“You see, Alex,” Mr. Feldstein said. “Ms. Bettendorfer didn’t require your assistance after all.” He motioned for Olivia to sit down and told her, “Your gallant admirer Alex wanted permission to search for you, since he felt some mishap must have occurred on your way to school.”
A middle-aged man in a dress is making fun of me, thought Olivia. How weak is that?
“We had just been about to discover who I am today,” said Mr. Feldstein. “Any guesses, Olivia?”
She tried to think of some woman with red hair. “Lucille Ball?”
“Not an entertainment figure, although actresses have played me many times on television and in motion pictures. Most recently, Judi Dench.”
“Oh.” Olivia knew that. “Queen Elizabeth.”
“Excellent!” Mr. Feldstein seemed impressed, but after all Judi had won an Oscar for her performance. Mother had been to the party.
Muffin raised her hand. “Mr. Feldstein, I don’t think that’s correct,” she said, smirking in Olivia’s direction. “Queen Elizabeth doesn’t have red hair.”
“We are not discussing the woman who is queen today,” Mr. Feldstein said. “I am portraying Queen Elizabeth the First.”
“Well, Olivia didn’t say that,” said Muffin. Really, Olivia didn’t understand how Muffin had been allowed to live this long.
Mr. Feldstein waved this away. “Queen Elizabeth the First ruled England from 1558 to 1603,” he said. “She was known as the Virgin Queen, because she never married.” Somehow it always gets back to sex, Olivia thought.
“Can anyone think of a state that is named after her?” Mr. Feldstein asked. After a wrong guess at Elizabeth, New Jersey (a city, not a state), someone came up with Virginia.
“Correct,” said Mr. Feldstein. “The first attempt to establish an English colony was called Virginia, in the queen’s honor, by one of her favorites, Sir Walter Raleigh. This was a time when England was looking overseas for colonies and also saw the production of many great plays at home. Does anyone know the name of one of the people who wrote those plays?”
Mr. Feldstein looked around, but he was hoping for a little too much intelligence, until Olivia remembered the name of the movie in which Judi Dench had won the Oscar: Shakespeare in Love.
Olivia was definitely earning brownie points with Mr. Feldstein, who actually raised his skirt and skipped across the room when she announced the answer. “Right, right! And who was Shakespeare’s friend and rival?”
Olivia had no idea, but she noticed that Madison was glaring at her, clearly annoyed that Olivia was hogging the spotlight. That was enough to make her want to keep her streak alive. The title page of the book she’d been reading popped into her mind, and she blurted out: “John Dee?”
That stopped Mr. Feldstein in his tracks. He took a lace handkerchief out of the sleeve of his dress and pressed it to his nose. Olivia could smell perfume on it. “Well...” he said, “I was thinking of someone else, but... how do you know about John Dee?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I just read something about him, that’s all.”
“He was not Shakespeare’s friend,” Mr. Feldstein said firmly. “Not at all. Shakespeare often depicted witches in his plays as sinister people. That was wrong, very wrong.”
The class was paying closer attention now, as it became clear that Mr. Feldstein was on the verge of wigging out. They were like hyenas sensing that fresh meat may soon be available.
“He was a witch?” Olivia asked timidly.
Mr. Feldstein gave her a look as if she’d just wandered in from an alternate universe. “John Dee? Yes, a witch. Well, a magus, which is the same thing really. Just more powerful.”
“Magus?” Olivia prompted. Everybody else was silent, wondering where she was going with this.
“Magus. A magician. It is said that he was responsible for calling up the great storm that blew the Spanish Armada off course, finally destroying it. That, as everybody knows, saved England and put it on the path to world domination.”
Mr. Feldstein looked wide-eyed at something in the back of the room, something startling. Olivia turned around. Alex had raised his hand, evidently a rare moment in school history. Speechless, Mr. Feldstein pointed at him.
“Like the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants,” Alex said.
