The Witchy Worries of Abbie Adams

by Rhonda Hayter

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  CHAPTER 1 - My Lucky Sneeze

  CHAPTER 2 - My Diorama Dilemma

  CHAPTER 3 - Dad Has Big News

  CHAPTER 4 - Callie Gets Weirded Out

  CHAPTER 5 - My Big Fat B

  CHAPTER 6 - Meet Aunt Sophie

  CHAPTER 7 - An Unexpected Visitor

  CHAPTER 8 - I Have a Little Problem with Bees

  CHAPTER 9 - Do Witches Face Instinction?

  CHAPTER 10 - We Find Out Something about My Kitten

  CHAPTER 11 - Munch’s Meltdown

  CHAPTER 12 - Mom and Dad Get Serious

  CHAPTER 13 - The March Hare Gets on My Nerves

  CHAPTER 14 - Tom Gets Depressed

  CHAPTER 15 - I Get Into Very Big Trouble

  CHAPTER 16 - Three- Time Loser

  CHAPTER 17 - We Find Out Who Tom Is

  CHAPTER 18 - Egg on My Face

  CHAPTER 19 - It All Catches Up with Me

  CHAPTER 20 - A Vermin-Free Home

  CHAPTER 21 - It’s Not All Bad Being a Witch

  CHAPTER 22 - Things Get Scary

  CHAPTER 23 - No More Kitten

  CHAPTER 24 - March Hare Skedaddles

  CHAPTER 25 - A Posse

  CHAPTER 26 - Tom Discovers a Time-Warp

  CHAPTER 27 - A Few Ribbits Too Many

  CHAPTER 28 - Inspiration versus Perspiration

  CHAPTER 29 - Stage Fright

  CHAPTER 30 - The Posse Locates Marach Hall

  CHAPTER 31 - I Hitch a Ride I Shouldn’t Take

  CHAPTER 32 - Dad Gets into Terrible Trouble

  CHAPTER 33 - The Spaceship Incident

  EPILOGUE

  DIAL BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS

  A division of Penguin Young Readers Group

  Published by The Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd) • Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi - 110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd) • Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa • Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Copyright © 2010 by Rhonda Hayter

  All rights reserved

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Hayter, Rhonda.

  The witchy worries of Abbie Adams / by Rhonda Hayter.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Fifth grader Abbie, descended from a long line of witches,

  tries to keep her family’s magic powers secret from

  everyone she knows, until her father brings home a kitten with

  some very unusual characteristics.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-22294-2

  [1. Witches—Fiction. 2. Magic—Fiction. 3. Friendship—Fiction. 4. Family life—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.H314942Wi 2010 [Fic]—dc22 2009016743

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  To my mom,

  who saved all my letters

  because she always knew

  I’d be a writer someday.

  CHAPTER 1

  My Lucky Sneeze

  Come to think of it, the day my brother tried to eat his first-grade teacher turned out to be the same day that my dad brought me home a very, very strange cat.

  The truth is, I really shouldn’t have gone to school that day. I had a big cold and every time I sneezed, I got a floating attack and had to yank myself down off the ceiling. Once, on a double sneeze, I hit my head on the chandelier really hard. I mean, with a runny nose, a bump on my head, and a propensity (good vocabulary word, huh? Means penchant. Look that up. I had to.) for flying upward really fast, you’d think it would be obvious I belonged home in bed.

  But my mom thought my wanting to stay home had something to do with my diorama on the signing of the Declaration of Independence not being quite ready. This was due to the fact that I had gone to ancient Athens to check out the original Olympics rather than sitting around disguised as a pillar while a bunch of old guys in powdered wigs all tried to write their names bigger than each other on some dopey paper. Although I have to admit it was kind of embarrassing how the athletes didn’t wear any clothes back then. And the stench of all those big crowds with no real bathrooms made me pretty glad that my parents were living in the twentieth century when I was born. Anyway, the point of all this is that if I had been home in bed where I really ought to have been if a person’s parents ever listened to her, I wouldn’t have stepped outside of my fifth-grade classroom to try to stop a sneeze at the precise moment that my little brother, Munch, ran outside and started morphing into a wolf.

  Most people think Munch is short for Munchkin because he’s so little and cute, but I actually gave him that name when he was a year and a half old, after having been bitten for the fortieth or fiftieth time. His real name is Lazarus, which really only lends itself to the nickname Lazy, so he’s probably a lot better off.

  Anyway, turns out Munch was a pretty appropriate name because at that moment, he was sprouting hair, growing large teeth, and was about to chomp down on Mr. Merkelson, his first-grade teacher, who was putting him in time-out just outside the front door of his bungalow classroom.

  Thinking fast, I clapped three times and yelled out one of those time freeze spells, “STOP, STOP, STOP, CLOCK!!!” on the whole schoolyard, with an extra paralysis hex for Munch. Unfortunately though, that sneeze I had stepped outside to try to squelch came on just then, “AAACHOOO!!!” and I flew up and got caught in the basketball hoop.

