The Cursed First Term of Zelda Stitch. Bad Teacher. Worse Witch.

by Nicki Greenberg

  I have to get into training.

  Ughhhhhhhhhhh. Even the thought makes me want to crawl into a hole. Especially considering who is going to be teaching me.

  Sunday, 6pm

  Spent the morning reading Briony’s collection of spell manuals and avoiding calling Mother. Then treated myself to ElfinFire Book 5. What an ending! Jessamyn is amazing. I should call her.

  And I really have to call Mother.

  Sunday, 8pm

  Made very tasty curry with almonds in it. Cleaned house with new tidy spells. Got to start somewhere.

  Sunday, 9pm

  Enough procrastinating.

  Call Mother.

  Now.

  Sunday, 10pm

  Called Mother. She is ‘delighted’ that I want her to give me lessons, but hopes I won’t be ‘completely hysterical’ like when she was teaching me to drive. Me! Hysterical! If I had remembered about those driving lessons, believe me, I would never have called her. I’m having flashbacks to her screaming ‘Brake! Brake!’ on the freeway.

  Barnaby laughed at me, though I think he’s secretly quite excited. Like Amanita says, he probably needs more magic in his life.

  We begin on Tuesday night. Deep breath, Zelda. This can work. After all, I can drive now, can’t I?

  Monday 10 March

  I came to a decision on my way to school this morning. The sun was making everything gleam around the edges, and the whole world had a sparkle to it. I realised that I have been so caught up in my worries, I’ve barely paid attention to anything else. So I decided that MM and her little games could wait. Monster-face or no, it’s time to concentrate on my work. Because whatever happens, the most important thing is to do my job properly, and teach my class to the absolute best of my ability.

  The kids were terrific today. I was glad to see Eleanor chatting happily with Mitch and Marlo and Rose. And Ollie helping Owen with his project. Zinnia didn’t let off any rogue spells, and she actually kept her ordinary mischief under control as well.

  We sailed through our work and then spent the last period working on monster masks for the show. Phoebe’s is a masterpiece of turquoise feathers. I must admit, my heart gave a bit of a skip when I saw it – I couldn’t help thinking about MM and her secret beast-face. Does Phoebe know the truth about her aunt? Could she be trying to tell me something?

  No. Enough. I have to remind myself, not everything is a witch-hunt. And not everything is about me. I can’t let myself get dragged into another spiral of what-ifs and maybes. I’ve been distracted enough, both in class and out. I’ve even neglected my Pom Pom stories. And tomorrow night, training begins. I’ll need to be sharper and more focused than ever.

  Tuesday 11 March

  Have to be quick – Mother will be here in ten minutes.

  Had a real test of my nerve today. MM came up to me before school and asked me to see her at recess. Felt like all the blood was draining out of my body, but forced myself to stand up straight, look her in the face (no sign of feathers or snake-features) and do what Briony said. Speak slowly. Don’t over-answer. Don’t fidget. And smile like you have a secret. Not sure that I totally pulled off Cool, Confident and Capable of Anything, but I didn’t crumple to the floor or run away.

  Turned out all she wanted was to ask if Jessamyn might be willing to come and give a talk at the school. MM’s friends had been raving about Jessamyn’s books, although MM ‘simply can’t imagine why grown adults would want to read that fairytale fluff ’.

  The funny thing is, a couple of weeks ago, MM and I would have been able to share a massive eye-roll about ElfinFire. But then, a couple of weeks ago I hadn’t read any of the books either.

  I said I’d ask Jessamyn if she’d come. Then I gave MM an extra-mysterious smile on my way out. Briony would be proud of me.

  Tuesday, 10.45pm

  Whew. First lesson with Mother. Utterly spent. It took me three hours to master a basic shrinking spell. Now all my cups, plates, knives and forks are different sizes. Mother refused to return them to normal for me – she said I had to learn to do it myself. Plus, I somehow made all my spoons disappear, though I wasn’t even trying to do a vanishing spell. It is actually a bit disturbing. Where do vanished things go?? And how am I going to eat soup? Barnaby could not stop laughing.

