handing Jason more towels and a hall pass. “You can go to the nurse’s for a change of clothes.”
B bit her lip and stared closely at her painting. Oh, she shouldn’t have done that, she knew. But it had been worth it. She glanced sideways at Trina. The new girl seemed to be working hard not to laugh. B gave her a wink, and Trina nearly lost the battle.
With Jason gone, the atmosphere lifted. B decided to tackle Nightshade’s whiskers again.
“I’m painting my cat, Nightshade,” B told Trina in a low voice. “He’s kind of like a miniature panther. I love black cats, and I especially love
the
Black Cats! Do you?”
Trina pursed her lips. “Umm … huh?”
B stopped in midstroke. “You know! The
Black Cats?
The band?”
Trina studied her shoes. “Never heard of them.”
“Never heard of …” B checked her astonishment. She didn’t want to embarrass her new friend. “Well, then,” she said, “you’re in for a treat. They’re fantastic. My best friend, George, won two tickets to their concert Saturday, and he’s taking me. I’m their biggest fan.”
Trina, who had thus far painted only one black stroke on her sheet of paper, rinsed her brush rapidly in the cup of water B’d gotten her.
“What’s the matter?” B asked.
“Can I get another sheet of paper?” Trina said. “I … I changed my mind. I don’t want to do a panther. I think I’ll do a penguin instead.”
B shrugged. “Okay.” She got Trina a fresh sheet, then tackled Nightshade’s whiskers once more. They came out even better the second time. She was just finishing the last one when the bell rang.
“What’s your next class?” B said, turning to Trina’s easel. But her new classmate was already gone. B caught sight of her plaid backpack disappearing out the art room door. Too bad — B had planned to show her around the building a bit,maybe compare schedules. Even though Trina was definitely shy, B felt sure she was going to like this new girl.
There was no sign of Trina in second period, but in the hall on the way to English, B spotted Trina just as George came around a corner.
“Hey, Trina, meet George,” B said. “He’s the friend I was telling you about, remember? The concert tickets?”
Trina blinked, then nodded. She held out a hand for George to shake. So old-fashioned! But George took Trina’s hand and shook it without any fuss.
“George, this is Trina Lang. She’s new. We had art together.”
George nodded. “Hey, Trina. Nice to meet you. What class do you have next?”
Trina consulted an index card. “Umm … English. Bishop. Room two-two-seven.”
“That’s where we’re headed,” B said. “C’mon. Mr. Bishop’s great. You’ll like him.”
“Yeah, he can do magic,” George said.
Trina paused. “Huh?”
B suppressed a smile. George was far more right than he knew! “He means,” she told Trina, “that Mr. Bishop’s great at doing magic tricks. You know, pull the rabbit out of the hat? That sort of thing.”
“Oh.” Trina headed down the hall, reading the numbers on each classroom door.
Mr. Bishop was more than just a great, if eccentric, English teacher. He held important duties at the Magical Rhyming Society, or M.R.S., where witches studied and practiced casting spells using rhymes. And he was B’s magic tutor, assigned to help her figure out how her unusual brand of word-spelling magic worked, and, perhaps more important, how it didn’t.
But Trina didn’t need to know about any of that. If she ever found out … B shuddered. Trina
couldn’t
know. No one was supposed to know that she and Mr. Bishop were witches — except George, who had accidentally discovered B’s secret, and that couldn’t happen again.
“Want some chocolate, Trina?” George said, holding out a bag of Enchanted Chocolate Peanut Butter Pillows.
“George never leaves home without chocolate,” B observed as Trina helped herself to a handful. “That’s why I keep him around.”
“Enchanted
B bit her lip and stared closely at her painting. Oh, she shouldn’t have done that, she knew. But it had been worth it. She glanced sideways at Trina. The new girl seemed to be working hard not to laugh. B gave her a wink, and Trina nearly lost the battle.
With Jason gone, the atmosphere lifted. B decided to tackle Nightshade’s whiskers again.
“I’m painting my cat, Nightshade,” B told Trina in a low voice. “He’s kind of like a miniature panther. I love black cats, and I especially love
the
Black Cats! Do you?”
Trina pursed her lips. “Umm … huh?”
B stopped in midstroke. “You know! The
Black Cats?
The band?”
Trina studied her shoes. “Never heard of them.”
“Never heard of …” B checked her astonishment. She didn’t want to embarrass her new friend. “Well, then,” she said, “you’re in for a treat. They’re fantastic. My best friend, George, won two tickets to their concert Saturday, and he’s taking me. I’m their biggest fan.”
Trina, who had thus far painted only one black stroke on her sheet of paper, rinsed her brush rapidly in the cup of water B’d gotten her.
“What’s the matter?” B asked.
“Can I get another sheet of paper?” Trina said. “I … I changed my mind. I don’t want to do a panther. I think I’ll do a penguin instead.”
B shrugged. “Okay.” She got Trina a fresh sheet, then tackled Nightshade’s whiskers once more. They came out even better the second time. She was just finishing the last one when the bell rang.
“What’s your next class?” B said, turning to Trina’s easel. But her new classmate was already gone. B caught sight of her plaid backpack disappearing out the art room door. Too bad — B had planned to show her around the building a bit,maybe compare schedules. Even though Trina was definitely shy, B felt sure she was going to like this new girl.
There was no sign of Trina in second period, but in the hall on the way to English, B spotted Trina just as George came around a corner.
“Hey, Trina, meet George,” B said. “He’s the friend I was telling you about, remember? The concert tickets?”
Trina blinked, then nodded. She held out a hand for George to shake. So old-fashioned! But George took Trina’s hand and shook it without any fuss.
“George, this is Trina Lang. She’s new. We had art together.”
George nodded. “Hey, Trina. Nice to meet you. What class do you have next?”
Trina consulted an index card. “Umm … English. Bishop. Room two-two-seven.”
“That’s where we’re headed,” B said. “C’mon. Mr. Bishop’s great. You’ll like him.”
“Yeah, he can do magic,” George said.
Trina paused. “Huh?”
B suppressed a smile. George was far more right than he knew! “He means,” she told Trina, “that Mr. Bishop’s great at doing magic tricks. You know, pull the rabbit out of the hat? That sort of thing.”
“Oh.” Trina headed down the hall, reading the numbers on each classroom door.
Mr. Bishop was more than just a great, if eccentric, English teacher. He held important duties at the Magical Rhyming Society, or M.R.S., where witches studied and practiced casting spells using rhymes. And he was B’s magic tutor, assigned to help her figure out how her unusual brand of word-spelling magic worked, and, perhaps more important, how it didn’t.
But Trina didn’t need to know about any of that. If she ever found out … B shuddered. Trina
couldn’t
know. No one was supposed to know that she and Mr. Bishop were witches — except George, who had accidentally discovered B’s secret, and that couldn’t happen again.
“Want some chocolate, Trina?” George said, holding out a bag of Enchanted Chocolate Peanut Butter Pillows.
“George never leaves home without chocolate,” B observed as Trina helped herself to a handful. “That’s why I keep him around.”
“Enchanted
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