“What’s next, Magellan?” said Lily-Matisse.
“We’ll start our tests here,” P.W. said, tapping a spot on the map. “And move in a few paces at a time.”
Leon eased the master piece from the pouch and glanced around to see if anyone was looking. “All clear?”
“All clear,” P.W. confirmed.
Leon took a bead on Miss Hagmeyer. She was hunched over a stack of paper. He aimed the doll and slowly lifted one of its arms.
Nothing happened.
P.W. scribbled some notes on the map. “We’re too far away,” he said, moving three paces closer to where Miss Hagmeyer was seated. “Try here.”
Leon joined him at the new spot and again flexed the doll.
“Still nothing,” said Lily-Matisse.
P.W. added the new data to the map and continued to close in.
After four moves and four tests, Lily-Matisse said, “I think I saw her twitch.”
Leon leaned forward and jiggled the doll.
Miss Hagmeyer noticeably wiggled her bony rump.
“We have liftoff!” P.W. said in an excited whisper. He made further notations before turning to Leon. “Okay, here’s the scoop,” he said quietly. “By my calculations, you can’t be more than about thirty or thirty-five feet away from the Hag. Beyond that she stops responding.”
“So now what?” asked Leon.
P.W. again reached into his raincoat. This time he pulled out the black toucan feather he had picked up at the Trimore. He brushed it under Lily-Matisse’s chin.
“Stop that, it tickles!” she complained.
“It’s supposed to,” said P.W. “How else can Leon wage a tickle attack?”
Leon’s eyes widened. “You mean on the Hag?”
“Of course on the Hag,” said P.W.
“You’d better be careful,” Lily-Matisse warned. “You don’t know how she’ll react.”
“That’s the whole point,” P.W. said.
Leon took a deep breath and brought the toucan feather against the parts of the doll he guessed would cause the most squirming. Under the arms. Behind the neck.
“She’s not giggling,” said Lily-Matisse.
P.W. gave a nod. “I bet you the master piece can make the Hag move, but it can’t make her feel.”
“Makes sense,” said Leon. “Dollwork definitely numbs her.”
“That would also explain why she has no memory about the stuff she’s made to do.” P.W. said. He reclaimed the toucan feather and stuck it back inside his slicker. “Time to see if the master piece works through walls.”
He pointed to a recessed doorway on the map. “Leon, hide here and see if you can get the Hag to do a couple of jumping jacks through the wall.”
Leon trotted off to the spot P.W. had selected. After flexing the doll so that its legs parted and its hands touched overhead, Leon glanced at the teacher’s bench to see if “blind” dollwork prompted Miss Hagmeyer to do jumping jacks.
P.W. gave him the thumbs down.
The news comforted Leon. He no longer had to worry about crushing Miss Hagmeyer unknowingly because of something he accidentally did to the doll.
Lily-Matisse dashed over to the doorway with another piece of P.W.’s testing equipment. “Einstein wants to see if this will work,” she told Leon.
He looked at the object in her hand. “A mirror?”
“I’m supposed to hold it up and you’re supposed to aim the doll at it,” Lily-Matisse explained. “P.W. thinks catching the Hag in the reflection might extend the doll’s range.”
“You mean like one of those cardboard periscope things?” said Leon. “I guess it’s worth a try.”
Lily-Matisse ran off to a spot halfway between the recessed door and the bench. She pressed the mirror against her chest and moved it back and forth until Leon could see Miss Hagmeyer in the reflection.
Lining up a bank shot off a mirror was harder than Leon imagined. The slightest movement (by him or by Lily-Matisse) jiggled Miss Hagmeyer out of view. Eventually he managed to complete a couple of tests, which again turned out negative.
P.W. and Lily-Matisse joined Leon to go over the results.
“The mirror test proves that you can’t extend or bend the signal,” said P.W. scientifically.
“I guess dollwork needs a straight shot,” said Leon.
“That might make my next test a little tough,” said P.W. with a cryptic grin.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the next test?” asked Lily-Matisse.
P.W. scrounged around in the pocket of his raincoat and pulled out a pair of panty hose. “Either of you see Lumpkin?” he asked.
