by Anna Myers
Stewart knew he had been rotten to Ham, and he wondered if Ham would wait for him before gym class, but there he was at his locker as usual. It was best to act normal. "Hey, what's up?"
Ham shrugged, "Just hanging, waiting for you." They walked together toward the gym. Before they went down the steps to the dressing room, Ham grabbed Stewart's arm. "Take out that stuff, and spray yourself. I'm telling you."
"Okay, okay, but it isn't magic." Stewart took the bottle from his pocket and sprayed.
Sure enough Brad was already in the dressing room when they got there. Stewart barely glanced his way, but it was clear from the look on Brad's face that he was furious. Ignore him, Stewart told himself and he bent to untie his shoes. When he raised his head, Brad was there in front of him.
"Stay away from Taylor." Brad grabbed Stewart's shirt, yanked him up from the bench, and pulled him close. Brad's nose began to twitch. "What's that smell?" His voice became calmer, and he let go of Stewart's shirt.
"Let's take it easy," Stewart tried not to let his voice shake. "Hey," Stewart was thinking hard. "If a girl doesn't want you, you sure don't need her. Right?"
Brad chewed for a second at his lip. "Well... there's a whole gang of girls who have the hots for me."
"Why sure," Stewart said. "No need to fight over a girl. They're everywhere." He reached out and gave Brad's shoulder a friendly little punch.
"It's the cologne," said Ham when Brad had moved away. "Hang on to that bottle."
It was true that Stewart seemed magic again as they practiced. Every ball he put up found its home in the hoop, and he killed them on defense, too, taking away the ball and moving with it toward his team's goal.
"Son," said Coach Knox after practice. "What is it with you? We all have our better days, but you're like two different players. We've got to figure what it is that makes you so hot on some days."
Stewart gave the coach a sort of shrug and walked on, but Ham was right behind him. "We know what it is," he said. "Witch power!"
"It is not." Stewart swallowed hard, afraid he might cry. "It just can't be."
• EIGHT •
On Tuesday the Rams played the Bulldogs, from a neighboring town. "Now, Wright, this is your chance to start," the coach said to Stewart before the game. "Show us you can deliver in the real thing like you've been doing in practice." Walking across the court, Stewart felt good. He made his first shot. The second one missed, but all his others swished through clean and beautiful. Just before halftime, the score was twenty-three to twelve in favor of the Rams, and eighteen of those points belonged to Stewart. He could hear the cheerleaders chanting his name.
When the buzzer sounded, the team headed down toward the locker room. Ham caught up to Stewart on the stairs and followed him to his locker. "Hey," Ham said when Stewart opened the door, "you got that spray in here?" He reached for the bag.
"Sure." Stewart pulled his bag away and stuffed it back in the locker. "It always makes a person feel more confident if he doesn't stink." He turned his back and began to do some stretching exercises.
"Come off it." Ham moved around Stewart so they were facing each other. "The stuff is magic, and you know it. What I want to know is are you going to share it with me?"
Stewart stared at him. "You just can't admit that I'm becoming a great player." Maybe he'd really be better off without Ham.
Ham made a snorting sound. "Sure you are. Sure you are." He gave Stewart an angry look. "So what will it hurt to spray me?"
"Okay, okay!" Stewart grabbed up the bag, took out the bottle, and shot the stuff all over him.
"Pew," someone yelled. "Enough of that stuff. You're polluting the air!" Stewart walked to the back of the dressing room to join Brad and Jake.
"All right," said the coach when the team went back out after half time, "let's make some substitutions." Everyone knew the team was far enough ahead so that the coach would let some of the second-string guys play. "Ham, you go in for Wright." The other starting players were taken out too.
Stewart gave Ham's hand the good luck slap. "You've got the magic," Stewart said, but he did not smile.
Right off, Ham dropped the ball. Next time he got his hands on it, one of Henderson's players stole it from him. He never even got a chance to shoot because he couldn't lose the guy who guarded him. The scoreboard showed that Henderson was gaining.
"Stewart," the cheerleaders yelled. "Put Stewart back in."
