Nothing happened.
At least I wouldn’t explode the school.
But I was no closer to figuring out a way to help Devon.
* * *
After school, I looked around for Jenah. She wasn’t at our locker. Then I saw a flash of curly graying hair down at the end of the hall. Valda. What was she trying to pull now? We were so close to the end. I didn’t trust her not to throw Jenah out a window if she thought it would help her win. The team of Jenah and Henny had been proving too resilient—that was going to be Jenah’s downfall.
I raced down the hallway after Valda, and skidded around the corner in time to see her disappearing into a classroom. Mr. Saganey’s room. I crept closer. Saganey taught American history. Jenah was in American history. I didn’t like the answers I was coming up with.
I dashed across the hallway and hid just inside one of the other classrooms, where I could peek out to see when Valda left. Before too long she came out in her usual fast, stompy sort of way.
Saganey must not be in there, or I would have heard them talking. As soon as Valda was out of sight, I hurried into Saganey’s classroom. There was a pile of tests loosely scattered over his desk.
I could see Jenah’s name on top as I neared it. Valda must have been tampering. Messing with a test seemed out of character for her—except that Jenah and Henny and the bodyguard had forestalled all Valda’s usual blunt-force tactics. She must be grasping at straws. And there—with her usual lack of subtlety, she hadn’t even bothered to put the test back in the right place.
The damage was clear at the top of the page.
Valda had changed Jenah’s grade to a 64 percent.
I ran through the list of spells I knew and was willing to use. Love potion, Power, and a weak self-defense spell. Nothing useful there. Spells I knew but wasn’t willing to use. Showstopper. Invisible eels. I didn’t have any spells to undo what another witch had done.
I looked hard at the paper. I could change that six to an eight. It would look a teensy bit tampered with, but not too bad. Still, Saganey might notice, and that’s the last thing I wanted. If only I could rub out that fractional bit of red, right there.…
Of course. I pulled the unicorn sanitizer from my backpack and barely wet my finger with it. Took a breath. I had never done anything like this before. But Jenah was going to get grounded if she messed up one more time.
What was the right thing to do?
Slowly, delicately, I wiped away the top of the six.
Then I picked up Saganey’s red pen and changed the six to an eight.
14
The Big (Football) Game
The evening of the big football game was cold and clear. Okay, maybe it wasn’t a big football game to the football players, just a regular one. But to Devon, who was about to have his big competition in front of several thousand people, and to Leo, who was really hoping not to turn into a were-elephant in front of several thousand people, it was a big deal.
And all I had to do was keep everyone happy till the end of it.
Oh, and keep Leo from getting torn to bits. That, too.
I ended up not going home, but prowling the school for witches. Then I headed over to the football stadium so I could check it out before everybody got there. Football was a reasonably big deal at our school, and there was a nice new stadium, with plenty of bleachers on both sides of the field, along with a covered-over area for the players’ locker rooms, concessions that different school fund-raising teams staffed, and everything else. Including security. Good thing Jenah had brought back my cash. I paid for a ticket, showed my ID to the guard, and slipped inside the stadium. I made a complete circuit of the grounds, but saw no wicked witches.
It was getting closer to game time. People were filling the stands now, laughing and chattering, their gloved hands wrapped around hot chocolate from the concession stand. The chaos meant it would only get harder to find the villains. I trudged toward the front entrance, keeping my eyes peeled.
“Good place for ro-bot uprising,” said a voice behind me. I turned to find Kelvin.
“Kelvin!” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“Euphonium,” he said, tapping the massive music case he was carrying. Kelvin himself is tall, white, and built rather along the lines of his case. “Our halftime show’s been canceled for some rock musicians?”
“Battle of the Bands,” I said. “Yeah.”
“But we’re still playing the pregame and pep rally in the stands. You know.”
“I don’t, actually,” I said. “I was just thinking about how I’ve never made it to a game before.”
“You’ve been missing out,” he said seriously.
“So look,” I said. “Speaking of that ‘ro-bot uprising’”—and I used my best robot voice for him—“if you were a robot, or no, not a robot … Okay, let’s pretend for a moment that you were a wicked witch, or something.”
“Or a supervillain?”
“Sure. You’re a supervillain and you’re about to wreak havoc on the football game. What would you do and where would you come in from?”
The best thing about Kelvin is that this is the sort of question he gives serious thought to. He put his red mittened hands out in front of him like a picture frame, surveying the field. “Is there something in particular I’m trying to achieve? Or just to cause chaos?”
“You specifically want to disrupt the Battle of the Bands somehow,” I said. “And you might also be trying to snatch a certain football player.”
“Hmm,” said Kelvin. At that point his friend from lunch came up behind him, wearing an oversized sweater and holding a rather smaller case. “Ah, Rajesh,” said Kelvin. “We are going over a rather interesting point. Imagine you were so angry about the disruption of our halftime that you became a cackling supervillain called—”
“Clarinet Man,” said Rajesh.
“And you wanted to disrupt the band battle. What would you do?”
Rajesh pivoted slowly, considering. “You know, if you filled in those outlets, it would be pretty easy to make this stadium a lethal trap.”
