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

by Nicki Greenberg

  Whoa! There it goes again! And this time I’m not just feeling it. I’m seeing it, too. Oh my Fairy Godmother, I’m seeing the Fair from above! All the bobbing dots of people, and the tops of the rides, and the red roofs of the school buildings gridded with solar panels. This is not the view from the top of the giant slide. This is definitely the view from a flying broom! Oh, tell me this isn’t true…Tell me I wasn’t riding a broomstick, in broad daylight, at the school Fair! What have I done?

  Monday, 2.30pm

  Woken up by the sound of Mother laughing. She was reading my diary! Outrageous! And apparently she finds the thought of her own daughter falling off a broomstick and losing her job hilarious. I couldn’t even reach over to snatch it back, so I had to lie here, fuming, until she’d finished cackling and snorting. Eventually she handed it over, because she ‘cannot wait to hear what crazy thing you did next’.

  What I want to know is: why was I even on a broom in the first place? If I could—

  Wait.

  Wait on.

  I’m getting something—

  I’m at the sausage stand. I think I’m supposed to be cooking sausages…

  But I’m holding…a dog.

  A dog?

  A white, fluffy dog.

  It’s Dorothy’s dog, Toto. Yes! I’ve just caught him pillaging a tray of raw sausages under the table. He’s squirming and panting and clawing at my cape, and I’m trying to wedge him under one arm so I can rescue the burning sausages with the other. But – what in the name of Hecate is that??

  A streak of shiny black something. Toto leaps right out of my arms and takes off. And behind him, zigzagging through the crowd is this thing. It looks like – a panther! An actual black panther, bounding after that little white dog. People are screaming and running and crashing into one another, and I’m tripping over my skirt trying to see where Toto has gone.

  Yes! I see him! He’s at the giant slide, scrambling up the slippery inflatable stairs. He’s halfway up, but the panther is lunging after him! It’s gaining on him! There’s no escape—

  I’m moving fast. I shove someone out of the way and yank one of the metal poles from the face-painting tent. People are squealing and falling over each other, but I’m hiking up my skirt, straddling the pole like a broomstick, and then I’m away, speeding in a wide arc towards the top of the giant slide. I’m going to save the dog! He’s nearly at the top, terrified and stumbling on his paws. I’m swooping down, ready to grab him, but my pole rears back, and the tail end spears down hard into the top of the slide. There’s a hiss of escaping air, and now I’m pinned there by the hem of my dress, struggling to get away. I’m trapped—

  And it’s here. Right in front of my face. Head low, teeth bared.

  Time turns to jelly.

  Its yellow eyes.

  Its rotten breath.

  It can’t be—

  But I know it is.

  It’s Barnaby.

  Or, it was Barnaby. Whatever this creature is, it’s not my cat any more. And I’m not its witch. It wants the dog, and I know it will tear me to pieces to get at him.

  What has MM done to him?

  And why is he after Selina’s dog???

  I’m staring into its face, and now I see it—

  He thinks the dog is Pom Pom!

  Oh, Barnaby!

  Everything jerks back to full speed. I’m screaming out Barnaby’s name and every incantation I can think of. Shrinking spells, transformations, vanishings, anything. Magic is arcing from my hands. I’m losing control. The pole lurches sideways. It leaps straight up, flinging me in the air, and now I’m scrambling, clutching at nothing, my heart exploding, and there’s a whooshing noise and the dog crying and the panther roaring and my own voice screaming. I’m falling and falling and falling—

  And it all goes black.

  Monday, 6pm

  I almost wish I didn’t remember any of it. Obviously I’ve lost my job. My feral cat has wreaked havoc at the Fair. I’ve caused about fifty kinds of health-and-safety hazards, punctured a giant inflatable slide while riding on a metal stake, and most likely killed a small dog. And, oh yeah, just in case there was anyone who didn’t notice, I’m a shrieking-mad witch.

  Ugh. Time for hospital dinner. Left hand is out of action, so I’ll have to see if Mother can transform grey steak and bludgeoned vegetables into something edible. Or at least cut it up for me.