  Mother is a better teacher than I thought. But talk about hard. She’s like granite.

  Wednesday 12 March

  Incantation drill at 5am. Seriously. I can’t possibly be at my best at such an appalling hour, but Mother insists that it is the optimum time for training. I tried a relocation spell and accidentally caused my Echinopsis cactus to burst into flames in transit. Mother was surprisingly encouraging about this: apparently fire is a good sign that my powers are beginning to stir. But the landlord is not going to be happy about the scorched windowsill. Barnaby isn’t laughing quite so hard this time, either – I think I singed the fur on the end of his tail.

  The library crew are ecstatic about Jessamyn’s school visit. I told my class about it, thinking that I might score a few Cool Teacher points for being friends with the famous author herself. They were politely enthusiastic, but it wasn’t all that much of a big deal to them, even the ones who like Elfinfire. Except for Phoebe, that is. Her excitement was electric. She came up at the end of the day to tell me how much she loves Jessamyn’s books. After a solid five minutes of her ElfinFire chatter, I suspected that she actually wanted to talk to me about something else. I couldn’t stay to find out what it was, though. Mother had scheduled training immediately after school, and she doesn’t accept late passes.

  Training was hard, but at least showed some results. I got the cutlery and crockery more-or-less back to their proper sizes (apart from one weirdly huge fork that refused to shrink), but not even Mother could work out how to bring the spoons back.

  Thursday 13 March

  This training regime is absolutely brutal. How am I supposed to do TWO sessions a day on top of my actual job? Mother says I need to toughen up and stop acting like a snivelling Ordinary.

  I’m feeling a bit disheartened. I attempted my first transformation tonight, just a simple one (or so Mother says): turning an apple into solid chocolate. It’d be an absolute winner with my class, not that I could show it to them. In any case, I couldn’t do the transformation at all. There was no chocolate, only bits of smashed apple all over the floor and clouds of thick, brown smoke swirling through the lounge room. We ended up gasping and coughing and wiping our eyes, and Barnaby ran off into the bedroom and hid in the wardrobe. He can’t stand botched-spell fumes.

  It’s hard not to feel inadequate when I think that Zinnia, whose witchling is only just beginning, was able to turn a papier mâché toad into a real one without even raising a vapour. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.

  Friday 14 March

  I have a horrible feeling that something has happened to Barnaby. He wasn’t there when I woke up this morning for Incantation drill, and it’s almost midnight now and he still isn’t back. It isn’t like him to be away for this long, especially on a weekday. Something is wrong. I can feel it.

  Could I have accidentally made him vanish? Or could my transformation spell have affected him somehow? I looked all through the apartment in case he had turned into something unexpected, but didn’t find anything. What if he’s turned into something really ordinary, though? Like a tea bag? Or a clothes peg? I’d never even know.

  Mother says that if I can’t transform an apple, there is no way I could have transformed a living creature. But I’m worried that my powers might be stronger than Mother realises. Look at what I did to that spider.

  I cannot face training tonight. Mother is very disapproving, saying that I might as well do something useful instead of sitting around moping. But I’m too worried about Barnaby to concentrate properly. I’m also a bit afraid of what I might unleash.

  PS – I just realised I forgot to check in with Phoebe today. She’s hasn’t come looking for me, though, so ma
ybe she’s sorted out whatever it was she wanted to talk about.

  Saturday 15 March

  Still no Barnaby. Mother came into my room at five, turned on the light and insisted that I do Incantations. On a Saturday. When I refused, she blasted me with a cold water spell. The more I yelled at her, the more cold water she threw at me. Tyrant. My teeth were chattering all the way through shrinking spells, then levitation, and then an invisibility exercise. I can make my toes invisible, but nothing else.

  I’m worrying about Barnaby so much, all I want to do is sit in bed and eat cereal. But my bed is completely soaked, and I haven’t got any spoons.

