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  Then Stewart quit even pretending to pay attention and started to think about Martha. He sure hoped she didn't call while his dad and Ms. Gibbs were gone. He didn't want to be the one to tell her about the date, and Martha might ask where his father was.

  He sighed. Sure he had told his dad right out that he didn't like the idea of his getting married again. Still, he had always liked Martha. He didn't want a stepmother. That was all, and his dad didn't seem to be in any hurry to remarry either. Dad was like that, taking things very slowly. Martha was nice and patient, never pushing his father beyond an occasional dinner and a play. Stewart couldn't even remember how many years they had been sort of dating. He had always figured that some day his father would want a woman in their family, and he had thought that woman would be Martha.

  Why would his dad suddenly want to date Ms. Gibbs? She was a short woman and definitely on the pudgy side. Stewart reached for Ham's paper and added his own note. "I'd say Gobbs might be a better name for her than Gibbs. Have you had a look at her behind?"

  He poked Ham, expecting him to look down at the paper and then grin. Ham didn't respond at all.

  A cold chill came over Stewart, and he knew even before he saw the hand with the long red fingernails. Slowly he turned his head, and for just a split second before he looked down, he stared into those bright green eyes. "Give me the note," she said. Stewart laid it in her hand.

  The room was deadly silent. Ms. Gibbs took the note, read it, folded it carefully, and tucked it into the pocket of her sweater. Then she walked to the board, took a marker, and said, "I need to write myself a little reminder." In big letters she wrote STEWART. She stepped back for a second as if to examine the word. "Do you have a nickname?" She turned to look at Stewart as she asked the question.

  "Kind of, well... sometimes." Stewart's voice sounded shaky in his own ears.

  "Is it Stew?" She turned back to the board, picked up an eraser, and took off the first three letters. "Or it could be Wart, couldn't it?" She whirled back to stare at Stewart. She moved to allow her gaze to take in all the kids, and she smiled. "Time will tell, won't it, class?"

  The class laughed, and for just a second, Stewart thought even Ham was going to smile. "Now," said Ms. Gibbs, "back to perspective." Stewart was glad the period was almost over.

  In the hall, he leaned against the first locker he came to. "I'm dead," he said to Ham. "Did you see the look she gave me, and then that Wart business. She's out to get me."

  Ham pulled at his arm. "Ah, I don't know. She could have sent us both to the office. Dooley wouldn't be very easy on us for giving her trouble. He wouldn't want her to leave him with Harrison the way he is. Cheer up. It's lunchtime."

  The cafeteria always had the same smell no matter what the meal was. Stewart stood behind Ham in line and wondered about the odor. In front of Ham stood Brad Wilson, king of the eighth grade. Stewart glanced in Brad's direction, but Brad didn't turn toward them until after Jake Phillips came to stand behind Stewart. "Hey, Jake," Brad called. "I saw Coach in the hall just now, and he told me he's giving out the basketball uniforms today."

  Stewart did not even hear Jake's reply. What a blow! He would be humiliated today in the gym just like he had been humiliated in art class. There were only twelve basketball uniforms and twenty-six boys in the class. Twelve would be given uniforms and allowed to play in an after-school league, against other schools! The other fourteen boys would be divided into two teams that would play each other. Stewart wanted to be one of the twelve. He wanted it desperately!

  Stewart looked at Ham, who had a weak little smile on his face. Well, they both knew Ham had a chance, a small chance, but at least a chance. They didn't talk much during lunch. Ham had the good sense not to tell Stewart to cheer up, and he was glad to eat the French fries Stewart pushed toward him.

  During geography, Stewart tried not to think about basketball, tried not to think about how great it would be to be on the real team. He liked the game, but it was more than that. He bit at his lip. If he could be a good player, he would be popular. He was sure of it. At Christmas he could tell Sammi. He wouldn't say anything at first. He would wait till maybe the second day they were together. Then he would say, "Oh, by the way, I am popular now." He would shrug and pretend it was no big deal. "Yeah," he would add, "I guess it sort of started after I made the team."