  Tuesday 25 March, 10am

  My class is supposed to be doing a maths test right now. But of course it isn’t my class any more. Who have they got instead? Some clueless substitute who doesn’t know the first thing about any of the children? Or has somebody else from school already taken over? MM, even??? Surely not. She’s too busy plotting to overthrow the principal. I bet she doesn’t even like kids.

  I feel so sad. I’m mad, too: mad at myself, and at MM, and Barnaby, and at the whole universe that made me too witchy to be Ordinary, and too Ordinary to be a witch. But mostly, I’m sad. I’m ache-in-the-throat sad about losing my class. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to them, and I’ll never have a chance to explain. I’ll just be that weirdo witch who trashed the Fair and then disappeared after one term.

  Tuesday, 1.30pm

  Amanita came in with a big box of fancy chocolates from Collier’s. I tried to eat one, but the lump in my throat wouldn’t let me swallow, even though it was a cherry nougat praline. Yes, I am that miserable.

  Mother and Amanita clearly don’t have the same difficulty. They’ve been gossiping and hoeing into the chocolates for over an hour now. I don’t think they’ve even noticed that I’ve stopped listening and started writing in my diary.

  Amanita said that I could come and work with her at Amanisse if I wanted to. Which would be funny if it weren’t so ridiculous. I don’t even wear makeup. And I definitely don’t do dodgy mirror tricks. I said I’d think about it, but I’d rather shovel elephant dung at the zoo.

  Sigh. If I were at school, I’d be in the library office, having lunch with the crew. Imagine what they must think of me now.

  Tuesday, 5pm

  I am in the newspaper. I only just found out now: the lady in the next bed pulled her curtain aside, waved the paper at me and asked incredulously, ‘Is this YOU?’ I couldn’t deny it. There was my face, taken from our class photo, under the headline ‘Panther loose after affray at school fair’. My expression is the perfect combination of shock and guilt, like I’ve just fatally hexed someone by mistake. Under the photo it says, ‘Teacher Grizzelda Stitch: unmasked as a witch.’

  They couldn’t even spell my name! And half the story was complete rubbish. There was nothing about where the panther might have gone, only that squads of police and zoo staff are out searching for it, and there are warnings to keep children and pets inside. No comment by Principal Biggins. Obviously he wasn’t at the Fair.

  I just heard next-bed-lady ask a nurse if she could be moved to a different room. Sigh.

  Wednesday 26 March

  Sorry about the smudges. I can’t help it – tears are dripping down my nose and onto the page. It’s not snot, I promise. It’s just – it’s this video! I’ve watched it at least twenty times now, and every single time I bawl like a baby. Oh, my beautiful, brave, wonderful class!

  If Ben hadn’t recorded it, I wouldn’t believe something like this could happen. My class, all twenty-two of them, standing up in the middle of assembly – right in the middle of MM’s announcement! – and telling the whole school that they want me to stay.

  Little Blake is the first to stand up. What courage! He’s got that quiver in his voice but he interrupts MM with a determined ‘No!’ Then Eleanor gets up, too, and Zac, and Zinnia, and suddenly the whole class is standing there together. Each of them takes their turn to speak: first Blake, saying that I’m kind and I listen to him. Then Owen, who says I make learning fun. Matilda says I tell great stories. But it’s Eleanor who really makes me sob. She says that if it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t have lasted a term at this s
chool. Now that is bravery.

  Then Zinnia comes to the front, throws out her arms and tells everyone: ‘We don’t care if she’s a witch. Ms Stitch is our teacher, and we want her to stay.’

  See why I’m bawling? But the next bit makes me snort and laugh and cry all at the same time. It’s MM. She’s keeping her face together pretty well, but you can tell that she’s rattled. She’s shushing, and waving her arms, but the applause keeps coming. Finally she calls out, ‘QUIET, PLEASE!’ and her voice is stretched almost to strangling.

