Jeremy Thatcher, Dragon Hatcher: A Magic Shop Book

by Bruce Coville; Gary A. Lippincott

  "Fine!" shouted Specimen. "Next time take Mary Lou with you!" Grabbing a pile of art-supplies he had loaned Jeremy the week before, he stormed out of the room.

  Great, thought Jeremy glumly. Now even my best friend is mad at me.

  Tiamat poked her head over the edge of the sock drawer. A comfortable swirl of yellow flowed into Jeremy's mind.

  But then, maybe I've got a new best friend, he thought with a smile.

  He decided to read some of the book Miss Priest had given him. Unfortunately, it seemed to have vanished in the general chaos of his room.

  "Just my luck," he groaned, throwing himself on his bed.

  "I don't want to go to school," he said, when his mother set a fried egg in front of him on Monday morning. Poking a hole in the yolk, he watched the yellow goo ooze across his plate.

  "Can't say as I blame you," said his father. "School is a repressive institution, aimed at subduing the masses. Still and all, it's easier to send you than to have you underfoot. So off you go."

  "Herb!" cried Mrs. Thatcher. "That's a terrible thing to say."

  "It's a sad thing but trooo-o-o," warbled Jeremy's father, reaching for the blueberry granola. He began pouring the cereal into his "Roy'n'Trigger" bowl and added, "But then, life's tough. Isn't it, Jer?"

  Jeremy nodded glumly, and tried not to squirm when his mother put her hand on his forehead.

  "You haven't got a fever," she said, sounding relieved. "My diagnosis is Monday-morning-osis. I'm

  afraid your dad is right. About going, that is," she added, giving Dr. Thatcher a sharp look.

  Jeremy finished his egg and trudged out of the room. He didn't care about repressive institutions and he certainly didn't plan to be underfoot. But he did have three very good reasons for wanting to stay home. The first was to remain with Tiamat. The second was to avoid Howard, Freddy, and Mary Lou. The third was to turn his room inside out looking for Miss Priest's book.

  At least the milk trick is working, he thought, as he went out the door. With that bowl of milk inside her, Tiamat should doze all day.

  Actually, his main concern now was the rate at which she was growing. Her head, which had been no bigger than his thumb when she hatched, was already the size of a lemon.

  He wandered along the sidewalk, wondering what new horrors the day might hold. For one bright moment he thought that if last Friday's humiliating scene with Mr. Kravitz had been the worst moment of his life, maybe from here on in things would get better.

  Somehow, he doubted it.

  "Hey, Jeremy!" cried Spess, as Jeremy, still wrapped in gloom, trudged along the sidewalk in front of the Bothill home. "Wait up!"

  Jeremy smiled as Spess came bumbling down the front steps of his house. At least his friend was talking to him again. But before they really started to feel comfortable with each other, they heard a shrill whistle. Turning, they saw Martha Colgin standing at the corner. Taking a silver coach's whistle from her lips, she screamed, "Mary Lou, I found Jeremy. He's over this way."

  "Uh-oh," said Specimen. "Looks like you'd better—"

  But Jeremy was already gone. Sprinting for all he was worth, he ran the entire distance to school. He knew he would be safe once he reached his homeroom. Their teacher, Mr. Sigel, didn't put up with that kind of nonsense.

  Unfortunately, there were times in the school day when Mr. Sigel wasn't around. Howard Morton, who had seen Jeremy's mad dash from Mary Lou, started making loud, wet, kissing noises every time Jeremy walked past him on the playground.

  Even worse, Mary Lou told some of her friends that she was going to Jeremy's house for dinner that weekend, with the result that by the time Friday rolled around, people were chanting "Jeremy Thatcher and Hot Stuff Hutton—the Ro-o-o-o-mance of the Century!" every time they saw him.

  Jeremy was so tired of the whole thing that he began to wish Tiamat was big enough to start eating some of the people who were really bugging him.

  At least Spess hadn't gone over to the enemy camp. When Howard made his kissing sound at Jeremy as they were walking into art on Friday afternoon, Spess whispered, "Maybe you should just punch him out."

  "What a great idea!" replied Jeremy. "Heck, he's only a foot and a half taller than me."