  Between geography and science, Ham came to Stewart's locker. "You eat that candy bar you had in there yesterday?" he wanted to know. Stewart dug under a pile of books, found a mashed chocolate bar, and handed it to Ham without a word. "Don't look so worried," Ham said. "I think you're going to make the team." He unwrapped the candy bar and started to eat.

  Stewart slammed his locker door. What made Ham so sure he was worried, and how could he be so skinny and stuff himself like that? "We'd better hurry. The bell's about to ring." He stomped away. Inside the science room, Stewart slumped down in his seat and waited, his eyes going constantly to the clock. Finally, the bell rang.

  Ham didn't say anything on the way to the gym, and Stewart felt grateful for that. Coach told the boys to settle on the floor to wait. Stewart's heart was pounding so loud that he expected someone to say something about the noise. Brad Wilson was the first person to be called. That was no surprise. He got up and walked down to the dressing room to try on uniforms. The way he moved, so full of confidence, really got to Stewart. He considered taking one of his brand-new basketball shoes out of his gym bag and throwing it at Brad. At least that way the price of the shoes wouldn't be wasted.

  Coach kept calling off names, Dave Stills, Jake Phillips, Carlos Valdez. Stewart was counting. Ham was too, putting out a finger each time the coach called a name. Two hands were almost used, only two fingers left. That meant four more names would be called. "Andrew Hamilton." Stewart felt proud of himself because he really was glad for his friend, and he managed to smile. "Matt Lawson, Obi Muonelo, Stewart Wright." Stewart couldn't believe it. At first, he thought about asking the coach if he had heard correctly, but instead he got up slowly. He wanted to walk off like he had been certain all along that he'd be included, but he couldn't. His walk was never right. Neither could he stop feeling bad for the other boys, the ones stuck on the reject teams.

  Brad and Jake were already changed and standing on the dressing room steps when Stewart started down. "Hey congratulations, Wart," Brad said when Stewart passed them.

  Oh great, the name was going to stick. If Brad Wilson used it, so would the rest of the school. Stewart forced a little grin and moved on. Then he heard Jake say, "Wart got lucky. Green and Russell were too fat for the last uniform."

  "Yeah," said Brad. "If either of those guys had weighed ten pounds less, that Wart wouldn't have made the team."

  Stewart tried not to let the comments take away his pleasure. Brad and Jake didn't know everything. You made it, he told himself. That's the miracle you wanted. Now just work hard and get your game improved. The coach let them wear their uniforms while they did dribbling drills. Feeling first-rate, Stewart put everything he had into the workout. He made a couple of layups, and didn't even mind when someone yelled, "Way to go, Wart." He was on the real team, part of the Rams.

  When gym class ended, Stewart looked forward to a relaxing Friday evening alone. Georgia had taken her sleeping bag and gone straight from school to a sleep-over. His father would be out with Ms. Gibbs, which was pretty weird, but at least he would have the house to himself. He was pretty sure Dad wouldn't mention anything about not watching TV or playing games while he was gone.

  Of course, the peaceful evening thing didn't work out. The first problem was Martha, who drove up just after Stewart got into the house. He saw her car from the front window just after he stepped inside. She got out of her blue Toyota and carried a paper bag toward the house. Maybe he should just go upstairs and ignore the doorbell, but she had probably seen him. Well, he just wouldn't mention his father's plans for the evening even if she came right out and asked. Why should he do Dad's
dirty work? Let him tell Martha himself that he was taking out another woman.

  "Dad's not here," Stewart said as soon as they had said hello at the door. He hoped she would leave right off, but she walked in and went to the kitchen with the bag. Stewart followed.

  "Don't look so miserable, Stewart." She gave him a big smile. "I made pizza and had lots left over. I knew you would be eating alone tonight, so I brought some over to you."

  Ordinarily the thought of Martha's homemade pizza could make Stewart forget almost any problem, but this time it didn't help. Martha knew Dad was going out tonight, but her smile made it obvious that she didn't know he had a date.

  "Wow, thanks." He didn't look at her.

  "Stewart, I know your father has a date with Wanda." She put the pizza in the microwave.

  "You do?"

  "Yes, don't worry about me. Wanda is an old college friend of mine."