Stewart knew the coach wasn't likely to be guided by cheerleaders, but he must have been planning the move anyway because in just a few minutes he motioned for Stewart to come down to talk to him. "Ham," he said to Stewart, meaning who was to be replaced.
When Stewart ran out onto the court, he pointed to Ham. There was no good luck slapping of hands. Stewart did not try to hide his sarcastic look.
After the game, the team gathered around Stewart, congratulating him and celebrating their victory. Brad even invited Stewart to go out for pizza with him and Jake.
Ham sat alone on the end of a locker room bench. His head was down, and he looked miserable. Stewart was ready to be friends again. He walked over to Ham and flipped his towel against Ham's shoulder. "So, I guess you know now it isn't the spray, huh?"
Ham looked up. "No," he said, "I still believe the spray is magic, but I know now it's magic just for you, your special formula. But you know what, Wart, I feel sorry for you. You want to be a good basketball player, and you want to be popular. You want those thing so bad you don't care how you get them." He shook his head. "Hope you have someone to pick you up when it's all over." He shrugged. "But it won't be me, man. I won't be picking you up."
"You're a poor sport, Hamilton," Stewart said. "You can't stand to see me winning." Ham stood up then and walked out of the dressing room without even saying "See you."
At home that evening, he sent Sammi an e-mail. "Okay, I've done it. I probably won't be hanging around Ham and Rachel much in the future."
Sammi fired back, "Great! You're on your way to being popular! Life is going to be fun, Cuz!"
Stewart stared at the words. It was true, he was on his way. He wished he felt better. From that day, life for Stewart was different. Ham no longer came around the corner to walk to school with him. On the first day, Stewart waited for quite a while, just in case. Then realizing Ham must have cut through the other way, he walked alone. At school, he looked up as he passed the library and through the glass walls he saw Ham and Rachel sitting together at a table. Probably studying witchcraft, Stewart thought, and he wished he could throw something at them.
The next couple of weeks, he spent lots of time with Brad and Jake, and at lunchtime, he ate with them and Taylor at the cool table. He told himself that he didn't believe the business about the cologne, but he was never without it either. When his supply ran low, he went to Ms. Gibbs's room. "I'm not out," he said, "but I . . . you know, don't want to take any chance."
"Oh no, you don't want to run out of this." She reached into the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a large bottle. "I won't be here much longer teaching. You will have to be sure to replenish your supply at home."
"Not here?" Stewart took the bottle from her. "Why won't you be teaching?"
She sighed. "Oh, I don't know, this job is hard work. I may look for something easier. Of course after your father and I are married, I'll probably want to stay home, at least for a while." She closed the desk drawer. "Maybe Mr. Harrison will be coming back soon."
In the hall, Stewart moved slowly. Ms. Gibbs's words kept going through his mind. "After your father and I are married." What's wrong with you, he asked himself? You knew they were going to get married. You even told Dad it was okay with you. Still, he hardly had the strength to walk.
The girls' restroom was across and just down the hall from the art room. Stewart looked up to see Rachel coming out of the door. He did not expect her to walk over to him, but she did.
"You," she said, and her face showed her disgust, "have a right to know
what I just observed."
Stewart knew Rachel was about to say something unpleasant. He considered walking on, but he knew that Rachel wouldn't let him get away. "I guess you're going to tell me?" he said.
"I certainly am. That is, if I can get it out without throwing up." Rachel moved to lean against the wall. A sort of shudder passed over her. "Taylor! I just saw your dream girl, Taylor, in the restroom." She looked at Stewart with an expectant expression, but when he didn't say anything, she went on. "She was in there practicing. Looking in the mirror, peering back over her shoulder to see if her rear swayed just right when she walked."
Stewart didn't know what to say. He hadn't had any experience with girls or their rears. "So, you think that's bad?"
"Think that's bad!" Rachel's voice was loud, and Stewart looked around, relieved that no one seemed to be paying attention. Rachel's face had turned red, and for a minute Stewart thought she might tear into him with her fists like she had done once when they were little. She didn't hit him, though, not with her hands. "You make me sick," she said really low and mean this time. "You both make me sick, you and your rear-shaking girlfriend."
