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  WART

  ALSO BY ANNA MYERS

  Red-Dirt Jessie

  Rosie's Tiger

  Graveyard Girl

  Spotting the Leopard

  The Keeping Room

  Fire in the Hills

  Ethan Between Us

  Captain's Command

  When the Bough Breaks

  Stolen by the Sea

  Tulsa Burning

  Flying Blind

  Hoggee

  Assassin

  Confessions from the Principal's Chair

  WART

  Anna Myers

  Copyright © 2007 by Anna Myers

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  First published in the United States of America in 2007 by

  Walker Publishing Company, Inc.

  Distributed to the trade by Holtzbrinck Publishers

  For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Walker & Company,

  104 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10011

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Myers, Anna.

  Wart / Anna Myers.

  p. cm.

  Summary: A witch and her weird son may soon be joining Stewart's family, but he would prefer his father marry the librarian he had been dating to this new woman, even if the latter can make Stewart popular and improve his basketball game through spells and charms.

  eISBN: 978-0-802-72132-7

  [1. Single-parent families—Fiction. 2. Remarriage—Fiction. 3. Witchcraft—Fiction. 4. Popularity—Fiction. 5. Schools—Fiction. 6. Family life—Oklahoma—Fiction. 7. Oklahoma—Fiction.]

  I. Title.

  PZ7.M9814War2007 [Fic]—dc22 2007006218

  Visit Walker & Company's Web site at www.walkeryoungreaders.com

  Book design by Nicole Gastonguay

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  All papers used by Walker & Company are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in well-managed forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

  To William Charles Lane Jr.

  This book is for you, Baby Will. I was writing it when you were born. We were wonderfully happy that day, but happiness turned to fear when we learned your tiny heart had four serious defects. Doctors told us, too, that your chromosomes were probably not normal. During your first nights at home, I sometimes sat up with you because your mommy and daddy were so worried about you that they woke each time you made a tiny sound. You and I would stay in the rocking chair together, and I would take you to your mother when you needed to eat. Those night hours were hard because I worried for you and for my own baby, your mother. However, they were sweet hours too. As we rocked together, I could feel the prayers being said for you by people in many places, some of them on the other side of the world. Those prayers were answered. The test telling us about your genetics took two weeks, but when it came back, it said your chromosomes were perfectly normal. When you were two months old, we made a long journey so that you could have a special doctor as your surgeon. We will always be grateful for Dr. Knott-Craig because he was able to repair your precious heart. You are four months old as I write this. You have the most expressive eyes I have ever seen on a baby, and you are always ready to smile and laugh. From your Grandmother Barbara you inherit the blood of Bluejacket, war chief of the Shawnees, from your mother's great-grandfather the blood of a pioneer teacher, and from your grandfather, who is in heaven, you receive the gentle spirit of a poet. I know you will grow into a man who would have made all of those before you proud. Welcome to the world, darling Will. You are a gift from God to us all.

  Nana

  WART

  Contents

  What Happened First

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  What Happened Last

  What Happened First

  Stewart Wright wanted to be popular. It was a gradual, growing desire. It started the summer before eighth grade. It started with a visit from his cousin Sammi, who was sixteen and very pretty. It started at breakfast over strawberry pancakes. It started with a question, "Are you popular, Stew?" The rest of the family—Stewart's dad, his little sister, Georgia, Aunt Susan, Uncle David, and his little cousin Isabella—were all eating in the kitchen. Stewart and Sammi had carried their breakfast out to the sunroom, where Sammi asked the question.

  Stewart wished they had stayed in the kitchen. In the kitchen, Sammi would not have asked the question. What could he say? His mouth was full. Good, he could chew for a long time. He did not look at Sammi. He looked out at the backyard, but he could feel Sammi looking at him.

  She did not wait for him to stop chewing. "You aren't, are you?"

  Stewart felt miserable. He had never cared about being popular before, oh maybe for a minute during class elections or when he heard some other guy talking about a party that Stewart had not been invited to attend, but the desire had been fleeting. Now, though, he suddenly understood. If Sammi thought being popular was important, it must be important. Stewart liked to impress Sammi, but he was not popular, not at all.

  He shook his head, but he did not have to say anything. Sammi had plenty to say. "You know what? It's okay." She pushed her plate back on the wicker coffee table. "I can help you!" She got up and walked to the other side of the table where Stewart sat. Sammi put a hand on his shoulder, and with her other hand she turned his chin up, so that she could see his face. "I've been thinking about your problem ever since I got here."

  Stewart frowned. He hadn't realized he had a problem, hadn't known that all last week, as he watched movies with Sammi or as they swam at Holden Lake, she had been troubled over his condition. Sammi gave his cheek a little pat before she went back to her place on the wicker couch. "Here's the thing, Stew. You've got a lot of stuff going for you." She held up one finger. "First, you're good looking." She gave her head a decided nod. "You really are." She put up another finger. "And you're smart, not too smart, not nerdy smart or anything, just right, really." She added a third finger. "And you're funny. I mean, you make me laugh all the time." She stopped talking and looked at him.

