Esmerelda Smudge and the Magic Pepper Pot

by Mandy Martin

everyone else in the class did. With any luck Mr Night wouldn’t tease her or make jokes about an award for the most appalling spelling results in class.

  She ran up to her room to get her school things. The pepper pot was sitting on her book bag. Had she put it there? She thought she’d left it on the windowsill. Oh well, it could come to school. Maybe she’d figure out how to use it and ace her spelling test.

  “I would definitely wish to know my spellings!” she laughed.

  As she reached out to put the freaky little figure in her bag, a gust of wind blew in through the open window. Pepper from the pot swirled up and made Esme sneeze. Then sneeze again. That was odd. Pepper didn’t usually make her sneeze quite as much as the powder from the silver pot did. Maybe it was the strange incense smell that hung around the thing. Perhaps she was allergic to it.

  She frowned and dropped the pot in her bag, before heading to the bathroom for a tissue. Or maybe she was just coming down with a cold.

  “Okay, class, please write down your spellings from the weekend,” Mr Night said. Esme took a clean sheet of paper and began writing. She didn’t even have to think about it, the words just appeared in her mind.

  When Mr Night came to collect the tests, he gave Esme a strange look. Was it really so odd that she’d written her answers quickly and without chewing her pencil to pieces? Mr Night walked to the front of the classroom, with half the papers still uncollected.

  “Are you all right, sir?” one of the girls at the front asked. Mr Night continued to stare at Esme’s paper.

  “How badly did you do today?” Esme’s best friend Nat whispered.

  “I thought I did better than normal,” Esme whispered back with a tiny shrug.

  “Esme, can you come with me please?” Mr Night said distractedly. “The rest of you; read your books.”

  Esme’s face burned with shame as she stood up and walked to the front of the class. Even on her worst days, when she’d got no spellings correct, Mr Night had never done more than sigh.

  Her teacher didn’t speak as she came up to him. Instead he walked to the door, looked over his shoulder and said, “Follow me.”

  Esme was too frightened to ask where they were going. But they hadn’t gone far before she knew. She’d taken the route to the headmistress’s office enough times to know the way.

  Mr Night knocked on Mrs Lowe’s door.

  “Enter.”

  Esme hovered on the threshold. “You too,” Mr Night said without looking at her. She scuttled in and stood at the back trying to be invisible. Where was the pepper pot when you needed it?

  “Good morning, Mr Night, how can I help you?” Mrs Lowe looked up at the teacher and then at Esme. “It’s a little early for you to be in my office, isn’t it, Esmerelda? We haven’t had break time yet. Don’t tell me you’ve been climbing somewhere you shouldn’t already.” Esme shook her head.

  “This is why we’re here,” Mr Night said, handing Mrs Lowe Esme’s spelling paper. Mrs Lowe pulled out a pair of glasses and balanced them on her nose. It made her look marginally less frightening. As she read, her eyebrows climbed higher and higher as if they were trying to escape her face entirely.

  “Cheating, Miss Smudge? That isn’t like you.”

  Whatever Esme was expecting, it wasn’t that. “I haven’t cheated, Mrs Lowe, I promise,” she said. But she could feel the blush creeping up her neck. Was it cheating to wish for good results? “I didn’t copy anyone,” she clarified. That bit was true at least.

  “Hmmm.” Mrs Lowe looked at the paper again. “Well, then maybe you can explain why you saw fit to do the entire term’s worth of spellings when Mr Night only asked for this week’s?”

  What? Esme’s eyes grew wide. She’d done what?

  “Er, sorry, Mrs Lowe,” she mumbled. “I, er, I was learning them this weekend. Mum wants me to do better on my spelling.” That wasn’t lying. She pressed her lips together tightly and hoped they would infer that she had learned all the spellings from the whole term. She’d certainly tried to learn them at some point.

  “Well, I must say, I applaud your attitude, Miss Smudge. I’m very impressed indeed. Indeed. Have you considered entering for the regional Spelling Championship, as you’re making such progress.”

  Esme wasn’t sure who looked more shocked, her or Mr Night. Spelling Championship? Oh cripes. She shook her head. Even Mr Night looked like he wasn’t certain. “Perhaps this morning was a lucky fluke,” he said hesitantly. It was a little close to the truth for Esme’s liking, but she nodded in agreement.

  “Nonsense. One does not learn spelling by luck,” Mrs Lowe stated seriously, “But by hard work. And such obvious effort should be rewarded. I insist you enter Miss Smudge in the Championships!”