  I’ve listened to it so many times, I can write down from memory what she says next. It goes like this:

  ‘What I meant to say was that Ms Stitch will not be returning until she is completely recovered from her accident. And then of course we will look forward to welcoming her back. I am aware that some people may find it, uh, unusual to have a witch teaching at our school. Especially after the, er, the incident at the Fair. However, I believe our school community can include teachers and students of all…kinds. Thank you, you may sit down. Now. Please.’

  But they don’t sit down. My class are hugging and high-fiving while the rest of the school applauds and whistles and stamps their feet. Can you believe it? I keep watching it again to be sure it’s real. And again and again and again!

  Ben brought the video in when the library crew came to visit me after school today. They came with flowers and more chocolates and so much noise I thought the nurses would throw them out. They had a zillion questions, too, of course, and it was a relief to be able to tell them everything.

  Well, not exactly everything. I left out all the stuff about Zinnia. And MM. Deal or no deal, those secrets aren’t mine to share.

  Then Amanita and Briony and Jessamyn arrived, and everyone got excited all over again – ‘We thought Zelda would never introduce us!’ etc, etc. I had to show them the video, of course, and everyone cheered and laughed until the nurses really did come in, and then we made them watch it too. Even Mother had tears in her eyes.

  It was a real party. We ended up getting takeaway and eating it together, all squeezed around my bed, laughing and talking and dropping sauce on the hospital sheets. Which made me think of Barnaby. That was the one twinge of sadness. Poor Barnaby. He would have loved this.

  Thursday 27 March

  Mail for me – a fabulous card from the whole class. It’s huge, with a drawing of a white, fluffy dog on the front. Oh dear. Pom Pom. I’d forgotten all about him. When I get back, I’m going to have to confess to the class that he doesn’t actually exist. Which is going to be pretty awkward.

  Speaking of dogs, Selina’s dopey little mutt is alive and well. They found him back underneath the sausage stand, with his snout in a tub of shredded cheese. That’s one very lucky pup.

  Thursday, 4pm

  I woke up from a nap to find Mother leafing through Phoebe’s notebook!!! It was mixed up in my pile of books, and she ‘just happened to pick it up’. Unbelievable! I told her to put it down THIS INSTANT, but she said I really ought to look at it. I refused, and then she started reading bits of it out loud to me! I swear I tried to stop her, but she kept going, and now I know.

  Phoebe is a witchling.

  It’s Phoebe’s magic that has been bursting out in class.

  The burning notebook. That wasn’t Zinnia. It was Phoebe freaking out when Zinnia pointed at her. The sparkles. The correction spell. The toad. All Phoebe’s. She can’t control it, and she doesn’t know what to do.

  I told Mother that once again she is ruining everything, making me betray Phoebe’s trust. She and Barnaby might think it’s all right to snoop in other people’s private diaries, but it’s not! Mother rolled her eyes and said that obviously Phoebe wanted me to read it. That’s why she left it for me to find. ‘The poor girl needs someone to talk to. She guessed you were a witch in the first week of term! The least you can do is listen.’

  Me? But what about her aunt? Why doesn’t Phoebe talk to her?

  Ha ha – I managed to throw a lock spell onto Phoebe’s notebook. Mother was just about to turn the page, when – snap! I sealed it up, solid as a brick. You should have seen her face! She’s absolutely fuming now that she can’t stick her beak in and find out what happened next. But I still don’t think we should be reading it, no matter what excuses Mother makes.

  Thursday, 5.26pm

  Just saw today’s paper. The police have called off the panther hunt. They think it was probably vaporised in our ‘fiery showdown’ on the slide. I feel awful. It was bad enough when I blasted that poor spider, but vanishing my own companion? What kind of a witch does that?

  Poor Barnaby! Does it hurt, being vanished? Is he even alive? Where do vanished things go?

  Friday 28 March

  I came back from my x-ray to find guess who in my room? MM and Phoebe! They were perched in the visitors’ chairs, with Mother sitting opposite, gripping MM by the wrist and Dispensing Advice. They didn’t see me at first, so I lurked outside the door and listened in. It was impossible to interrupt, anyway, as Mother was running at Full Emphasis.

