blue uniform, representing the whole school. He enjoyed passing the ball and shooting even though he only made it once out of five times. Then he saw his father come in with Ms. Gibbs. Stewart hadn't mentioned the game to his father. Why should he? He certainly didn't expect to get to play. Ms. Gibbs must have told him. Dad waved at him, and Ms. Gibbs gave him a thumbs-up sign. Stewart turned away and pretended he hadn't noticed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw them settle on the very first row, just where she had told him she would be. Stewart didn't feel so good anymore.
Brad was right about Stewart not seeing much action. For the first three quarters he warmed the bench. Even Ham got to play while Brad picked at the dirt under one fingernail with the nails on the other hand. About the middle of the last quarter when it was pretty certain the team was going to lose anyway, Coach motioned for Stewart. "Come on," he said, "you can go in for Brad."
Stewart's heart was pounding. Brad gave him a dirty look when he touched his hand to signal that Brad was being replaced, but Stewart didn't care. It was his first time to play in a real ball game, and he liked the feeling. Without even thinking about it, he glanced at Ms. Gibbs. She waved to him, then rubbed her green necklace.
That's when it started! The other team had just put up an unsuccessful shot. Time for the rebound. Suddenly, like he was jet-propelled, Stewart shot up above the others and grabbed the ball. It was as good as a dream, the way he drove down that court, moving from right to left, dodging their defense, like the other players were kindergartners. He made that layup so easily, him, Stewart Wright!
The crowd was cheering really loud, but the miracle wasn't done. The kid who took the ball out threw it way over Stewart's head. Somehow he jumped higher than he had ever imagined he could, intercepting the pass. That ball felt perfect in his hand, a natural part of him. He started toward the basket, but they were all around him, five of them, determined to block another layup.
A quick glance at the clock told him seconds were precious. There was no one to pass to. A shot from that far was ridiculous, but what else was there to do. For a split second, he glanced toward Ms. Gibbs. He aimed and threw. The ball swished into that net like it had been programmed by a computer.
"Yeah, Stewart! He's our man!" He'd know that cheerleader's voice anywhere. It was Taylor Montgomery.
"The buzzer sounded. Stewart's team had lost the game, but his three points made the score much more respectable.
Most of the guys gathered around him. Even Brad slapped him on the back. "Great lucky streak, Wart," he said.
"Coach should have put you in a lot sooner," said Jake.
As Stewart walked off the court, the coach motioned him to come over to the bench. Coach put one foot up on the bench, and he put an arm around Stewart's shoulder. "Good going, Wright," he said, "real good going."
Stewart's head was swimming as he headed for the dressing room. It really was like a dream, and he remembered the one he'd had the week before about him and Ham's grandmother winning the race. You couldn't have played like that by yourself, a voice whispered in his mind, but Stewart didn't want to think about Ms. Gibbs. He wanted to enjoy what had just happened.
The coach talked to them before they got dressed. "We lost the first one, men," he said, "but we learned some things about our strengths and weaknesses." Stewart could feel some of the guys looking at him.
After the talk, Stewart started to change his clothes. He had untied one basketball shoe when Ham dropped the bombshell. "Well, looks like Ms. Gibbs is a witch, all right. We've still got to get close enough to spy."
While Ham talked, Stewart didn't move, just stayed bent over halfway to the floor. He felt cold, like he'd just been thrown into an icy pool. Ms. Gibbs! He had to admit to himself that she was behind his great improvement on the court. Still, he didn't want to talk about it, not even to Ham.
"Right," was all he said. He fastened his attention on untying and tying his shoes like he was just learning. He did not want to think, but the glow inside him was definitely less bright. Coming up the steps from the dressing room, Stewart kept his gaze down. He didn't want to look toward where Dad and Ms. Gibbs were probably still sitting, waitin
g for him. When he was on the top step, his father's voice forced him to look up. "Here's our star," he said, and Stewart was surprised to see it was Martha, not Ms. Gibbs who waited with his father.
He wanted to run to Martha and hug her, but instead he gave her a big smile. "Wow," he said, "I didn't know you were here."
"I came in near the end, but I saw the important part." She reached out and gave him a quick hug. Stewart wanted to hold on to her and beg her to marry his dad and come home with them.
His father reached over to punch him on the shoulder. "Some game, Stew," he said. "Wanda had to leave, but she wanted me to congratulate you for her."