  Specimen looked hurt. "Well, at least he would know you were serious."

  "Specimen, the day Howard takes me seriously, I'm in real trouble."

  They had to stop talking then, because Mr. Kravitz had lumbered to the front of the room. "Today we are going to draw still lifes," said the teacher. He directed their attention to a small round table that held two oranges, a banana, and a tall blue water jug.

  After Mr. Kravitz had spent some time telling them what a wonderful job he had done in arranging the items, he passed out paper and said, "Start drawing."

  Jeremy began to sketch, slowly at first, then with growing enthusiasm. Soon he was so involved with what he was doing that he didn't notice Mr. Kravitz standing behind him. He jumped when the gruff voice said, "Perhaps you did not understand me, Mr. Thatcher. We are drawing still lifes today. In particular, that still life."

  He gestured to the table in the middle of the room, then to Jeremy's picture. The banana and the oranges looked fine. But instead of the blue jug, Jeremy had drawn a small dragon trying to eat one of the oranges, which was bigger than its head.

  "Thai is not a still life," said Mr. Kravitz, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "In fact, it is not based on any kind of life at all. I did not ask you to use your imagination today. I asked you to use your eyes— to draw what you see."

  Jeremy wanted to say, "This is what I see. It's what's inside me." But before he could find the courage to speak, Mr. Kravitz slapped his hand against the desk.

  "I want fruit," he roared. "Fruit, Thatcher, not imaginary animals!"

  "But it's NOT . . ."

  Jeremy stopped himself. What was he going to do? Tell Mr. Kravitz the dragon was real? Even if he did tell about Tiamat, no one else could see her.

  "Try again, Thatcher," said Mr. Kravitz, handing Jeremy a fresh sheet of paper.

  Jeremy sighed. When he wanted more paper, he couldn't get it. When he was happy with what he was doing, Mr. Kravitz took it away and told him to start over.

  He considered adding Mr. Kravitz to the next drawing. After all, the man was shaped like a pear. He decided the joke would be more trouble than it was worth.

  Reluctantly, he picked up his pencil and started to sketch! He was blocking in the banana when a jolt of pain surged through his head. He cried out in shock, his hand jerking out of control and knocking a box of charcoal sticks across the table.

  "Hey!" cried Specimen, as the britde sticks of charcoal went cascading over his drawing. "Watch it!"

  Jeremy barely heard him. Something was wrong with Tiamat. Glancing up, he saw Mr. Kravitz heading in their direction. He looked angrier than ever.

  No time to worry about that. "Gonna throw up!" he yelled, jumping to his feet and heading for the door. That would slow Mr. Kravitz down. Everyone knew he hated it when kids puked.

  Dashing into the hall, Jeremy raced for the back door of the school and started across the playground. Realizing he was more apt to be spotted that way, he changed direction, taking the longer route down Cherry Street toward the park. By the time he reached the park entrance, his lungs felt like there were little men inside scrubbing them with sandpaper.

  But he kept running.

  Gasping for breath, he stumbled up the front steps of his house, fumbled with the key, threw open the door, and shot into the living room.

  To his surprise, everything was quiet. He had expected chaos, an ongoing uproar. But the house was silent. Even the bounding enthusiasm of Grief was missing.

  Stopping to catch his breath, Jeremy suddenly realized that the sense of panic and danger filling his head had faded. He had been so wound up in trying to get home, he had not noticed the ebbing of the crisis until now. The searing pain created by his desperate sprint had blocked any sendings he m
ight have received from Tiamat.

  He started up the stairs, but a soft whine stopped him. Turning, he saw that it came from Grief, who was cowering under the dining room table.

  What's been going on here? he wondered. Where's Tiamat?

  The instant he thought the question, he sensed the dragon's location. It wasn't anything as simple as a message saying, "I'm here." He just knew where she was.

  Bounding up the stairs, he stopped at his door, appalled by the mess that greeted him. His room, never very neat at its best, looked like a hurricane had just passed through. The general clutter that usually hid the floor appeared to have been whipped around with a giant eggbeater. The covers had been pulled off his bed. Anything that could be tipped over, had been.