  Sunday 16 March

  Oh Barnaby! That silly, silly fool of a cat! I didn’t vanish him – he’s run away. The fur-brained creature is jealous. Yes, jealous! Of an imaginary dog!

  He found my Pom Pom notebook in my work bag (snooping through my stuff !), and he thought it was my diary. Like I’d ever leave my diary anywhere that he could find it! So now he thinks that I’ve been sneaking off to hang out with a new companion. A dog.

  As if I would cheat on him! What kind of witch does he think I am? And when exactly does he think I’d find the time for all this? At recess?? Doesn’t he comprehend that I am working all day? Oh, Barnaby!

  He’s a total drama queen, too. This is what he wrote in my Pom Pom book:

  Grizelda,

  By the time you read this, I will be far away. I just wish you d been honest enough to tell me about Pom Pom instead of sneaking around all this time.

  Don t look for me. I will find myself another witch. One who knows what she wants.

  Your ex-companion, Barnaby

  PS -- A fluffy white dog? Really? I’d be insulted, but it is just too ridiculous. You will never be half the witch your mother is.

  This whole thing is just typical of Barnaby. Self-centred, filthy-tempered, rude…I don’t know why I’ve put up with him for so long. But he’s my cat. I can’t just let him disappear.

  Maybe Mother has some sort of location spell we could use to track him down. She is sitting on the sofa right now, watching a home renovation show and laughing at all the Ordinaries struggling with their hammers and drills. I want to ask her, but am galled at the thought of showing her Barnaby’s note. You will never be half the witch. Talk about catty.

  Sunday, 6pm

  Finally forced myself to tell Mother about Barnaby. She laughed so hard, she accidentally let off a blast of sparks and smashed my fruit bowl. Mother says she doesn’t have the equipment for a location spell. But she absolutely insists that I go with her to Cauldron Club tonight – ‘because if thirty-odd witches can’t find a black cat on a moonless night, then nobody can.’ Mother told me to gather a little bag full of Barnaby’s hair from the carpet, as she was sure we’d need it for the spell. I cannot believe I am doing this.

  Sunday, 1.30am

  Too angry to sleep. Of all the witches in this city, who does my fool cat choose as his new companion? Melody Monster-Face Martin, that’s who. I don’t know whether to be furious with him or worried sick.

  I need to calm down and stop pacing around the room like a caged animal. I’ll try and write about Cauldron Club to unjangle my nerves. It was certainly surprising.

  Mother was right when she said that the Old Ways are back in fashion. I was amazed at the variety of witches gathered in groups around the jungly backyard, laughing, sipping tea, and toasting marshmallows with little blue fire-spells while they waited for proceedings to begin. Some of them had come straight from work, like the one in her fluoro safety vest and steel-capped boots. There were quite a few in serious office suits, two punk girls who looked about sixteen, and an elegant woman, loaded with diamonds, who seemed to have escaped from a very fancy party. Witches in jeans, witches in gym gear, witches in leather jackets, in zebra-print dresses, in hippie crochet cardigans. And one very elderly witch in a puffy parka so enormous you could hardly see her head. I didn’t see anyone else who looked much like a teacher, but you never know. The host was Lou – broomstick Lou from the Full Moon Party.

  Amanita was there, all excited that I’d come along. She steered me away from Mother, who was getting stuck into the cinnamon scrolls, and started introducing me to various groups of witches. After about four rounds of polite smiles and hellos, I pulled Amanita aside and told her about Barnaby. I was expecting a great big I told you so, but she was really lovely about it. She rushed into the house to find Lou, and then the two of them came back out, pushing an enormous cauldron on a trolley. Lou announced to everyone that I had lost my companion, and so the first business of the night would be a location spell.

  Everyone looked at me. I could hear murmurs of sympathy, but also a few clucks of disapproval, like they thought I must have been careless with Barnaby, or worse. The two punk girls exchanged incredulous I would never! looks and snuggled their companion rats closer under their chins. At least nobody asked why Barnaby had disappeared. This was definitely not the ideal audience for my Pom Pom stories.