Stewart ignored the mention of Wanda Gibbs and smiled at his father. He felt good. Dad was pleased over his playing well because he knew it made Stewart feel good. He wasn't one of those fathers pushing his kid to be an athlete so he'd have something to brag about to his friends. Dad had always been great to him, no matter what. Stewart resolved to tell Ms. Gibbs he didn't want her help anymore. He didn't want her near his father either.
He decided to make a suggestion. "Hey," he said, "let's go home and get Georgia and all go out to eat. Gran can put tonight's supper in the fridge." He could see from the look on Martha's face that she liked the idea. They both looked at his father.
"Georgia's missed you." His father looked down, embarrassed.
"We all have," Stewart added quickly.
"Yes," Dad laughed, and he seemed to relax. "We've all missed you."
"Let's go to the Stagecoach," Dad suggested. "We'll meet you there after we pick up Georgia." It was a burger place where all the booths were shaped like stagecoaches.
"You know," said Martha to Stewart and Georgia at the restaurant when their father went to the restroom, "this is where your father and I came for our first meal together. It wasn't a date, just a chance to grab a bite after a meeting we were in together." Her voice sounded sad.
Stewart felt miserable. "Martha," he said, "I'm sorry I didn't want you to marry Dad. I was acting like a baby."
His hand rested on the table, and Martha reached out to pat it. "You've grown up a lot lately, haven't you?" she said.
Dad came back just in time to hear that. "He really is growing up, isn't he?" Georgia played quietly with her toy horse while the others spent some time then talking about Stewart's future. It wasn't just pressure talk about making good grades. Martha and Dad were asking questions about his interests and making suggestions about professions.
"You've always loved history," said his father. "You might want to be a college professor, too, or work in a museum."
Georgia looked up from her play. "You could be a doctor."
"Nah," Stewart shook his head. "I don't like blood."
"Well, then you could be a psychologist," suggested Martha.
"Would you treat me for free?" His father grinned slightly.
"I'm not sure you can wait that long, Dad," Stewart said.
They were all laughing when the waitress came to take their order. "It's nice to see a happy family," she said. They didn't correct her, just smiled at each other. Stewart hated to see the meal come to an end. They all walked out together. It was a beautiful fall night. Stewart moved as slowly as he could, hoping that Dad would say something about seeing Martha again, but he didn't.
All the way to the car, Stewart kicked at a small rock in the parking lot. Before getting into the car, he gave it one last kick and watched it bounce under the car parked beside theirs. No one said much on the way home. He started thinking, of course, about Ms. Gibbs. Had she really made him play so well? When he was on the court, did she rub that necklace of hers? He wondered if she would be powerless if she lost that thing like Rachel seemed to think. Was there a chance they could get their hands on that green stone? "Necklace." He said it aloud without realizing it until his father spoke.
"What?"
He had to think quickly. "Reckless, I was just saying I can't get reckless with the ball because I made one three-pointer. Even though it was dark, he had to turn away from his father. Lying wasn't his best skill.
"Oh, I don't know." Dad laughed. "They'll probably be calling you Magic Wright pretty soon."
Stewart put his head back against the seat. "It did seem like magic, all right." Of course, his father had no idea what he meant. It wouldn't do him any good to try another round at convincing him that Ms. Gibbs was a broom rider. He had to get proof, had to get his hands on that necklace. But how?
"Think I'd better go up and hit the algebra book," Stewart said when they got home. At least that was the truth. He had an algebra test tomorrow. The idea of being a psychologist had been just talk, but something about it had sparked his interest. Anyway, it was true that he was going to high school next year, and it was time to get serious about his schoolwork.
The next day started off great. Stewart had just put his books in his locker when he realized Taylor was standing beside him. He was so shocked he could barely get out a "hi."
"I liked watching you play yesterday." She was wearing a blue sweater, and he thought she must be the most beautiful girl on the planet.
"Thanks."
"I'm having some kids over on Friday night, you know Halloween." She leaned on the locker next to his. "Are you doing anything?"
" I . . . I don't think so." He closed the locker door pretty hard on his hand, but it didn't even hurt.
"Don't injure yourself." She was batting her eyes at him. "The team needs you. I mean, really!" Then she was gone.