  An indignant squawk drew his attention to Tiamat. She was perched on top of the bookshelf, glaring down at him angrily. However, the feeling he was picking up from her was not anger with him but at the world in general.

  "What is it?" he asked gently, picking his way across the debris-covered floor. "What's wrong, Ti?"

  Tiamat opened her mouth and hissed. Jeremy drew back for a second, then stepped forward again. The dragonlet looked different than she had that morning—lighter, somehow, as if someone had polished her scales. Suddenly he spotted something that looked like a piece of red cellophane lying on the bookshelf.

  "Your skin!" he said breathlessly. "Ti—you've shed your skin."

  Holding out his hand, he invited Tiamat to climb onto his shoulder. She was partway up his arm when Jeremy heard a noise that startled him. He spun around so fast that Tiamat had to grab his sleeve with her teeth to keep from falling off. She sent him a flash of angry purple to let him know she didn't appreciate that kind of sudden movement.

  Jeremy ignored the sending. He was too upset by what he saw.

  Eight - The Dragon Who Came to Dinner

  Mary Lou Hutton stood in Jeremy's doorway, staring at him with wide blue eyes. Though her lips were moving, nothing came out.

  "What are you doing here?" he demanded furiously.

  Mary Lou found her voice at last. "You've got a dragon!"

  "That's none of your business! Why are you—" Then it hit him. "You mean you can see her?"

  Before Mary Lou could answer, Jeremy was distracted by Tiamat launching herself into the air. He winced as a sharp pain shot through his shoulder. At first, he thought the dragon's claws had caused it. But when he pulled back the neck of his T-shirt he saw that the skin underneath was unmarked. He cried out as another jab of pain shot along his arm. What was going on here?

  Turning to Tiamat, he noticed that the dragon- let was favoring her right wing—flying with a limp, so to speak. Being linked into her head, he was sharing her pain. He rubbed his shoulder in relief when Tiamat setded on top of the door to stare down at Mary Lou.

  "It's beautiful," said Mary Lou. "Only, it's kind of scary."

  "It's not an it," said Jeremy. "It's a she. And how come you can see her?"

  Mary Lou looked puzzled, and Jeremy realized it had been a stupid question. How would Mary Lou know why she could see the dragon, when she didn't even know that she shouldn't be able to? But stupid question or not, he needed an answer. Of all the people in the world Tiamat might have revealed herself to, why did she choose Mary Lou Hutton?

  "I love dragons," said Mary Lou, as if she were answering him.

  Jeremy stared at her in surprise. Had she just read his mind? Since she was still gazing at Tiamat, Jeremy decided Mary Lou's comment had been nothing more than talk. Then he wondered if Mary Lou had accidentally answered his question anyway. Did loving dragons have something to do with being able to see them? Or had Tiamat just been so distracted by shedding her skin that she had forgotten to make herself invisible?

  "You're the first person besides me who's been able to see her," said Jeremy.

  Mary Lou took far more pleasure in this fact than did Jeremy. "Wow," she said, her face glowing. "That's neat. Where did you get her, anyway?"

  "I don't think I'm supposed to tell. Besides, it's none of your business. And you still haven't told me what you're doing here."

  "I came to see if you were all right."

  Jeremy stared at her, waiting for her to explain.

  "Well, when I was coming back from the girl's room I saw you go rushing out of the school. You had such a terrible look on your face, I decided to follow you. When I got here, the front door was wide open. I thought maybe something horrible had happened, so I came in." She paused. "Are you okay?"

  Jeremy wanted to tell Mary Lou to stop asking questions and scram. But the fact that she had seen Tiamat made him feel—oddly—that she had some kind of right to be here.

  "Are you okay?" she repeated.

  "I'm not sure. Something was wrong with Tiamat."

  An image flashed into his mind. Jeremy closed his eyes. In his head, he saw Tiamat rolling her shoulders as she tried to shed her skin.

  "Jeremy!" cried Mary Lou. "What are you doing?"

  Jeremy opened his eyes. He had been rotating his shoulders as if he were trying to shed his own skin. He blushed. This nonverbal communication of Tiamat's was starting to get out of hand!

  "Tiamat was shedding," he explained. "It frightened her."