“Exactly what I was observing,” said Kelvin.
“Oh god, I don’t want there to be anything lethal,” I said.
“Imagine this bowl filling up with water,” said Rajesh.
“Or Jell-O,” said Kelvin.
“Or sharks.”
“Or lunchmeat.” We both looked at Kelvin. “What? I’m hungry.”
We both shook our heads at Kelvin. “Okay, thanks, boys,” I said. “Look, keep an eye out, will you? Let me know if you see anything … weird.”
“A stadium of lunchmeat would definitely be weird,” said Kelvin.
I did another loop around the stadium while the crowd took its seats, looking for places the witches could hide. Esmerelda would be looking for Henny, Malkin for Devon and Leo, and Valda for Jenah. I wasn’t too worried about Jenah at the moment. Valda thought she had Jenah’s history grade screwed up, and I knew I had it fixed. So Valda would be relaxing, confident of her victory. The others, though.…
The band started playing the pregame. Leo must be down in the locker rooms. Sparkle was on the field with the cheerleaders, doing her own circuits. I exited the security gate and headed up the slope from the stadium to the school. Maybe I could find Devon.
I walked around to the front of the school, and saw the turquoise flash of Jenah’s brightly colored peacoat, trudging up the other side of the hill from the houses below, walking my bike. “Is Leo safe?” she called.
“As far as I know,” I said. “Sparkle’s supposed to be glued at the hip to him. I think they’re enjoying that.” I did a double take as she neared me. Her wrist and ankle bandages had been joined by a strapped-up finger, a selection of Hello Kitty Band-Aids on her neck and jaw, and an eye patch. “Are you okay?”
She sighed. “Even with Henny’s help and the bodyguard’s help, your witch has now tripped me in the lunchroom with a bike, on the stairs with the water puddl
e, on the back porch with a cat, on the sidewalk with a skateboard, and in the hallway with the candlestick. I didn’t even make it to the creek yet—thought I should check on you before I head over there. It’s a good thing there aren’t any auditions coming up or she probably would’ve got me depressed. No one would cast me for anything when I look like the bride of Frankenstein. Not to mention that being on guard all the time wears on you.”
“I really am sorry,” I said.
“Not your fault,” she said with a shrug. But I could tell she was, in fact, on edge. Even cheerful, positive people have their limits, and Valda, as blunt and unsubtle as she was, was managing to find them. “She almost got my grandmother with that skateboard stunt, though. We would have had some real words about that.”
“Look, Jenah…” I said, my words trailing off. I had promised her I would share everything with her and I needed to tell her about changing her grade. “Do you have a minute?” From down the hill came the roar of the crowd and the echoing sounds of the announcer as the game began.
Jenah looked up into my face and her eyebrows looked suspicious. I couldn’t blame her. Lately everything I was telling her was bad news, and it involved me.
“So I was outside your American history teacher’s classroom earlier today,” I said. I walked through the story for her. About halfway through I could tell she was getting more and more mad. This was frustrating, because she had said I had to tell her everything, and I was telling her everything, but I was getting a worse feeling inside instead of a better one, like it should be. “So, uh,” I finished. “After I saw Valda sneak back out I knew what she had done. So I put it back the way it was. I had to make a guess but since she made it sixty-four percent and I knew you’re usually a B student in American history, I put it back to eighty-four percent. I hope that was right.”
Jenah groaned. “What am I going to do with you?”
I took a step back. “Me? I mean, I’m sorry the witches drew you in the bet. That is totally my fault. But I’m trying to fix it.” A peppy tune from the marching band underscored my words.
Jenah’s shoulders slumped. “But I’ve been going around trying to help you,” she said. “Between all the demonic excitement before the Halloween Dance, and Valda trying to break my ribs this week, I haven’t cracked the history book in like three weeks. A D is better than I deserve.”
“You mean…” But I couldn’t fathom this.
“Valda probably didn’t change my grade at all.”
“She just made me think she had changed it.” I said. “Ugh, I hate cheating, lying, double-crossing witches.” My voice rose on every word.
“This is the overstepping I was talking about,” said Jenah. “You can’t ‘fix’ people’s lives without asking. You just can’t.”
“But I didn’t think I was,” I protested. “I thought I was undoing what Valda did.”
Jenah looked at me. “That is a slippery slope and you know it.”
The thing is, I did know it. My intentions had been good. I even thought the setup had been good. Just undo something that had been done. Set things back to normal. And now I had blundered in and wrecked things again.
“How did you change it?” said Jenah.
“With the red Sharpie,” I admitted.
Jenah buried her eye-patched face in her hands. “What if he thinks I did it? You get suspended for that kind of thing.”
“Well, uh.” Crap. I had really messed up. “Your parents might be pleased that you finally did some real rebellion?” I said hopefully.
Jenah glared at me. “The real rebel doesn’t do things just to rebel,” she said. “I have standards. And anyway, you know how much auditions mean to me. I just finished telling you I couldn’t mess up again.”
“Jenah, I—”
She was busy gathering up her things. “Whatever you have to say, don’t bother,” she said. She slung her leg back over my bike. Then turned. “You know, Cam, one of these days you’re going to go too far,” she said. “Friendships can break, you know. They can break for good.” She turned and pedaled down the hill, away from me.