  ‘You have to do it right away. You absolutely must unhex that poor man. I know that things aren’t always parcelled out fairly in life, but you’ll get that job soon enough, and you’ll get it properly. You’re a smart young woman. You don’t need to do it with hexes.’

  That’s when Phoebe interrupted her. Her voice was wobbly. ‘Aunt Melody didn’t hex him,’ she said. ‘I did. It was an accident. And I can’t turn it back.’

  Phoebe hexed Principal B! And MM has been covering for her, without Phoebe even knowing. I felt a flood of shame, thinking about how I’d accused MM, and how Jessamyn and I had plotted to trap her.

  Mother didn’t miss a beat. She beamed at Phoebe and told her that this was wonderful news. ‘Of course you can reverse it, dear,’ she said. ‘An excellent, strong witchling like you! You just need some practice. You need to get into training right away! Look, even my Grizelda, who isn’t exactly the most—’

  I barged into the room before she could really embarrass me. MM stood up, and guess what? She was embarrassed too. She actually blushed! MM’s face blushed! I was so amazed, I just stood there gawping at her. After a very awkward pause, we both blurted out a mumbled ‘Sorry’.

  It seems that MM is in an even worse pickle than me. Incredibly, she has concealed her own witch-hood for her entire life. And she’s done it so well that, until now, not even her own family knew. Not her parents, not her brother, and certainly not her niece. So, when she spotted the signs of Phoebe’s witchling – and worked out that Phoebe had hexed the principal – MM was torn. She wanted to help Phoebe, but she was terrified of revealing herself. MM has been trying to reverse the hex all term, but her magic isn’t strong enough.

  Poor MM! She has certainly had her hands full. Covering for Phoebe, doing the boss’s job for him, and on top of all that, she had to deal with Barnaby as well.

  I know it’s not very nice of me, but I am secretly a bit pleased that Barnaby was just as badly behaved for MM as he’s always been for me. He appeared on her doorstep the Sunday before last, hungry and bedraggled, and quickly made himself at home, eating everything in the fridge and using MM’s new couch as a scratching post.

  But at that stage MM had no idea that her ill-mannered houseguest belonged to me. It was only when I confronted her on Friday that she realised he was mine. And by then it was much too late.

  For a witch, MM is kind of clueless about cats. It never occurred to her that she needed to lock up her potion cupboard with Barnaby in the house. So imagine the shock when she came home from school the following Thursday and found him sprawled on the floor, unconscious and surrounded by empty potion bottles. He was already transforming in his sleep, his body stretching and swelling and muscling into its terrifying new shape.

  MM was braver than I would have been. She dragged the sleeping beast into her spare room, threw in a bag of dry cat food and a bucket of water, shut the door and pushed the couch up a
gainst it. Then she went looking for help. She only dared ask a couple of other witches, the shifty kind who sell dubious spells to Ordinaries on the quiet. But they had nothing to offer her. And when she got home, there were claw marks down the walls, the couch had been gutted and the doors torn open. Barnaby was gone.

  The amazing thing is, through all this, MM just kept on showing up at school, as cool and calm and in control as ever. I really have to admire her. Nobody would ever have suspected that anything was wrong. It was only when Jessamyn and I sprung our Elsifor trap that her mask finally began to crack.

  As I listened to MM’s story, a new feeling started to bloom inside me. Something I had never experienced before. I felt…defiant. Indignant. ‘We shouldn’t have to hide,’ I said. ‘We should just tell them all: “We’re witches, and we’re proud”. Look at what happened with my class! They accepted me, just as I am.’

  But MM cut me off. ‘Not everyone wants to be known, Zelda. It isn’t that simple. Phoebe will need to make that decision for herself, and it might take her some time. Look at me. I’m still not ready.’ Then she dropped her gaze and said, very quietly, ‘Maybe I’m just not as brave as you are, Zelda.’

  How’s that for a compliment?! Although I suspect that by ‘brave’ she actually meant ‘bonkers’. Still, I’ll take that. Zelda Stitch, crazy-brave witch. I like it.