“You’re kidding!” said Leon. He understood immediately what P.W. had in mind. “You want the Hag to crown him?”
“We never did get a chance to execute Plan A,” P.W. noted with barely suppressed delight.
“This is not a good idea,” warned Lily-Matisse. “Besides, how’ll you get Lumpkin and the Hag together?”
“Mr. Dhabanandana!”
Out of nowhere, Miss Hagmeyer appeared.
“Y-y-yes?” P.W. stammered as he shoved the panty hose and map under his slicker.
“Come with me!”
Lily-Matisse and Leon watched helplessly as Miss Hagmeyer marched P.W. to the teachers’ bench, where she flapped a test paper at him accusingly.
“Sorry, guys,” P.W. said dejectedly when he rejoined his friends. “Plan A will have to wait. The Hag is pulling me out of recess. I have to go over my spelling.”
“That’s totally unfair,” Lily-Matisse protested.
“Can’t you stay a few more minutes?” said Leon.
“No, he cannot!” Miss Hagmeyer shouted from the bench.
After P.W. had headed back to the classroom, Lily-Matisse and Leon ducked into the doorway.
“So now what?” said Lily-Matisse.
Leon shrugged. Running tests without P.W. didn’t feel right. “It stinks big time that he gets punished just because he’s bad at spelling.”
“Nothing we can do about it,” Lily-Matisse said.
“Don’t be so sure,” Leon said. He glanced around the corner at Miss Hagmeyer. She was back to grading papers.
“Do you think you can isolate P.W.’s quiz?” Leon asked Lily-Matisse.
“What do you mean?”
“Can you sweet-talk the Hag and separate P.W.’s spelling test from the rest of the pile?”
“Why?”
“Don’t ask why,” said Leon. “Just tell me yes or no. Do you think you can do it? For P.W.?”
“I guess I could give it a shot.”
Lily-Matisse approached the teachers’ bench before she had a chance to get scared.
Leon couldn’t hear what she said to Miss Hagmeyer, but he knew it concerned sewing because Miss Hagmeyer put down her grading and reached for the instructional needle in her satchel. She was soon waving the needle in the air like a conductor handling a baton. And as Miss Hagmeyer ran through her “piece”—Leon could tell it was part of her standard repertoire: Stitches of Virtue, Variation No. 6, “The Overcast”—Lily-Matisse started nodding as if she had a nervous tic.
What’s she doing? Leon wondered.
Lily-Matisse continued to nod, and Leon continued to wonder. Eventually she pointed at the test papers and at the ground.
Leon understood. He grabbed the arm of the doll and jerked it to the side so that Miss Hagmeyer would smack the quizzes to the ground.
Lily-Matisse pounced while Leon held the doll (and Miss Hagmeyer) in place. She quickly gathered up the papers and placed them, in a reorganized pile, back on the bench.
Leon relaxed his grip on the doll only after Lily-Matisse was safely by his side.
“No wonder the Hag went ballistic,” she said. “P.W. got a D–.”
“Did you isolate his paper?” asked Leon.
Lily-Matisse frowned. “Wasn’t that what I was supposed to do? It’s on the top of the pile.”
“Nice work,” Leon said.
“Whatever you’re planning, do it fast. The Hag will re-alphabetize as soon as she sees that the order is messed up.”
“She won’t while I have my little friend,” said Leon. He aimed the master piece at the teachers’ bench and started working the limbs.
Miss Hagmeyer snapped into action. With one hand she reached for the quiz that topped the newly ordered stack. With the other she removed the marking pencil tucked into her wig.
“Ohmigosh!” Lily-Matisse blurted out. “You’re not going to—”
“Shush!” said Leon.
It took some doing, but eventually he managed to guide the marking pencil to a spot just inches above the D–. (The grade was a cinch to spot. Miss Hagmeyer had circled it twice and had underlined it for good measure.)
Leon forced Miss Hagmeyer to lower her pencil to the surface of P.W.’s quiz. Then, with a single downward stroke, he upped his friend’s grade from a D− to a D+.
It wasn’t a big improvement, but it would have to do. Telekinetic grade tampering demanded a lot more agility than a pull-up or a wig yank, since it required the use of a tool.