  Mr Night nodded and ushered Esme from the room. As they walked back to class he hissed, in a very un-teacher-like manner, “Whatever you did to learn those spellings, you’d better carry on doing it.” Then he waltzed in ahead of her, as if he hadn’t uttered a word.

  Nat’s Niggles

  Esme sat down at her lunch table and stared at her food. Normally chicken tikka and naan bread was her favourite. She loved spicy food. But today the smell reminded her of the pepper pot.

  All around the hall she could hear whispers and giggles. Occasionally a word like ‘cheat’ drifted on the air. It was horrible. Her ears burned at the tips until she was amazed they didn’t set fire to her hair.

  At the end of her table some of the clever children whose place she had stolen sat like icicles, sucking the warmth from the air as they chomped on their chicken.

  Esme shivered and picked at her naan bread but the dough sat in her dry mouth like cement. Even the lemon drizzle cake for pudding couldn’t tempt her. She sat on the edge of her seat and waited to be allowed out into the playground. A game of football with Nat would make her feel better.

  “So, how did you do it then?” Nat asked. He stood with his hands on his hips and gave her a speculative look.

  “Do what?” Esme kicked the ball neatly through Nat’s legs into the goal. His mates jeered but Nat barely noticed. He continued to stare at Esme until she ducked her head.

  “Get all those spellings right. I watched you – you weren’t copying. It was like they poured from your brain onto the paper. And why did you go and do the whole term’s worth? Not like you to be a teacher’s pet.”

  Esme didn’t know what to say. Nat was her best friend – sometimes her only friend. She never lied to him. But how could she tell him the truth? He wouldn’t believe her anyway.

  “Just lucky, I guess,” she shrugged. “Mum’s obsessed with me knowing my spellings.”

  Nat gave her a weird look. He knew she was lying. Esme’s face went all beetroot and sweaty.

  “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine,” he said as he gathered up the ball and chucked it back to the others. He ran off towards them, shouting over his shoulder, “You can be in goal.”

  “Don’t be like that, Nat!” Esme called back, but he ignored her. She stood in goal blinking away tears. What could she tell him that was safe? It was bad enough that the whole class had started muttering when Mr Night announced she would be their Spelling Championship representative. Some pupils had been practising for months to be picked. She didn’t blame them one bit for hating her. If she’d known where her wish would take her, she would never have made it.

  I wish Nat was still my friend, she thought sadly as he and his mates kept the ball well away from goal. Should she try and use the pepper pot on Nat? It seemed too sneaky. Besides, did wishes work on friends? Probably not. She would have to win his forgiveness the hard way.

  Nat was still ignoring Esme as they waited for the bus. She’d tried to explain in Maths, but her words had got tangled and it was clear to them both that she was hiding something.

  By the time the bus dropped her off outside her house, Esme was ready to cry. She let herself in the back door and went to find Mum.

  “How was school?” Mum ask
ed, looking up from her computer. Esme opened her mouth and closed it again. What could she say to Mum?

  “I, er, I got picked for the Spelling Championship.”

  “What?!” Mum leapt up from her desk, knocking paperwork flying. “Oh my goodness, that’s amazing! You clever girl, I’m so proud of you. All that hard work paid off then?”

  Mum wrapped Esme in an enormous hug. Esme stood like a statue until eventually Mum pulled away. “What is it? Aren’t you pleased? Are you nervous? That’s only natural. You just–”

  “Nat thinks I cheated.” Esme interrupted before she confessed the truth.

  Mum frowned. “Did you?” she asked quietly.

  “No! Well, no.”

  “Esmerelda, I did not bring you up to be a cheat.”

  “I didn’t cheat! I wished on my lucky pepper pot, and suddenly I knew all the answers.”

  Mum laughed and hugged Esme again. “Oh, Elderflower! You had me worried. That’s not cheating. Nat’s jealous, that’s all. Let’s go and have some cake to celebrate.”

  She pushed Esme ahead of her into the kitchen. “Aunt Maud called today,” she said. “Apparently she got through on Dosh in the Loft. They’re going to be filming at her house in a few weeks. She wanted to know if you fancied taking part.”

  Dosh in the Loft! Esme could ask one of the experts about the pepper pot. They might know if it really was magic. “Yes, please!” She took a huge bit of Mum’s gooey chocolate fudge cake and smiled for the first time since