  Just try getting untangled from a basketball net when you’re tall and skinny, your glasses have fallen off your nose, your ponytail is caught up in the hoop, and time has frozen. At least I’m a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl, or else I would have had to deal with my skirt flipping up too.

  I had to think way back to my mom’s instructions on dosing an object with a humming incantation so I could loosen up the net, while keeping everything else bound up in the time freeze spell. Believe me, just then I wished that I hadn’t been worrying about that social studies paper I’d forgotten to write instead of paying closer attention to my mom’s lesson. What was it she said anyhow? Hum for two seconds, close one eye, keep a hand on the heart, and blink three times?

  Well. No. That wasn’t quite right because that just turned the hoop upside down with me in it. It turned out okay though because the sudden rush of pressure to my nose made me sneeze again, causing me to float upward (which in this case was down).

  As I dropped down to the schoolyard ground, I avoided a bad bump on the head by landing on my palms and doing the handspring I had just learned to do in gymnastics class. (And my dad thinks that all this human education is a waste for us witches.)

  I put my glasses back on my nose and looked over at the frozen scene across the schoolyard. There was Munch in mid-pounce, hanging in the air, poised to take a big chomp out of a horrified Mr. Merkelson.

  I had to hurry across the yard because both Munch a
nd Merkelson were starting to quiver a little, a sure sign that my spells weren’t holding and, as my mom would probably point out, an even surer sign that I really ought to spend more time on spell technique.

  Clapping hard and shouting, “STAY STOPPED, CLOCK!!” I cast the time freeze again, really quickly, and then I snatched Munch out of the scene and brought him out of paralysis with a two-fingered whistle.

  Munch’s eyes, which were normally very large, very blue, and surrounded with really long lashes, were now small, yellow, and mean-looking. He stood on his hind legs so that he was as tall as I am, turned on me, and growled viciously. Giving him a shake, I called “Munch! Munch!” a few times until I could see his humanity returning. He got smaller and smaller until he was the appropriate size for an undersized first grader, and all the grayish hair covering his body disappeared, except for on his head, where it turned back into Munch’s light brown curls. Lastly, those yellow eyes turned blue again and filled up with tears.

  “He made me go outside like I was a dog or something,” Munch sobbed. “I felt like biting him.”

  Hey, I understood—I’ve wanted to chomp down on more than one teacher in my day—but I was the big sister and I had to help Munch get through school without letting anyone know that he was . . . well, a little . . . special.

  I gave him a big hug and asked why he was given time-out. “Just wanted her to try yellow!” he wailed.

  Well, that didn’t make a lot of sense to me, so I had to ask a few more questions, but I finally sorted it out. Apparently, it had something to do with Munch eating crayons to be funny and trying to force-feed them to Annalise, this little girl he’s just crazy about. I calmed him down, told him he’d only have to sit outside for five minutes, and that Annalise probably wasn’t mad at him. Then I zapped him up a chocolate cookie, to give him something harmless to chew while he was having his time-out. A quick Hiss-and-a-Whistle forgetting spell on Mr. Merkelson, a Zap! back to my own classroom door, then the time freeze reversal . . . and everything was handled nicely.

  I watched Mr. Merkelson (he wasn’t a bad guy, I had him in first grade myself) gently direct Munch to the bench outside the door, point to his watch to say that he’d be out to get him in five minutes, and then go back inside.

  With a little wave to a still sniffling Munch, who was morosely popping chocolate into his formerly fearsome mouth, I went back inside my own classroom. I brandished my handkerchief as I entered, to remind Miss Linegar (rhymes with vinegar) that I had a perfectly valid—actually commendable if you think about it—well, a very good reason to step outside.

  CHAPTER 2

  My Diorama Dilemma

  So anyway, when I got back inside the classroom, Miss Linegar had just closed her day planner and started to stand up. Standing is always kind of a slow business for her because she’s been a teacher for about 9,000 years and she’s getting on a bit.

  She finally got her chair pushed back and her feet under her. “Now boys and girls, it seems we finished our math quickly enough that there’ll be time for a few of you to show your dioramas.”

  I’d been feeling pretty pleased with myself, but when I heard that, my heart hit the floor. Why did everybody have to work so darn fast today? Can’t I ever get a break? I know I had a sick look on my face, because I got a sympathetic glance from Callie, at the next desk.

  Callie, who’s never been late with a project, had a lovely representation of the Boston Tea Party sitting on top of her desk—and I had exactly nothing sitting on top of mine.

  It was nice of Callie to sympathize, but unfortunately, her sympathy didn’t make me feel that much better because I knew that any moment, my last name starting with an A was going to get me called on first like it always does.

  Oh, choose a different system sometimes. Try being fair, Miss Linegar.

  But sure enough, she called out “Abbie Adams” in that steely, doesn’t-expect-much-out-of-me way, and I had to prove her absolutely right by admitting that I didn’t have my diorama ready.

