That’s a question I don’t want to answer. “Why are you asking me?”
“Sunny is too nice to tell me the truth, and Paige is one of the popular kids who would never join my club anyway. Of anyone I know, you’re the one who’s most statistically average.”
“Thanks a lot!”
“I mean average in a good way! Why don’t you want to be in the Future Flyers club?”
I hesitate, trying to come up with a nice way to say what I think. But I can’t.
Martin gives me a nod of encouragement. “It’s okay, Lacey. You can be honest.”
“Ahh…”
“Please. You’re doing me a favor. Nothing you can say will hurt my feelings.”
I can’t hold the truth back any longer. I blurt it out: “Your club is boring!”
Martin looks like I just stabbed him in the heart, and maybe a couple of other places too. I have hurt his feelings.
“Lacey!” Paige shrieks. “I can’t believe you said that!”
Martin looks at her hopefully. “So you don’t think it’s boring?”
Paige, looking cornered, says, “Well…”
“So you think it’s boring, too. But it’s about jetpacks! People love jetpacks!”
“Well…” Paige continues. “Sure, people love jetpacks…but building them out of leaf blowers just sounds kind of crazy.”
“The biggest discoveries all sounded crazy. People thought cars were crazy, and airplanes were crazy.…”
“But leaf blower jetpacks are crazy,” Paige says.
Martin turns to Sunny, who pretends to be completely fascinated by a poster on the bulletin board about the proper way to sneeze. “How interesting! I never knew you were supposed to sneeze into your elbow. That doesn’t even seem possible. Let’s all try it!”
Martin steps in front of the sneeze flyer. “Sunny, I need to know. Do you think the Future Flyers Club sounds crazy and boring?”
“Uh, no, it doesn’t sound crazy, exactly. And boring can be nice sometimes. A lot of people love boring! If my grandma lived near here, she’d be in your club for sure!” Sunny always means well, but geez. That didn’t sound any better than what Paige and I said.
Martin stares at all of us, offended. Then he pulls himself together. “It’s not boring! It’s exciting, and I’ll prove it!”
Martin leaves without saying another word.
Sunny looks unhappy. “We hurt his feelings.”
“We just told him the truth,” Paige says.
“And that’s what hurt his feelings!” Sunny runs after him. “Martin! Wait up!”
I don’t care what she says to him—there’s no way she’s going to make the Future Flyers Club seem like a good, fun, uncrazy, nonboring idea.
I feel totally confident saying this. After all, I’m statistically average.
There’s a new KEEP OUT sign on my bedroom door, written in scrawly handwriting—as if a little bear wrote it—and underlined three times in three jagged scratches. The door is locked again.
“Katarina! Let me in!” I whisper, hoping Mom doesn’t hear me.
The doorknob unlocks. I turn the handle and wonder what I’ll find on the other side. Will it be a room fit for a bear? And what would that look like? A forest with salmon streams and beehives and picnic baskets to raid?
But it’s not a forest.
It’s an empty white room with one small, white pillow in the middle of the white floor. Katarina sits on top of the pillow with her eyes closed and her bare bear legs crossed in a yoga pose.
“What is all this?” I ask.
“It’s minimalist. Very soothing. And I need soothing! I’ve had a hard day!” Katarina opens her left eye and peers at me. “A fairy godmother needs to be calm and serene at all times.” She begins to chant in a droning voice, “I am calm. I am a petal floating in a stream. I am a cloud drifting through the sky. I am not letting the ineptitude of my student affect my inner peace.”
Katarina manages to be insulting even when she’s being serene.
“I promise to get the spell right tonight.”
“I’ll do my own spells, thank you. You’re not to be trusted.”
I’m about to argue that yes, I am. But wait—this is good! “Well, maybe you should be the one who gets up at midnight. You seem to feel beary strongly about it.”
The “beary” part was pushing it a little too far—she growls at me.
Before Katarina has a chance to start yelling, Mom walks in with an armload of laundry.
I freeze. OMG! She’s going to see what Katarina’s done to the room! Worse, she’s going to see Katarina! She’s going to freak out or scream or faint! Probably all three!
