through the air like a feather and land on Jason’s desk. Jason tore it in two.
“You did it!” she told George. “You won the tickets!”
Other kids swarmed around George, patting his back and congratulating him. B smiled. Everything had worked out! Mr. Bishop hadn’t mentioned B in connection with the returned tickets. Jason the Sneak had lost, and her best friend had won. She was so proud of him.
Mr. Bishop handed the tickets to George just as the bell rang. Everyone grabbed their things and headed for the door, talking loudly about the competition and groaning about the words they’d missed. In the middle of the commotion, George slipped something into B’s hand.
It was a Black Cats ticket.
She didn’t know what to say, except, “Holy cats!”
Her cheering froze when she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. This sinking feeling was getting all too familiar.
“B,” Mr. Bishop said. “May I see you for a moment?”
Chapter 16
George was puzzled, but he didn’t pry. “I’ll see you at lunch,” he said, leaving B alone in the classroom with Mr. Bishop. But Mr. Bishop called after George, “Young man! Just so you know, B may not be able to join you at lunch today. We have a lot of work to do.”
B sat down in an empty desk and stared at its smudgy surface, her cheeks burning, waiting for whatever lecture or interrogation Mr. Bishop had in mind. Was he going to send her to detention for stealing the tickets? She still clutched her ticket in her sweaty palm, wondering if the teacher was going to take it away, since she was the supposedthief. Or maybe he would decide she would have to tell everyone what she’d done….
Mr. Bishop bent down and picked up the torn halves of the spelling list from where Jason had dropped them. He sat in the desk in front of B and twisted around to face her.
“Beatrix,” he said. Uh-oh, Beatrix again. “Did you misspell ‘explosion’ on purpose?”
B looked up, startled. How did he know? Helpless, she nodded.
“Why?”
B kept her eyes lowered. “I get scared of speaking in front of people,” she said. That part was true, at least.
“Yes, but to intentionally misspell a word that you know misrepresents your capabilities,” Mr. Bishop said. “It’s a form of dishonesty to let the world think you’re not as bright as you really are.”
B didn’t know what to think. Was Mr. Bishop trying to encourage her to have more self-confidence, or was he about to call her parents to report
today’s
act of dishonesty? B suddenly felttired. She wished Mr. Bell had never bought that lottery ticket, and that none of this drama had ever begun.
Mr. Bishop indicated to the spelling list fragments. “Funny how this list changed into harder words, right before my eyes …” he said. Panic rose up in B’s stomach. “You know what I think, B?”
She couldn’t even imagine how he could explain magically appearing words. All she was sure of was that it would probably spell T-R-O-U-B-L-E. “What?”
“I think words are like birds; they flutter and flit. Use them wisely and who knows what might come of it?”
B cocked her head to one side. What a weird thing to say! It almost sounded like one of her mother’s couplets.
Then she realized that the words on the torn-up spelling list were leaping, one by one, into the air, like a flock of birds taking flight from a tree branch. They spun and twirled around B’s head, then popped, making twinkly sounds.
B stared at Mr. Bishop. The corners of his mouth twitched.
“You’re … you’re …”
“That’s right,” he said, grinning. “I’m a witch. Just like you.”
B rubbed her eyes and stared again at the blank paper where the spelling words had been. “But how did you know that I … Who told you …”
Mr. Bishop folded his hands behind his head. “I’m from the Magical Rhyming Society, B. I’m in charge of the Developmental Magical Inquiry Committee. I was sent to observe you, to try to discover why you
“You did it!” she told George. “You won the tickets!”
Other kids swarmed around George, patting his back and congratulating him. B smiled. Everything had worked out! Mr. Bishop hadn’t mentioned B in connection with the returned tickets. Jason the Sneak had lost, and her best friend had won. She was so proud of him.
Mr. Bishop handed the tickets to George just as the bell rang. Everyone grabbed their things and headed for the door, talking loudly about the competition and groaning about the words they’d missed. In the middle of the commotion, George slipped something into B’s hand.
It was a Black Cats ticket.
She didn’t know what to say, except, “Holy cats!”
Her cheering froze when she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. This sinking feeling was getting all too familiar.
“B,” Mr. Bishop said. “May I see you for a moment?”
Chapter 16
George was puzzled, but he didn’t pry. “I’ll see you at lunch,” he said, leaving B alone in the classroom with Mr. Bishop. But Mr. Bishop called after George, “Young man! Just so you know, B may not be able to join you at lunch today. We have a lot of work to do.”
B sat down in an empty desk and stared at its smudgy surface, her cheeks burning, waiting for whatever lecture or interrogation Mr. Bishop had in mind. Was he going to send her to detention for stealing the tickets? She still clutched her ticket in her sweaty palm, wondering if the teacher was going to take it away, since she was the supposedthief. Or maybe he would decide she would have to tell everyone what she’d done….
Mr. Bishop bent down and picked up the torn halves of the spelling list from where Jason had dropped them. He sat in the desk in front of B and twisted around to face her.
“Beatrix,” he said. Uh-oh, Beatrix again. “Did you misspell ‘explosion’ on purpose?”
B looked up, startled. How did he know? Helpless, she nodded.
“Why?”
B kept her eyes lowered. “I get scared of speaking in front of people,” she said. That part was true, at least.
“Yes, but to intentionally misspell a word that you know misrepresents your capabilities,” Mr. Bishop said. “It’s a form of dishonesty to let the world think you’re not as bright as you really are.”
B didn’t know what to think. Was Mr. Bishop trying to encourage her to have more self-confidence, or was he about to call her parents to report
today’s
act of dishonesty? B suddenly felttired. She wished Mr. Bell had never bought that lottery ticket, and that none of this drama had ever begun.
Mr. Bishop indicated to the spelling list fragments. “Funny how this list changed into harder words, right before my eyes …” he said. Panic rose up in B’s stomach. “You know what I think, B?”
She couldn’t even imagine how he could explain magically appearing words. All she was sure of was that it would probably spell T-R-O-U-B-L-E. “What?”
“I think words are like birds; they flutter and flit. Use them wisely and who knows what might come of it?”
B cocked her head to one side. What a weird thing to say! It almost sounded like one of her mother’s couplets.
Then she realized that the words on the torn-up spelling list were leaping, one by one, into the air, like a flock of birds taking flight from a tree branch. They spun and twirled around B’s head, then popped, making twinkly sounds.
B stared at Mr. Bishop. The corners of his mouth twitched.
“You’re … you’re …”
“That’s right,” he said, grinning. “I’m a witch. Just like you.”
B rubbed her eyes and stared again at the blank paper where the spelling words had been. “But how did you know that I … Who told you …”
Mr. Bishop folded his hands behind his head. “I’m from the Magical Rhyming Society, B. I’m in charge of the Developmental Magical Inquiry Committee. I was sent to observe you, to try to discover why you
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