  Stewart studied her face. Things were sure getting weird. No one was acting the way they were supposed to. "How come you don't mind? Don't you like Dad anymore?"

  Her smile had just about turned into a laugh. "Let's just say things have a way of working out for the best. You never did like the idea of your father and me getting serious anyway."

  Stewart couldn't deny that. He stood there confused, saying nothing.

  "Eat your pizza, and don't distress yourself over your father's romantic life. Trust him. He's a strong, intelligent man." With a wave she headed toward the door. Again Stewart followed. His father had just driven up, and he watched as he and Martha talked for just a minute in the yard.

  They look right together, Stewart thought. He stepped back from the doorway. Why had he never been comfortable about his dad dating Martha? Well, Martha wasn't worried. Probably Dad would go out with Ms. Gibbs only once. Suddenly Stewart realized he was starving, and he went to the kitchen for pizza.

  His father came in just before he was settled at the table to eat. "Stew," he said right off. "I talked to Wanda on the way home, and I told her you would stay with her son tonight while we go out."

  "Her son?" Stewart almost dropped his pizza.

  "He's eight years old. They are new in town and don't have a regular sitter."

  "Rachel." Stewart motioned with his head toward the house next door. "You know Rach does lots of babysitting."

  "You're doing some tonight." There was an edge to his father's voice. Then he sort of grinned, sorry he had come on so strong. "Well, Ozgood is kind of shy. You don't mind doing me a special favor, do you?"

  "Ozgood?"

  "So he has a strange name. Give the kid a chance. You might like him. Anyway, I need this favor. Wanda asked for you. Said she was sure she could trust you." His father looked straight at Stewart, waiting.

  "Okay." Stewart knew his father didn't ask for much from him. Besides he couldn't afford to cross Ms. Gibbs. She still had his note. How bad could it be? He'd take his Game Boy.

  Worse than Stewart could ever have imagined! That's how bad it was. Ozgood met them at the door. At least that's what Stewart finally figured out. At first, he thought it was just this giant pair of glasses. Then he discovered that there really was a boy wearing them.

  "I'm Ozgood V Gibbs," the glasses said, and a small hand was held out to them. "I do not care to be called Ozzy. I was named for the Wizard of Oz, who, by the way, was very real, as were his magic powers."

  Stewart's dad took the hand and shook it. Stewart only stared. Then she came down the stairs, and he had something else to stare at. No one could have convinced him that pudgy Ms. Gibbs could ever have looked so good. She had on a white dress that was all soft and flowing looking. There wasn't anything plump about her, but it was her face that was really something. It was absolutely beautiful, and her eyes danced brightly. Stewart noticed that she still wore the same green stone around her neck. Suddenly a phrase came to Stewart's mind: The bride looked radiant. He gave his head a shake to get rid of the words. He wondered whatever made him think of such a thing. His dad let out a quiet whistle. It's like a magic spell, Stewart thought.

  Ms. Gibbs and his dad were talking softly to each other. Stewart sank down on the stairs. His stomach felt strange, and he had the definite feeling that life as he had known it was over.

  "Have a nice evening with Stewart," Ms. Gibbs said to Ozgood." She turned to Stewart. "Of course you won't need them, but there are some emergency numbers by the phone. I don't carry a cell, but I'm sure you know your father's number. I just wrote down some others to be safe. Eat anything you want from the fridge." She gave him a little wave, and they were gone.

  "If you don't mind, I believe I will now retire to my room to enjoy some music." Ozgood pushed up his glasses and started to climb the stairs.

  "Wait." Stewart was failing as a babysitter. He did not want Ms. Gibbs to be mad at him. He waved the Game Boy. "Don't you want to play a game?"

  "No. Thank you. I do not care for games."

  Well, let the little weirdo go to his room. He'd just find the TV and some food. There wasn't one in the living room or the kitchen. He opened a door into what he thought might be some kind of family room, but it was completely empty. The TVs must be in the bedrooms. It was a good thing he had his own entertainment.

  Then the music started. It was horrible, the kind of stuff from the old movies where a monster or maniac is sneaking up on the hero or heroine. And it was loud, so loud it seemed to bounce off the walls.