  Stewart knew she was waiting for him to say something. He squirmed for a second, then realized what she expected from him. "So?" he asked. "What's wrong with me?"

  Sammi leaned back against the flowered cushions. She folded her arms and nodded her head slowly several times. "It's your friends," she said. "Yes, I'm sure of it. You need new friends."

  A feeling of panic started in Stewart's stomach and spread quickly. Stewart loved Sammi. Stewart wanted to please Sammi, had always wanted to please Sammi. But his friends? Sammi would fly back to California, and he would be left in Oklahoma. He would not see Sammi again until Christmas. She wanted him to have new friends? He shifted his weight. "Why?"

  "Well," said Sammi. "Let's start with Ham." She closed her eyes for a second and drew in a deep breath. "There's his name. Nobody is named Ham."

  "His name is Andrew Hamilton," said Stewart softly "Ham is just a nickname. His family doesn't call him Ham or the teachers, either, very often.".

  "Well, sure, but the kids at school do, don't they?"

  "Most
ly. I guess."

  "Well, then . . . , " Sammi was nodding her head again, "he's skinny, too, way skinny. Maybe the skinniest kid I've ever seen."

  "He eats all the time."

  Sammi put up her hand in a sort of stop gesture. "I know. Believe me, I've noticed, but that's not the point. Being that skinny isn't " She paused and twisted her face, thinking. "Skinny is just not in, Stew, not for a boy anyway." She made a face. "He has no butt. Surely you've noticed! None at all! He's like that man on the TV show, the cartoon that's not for little kids where the guy tried to get a prosthesis, you know, a fake butt?"

  "Huh?" Stewart shook his head. "There's such a thing?"

  "It's a cartoon show, a joke, Stew. That's the thing, a person that skinny is funny, not popular, and . . . , " her voice got louder, "he's slow thinking isn't he? I mean the boy just isn't very sharp."

  Stewart leaned toward her. Here was a point he could defend. "Ham does okay in school. He even got an A in math last year."

  Sammi made a little disgusted sound with her breath. "I never said he was dumb. I said he isn't sharp. There's a difference, Stew. Don't you know that?"

  Stewart did not know the difference, but he didn't say so. "Ham's been my best friend always."

  "I know. I know, and I'm not saying be unkind to him." She spoke slowly as if trying to explain a difficult math problem. "Just put a little distance between yourself and the boy. I guarantee he can't be helping your position, popularity-wise, I mean. Face it, Stew, the boy is more of a pet than a friend."

  It was true! Suddenly Stewart saw Ham through Sammi's eyes. Didn't he, Stewart, have all the ideas? Wasn't he the leader, always? Why had he never noticed? He might as well have carried peanuts to feed Ham or thrown balls for Ham to fetch.

  Sammi turned her head briefly to the left toward Rachel's house, and the sick feeling in Stewart's stomach got even worse. Sammi was about to start on his next-door neighbor. "And that girl," she said, tilting her head in Rachel's direction.

  "What's wrong with Rachel?" Stewart had trouble getting the words out. He knew some of what Sammi was about to say. Even he wasn't that out of things. Rachel was one of those nerdy smart kids. Everyone thought so. She could, Stewart was certain, rattle off the circumference of the earth, and he had watched her solve mammoth math problems in her head. Rachel knew all the presidents in order, too, but that was okay because Stewart himself was interested in the presidents and history. There was something wrong with the way Rachel dressed too. Stewart couldn't have explained exactly what, but he was vaguely aware that she didn't look like the other girls.

  "What's wrong with Rachel?" Sammi repeated his question. She rolled her eyes. "Please, Stewart, do I really have to tell you?"

  "Mom loved Rachel," Stewart said. It was true and the best defense he could have come up with. Stewart felt proud to have thought of it. His mother had been killed in a car accident almost five years ago, and he did not think about her so often, at least not every minute anymore. Sammi was the daughter of his mother's twin sister, and she, like her own mother, had loved Stewart's mother fiercely.

  For a long minute Sammi said nothing. Then she sighed. "I'm not saying she isn't nice, and she was a really cute little girl. I remember how the two of you used to play Winnie the Pooh and Tigger." Sammi reached over to muss the hair on Stewart's head. "You were always Pooh, and she was always Tigger." She put out her hands toward Stewart and moved her fingers in a sort of calling motion. "Come on, Stew, you aren't in kindergarten anymore. Rachel has no figure, she has no style, she doesn't even have enough good common sense to care. You cannot, I repeat, cannot afford to be seen with her at school."

  The popularity conversation had taken place on July 4. Sammi went home with her parents the next day. "Don't worry, Stew," she said when she hugged him good-bye, "I'm not deserting you. I'll e-mail you."

  Stewart nodded, but he didn't smile. He was not fond of e-mails, sent none except to Sammi, and that only occasionally. He did not talk often on the phone either. Stewart Wright was not a communicator. He liked to play video games. He liked to watch movies. He liked to read, especially about history. Maybe he would just ignore Sammi's e-mails, but as he watched her walk away from him to get on the airplane with her parents, Stewart felt uneasy. Sammi had started something. She had made Stewart think about changing his life, and he was afraid he couldn't go backward.

