Be Careful What You Wish For Page 9
“Maybe an evil spirit is doing it!” DeWayne said.
He knew I was doing it. But he liked to torture her, too. “Owooooo.” He made a nice ghost howl.
Mrs. Hardesty’s mouth dropped open. She didn’t think it was funny. She was squeezing that lucky rabbit’s foot flat!
“One should never joke about evil spirits,” she said. Her voice trembled.
She kept a jar of black powder on her desk. She reached into the jar, pulled out a handful, and tossed it over her shoulder.
Is she the weirdest teacher on earth or what?
We’re always trying to figure out what the black powder is. Daisy thinks it’s ground-up bat wings. DeWayne says it’s powdered eye of newt. He learned about eye of newt in one of the scary books he’s always reading.
Mrs. Hardesty tugged the window shade down and examined it carefully. I hoped she wouldn’t spot the little receiver I’d planted there.
She returned to the front of the class. I raised my dog whistle and prepared to blow it again.
OOPS.
The whistle slipped out of my hand. I made a wild grab for it. But it bounced off my desk, hit the floor, and rolled halfway to Mrs. Hardesty.
Did she see it?
Yes.
She squinted at it, then raised her eyes to me.
“Uh … am I in trouble?” I asked.
3
Yes, I was in trouble. She made me come back to class after school.
Outside, rain clouds covered the sky. That made the classroom even darker than before.
Mrs. Hardesty had two tall white candles flickering on her desk. She was leaning over them, whispering to herself, when I dragged myself in.
“Mrs. Hardesty, I’m sorry about the whistle thing,” I said. “But I can’t stay after school.”
She kept whispering for a long while, her eyes shut. The candle smoke floated over her face, but she didn’t seem to mind it.
Finally, she looked up at me. Her skin appeared gray and powdery in the candlelight. “Of course you will stay, Michael.”
“No. Really,” I said. “I can’t. I’ll miss wrestling practice.”
Monster Munroe is the captain of the wrestling team. Who else?
“Sit down, Michael,” Mrs. H said. She pointed to a chair. “I want you to wrestle with your thoughts.”
I let out a groan. “I can’t go to practice?”
She reached into her jar and tossed a little black powder over her shoulder. “Sit down,” she said.
I sat down. I threw my backpack angrily to the floor. I muttered some bad words under my breath.
I had that burning feeling in my chest. The feeling I get when someone is making me really mad.
Mrs. Hardesty blew out the candles. She seemed to inhale the smoke. “Michael, do you think it’s smart to make a fool of your teacher?” she asked.
“I really didn’t have to try!” I blurted out.
OOPS. I did it again. Why can’t I ever shut my trap?
I heard kids burst out laughing in the hall. I knew it was Daisy and DeWayne.
Mrs. Hardesty leaped up from behind her desk. She strode to the classroom door and dragged my two friends in.
DeWayne plopped down next to me, shaking his head.
Daisy didn’t look too happy, either. She never gets in trouble. She has this cute, innocent look. Curly carrot-colored hair, lots of freckles, and dimples in her cheeks even when she isn’t smiling. So everyone thinks she’s totally sweet and adorable.
Of course, I know better. I know she has a wicked-cold sense of humor. She could be a big problem child like me — if she put her mind to it.
“We didn’t do anything,” Daisy told Mrs. Hardesty. “Why do we have to stay?”
The teacher waved for Daisy to sit down. Then she frowned at us one by one.
“You three need an attitude change,” she said. She rubbed her pointed chin. “I think I know what will help.”
“Me, too,” I said. “Wrestling practice will help me. It’ll change my attitude. Really.”
DeWayne grinned at Mrs. Hardesty. “I got an A in Attitude last semester,” he said. “You can check it out.”
Mrs. Hardesty rolled her eyes. “We don’t grade for attitude,” she muttered.
DeWayne squinted at her. “You sure?”
He was goofing on her. But she never got a joke.
“I know what will help you,” Mrs. H repeated. “Some honest work.”
All three of us groaned.
“I’ll give you a choice,” she said. “You can stay two hours after school every day for a week.”
We groaned again, louder.
“Or you can do some community service,” Mrs. H said.
We stared blankly at her. I had a sudden urge to take out my dog whistle and make the shade fly up again.
“I have a project that’s perfect for you three,” Mrs. Hardesty said. “It’s in the lot right by my house. You can come on Saturday.”
“I can’t,” I said. “My dad is taking me to the big computer tech show. I —”
“I can’t,” Daisy said. “I have my tennis lesson, and —”
“Saturday,” Mrs. Hardesty insisted. “No excuses.”
The three of us started complaining to each other.
“Listen up,” Mrs. Hardesty said. “This is important. Be sure to wear work clothes on Saturday. And you’d better bring nose plugs.”
Huh? Nose plugs?
What did she want us to do on Saturday?
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First printing, February 2009
“Behind the Screams” bonus material by Matthew D. Payne
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e-ISBN: 978-0-545-40582-9
R. L. Stine, Be Careful What You Wish For
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