  "Turn it down!" Stewart yelled, but he could hardly hear his own voice. At the top of the stairs, it wasn't hard to tell which of the three rooms was Ozgood's.

  Stewart pushed open the door. The room was dark, but the light switch was right near the door. When light flooded everywhere, Stewart let out a whistle. This was no normal kid's room. On the wall was a huge picture of Dracula. In one corner was a big white table full of bones. The curtains and bedspread were black and red. Ozgood was in the bed, propped up on one elbow, staring at Stewart.

  "Turn it down," Stewart yelled again. His eyes fell on the iHome. Why didn't the kid use the earphones?

  Ozgood only stared at him. Stewart was ready to choke the kid when finally Ozgood leaned out of bed toward the iHome. After he tuned it down, he turned back toward Stewart. "I'm sorry. You will need to repeat what you were saying to me."

  "I was yelling to turn it down." Stewart eased down on a chair beside the door. The room was fascinating. He wanted to look around without getting far from the escape hatch.

  "You would probably prefer some foolish band." Ozgood leaned back on his pillow.

  "Well, yeah, but not so loud. The neighbors will call the police." Stewart wanted to go over to look at the bones. Could he tell if they were human?

  Ozgood followed Stewart's gaze. "I'm a serious science student," he said.

  "Sure." It was all Stewart could think of to say. Then he looked at the poster. "That's neat." He pointed at Dracula.

  "I rather enjoy the story." Ozgood snuggled down on his pillow. "But it isn't true, you know."

  "Sure." Stewart's vocabulary was starting to seem pretty small. He'd go downstairs and find some way to amuse himself. He got up and moved toward the door.

  "They will be married," Ozgood said.

  "Who?" Stewart turned back to look at him.

  "Our parents, of course." He had a worried look on his face.

  Poor kid, Stewart thought. He didn't understand at all. "Oh no." He wanted to reassure him. "They just went out to eat. Seafood, Dad said. They'll be back before you know it."

  "But," Ozgood let out a long sigh. "They will be married. She says he is Mr. Right."

  That one made Stewart laugh. "It's just our name, Wright. Look, lots of women have wanted to marry my dad, but he has a mind of his own. If he wanted to get married, he'd already be married." Stewart turned back toward the door.

  "Is he a match for a witch?"

  Stewart stopped, walked back, and sat down again on the chair. "What are you talking about?" The kid obviously wanted to get his
attention. Maybe the boy was lonely.

  "I asked if your father is a match for a witch because my mother is one." He wasn't smiling.

  "Ozgood, that is not a good thing to say. Your mother is very nice." Actually, Stewart wasn't crazy about Ms. Gibbs, but "witch" did seem a little strong.

  "No!" Ozgood rolled over to face the wall. "I am trying to warn you despite great peril to myself. My mother is a true witch. She will use her spells on your father, and if she learns that I have told you the truth, she will turn me into a frog."

  Stewart laughed out loud. "Your mirth will be shortlived," Ozgood said.

  The kid was more than lonely. He was nuts! Stewart got up and walked again to the door. "You'd better get some sleep now." He went out and closed the door. What a kid. He couldn't wait to tell Ham. He'd go downstairs and call him right away.

  He had seen a phone in the kitchen. Stewart wished for the first time that he had a cell phone. Lots of kids he knew had them, but he had never particularly wanted one. He had no one to call except Ham. The home phone worked fine for that. When he went somewhere, Ham was pretty likely to be with him, so a cell phone had never seemed necessary. He wondered if Ms. Gibbs might have some kind of recording thing on her phone. Oh well, he'd chance it.

  All the way to the kitchen, Stewart turned often to look over his shoulder, expecting Ozgood to sneak up behind him. He didn't think the whole thing was funny. His father was out with a woman who had a nutcase for a son.

  On a pad beside the phone was the note, "In case of emergency, call Martha Long." Martha's number was written there too. Stewart shook his head. This whole deal was about as weird as it could get. It seemed Martha was practically giving Dad to Ms. Gibbs. He leaned against a wall and dialed Ham, who answered right off. "Everything over here is really wild."