  When school was about to begin, Sammi bombarded him with e-mails. "What are you planning to wear?" she wanted to know. "Don't make any decisions until you run them by me." She insisted Stewart sign up for Instant Messaging even after he explained that he hardly ever went online. "You will be, Cuz," she said. "You're going to have lots of new friends this year. You just need to make a few changes in your life."

  Stewart finally got up the nerve to tell Sammi he wanted to drop the whole thing, but Sammi wouldn't let him. "Okay, Stew," she wrote. "I'm not going to keep pushing, but I think you do want to be popular. I could feel it when we talked about it. Am I right? Hey, just let me know when you decide to take the right steps."

  Stewart sat in front of his computer, his elbows on the desk. He lowered his head and rested his face in his hands. What would it feel like to be popular? Why not give Sammi's ideas a try? He sighed, but he didn't write back that he was ready. He did nothing to change his life either. At least he did nothing until the last week of October.

  • ONE •

  What Happened Next

  Later, Stewart Wright would wonder if there had been any sign, any warning, of what was to come. When he was ready for bed that October night, could he have gone to his window, pushed back the curtain, and looked up to see strange circles around the moon? If he had stayed awake instead of pulling the green and blue comforter up to his neck and sleeping immediately, would he have heard an odd wind blow up suddenly to whistle around the house, knock over garbage cans, and shake bright leaves from the trees?

  The truth is that there was no real sign. From his yellow two-story home with white shutters on Eighth Street, Stewart would have observed no warning. However, had he been across town on Bell Street at just the right moment, that short slot of time when it is no longer day but not quite dark, he might have seen a sleek black car turn into a driveway in front of a stone house, a place that had stood empty for a long time now. Just the day before the front windows had been covered by overgrown shrubs. No one had noticed workmen coming into the yard to cut the bushes and trim the hedge. Yet what had once been out of control was now well manicured.

  Had Stewart been there on Bell Street, he might have seen a woman step from that car and heard her say to a boy in the backseat, "Wake up, Ozgood. We have arrived at last." He might have noticed that the woman took no luggage from the car. Nor did she carry boxes as newcomers frequently do when they first move to a home.

  From outside the windows of that stone house, Stewart would have seen that no one was inside before the woman and boy came, but strangely, a welcoming fire blazed in the fireplace and reflected the shine on tables and bookcases. Had he been near the door when the woman and the boy opened it, smells would have drifted from the kitchen, wonderful smells of roasting meat and baking cookies. He might have heard the woman say, "Ah, all is ready, just as I ordered."

  But Stewart was not across town on Bell Street. He spent the time before he went to bed playing a game on his computer when he should have been doing his algebra assignment.

  Because there was no warning, Stewart Wright slept well in his yellow house. In the morning, he woke when his dad knocked at his door and called, "Time to get up," but he wanted to go back to sleep, wanted to continue the funny dream. He had been in a race with other boys from his class, but the unusual thing was that Ham's grandmother was in the race too. In the dream, she was a great runner, and she and Stewart were leading all the others, even Brad Wilson. Then the knock came.

  Stewart sat up and rubbed his eyes. Well, he thought, it didn't seem likely that Mrs. Hamilton, a gray-haired lady who sometimes
used a cane, could win a race, but his own winning, that was a dream for sure. He wished he hadn't signed up for gym. Now that he was in eighth grade, it wasn't the old required PE class. Now they had basketball teams and played real games, but it was late October, way past the deadline for changing classes. Besides, his father wouldn't have agreed to his dropping out anyway. "Finish what you begin." He could hear his dad's voice in his head.

  Then that same voice called from down the hall. "Stew, are you up?"

  "Yes." He threw his legs off the bed and began to dress. The day started as usual, breakfast with his dad and little sister. Georgia was still excited every morning about going to kindergarten. Stewart ate his cereal and thought about how he had liked school back in elementary days, hadn't really hated it the first two years of middle school either. Only this year had it become almost unbearable. Two things made it horrible. He was not good at basketball, and he couldn't quit wondering about being popular. Okay, he confessed to himself, there are three. He also couldn't stop thinking about Taylor Montgomery either.

  His dad always drove Georgia to school on his way to teach at the college. She was in the dining room gathering her school things, but Stewart could still hear her chattering. Georgia was like their mother, a woman she couldn't even remember, always talking and at ease with people. Stewart looked at the family picture above the fireplace. Dad was holding baby Georgia, and there he was standing beside his mother, his arm around her shoulder. Life was so easy then.

  Stewart got his books. On top of the stack was algebra. He frowned, remembering that he hadn't finished last night's homework. With a sigh he shoved the books into his backpack. Oh, well, there was no more hope for his algebra grade than there was for his athletic ability or popularity. For a minute he stood still, thinking. Sometimes he could hear his cousin's voice in his head. "You need new friends."