Even Olivia understood by now that Alex saw everything in terms of the X-Men, but it was too big a stretch for Mr. Feldstein. His face looked like it was collapsing. “For the rest of the period, read the section on Elizabethan England on pages 40–45 of your books,” he said. He sat behind his desk and breathed deeply from the handkerchief.
After the bell rang, Alex hurried to catch up with Olivia. “I was worried about you,” he said.
“I was only late, Alex,” she said. “You’re not responsible for me.”
“I’m glad you’re here, though,” Alex replied. “You’re a good expiration for me.”
Expiration?
“You were answering all Mr. Feldstein’s questions, and volunteering and all,” he said, “so I made up my mind I could do it too.”
“Oh, inspiration,” she said. “I was your inspiration.” She laughed. “I’m not so sure Mr. Feldstein appreciated it. Look, Alex, we’ve got to talk.”
“We are talking,” he pointed out.
“Well, yes, but I mean we should have a more serious talk.”
“Are you going to volunteer in Ms. Noyes’s class too?” he asked.
“Well, maybe,” Olivia responded. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you know Madison says we should go on strike.”
“On strike?”
“You know, not answer and just say ‘I don’t know’ if the teacher calls on us.”
“Why would we do that?”
“Because Ms. Noyes is making us memorize the poem. If nobody memorizes it, see, what can she do?”
She stopped walking and tugged him to one side of the corridor. “Alex, I’ve already memorized the poem. And I’m going to recite it if she asks me.” She took a deep breath. It’s not your responsibility, she told herself. Don’t do this. But then she remembered Tilda’s advice: Assume control. Easy for her to say. She was a witch.
“Alex, I want you to memorize the poem too.”
He laughed as if he understood she was joking. “I couldn’t do that.”
“Why? Because Madison says so?”
“No, because it’s too hard, that’s all.”
“You remember all these things about the X-Men.”
“Well, that’s completely different.”
“How is it different?” she said. He let go of her hand and started walking toward Mr. Haber’s classroom. She went after him, reminding herself that it would be better to let him go, now that she’d found something that truly frightened him.
“You could do it if you wanted to,” she said.
“It’s hard,” he protested again.
She took a deep breath. “I’ll help you,” she said.
That stopped him. He turned around and looked at her. “Really?”
“Yes.” Yes, yes, anything to keep Madison from running the school.
He gave her a sly look. Olivia was surprised. She didn’t know Alex could do sly. “Would you help me at home?” he asked.
“Um, we’ll talk about that,” she said, forcing herself not to fling her arms around him and say, Yes! Let’s go now! Instead, she said, “Let’s begin at lunch.”
If anybody was refusing to answer in Ms. Noyes’s class today, Ms. Noyes herself didn’t notice. She did most of the talking. When the students arrived in class, she had already written the new poem on the board. She started to explain it line by line. Olivia could see other students texting on their cells, but she had no desire to start another conversation with Alex—and least not one where spelling was necessary. Ms. Noyes ended the class by reminding the students that she would expect them to have the poem memorized by the following day.
At lunch Olivia and Alex sat with Dul
cimer and Paul again. While Alex went to get the pizza, Olivia asked them, “Did you hear that Madison wants to get everybody to refuse to memorize the poem Ms. Noyes assigned?”
“Even we have been informed of that,” said Paul. “Though we’re outcasts.”
“Well, are you going to?” Olivia asked.
“We’ll probably memorize it, just to be weird,” Paul told her. “But we won’t volunteer.”
“Ms. Noyes is too nice for Madison to do this to her,” said Olivia.
“I’m sorry to tell you that Ms. Noyes’s career at the Knickerbocker is likely to be a short one,” said Paul.
“Why?”
“Madison’s father has already called my father to see if he would join the parents’ campaign to get rid of her.”
Olivia’s face must have shown how stunned she was, because Paul said, “That’s the way things are done at this school. Ms. Noyes shouldn’t have pointed out that Madison’s father didn’t know about education.”
“Well, but why did he call your father?”
“Paul’s father is loaded with money,” Dulcimer said. “He sits on the school’s board of directors.”