  Don’t think that it didn’t cross my mind to cast a little spell or two to get me out of trouble, because it did. But I’m in the fifth grade now and Mom and Dad really don’t expect me to make any sort of “mistakes” in that regard. So I had to just stand there, trying to shake off the buzz of magic charge that builds up in my fingers every time I get a little tense, and sheepishly answer Miss Linegar’s sarcastic questions.

  “Yes, Miss Linegar, I know it was assigned three weeks ago,” and, “No, I don’t actually have any explanation for why it’s not ready.”

  I also had to accept her “consequence” of preparing an extra report on Ben Franklin’s participation in the Declaration signing. I didn’t mind that too much though. I’ve gone back to the 1700s and seen Ben Franklin a couple of times, and he’s a lot less boring than some of those old guys who signed the Declaration . . . like the second president, John Adams, for instance. What a grump he was. I liked his wife though, and guess what. She had the same name as me.

  At least Callie’s diorama went over well. Miss Linegar particularly liked the way she used a fishbowl instead of a shoe box, so that the ship carrying the tea was actually floating in water. I was pretty impressed too. Callie’s really creative. It’s one of the things I like about her, and I also like that she’s always my friend even when I have to keep secrets from her.

  Sometimes a thing or two might happen that seems a little out of the ordinary. Oh, like the time she happened to come across me in the park near my house, as I was morphing out of being a tree. (It’s a witchy thing, you’re supposed to learn to be at one with nature . . . by being one with nature.) She just caught the tail end of the morph, and I know she was startled and curious, but when she saw that I got flustered at being caught doing something strange, she just threw her arms around me, told me how great it was to run into me this way, and never mentioned a word about it again.

  Callie’s always thoughtful, unlike my third-grade best friend, Maria. Maria always crossed over to the other side of the schoolyard to avoid me after she happened to see me forget myself for a moment and fly thirty feet through the air to catch Munch as he was falling off his tricycle one day. You see, I forgot all about not doing magic in front of non-witches because it was a really scary moment. Munch was about to fall into the street when a car was driving by.

  Oh, and by the way, that was the only reason I would have exerted any magical power in front of a non-witch. It was an emergency, okay? And I threw in a forgetting spell on Maria to cover myself. But I was really upset because Munch came so close to getting hurt, so the spell might have gotten a little frayed. Actually, it must have gotten frayed, because Maria hasn’t spoken to me since. Kind of mean of her, I think; it was my little brother, for heaven’s sake. What would she have done?

  Truth is, it isn’t always easy being a witch in a non-witch world, but of course there was that time in Salem back in the 1600s when that bunch of witches got sort of misunderstood and, well, I don’t even want to tell you what happened to them. From that time on, Witch Society went underground and everybody hid the truth about themselves. For instance, there’s every possibility that Andrew or Nathaniel in your after-school chess club are witches, but I’ll never tell.

  After class, Callie came up to me and said, “Hey Abbie, don’t feel bad. I’ll help you with your diorama, and then you’ll be able to get it in tomorrow. Then after that, I think we should change your name to Zorina Zeliker, so you don’t have to be first all the time.”

  Even when I’m feeling really grumpy, which I usuall y am after an encounter with Miss Linegar, when Callie cracks a joke like that I always feel better. I also knew it would be a lot more fun working on the project with my best friend by studying pictures in books than going back to Philadelphia, circa 1776. One reason is because those powdered wigs they all wore back then really make me sneeze . . . which can get you in trouble if you’re supposed to be a pillar. Another thing, people weren’t quite as careful about per
sonal cleanliness in those days, and let me tell you something, July in Philadelphia can get hot and humid, and all that sweating in all those heavy clothes they wore back then . . . well, just use your imagination.

  I was happy at the idea of bringing Callie home after school. Of course, if I had any idea what was going to happen when we got home, I might have thought differently.

  Anyway, my parents are always pleased to see me with Callie. It might be because they think she’s a good influence on me. As we headed for the gate, we stopped across the schoolyard to collect Munch. He was playing tag with Annalise, so I guess there were no hard feelings there.

  At home, my mom was studying for her real estate license because she’s going to go back to work now that Munch has full days at school. I have to admit that when I’m a grown-up, I’m not too sure how fair I’m going to be about not giving myself an unnatural advantage over non-witches in the work force. I mean, sitting and reading all this boring stuff about real estate, when you could just use a little magic and own half the town . . . Oh, I guess I wouldn’t ever do anything like that. Actually, I hope that when I grow up I’m just like my mom. Except for the real estate thing; I want to be an actress like my aunt Sophie.

  Wait till you meet her.

  My dad wasn’t home yet, so I got some cookies and juice for Callie and me. (Actually, I had to secretly conjure them up. I guess my mom was too busy studying to go shopping.) Then I gave Munch a stern look when he forgot and almost flew up the stairs in front of Callie. Callie and I went up to my room and got to work. We were just making the clock tower of Independence Hall out of a toilet paper roll—Callie’s idea—when the whole house went completely dark, a hurricane force wind whipped through the windows, and the front door downstairs slammed open with an enormous crash.

  Dad was home.

  CHAPTER 3