  Four witches hoisted the cauldron over the fire pit. Then Lou led the spell, calling on others to add ingredients and repeat incantations. Orange smoke began to rise from the pot, and Lou asked me to come forward and call Barnaby’s name, while casting in a handful of his hair. The potion smelled disgusting, like rotten fish. When Barnaby’s hair hit the swirling surface of the mixture it sizzled, and each strand began to glow silver-white. The strands twisted, lengthened and curled up through the vapour like tiny snakes, then began to pulse in time with the witches’ chanting. Eventually the orange colour ebbed away, and the glowing strands formed the outlines of a picture in the dark. It was a cat. Barnaby. He was sitting on a table, leaning forward and lapping at a dish. And opposite him, smiling in profile, was MM.

  I let out a gasp and stepped back from the cauldron. As soon as I moved away from it, the picture dissolved. Lou huffed in irritation – she hadn’t been able to track exactly where Barnaby was before I’d broken the spell. But Amanita said it was fine, we had all the information we needed. She was almost dancing with excitement, because of course she’d recognised MM too.

  Argh – look at the time! I’ve got to get some sleep before school tomorrow. I don’t want to risk any more big mistakes.

  Monday 17 March, 7.30am

  Woke up good and angry. Nobody takes my cat and gets away with it! Not even a creepy-faced secret-witch vice principal. But I need to be clever about this if I want to stay one step ahead of MM. Although I’m not exactly sure what that one step will be. Maybe Jessamyn will have some ideas.

  Meanwhile, I must remember my resolutions. Focus on the class. Do my job properly. And make MM think I’m Boss Witch.

  I’ll try not to fret about Barnaby too much. He’s a pretty streetwise cat. And at least I know he’s getting fed.

  PS – Zinnia had her plaster cast taken off this morning, so her left arm is back in business. Please, please don’t let her start flinging it about in class…

  Monday, 6pm

  MM was weirdly polite to me today. Because of Barnaby? Or because of Jessamyn? She announced at assembly that Jessamyn was coming on Friday, and got a big cheer. I suggested to our class that I could read them first chapter of ElfinFire in class, but funnily enough, what they really want is more Pom Pom stories. Which is flattering, but also a bit of a problem. Because I seem to be somewhat…blocked.

  With Barnaby gone, the stories aren’t coming to me like they did before. I don’t feel like thinking about Pom Pom, let alone writing about him. I hate to disappoint the class, though. They love him. And what’s more, they are actually worried about him. Last week I had to tell them he was sick again, just to buy myself a bit more time to think of some new stories.

  I called Jessamyn and told her about Barnaby. She said she would try to think of something. Now I have to get changed as Amanita is picking me up in half an hour for a broomstick lesson. She offered to help with this part of my training, and I accepted right away. The prospect of Mother�
�s backseat driving is too awful to contemplate.

  Monday, 10.30pm

  Amanita’s broomstick lesson was utterly hair-raising. We drove out to a deserted suburb of factories and car lots, where nobody could see us. Nobody except for three snarling guard dogs behind a wire fence. Amanita rode with me the first couple of times, then told me I had to try solo. Solo was not good. I jolted up into the air to a chorus of barks and howls, terrified I’d fall straight down into the yard and be torn apart by Rottweilers.

  Miraculously I didn’t fall, but instead swivelled on the broom until I was clinging upside-down, like a wailing sloth. My jacket was flapping over my head so I could barely see a thing, and the broom was bucking and leaping while I hung on underneath and screamed. I could hear Amanita cackling like a fiend, even from way up in the air.

  There was exactly one tree in the entire area, and I eventually crashed into its canopy, narrowly avoiding a fractured skull. I climbed down, fuming, ready to chuck the whole thing in for good.

  Amanita insisted that the most important thing was not to lose my nerve, which is why we have to repeat the lesson tomorrow. Then she snorted with laughter all the way home.

  PS – Told the class that Pom Pom had gone to Mother’s place for a holiday. Ha ha – can you imagine?