"She's not exactly my girlfriend," Stewart said weakly.
"She will be if the witch's cologne keeps working."
Now it was Stewart's turn to get angry. "Drop the witch stuff. My Dad and Ms. Gibbs are getting married."
"Okay, believe it isn't the cologne then, if you want to." Her face was twisted with anger. "If it isn't the cologne, it's because you're suddenly such a hotshot ball player. Why would you want a girl who never looked at you when you were just plain Stewart? I used to think you were pretty smart." She stomped away leaving Stewart thinking it might have been easier if she had just hit him with her fists.
That evening he walked home slowly, thinking about how Ham and Rachel were both mad at him. Rachel was already home and playing with the puppies on her front porch. She did not wave at Stewart when he walked by, just pretended she saw no one.
He and Rachel had had arguments before, but he could not remember a time when they didn't speak to each other. It was true he didn't want to hang around with Rachel at school, but not even speaking was too strange. Stewart felt miserable. Maybe he would go in, get Georgia, and go over to Rachel's house. Rachel liked Georgia. She would talk to Georgia, and she wouldn't be hateful to Stewart in front of his little sister. Maybe while they were there he could think of a way to get Rachel to be his friend again.
Georgia was watching TV in the family room. "Want to go over to Rachel's and look at the puppies. They're just about big enough for us to bring one home."
Georgia didn't move, and Stewart tried again. "Rachel's got the puppies out. Let's go."
"I'm not getting a puppy, and I don't want to play with them anymore." Georgia did not take her gaze from the TV.
"You aren't getting one? Why? Who said?" He went to sit beside her on the couch.
"Wanda doesn't like dogs. She says they're smelly and don't make good pets. She knows some people who have special kittens, and she's going to get one for me."
He reached out, put his hands on either side of her face, and forced her to look at him. "Why? You've been planning to get one of the Dots for a long time. You don't have to change your mind because someone else doesn't like dogs."
"I want a kitty," Georgia said. She pulled herself away from him and folded her arms across her chest.
There was another surprise after his father came home. Stewart went into the kitchen, planning to talk to Dad about the puppy thing, but he forgot it when his father made an announcement.
"Today was Wanda's last day at your school." Dad was at the stove dishing up chili for supper. "She just called and said Mr. Harrison will be back tomorrow."
Stewart reached for his bowl, but he felt odd, like he might not be able to hold it. It's almost like the idea just came to her today that she wanted Mr. Harrison well, and now he is well enough to return.
"Oh boy," squealed Georgia. "Wanda can stop being a teacher and be our mommy!"
Stewart looked at his dad, expecting a comment, but he said nothing, just put Georgia's chili on the table, leaned down, and gave her a little hug.
Stewart tried to laugh. "Man, Mr. Harrison got over his crack-up sooner than I thought he would. He seemed pretty far gone, and now just the day Ms. Gibbs tells me she's tired of teaching, Harrison recovers. It's kind of funny, don't you think?"
Dad sat down to eat. "Oh, not so strange. I guess they can do a lot for mental breakdowns with medicine these days." He smiled. "Wanda talked to him herself. He told her they had asked him to stay on at the hospital to teach art to disturbed patients. He claimed he turned them down because it was so dull and normal at the hospital. He prefers the really crazy atmosphere at the middle school."
Georgia and Dad went on talking about Wanda and how now she would have more time to spend on the big Thanksgiving dinner she was planning to cook for them all. "I'll put up the pictures of Pilgrims and Indians," said Georgia, "and make a turkey centerpiece."
Stewart could see that his sister was getting excited. Last year Martha had taken her shopping for little Thanksgiving cutouts for decorations and shown her how to make a turkey from a brown bag.
Dad held out his hand in a stop motion. "Now, wait a minute. We've got plenty of time, Thanksgiving is still a week and a half away. Wanda is planning to cook at her house. Let's let her get in on the decorating plans."