Mom doesn’t do any of these. She walks over to where Katarina’s sitting and puts down the clothes. The laundry floats two feet above the ground, kind of where my bed would be if it were still there. Katarina sits under the levitating laundry, totally unconcerned. This is weird.
“Do you have any more homework to do before dinner?” Mom asks, just as calm as if my room looks the same as always.
Then Julius runs in and jumps on top of the pile of floating laundry. Just like Mom, he acts as if there’s nothing different about the room. Feeling like I’m going insane, I finally manage to say, “Homework? Homework…I’m doing it!”
“Good.” When Mom walks out of the room, I close the door behind her and turn back to Katarina. “What just happened? She didn’t see anything!”
“One isn’t a fairy godmother for hundreds of years without learning a few tricks of the trade. Only you and I can see the spells I’m putting on your room. As far as everyone else is concerned, all of your putrid furniture is still here.”
“But why didn’t she see you?”
“Since your mother still sees your furniture, she can’t see me because I’m under the bed.”
“So if my stuff is all still here, does that mean I can sleep on my bed?” I run over and plop down on it—and tumble backward onto the floor. From my backpack, there’s the sound of something breaking.
Katarina smirks. “No. As far as you’re concerned, your furniture is gone.” Then she closes her eyes and chants, “I am a petal floating in a stream.…”
I peer into my backpack and see that the bed I made for Katarina is smashed flat. Next week in Craft-N-Crunch, I’m going to have to start all over again.
Sigh.
As Katarina chants, sheets of paper magically appear and float around her like petals. I glance at a sheet as it floats by and see the words Only jerks shirk their homework.
“Hey!” I say. “These are my pages!”
“You turned them in to me, so now they’re mine. And they’re not good enough! Your handwriting was atrocious!”
“It was atrocious because my hand almost fell off! You try writing that a thousand times.”
“I don’t need to, because I’m the teacher and you’re the student.” She nods at the swirling pages, and they fall to the floor at my feet. “They’re not good enough. Do it again. Only this time, I want you to write it five thousand times!”
This is so unfair! Katarina is the worst teacher in the world. I’m just being punished because she’s too lazy to teach me anything. No matter how many times I write “Only jerks shirk their homework,” I’m not going to learn a thing from it.
Katarina says, “You’re dawdling! So now I want to see it written out ten thousand times!”
The pages near my feet turn blank; everything I wrote yesterday has been erased.
I’m so mad that I feel like either stomping or crying. I fumble in my backpack for a pencil, but by mistake, the first thing I grab is my wand. I’m about to put it down when I think, If Katarina wants ten thousand sentences now, I’ll give her ten thousand now!
Raising the little wand above my head, I chant, “Write my homework again, a thousand times ten!” When I toss the spell at my pencil, it floats up in the air and then zooms down and starts gliding across the pages almost faster than I can see.
Only jerks shirk their homework appears over and over again, in beautiful handwriting.
As the pages fill with words, I deliberately don’t look at Katarina—but I bet she’s sooo mad. When the pencil finally stops, it’s so hot from all the writing that a little wisp of smoke rises out of it.
I pick up the pages and say, “Ten thousand sentences, just like you wanted!” I expect Katarina to be glaring at me. But instead, there’s a trace of a grin on her lips.
“Now you’ve learned something,” she says. “It certainly took you long enough!”
“What did I learn?”
Katarina just stares at me, waiting for an answer. She finally sighs and says, “If you know when to use it, magic is an excellent tool. And this was a good time to use it.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place?”
“Because I’m a wonderful teacher, that’s why!”
Wonderful isn’t exactly the word I’d use for her.
“Paige Harrington is today’s fashion-do!” Makayla has cornered me and Paige in the cafeteria line to interview us for next Monday’s webcast, while her cheerleader buddy Taylor Margolis acts as cameraperson. “Good work, Paige,” Makayla says. “Those cute shoes you’re wearing make even an everyday drop-waist jersey dress look pulled together! And now, drumroll, please.”