“You’re such a gossip,” said Paul.
Olivia turned to Dulcimer. “Did he call your father too?” She was starting to wonder if Aunt Tilda had been called.
“No, I’m only a scholarship student,” Dulcimer replied.
“But her parents are brilliant musicians,” Paul said.
“Thanks for reminding me,” Dulcimer said in an angry tone.
“I didn’t mean anything,” Paul told her.
“Sorry. I’m just in a bad mood because we’re having music class this afternoon,” Dulcimer told Olivia. “And I suck at any type of music.”
“It’s the same way with me and my mother,” Olivia said, trying to be sympathetic.
“Are you kidding?” said Dulcimer. “Your parents are freaking movie stars.”
Alex, unfortunately, chose this moment to return with the pizzas. “Your parents are movie stars?” he said.
Olivia sighed. “Dulcimer was only joking, Alex. I live with my aunt. Who’s a witch,” she added, just to see their reaction.
“She’s a witch with a capital B,” said Paul, trying to help.
“She is, though,” said Olivia.
Smiling, Paul replied, “Then you should have no trouble taking care of Madison.”
Olivia blinked. That’s right, she thought.
When Alex told the others that Olivia was going to help him memorize the poem, they thought it was sort of a joke—something Olivia had thought up to chase Alex away. They started making humorous suggestions of ways Alex might remember the lines. Olivia wasn’t paying much attention; she was thinking of the Dr. Dee book in her locker. If she could understand it, maybe there could be some spell she could use....
A sentence in the conversation at the table suddenly brought her back to the present: “Olivia’s going home with me to help me memorize.” Who said that? Oh, Alex, yes, of course.
Paul and Dulcimer stared quizzically at her, waiting to see how she would get out of this plan. Then Olivia realized that Alex’s house would be the ideal place for her to study the Dr. Dee book. She wouldn’t have to worry about Julius spying on her there. “Alex,” she said, “I’ll have to get my aunt’s permission.”
He nodded. “I’ll just tell your driver. He has to do what you want.”
“Well, maybe not my driver,” she said.
“Leave it to me,” Alex said, with surprising confidence.
Gym class was a little more boring than the day before. The teacher had decided to organize the girls into volleyball teams. Olivia was completely lost at this, but her role in the games was more or less to stand around and watch. Okay by her. She didn’t even work up a sweat and decided to skip the shower. After she dressed, however, she saw Madison speaking to the gym teacher, who walked over to Olivia and said, “I understand you haven’t taken a shower.”
“I didn’t need one,” said Olivia.
“It’s basic hygiene,” the teacher responded. “You might offend others if you sit next to them in class.” Yes, if they have sensitive noses like Madison, thought Olivia.
Madison gave her a little smile from across the room as Olivia began to undress again.
Because of that, she was late for the next class, which turned out to be music. For some reason, the boys went to choir practice twice a week while the girls were expected to learn how to play instruments. The teacher, Mrs. Foley (“Please don’t address me as Ms.,” she announced. “I have a husband.”), wore a dress that looked as if it had been high style in the 1940s, with a brooch on the front that reminded Olivia of a tarantula with moldy stones on its back.
Some of the students took private lessons and had brought their own instruments. For those who were at a lower level, Mrs. Foley handed out little plastic flutes that she called recorders. Olivia was surprised to see that Dulcimer was one of those with a recorder.
“Don’t stare,” Dulcimer muttered as she took a seat next to Olivia. “The only musical instrument I can play at all well is an iPod.”
Mrs. Foley took it for granted that everyone could read music. Fortunately, Olivia had learned how when her mother was rehearsing for a musical. The teacher divided the class into groups, giving sheet music to each. The elite students—Madison and friends—made up the string section. Mrs. Foley asked Madison to play a violin solo of the entire piece they were going to practice. Madison wasn’t bad, Olivia had to admit. But the way Mrs. Foley gushed over her performance made you think she was one of the all-time great violinists.
