The Runaway Spell Read Free

words?”
    “Nothing, apparently,” B said, frowning at George’s head. Tufts of black and white hair jutted up through his curls, while his new ears twitched at every sound in the room, almost with a life of their own.
    “Looks like you may be wearing a hat for a while,” B said. “I’m sure the ears’ll go away. If not, I’ll think of something.”
With any luck,
B added silently,
before the Magical Rhyming Society finds out.
    “B-but, B!” George stammered. “You can’t leave me like this!
Do
something! You’re the witch!”
    “I told you transformations were risky,” B said sadly.
    “Kung pao chicken, going once!” Mr. F bellowed from up the stairs. “Going twice!”
    George found a hat, pulled it down hard over all four of his ears, and held the door open for B. “You will figure it out, won’t you?”
    B patted his shoulder, trying to sound surer than she felt. “I promise.”
    The next morning B waited anxiously at the bus stop, watching for George to appear. Her sombrero, worn for Crazy Hat Day, flapped in the wind. Her nerves danced like Mexican jumping beans in the pit of her stomach.
Please, please, let the ears be gone!
    The bus came, and there was still no sign of George, so she boarded and sat down. The bus started to leave, then the driver hit the brakes and opened the door once more. A disheveled-looking George climbed on board.
    “Hey, everybody, look at George,” Jason Jameson yelled. “He thinks it’s Christmas! Nice earmuffs, Fitzsimmons! You call that a hat? Gonna make a snowman out of leaves?”
    George ducked into B’s seat and slid down so his head didn’t show. B leaned over the back of the seat to glare at Jason, then looked at George anxiously. He wore a blue knit ski cap over his head and afuzzy red pair of earmuffs over his ears — his
human
ears.
    B bit her lower lip. “Let me guess …”
    George nodded miserably. “They’re still there. Do you know how much you hear with two sets of ears? I could barely get to sleep last night. Every little creak in the house, every car passing by … it was horrible.”
    B sighed. “That explains the earmuffs.”
    “Yup. I figured all the noise on the bus would make me crazy. As it is, I can still hear Mona Blair in the backseat, telling Allie Rogers that” — he cocked his head to one side — “Trevor Harding is ‘totally hot.’
Blech.”
He shuddered. “Way more info than I needed.”
    B sank lower in her seat. She tried to think of a way to change the subject. “Got any chocolate?” she said.
    He shook his head. “Nope. I’m in no mood for chocolate today.”
    B chewed on a knuckle and tried to think. The day her best friend, George, was in no mood for chocolate might as well be the day sunshine wasabolished forever. It couldn’t, and shouldn’t, happen.
    She racked her brain to think of spells that might fix the problem. Barely moving her lips, she thought about George’s zebra ears and whispered faintly, “N-O-R-M-A-L. D-I-S-A-P-P-E-A-R. R-E-V-E-R-S-E.” But those bumpy spots under his ski cap remained. Fortunately, she figured, no one else would be likely to realize something was unusual.
    “I can hear you, you know,” George muttered. “Nice try, but it’s not working.”
    B slumped even lower. “Sorry, George. I’ll figure something out.”

Chapter 4
    “Just because you’re wearing goofy hats today doesn’t excuse you from paying attention,” Mr. Bishop said, tapping the wide brim of the Stetson hat he had on — black, matching his sweater and jeans, as well as his horn-rimmed rectangular glasses and glossy, pointed beard. “Am I the only person here who isn’t obsessed with Thursday’s game?”
    “Pretty much,” Jamal Burns said. The class giggled.
    Mr. Bishop was right — with the buildup of Spirit Week leading to the championship game, everyone was having trouble thinking about science or math. Now it was English class, and B wasdistracted, too, but not by soccer. She had zebras on