Taylor makes a fake drumroll sound.
Makayla points at me. “Today’s fashion-don’t is Lacey Unger-Ware!” Taylor turns the camera my way, panning up from my tennis shoes to my slightly tangled hair. (Katarina made me late this morning.) Then Makayla looks back at the camera and says, “Need I say more?”
And this is one of the many reasons why Makayla is not my favorite person. Katarina did say that magic is an excellent tool—a tool I could use to turn Makayla into my least favorite animal, the Pacific banana slug. (Look it up if you’re brave. They’re gross.) I’m about to pull out my wand but stop myself. After all, I am on camera. Plus I’d have to carry the Makayla-slug around all day so nobody squishes her, which would be disgusting.
Across the cafeteria, I see Sunny poking her head in through the double doors at the back of the room. Then she puts her fingers in her mouth and whistles her insanely loud whistle. Every single kid looks at her; when Sunny whistles, people notice.
Sunny calls, “Ladies and gentlemen! Please join me in the courtyard for a demonstration from Martin Shembly’s soon-to-be-famous Future Flyers!”
“Do you know anything about this?” Paige asks me.
I shake my head. “Sunny didn’t mention it in homeroom. But she did keep smiling about something.”
Makayla starts pushing people aside to get out the door. “Breaking news! Out of my way! Makayla Brandice on the scene.”
Paige and I—along with all the other kids from the cafeteria—hurry outside to see what’s going on. It seems like half the school is out here. I don’t know what Martin’s got planned, but it better be good.
Makayla talks into the camera. “Hello, Lincoln! I’m here in the cafeteria courtyard waiting for some kind of demonstration from Martin Shembly. I’m sure it’s going to be good.” And then she gives an evil smirk at the camera. Maybe I should turn her into a Pacific banana slug.
Makayla walks over to Sunny and asks in her fake-reporter voice, “Sandy Varden, what do you know about what Martin is planning?”
“My name is Sunny.”
“Whatever. What is Martin planning?”
“I don’t know, but he says it’s going to be cool!”
Martin’s voice booms overhead. “ONE SMALL STEP FOR A MAN…”
Where is he? Everyone in the courtyard looks around, confused. “Up here!” Martin says.
Along with everyone else, I look up and see Martin high in the air, clinging to the side of the school’s old water tower.
The water tower is a historic symbol of Lincoln Middle School. The big tank at the top is painted to look like Abraham Lincoln’s black stovepipe hat, and there’s a flat part at the base of the tank that looks like the hat’s brim. The school stopped using the water tower a long time ago, and the school board talked about tearing it down, but the students got so upset that the tower stayed.
It might be old and rusty, but the Lincoln tower has been on the cover of every yearbook since even before my mom and dad went to school here.
Martin repeats, “One small step for a man; one giant leap for mankind. This is the future of transportation.” Now I notice he’s wearing gray coveralls and a yellow bicycle helmet—and there’s a leaf blower strapped to his back. He shouts, “Jetpacks for everyone! Join the Future Flyers Club and do THIS.” He pushes a button, and the leaf blower roars to life. Then he steps off the edge of the water tower. I gasp, and everyone else in the courtyard does, too.
Instead of falling, Martin glides smoothly toward the ground. Wow! He actually made a jetpack!
Makayla talks loudly to Taylor’s camera: “Exclusive report! Martin Shembly can fly!”
Scott Dearden shouts, “Way to go, Martin!”
WHIRRRRR! Martin glides even closer. But then I suddenly see that he’s not really using the leaf blower to fly—he’s on a zip line. The high end of the line is attached to the brim of Lincoln’s hat.
Martin lands perfectly on the ground and looks proudly at the crowd. Even if it wasn’t a jetpack—that was kind of amazing. And I’m not the only one who thinks so. The kids in the courtyard swarm around him, smiling and excited.
“This was only a demonstration,” Martin says. “So join the Future Flyers and help me turn leaf blower jetpacks into reality!” He waves a sign-up sheet.