Leaving Madison in charge of practicing with the other students who had string instruments, Mrs. Foley turned to the group who only had recorders. For absolute newbies like Olivia, she started by demonstrating how you played the scales on the little flute. Olivia didn’t find that too difficult. Now Mrs. Foley tested each girl by having her play a few bars from the sheet music. “Your tempo is off,” she told Olivia. “Faster.” She kept time by nodding her head vigorously.
That was nothing compared to the way Mrs. Foley treated Dulcimer. “Tone, Dulcimer, tone!” she kept repeating, and even though Olivia didn’t understand what “tone” meant, the result was that Dulcimer kept playing louder, blowing harder into the flute, and getting redder in the face.
Finally Dulcimer reached the end of her piece. “I don’t think you’re trying,” Mrs. Foley told her. Olivia doubted that. Dulcimer looked out of breath from the effort she had made.
“Try it one more time. With feeling now,” Mrs. Foley said. The other students in the recorder group fidgeted nervously and Olivia thought even most of the girls in the string section were paying attention to what was happening on this side of the room.
Dulcimer appeared to be pumping herself up for another effort. She kept taking deep breaths, then finally clamped her mouth down on the flute and began to play.
“Tone!” Mrs. Foley called almost at once. She nodded her head back and forth, keeping time. The music became a little louder. It wasn’t just tone, Olivia thought. When Dulcimer played, the sound was different from what anybody else managed to produce, even if the other person wasn’t particularly good. You had the impression from listening to Dulcimer that she hated the music and wanted to stomp it into submission.
“Tone!” cried Mrs. Foley. Dulcimer increased her efforts, but the music only got louder—not better. In fact, it was getting pretty shrill, since that was what happened when you blew into a recorder really, really hard.
Mrs. Foley never gave up, though. She kept shouting “Tone!” and nodded her head more and more emphatically.
Olivia, sitting next to Dulcimer, could see tears were flowing down her face. But she didn’t give up.
“You aren’t trying,” shrieked Mrs. Foley, who by now resembled a mentally disturbed bobble-head doll.
Without thinking, Olivia put her hand out and grabbed Dulcimer’s arm. “Stop it,” she sai
d. She turned to Mrs. Foley and said, “She is trying!”
For a second, Mrs. Foley seemed too stunned to react. Then she pointed at Olivia and said: “Detention!”
Detention?
Mrs. Foley headed for the teacher’s desk and began rummaging through the drawers. “Where are my detention slips?” she muttered.
Dulcimer was rubbing her eyes with a handkerchief, trying to recover. The girl on the other side of Olivia leaned over and said, “They used to keep kids after school in detention as a punishment. That was about a million years ago, and they stopped doing it, but Mrs. Foley forgets.”
Olivia saw Madison go over to Mrs. Foley and say something, evidently reminding her that there were no longer any such things as detention slips.
Mrs. Foley came back to the recorder group and looked down her nose at Olivia. “What is your name?” she asked.
Olivia had already told her, but she repeated it: “Olivia Bettendorfer.”
“I don’t recognize that name.”
“I’m new.”
“I mean your last name. I know most of the families who send their children to The Knickerbocker. They are among the city’s most prominent.”
Dulcimer, having recovered a little, poked Olivia. Olivia knew what she meant. Tell her who your parents really are.
“I’m visiting the city,” said Olivia. “My parents live in Iowa.”
“Are you in the habit of correcting the teachers in your school there?”
Assume control. “Only when they’re being cruel,” Olivia responded.
Mrs. Foley looked as if somebody had slapped her. “It is not cruel,” she said in a loud voice, “to encourage someone to attain their potential.” She turned her eyes on Dulcimer now. “The potential that coming from a musical family has given them.”
Nobody had a response to that, but at least Mrs. Foley moved on to other things and didn’t ask Dulcimer to play again.
In the hallway after class, the girl who told Olivia about detention came up and said, “That was pretty cool. Nobody ever disses Mrs. Foley like that.”
Be Careful What You Witch For Page 9