  Another image came into his head. "But that wasn't all. While she was trying to get out of her skin, my dog, Grief, came through the door to investigate."

  "Did he hurt her?" asked Mary Lou breathlessly.

  Jeremy shook his head. "I doubt it. He's trained to leave the animals alone. But I bet he tried to pick her up. After all, he's a retriever, and—"

  Jeremy broke off as Tiamat began sending him images of the wild scramble that had followed Grief's entry into the room. He was appalled by the dragon's ferocity. No wonder Grief was hiding under the table!

  He shook his head to clear it. "The whole thing was my fault," he said, blushing a little. "I try to keep the door closed, but I guess I had so much on my mind this morning that I didn't pull it tight. Thank goodness I gave Tiamat her milk before I went to school. No telling what she might have done to Grief if she hadn't been feeling sluggish."

  "Milk?"

  "It keeps her calm," said Jeremy. He paused, then added, "Listen, Mary Lou. You have to promise not to tell anyone about this."

  Mary Lou looked offended. "Of course I won't tell anyone. I know how these things work!"

  Jeremy remembered their conversation about books the day Mary Lou had followed him home from the library. Maybe if someone had to find out about Tiamat, it was just as well that it was someone like her.

  But Jeremy's good feelings about Mary Lou vanished when she asked, "What are we going to do now?"

  "We aren't going to do anything," he snapped. "This is my problem. What you're going to do is go away."

  "I just wanted to help," said Mary Lou, her lip trembling.

  "I don't need your help!" said Jeremy. "No one invited you to come barging in here!"

  "Well, excuse me for caring!" yelled Mary Lou. Turning, she ran out of the room.

  Jeremy listened as she raced down the stairs and out the front door.

  "Oh, shut up," he said, when Tiamat sent her question feeling. He was confused. Tiamat was all right. Mary Lou was gone. He should be happy.

  So why do I feel so lousy? he wondered.

  He decided to work on his room. Tolerant as his mother was of his usual mess level, there was no way she was going to let him get away with this.

  Maybe I'll at least find Miss Priest's book, he thought, as he pulled the sheet back onto the bed.

  But after nearly three hours of work he hadn't found the slightest trace of the book. He was upset, both because he really wanted to read it—and because he was worried about what Miss Priest was going to do if he couldn't find it. He had a feeling it was very valuable.

  As if things weren't bad enough already, that night at supper his mother reminded him that the Huttons were coming to dinner on Sunday.

  The only g
ood thing about the whole day was the beautiful colors Tiamat sent into his head as he was going to sleep.

  "What's the big deal, anyway?" asked Jeremy on Sunday afternoon as he watched his mother prepare for the dinner party. "You'd think the president was coming or something."

  "Don't be silly," said Mrs. Thatcher. She flipped the pie dough she was working on and pressed it lightly with her rolling pin. "I just want to make a nice meal."

  "And I want you to be on your best behavior, Buster," said his father, who happened to wander into the kitchen at that moment. "I don't want you chasing our guests' little girl around and trying to kiss her."

  "Dad!" cried Jeremy, totally disgusted.

  "Go cut some rhubarb, Herb," said Mrs. Thatcher.

  "I'm busy," said Dr. Thatcher.

  "Doing what?"

  "Bothering Jeremy."

  "Herbert Thatcher, you go cut that rhubarb, or you can cook this meal yourself."

  Dr. Thatcher shrugged. "See that, kid," he said.

  "She's on your side." He winked at Jeremy, then sauntered out the back door, singing some old song about rhubarb. He tripped over a cat as he went.

  By six o'clock the house was filled with delicious aromas. Jeremy felt his mouth begin to water as he sat in his room, trying to communicate with Tiamat. He loved it when she sent swirls of color into his head, but he wanted to learn to speak to her more clearly.

  "Jeremy!" called his mother. "The Huttons are here!"

  "Great," he grumbled. He dragged down the stairs, trying to convince himself it was possible to be nice to Mary Lou.

  While the adults greeted each other enthusiastically, Mary Lou and Jeremy glared at each other.

  "Jeremy, why don't you show Mary Lou around the office," said Dr. Thatcher. "I understand she's a real animal lover."