"No!" Georgia jumped up and stomped her foot. "We have Thanksgiving at home."
Dad had always made a big deal of having holidays at home. Stewart thought it was because their mother was dead that his dad worked a little harder to give Georgia and him a sense of tradition. The idea of having Thanksgiving dinner at Wanda's didn't appeal to him much either. He felt glad that Georgia would pitch a big enough fit to put a stop to it.
"No!" Georgia said again. She sat back down then and began to eat, but the determined look did not leave her face.
Later Stewart brought up the subject. Georgia had gone upstairs, and Stewart and his father were cleaning up the kitchen. "Guess Wanda won't mind cooking over here when she finds out how important it is to Georgia. Will she?"
Dad shook his head. "No, problem. Wanda will talk to her and change Georgia's mind. Haven't you noticed how marvelous Wanda is with her? She can get that little girl to do anything. It's one of the things I like about the woman."
Stewart felt weak, and he sank into a kitchen chair. It was true! Stewart hadn't thought about it, hadn't even really seen it, but it was true. Wanda Gibbs could handle Georgia like a charm. Dad thought it was Wanda's wonderful way with children, but Stewart did not believe it. The whole thing made him feel sick. Wanda Gibbs was changing his little sister's personality, and Stewart didn't like it.
In a sort of a daze, he climbed the stairs. He wanted to talk this over with Ham or Rachel. He'd try Rachel. Maybe she had gotten some of her anger out of her system when she yelled at him earlier. He took the phone, and slid down the bed to sit on the floor.
"Ms. Gibbs won't be the art teacher tomorrow," he said quickly when Rachel said hello. He thought that piece of information might be interesting enough to keep her from hanging up on him. "Mr. Harrison is coming back."
"Oh yeah?"
"Ms. Gibbs told me today she was getting tired of teaching and maybe Mr. Harrison would come back, almost like it was her idea for him to be well. Besides that, listen, Rachel, the woman has been messing with Georgia's personality, changing her. I don't like that, not Georgia. She'll do anything the woman suggests and—"
"Stewart," Rachel broke in, "are you saying you finally believe Ms. Gibbs is a witch?"
"Georgia even changed her mind about the puppy because Ms. Gibbs said dogs are smelly and make too much noise."
"She did? She really talked Georgia out of taking one of the Dots?" Rachel's tone was unbelieving.
"Easy as pie."
"Well, that should settle it for you all right. Georgia wou
ld never give up the puppy, not on her own. Oh, you know something? I've always heard witches don't like dogs because dogs know about them."
"I don't know," he said, "I just can't make up my mind about her. It seems crazy to believe she could really be a witch."
"Well, of course, there's Taylor to consider too."
"What does Taylor have to do with this conversation?" he snapped, and then he was sorry for his tone. He didn't want to make Rachel mad again.
Her voice was gentle though. "Stewart, don't you see she has everything to do with it. If you admit Ms. Gibbs is a witch, you'll have to give up Taylor and being a basketball star. If you decide your little sister is more important than basketball or a girl who knows how to wiggle her bottom, let me know." She put the receiver down without saying good-bye.
• NINE •
At school the next morning, Stewart went first to the art room. Mr. Harrison was in there. Stewart stood in the doorway and called, "I'm glad you're back." Mr. Harrison looked up and smiled. Stewart stayed just a second, looking in. He liked the art room without Ms. Gibbs. Was it his imagination, or was there something different in the air without her? Would that Wanda Gibbs atmosphere soon be in his own home? He gave himself a little shake and moved on.
Things were back to normal in the art room, but not in the rest of his life. From the beginning, each day was wrong. He missed walking with Ham. They'd traveled to school together since kindergarten first in one or the other parent's car and then, when they were bigger, on foot. Now Stewart looked down a lot as he walked, and the three blocks seemed more like three miles.
At school, he did like being part of the popular gang. It was fun to know that even Sammi would approve of the way seats got saved for him at lunch by the "right" people. Kids treated him differently, he thought, now that he hung out with Brad and Jake and got waved at and smiled at by Taylor.