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. Jenah had good reason to be mad at me. Sure, this was a little mistake in the context of things. But the bigger picture was there. If I had power I had to use it responsibly. Heck, I’d barely used power in this case—mostly just a red Sharpie. But I had to use red Sharpies responsibly, too.
I pulled out my ethics list and stared at it, or maybe through it.
Good Witch Ethics
1. Don’t use animal parts in spells.
2. Don’t cast bad spells on good people for no reason. Ask people before you work a spell on them* (unless in self-defense). *OR FOR THEM.
3. Don’t lie to people. friends.
4. Don’t be a weasel.
Despair took me, hard. I had failed at every single one of these. If I couldn’t be a good witch, maybe it was time to give Devon the Showstopper potion made with pixie bones and be done with it. At least someone would be happy.
As I retraced my steps to the back of the school, I slowly became aware of more noise coming from the parking lot. The lot had filled up more as parents arrived at the game. No doubt they were all excited about finally being able to park in the school lot. But it sounded more like … shouting?
I hurried around to the side of the school. Was Malkin finally striking? After managing to distract me with witches and grades and ethics? I turned the corner onto the parking lot.
My eyes couldn’t make sense of it for a few moments. There seemed to be a large metal cylinder—no, a small tanker truck—in the middle of the parking lot. But around it was … a swamp? I picked my way closer, to where a number of parents were standing on the edge of the swamp and gesturing angrily at the truck driver, who sat on top of his overturned tanker, gesturing angrily back at them.
The air smelled sweet. Cloyingly sweet. Like sugar? Syrup? This swamp was a clearish, goldish color.
Corn syrup.
Clinging to all the remaining cars in the lot.
How had a corn syrup tanker gotten stuck here and why? Everyone was yelling so much there didn’t seem to be anyone to ask, even if they knew. I stepped around the corn syrup and recognized the peculiarly anise smell of pixie sweat.
An entire tanker of love potion.
But why? Distraction?
I called Sarmine. “Tell me you don’t know anything about the parking lot full of destroyed cars.”
“Oh, good, did that work?” she said. “I wanted to come up and see it in person, but you know how I loathe crowds.”
“I’m trying to stop several witches from killing my friend,” I said. “Do you think you could hold off on your regular taking-over-the-world shenanigans for, I don’t know, a day?”
“I’m simply making Caden as happy as possible,” protested Sarmine. It was belatedly occurring to me that, even though she had promised to help me, at the same time this was awfully unlike Sarmine to try to make the son of an auto dealer happy.
“You have some other plan, don’t you?” I said.
“Naturally,” Sarmine said. “I merely want to destroy all the cars in the world.”
15
Who Wins the Game
Sarmine’s words echoed in my ears as I looked harder at the stranded people in the parking lot.
“Of course,” I said. “It’s not a love potion, no matter how often I call it that. They’re being opened to new possibilities. Of transportation.”
“The local bike store owners I’ve called should be arriving right about now,” Sarmine said. “Also the skateboard store, a scooter salesman, and a Segway dealer. I think this will be exactly the push some people need, don’t you?”
I could not even deal with Sarmine Scarabouche right now.
She was still talking in my ear. “And then, tomorrow, you can help me activate the spell that destroys all the cars in the world,” she said, and for Sarmine she sounded rather happy and upbeat. “Obviously we h
ave to wait till tomorrow, because I think it would be a bit of a downer for Caden if every car his family owned suddenly became inoperable, don’t you? So we’ll wait till tomorrow morning. And then maybe some celebratory waffles.”
“I am not going to help you with that,” I said.
“What a shame,” said Sarmine. “You’ve been so helpful in stirring the cauldron all week. And the other ingredients are waiting in the RV garage, ready to be combined. All that’s left to procure is whatever Malkin’s got up her sleeve. The final piece of the sympathetic resonance spell. I bet it’s a lindworm scale, don’t you think?”
I really could not even deal with her. “You can’t do this!” I said. “I don’t care how good you think your motives are. You can’t waltz in and mess with people’s lives!”
“Hogwash,” said Sarmine.
“You can’t make decisions for them!”
“People,” said Sarmine, “are too stupid to live, let alone make good decisions.”
“You have to give them the chance to change.”
“Nonsense,” said Sarmine. “Make the decisions for them. Never look back.”
Across the parking lot I could see the minivan belonging to one of Devon’s band members. They had the door open and were trying to negotiate getting out without stepping in the goo. I kicked one of the corn-syrupy car tires near me in frustration. “I have to go save some boys,” I said. “We’ll talk later.”
I slammed the phone into my backpack and hurried over to the minivan, skirting the biggest puddles of syrup. I mean, maybe if I ate some it would give me better ideas on how to save the day, but also maybe Sarmine was triple-crossing me and it wasn’t even the Possibilities potion. I mean, who knows, right? That’s what witches were. They lied, all the time, and they were quadruple-crossing weasels. I had wasted so much time listening to her. So much time letting them, all of them, get under my skin.
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