"Don't injure yourself," said a mocking voice from behind him. He turned to see Rachel glaring at him. "No, don't injure yourself. Let me do it for you!"
"Hey what are you so fired up about?"
"Stewart Wright," she had her face screwed up really tight. "If you think I'm going to be over at the Gibbs's place risking my life on Halloween night while you trot off to spend the evening making eyes at Taylor Montgomery, you're even crazier than I thought you were." Without waiting for him to say anything, she stomped off.
"Oh wow." He rested against his locker. His life had sure become complicated since the day Mr. Harrison went bonkers and climbed into the supply closet.
At lunch he tried to smooth it over with Rachel. He held out his hand to stop her when she started to walk by the table where he sat with Ham. "Wait," he said, "you didn't give me a chance to explain. Sit down, so we can talk."
Rachel settled* across from him, but her face was not friendly. She sat there leaning on her elbows, one eyebrow raised. Her brown eyes made him feel uncomfortable, partly because she was glaring at him, but partly too because for the first time ever a strange thought came to his mind. Rachel was pretty! Really pretty. He wasn't quite comfortable with the thought.
He gave his head a slight shake to clear his mind. "I didn't know for sure that you guys were really planning to go to Ms. Gibbs's house on Friday night, but if you are, of course I'll go too."
"That's good of you." Rachel rolled her eyes.
"We haven't even talked about what to do over there," said Ham.
"I know what we'll do," said Stewart. His voice was strong, and there was a tone of determination to it. It was, he noticed, enough to make Rachel warm up. She leaned toward him. "The necklace," he said. "We're going for that necklace."
"That's her power. I'm sure of it." Rachel had totally forgotten about being mad.
Stewart pounded his fist against the table. "Okay, team," he said, "let's get that necklace!"
Before anyone had a chance to say anything, Stewart felt a touch on his shoulder. "Oh, Stewart," Taylor said, "I wanted to say you could bring your friends." She used her hand to indicate she meant Rachel and Ham. "Andrew, isn't it, and Ruby?"
"You can call me Ham. It's my nickname on account of my last name being Hamilton." Ham grinned up at Taylor.
"And you can call me Rachel." There was no smile on her face. "On account of it's my name, as you hear every day in English and geography class."
"Sorry," said T
aylor, "but anyway, Stewart, you can bring your friends, whatever their names are. The more the merrier, right?" She patted Stewart's shoulder and without waiting for an answer she moved away. He had to pull his gaze from her swaying hips.
"Man oh man, we've been invited to Taylor Montgomery's party. Are we going?" Ham's voice sounded hopeful.
"We are not," said Rachel. "She knows my real name." She made a face like she tasted something bad. "No one can be that stupid." Then she shrugged her shoulders. "Or maybe you guys think we should drop everything and run over to Taylor's. After all, Stewart might like living with a witch and a frog."
Women! Stewart groaned inwardly. Sometimes he thought they were all witches, but he certainly didn't say anything. He really, really needed Rachel. Why did Rachel hate Taylor? Maybe he'd write to Sammi to see if she could explain it.
Stewart was on his way to algebra when he looked up to see Ms. Gibbs coming toward him. What the heck, he thought, why shouldn't he give it a try? It would be a way to find out for sure if she was a witch. He took a deep breath. "Ms. Gibbs." It was the first time he had ever started a conversation with her, and she seemed surprised and pleased, giving him a big smile.
"You should call me Wanda. Of course, not in class, but when we're alone."
"I was thinking about, you know, what you said." He was beginning to get itchy all over. Maybe it was nerves, but he wondered if she was causing it.
"What was that, Stewart? I'm not sure I know what you mean."
He wasn't sure he knew what he meant either. Of course she had on that necklace, all sparkling like her eyes. "About helping me and everything." His head itched so badly he had to scratch it.
So there he was standing in the hall acting like a dog with fleas. "Are you referring to my offer to give you some pointers on girls or basketball?" She seemed less eager now to be his buddy.
"Yeah, both, sort of." Stewart scratched around his waist. "Except that what I really need help with right now is algebra. We're having a test next period."
"Stewart," she sounded like just a regular teacher, not someone who wanted to be his mother. "I don't know a thing about math. It's been years since I had math. A liberal arts major, you know. Besides," she frowned and shook her head in disapproval, "don't you think it is a little late to ask for help with a test next period?"