Unfortunately, P.W.’s good fortune didn’t last. As soon as Leon let go of the doll, Miss Hagmeyer erased the downstroke.
The D+ was a D− once more.
“Doesn’t look like your nimble fingers are going to change her mind,” said Lily-Matisse.
“We’ll see about that!” Leon said defiantly. He downstroked the hand of the doll a second time, forcing Miss Hagmeyer to re-revise P.W.’s grade.
The D− went back up to a D+.
“Amazing,” said Lily-Matisse as her eyes pingponged between doll and teacher.
But she spoke too soon.
Miss Hagmeyer re-re-revised the grade to a D–!
So began a curious display of hand-to-hand combat in which the hands of the two combatants never actually touched.
D+ … D− … D+ … D− … D+ … D− …
And then disaster struck.
Leon made his fifth (or was it his sixth?) down-stroke and waited for the minus sign to turn into a plus. Yet for some reason Miss Hagmeyer did not respond.
He tried again and waited. The grade remained unchanged. Miss Hagmeyer refused to budge. “Get closer,” Lily-Matisse advised.
Leon moved in and flicked the arm of the doll, still to no effect. Miss Hagmeyer had clearly regained control of her body. Within seconds she was re-alphabetizing the quizzes.
“Try the legs,” said Lily-Matisse.
Leon moved one leg of the doll, then the other. “I’ve lost control!” he cried. “I’ve lost control!”
Miss Hagmeyer abruptly turned toward them.
“Be quiet,” Lily-Matisse said in an urgent whisper. “She’ll hear you.”
For the remainder of recess Leon flexed the limbs of his master piece, hoping to revive the magic. But he couldn’t.
The doll was powerless and so, it appeared, was Leon.
TWENTY
A Problem … and a Solution
It was at pickup, while everyone was standing on the school steps, that Leon and Lily-Matisse updated P.W. about the doll’s malfunction.
“I’m getting nothing,” said Leon.
“No response at all?” asked P.W.
“None,” Lily-Matisse confirmed.
“Everything was working fine,” said Leon. “Then about five minutes after the Hag sent you inside—whammo!”
“Maybe it’s a range issue,” P.W. suggested. “How far away was the Hag when the power died?”
“Probably around ten feet,” said Leon.
“Fifteen, tops,” Lily-Matisse said.
“So that’s not the problem,” P.W. concluded. “What about the sight line?”
“The sight line was fine,” said Leon. “I had a clear shot.”
“We’ll find a solution,” said Lily-Matisse, doing her best to sound hopeful.
Leon scoffed. “A solution? How? By waving some magic wand?” He reached into his pouch and retrieved the master piece. “This was the solution. This was the magic wand. And now the magic wand is broken!”
“Hey, don’t get all snippy,” said Lily-Matisse. “I’m just saying there’s got to be a solution of some kind.”
“Have you checked the doll thoroughly?” P.W. asked. “Maybe some of the stitching got loose.”
Leon lifted up the arms and inspected the seams. He did the same with the legs. Then he scanned the cape and dress, the boots and the wig. There were no loose threads. Nothing seemed out of place.
In fact, the master piece was looking pretty good—the spit stain was beginning to fade.
Well, that’s something, he told himself. At least I’ll be able to submit the doll for final inspection. Then, all of a sudden, he cried out. “Hey, wait a minute! That’s it!”
“What is?” said P.W.
“What Lily-Matisse just said!” Leon answered.
Lily-Matisse gave him a puzzled look. “What did I say?”
“You said I needed a solution!”
“Well, du-uh,” said P.W.
“Don’t you get it?” Leon exclaimed. “The solution is the solution!”
“What are you babbling about?” said Lily-Matisse.
“I’m babbling about the spit stain,” said Leon.
“What about it?” said Lily-Matisse, mildly disgusted.
“Feel it!” said Leon, thrusting the doll toward her.
She recoiled. “No way, José!”
Leon turned to P.W. “Feel it!” he begged.
P.W. reluctantly reached over and prodded the spot. “It’s dry, so what?”