Makayla has a sneer on her face. “Breaking news! Fartin’ Martin attempts to punk the entire school! This reporter never believed it for a minute!”
Because of Makayla, the mood in the courtyard shifts in a split second, and Martin tries to get everyone excited again. “I wasn’t trying to punk anybody! I was just showing how cool our club will be!” Martin keeps waving the sign-up sheet, but nobody takes it from him. Makayla’s sneer is like a force field stopping anyone from moving toward him.
But one person is immune to Makayla’s force field: Scott Dearden. He pushes his way through the crowd. “That was awesome! Do you really think we can make a jetpack?”
Martin nods eagerly. “Yes, we can!”
Scott writes his name at the top of the list. “Count me in!”
Next Dylan Hernandez, one of the coolest kids on the basketball team, walks over and adds his name to the list, too. A moment later there’s a line of kids excited to sign up for the club. Martin did it! He grins, ear to ear.
Sunny rushes up to me and Paige. “Isn’t this great?”
I’m just starting to nod yes when there’s a loud cracking sound from the water tower. We look up just in time to see Lincoln’s hat brim cracking apart. The pieces start to crash to the ground, and the kids in the courtyard gasp.
Martin looks horrified. “We can fix that,” he yells. “It wasn’t structural! Nothing to worry about.”
Groaning and creaking sounds rumble from the old tank.
“Probably nothing to worry about,” Martin says.
Rusty, sludgy water starts to drip from the bottom of the tank.
“Still nothing to worry about…but RUN!” Martin shouts. “Run! Run! RUN!”
WHOOSH!
The tank splits apart like a dam breaking. Icky, dirty water spews all over the courtyard. Makayla, who’s now the closest to the legs of the water tower, is swept off her feet. Taylor manages to scramble away—it’s every cheerleader for herself.
Kids shriek and run as more water floods down into the courtyard, turning over the furniture and toppling garbage cans. Sunny, Paige, and I jump up on a planter and try not to get soaked.
“This way, everybody!” Martin shouts. He pulls open the door to the school’s basement—and then there’s one final wave of rusty, sludgy, gross water from the tower. He gets knocked off his feet, too, and disappears down the steps.
Sunny, Paige, and I all scream at once. (And that’s a really, really loud scream.)
But a moment later, Martin reappears, covered in slime and a lot of purple and gold crepe paper streamers. He looks like a soggy homecoming float.
“All the stuff for the school carnival is down there,” Paige says. “Everything will be ruined!”
The cafeteria door slams open, and Principal Conehurst splashes his way out into the courtyard. “What happened here? Is anybody hurt?” Martin’s going to be in such big trouble.
Martin holds up his soaked sign-up sheet in triumph. “Principal Conehurst, I’m really sorry. But look—I have six new members for the Future Flyers Club!”
Thanks to Martin, we have the most exciting lunchtime our school has ever seen. Fire trucks arrive to pump out the water. Ambulances arrive—sirens blaring, lights flashing—in case anybody got hurt. (Nobody did. For a little while, the EMTs thought Makayla had two black eyes, but then they realized it was smeared mascara.) Even the police show up. (More sirens! More flashing lights!)
Martin is hauled off to the office, and for the rest of us, school is canceled.
As Sunny, Paige, and I sit outside on the school’s front steps waiting for Martin to come out, we stare up at what’s left of the water tower. The legs are still standing, but the tank at the top is almost gone. There are just a couple of wiggly pieces of metal up there to show where it used to be.
“I know Martin didn’t mean to wreck it,” Sunny says. “But I loved our Lincoln hat. No other school had one.”
“And now we don’t either,” Paige says.
“Uh-oh,” Sunny says, watching a car pull into the parking lot. “It’s Martin’s mom and dad. They look mad.”
They don’t just look mad, they sound mad. As they walk toward the front door, we can hear them arguing:
“I told you he didn’t have time for clubs! But no, you let him tinker in the basement instead of practicing the violin,” Martin’s mom says.
Martin’s dad shakes his head. “I didn’t know he was going to destroy the school!”
The Spell Bind Page 3