“Don’t you see?” said Leon. “That’s why I lost power. It’s just like a TV remote. The master piece needs recharging. Only instead of a couple of replacement batteries, it uses … ” He waited for the light-bulbs to go on in his friends’ heads. When they didn’t, he gave the stained stomach a dramatic tap.
“Teacher’s spit!” P.W. yelled at last.
Antoinette Brede, who was waiting for her limousine, heard the outburst. She turned and stared.
P.W. lowered his voice to an exuberant whisper. “Leon, you’re a total, absolute genius! All we have to do is snag some of the coach’s spit and we’ll be all set!”
“Gross!” said Lily-Matisse. “There is no way I’m going anywhere near that goop. I like the coach and all, but that’s, well … forget it!”
“C’mon,” urged P.W. “It’ll be cool. We’ll be like those elite special ops forces that get dropped behind enemy lines.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” said Leon. “We sneak into the gym. We take some spit. We leave. It’s not Mission: Impossible.”
“Good,” said Lily-Matisse. “If it’s that easy, then you guys won’t need me.”
“You can’t bail on us now,” said Leon. “We’re a team.”
“How about being a lookout?” P.W. suggested. “Would I have to get near … it?” Lily-Matisse asked.
“Of course not,” Leon said reassuringly.
Lily-Matisse mulled over the proposal and agreed to be part of the team, just as Napoleon pulled up in front of the school.
They struck at noon the very next day, while Coach Kasperitis was at lunch. Lily-Matisse and P.W. posted themselves at the double doors of the gymnasium entrance while Leon slunk inside. He padded across the wooden floor, scanning the bleachers.
A door hinge creaked. Leon froze.
“Limburger, Egghead, Oreo, Noogie—do you copy? Over?”
Leon whipped around and spotted P.W. talking into his fancy wristwatch.
“Confirm your position. Over.”
“Knock it off,” said Leon. “Just guard the door and holler if you see someone coming.”
“That’s a roger,” said P.W.
“Do me a favor,” Leon said. “Skip the spy stuff. Do you copy?”
“Oh, all right,” said P.W.
Leon tiptoed into the coach’s office and peered about. The place was a sty. There was sports equipme
nt scattered everywhere. A catcher’s chest protector, a sack of Rhinos, dirty socks, a leather pommel horse …
Leon focused his search on the desk, which was piled high with catalogs, late slips, whistles, and baseball memorabilia. After a bit of scrounging, he located the pickle jar underneath an ancient pitcher’s mitt.
He set to work, removing an empty juice bottle from inside his shirt and placing it alongside the pickle jar. Before performing the actual transfer, he made a tiny pencil mark on the side of the jar, at the level of the spit.
Once that was done, Leon unscrewed the jar and poured a small amount of the thick brown liquid into the juice bottle. He then added a little more, figuring it made sense to take extra, just in case. Cupping the partially drained pickle jar with both hands, Leon moved toward the water fountain at the opposite side of the gym, like an explosives expert handling nitro-glycerin….
DRRRRINNNNNG!
The fourth-period bell so startled him that he almost jumped out of his skin. Spit sloshed about inside the pickle jar.
Should have sealed it! Leon told himself angrily.
He got lucky, however. Nothing spilled.
As Leon was refilling the jar at the water fountain, the door hinge creaked again.
P.W. stuck his head into the gym. “Spitter in view! Repeat. Spitter in view! Estimated time of arrival—one minute!”
Leon started to run to the office but soon realized he had to slow down. With the jar filled almost to the brim, the risk of spilling spit on the floor was even greater than before.
By the time he set the pickle jar down on the coach’s desk, he was a nervous wreck. In fact, Leon was so discombobulated that he covered the juice bottle with the baseball mitt and shoved the pickle jar under his shirt, instead of the other way around. He was halfway out the door before he realized the mix-up, and only corrected it seconds before the coach entered the office.
“Looking for me, champ?”
“Y-yes,” Leon stuttered.
The coach gave him a sideways glance. “You okay?”
“Um, fine.”
The coach unzipped his tracksuit and sat down behind his desk. “What can I do you for?”
“Just came by to”—Leon racked his brains for a reason to justify his presence—“to say thanks for saving my master piece.”
Leon and the Spitting Image Page 13
