All was quiet on the western front. Mike sat in the trench, waiting for the right moment to plan his attack. He wasn't going to shoot until he saw the whites of their eyes. He glanced around, and then saw his foe sneaking over the hill. Mike snapped his fingers, and sent a beam of magic at the oncoming enemy.
A water balloon had exploded right on Jerry's head. Jerry sighed, wiped off his face, and shook the excess water out of his hair.
"You win again," he said, putting down his squirt gun.
"Don't I always?" Mike asked, sneakily. "Next time I'll let you win."
"Gee, thanks. So what does Bob have in store for us tomorrow?"
"Absolutely nothing," Bob said, walking over. "School starts tomorrow."
"What does that have to do with anythin'?" Mike asked.
"Yeah, we don't go to school," Jerry said.
"You don't, I do," Bob said. "I've enrolled in community college. I'm taking a couple of courses in computers and art, just in case I get sick of the movie business. I've always wanted to try my hand at animation and advertising."
"Well that's just dandy," Mike said. "What are the rest of us supposed to do?"
"Have fun," Bob said. "By the way, your aunts and cousin are here. They want to talk to you and Sabrina."
"Uh oh," Mike said. "This can't be good."
"Maybe it's not as bad as you think," Jerry said, as he and Mike walked back into the studio.
Once they were inside, they found Kate, Hilda, and Zelda talking over something, and Sabrina just sitting around, reading a movie script.
"So what's up, Aunties?" he asked.
"Is it raining outside?" Sabrina asked.
"No," Jerry said. "Mike and I were having our annual Water War. He won. Again."
"Isn't that cheatin', Michael?" Kate asked.
"You win a war your way, I'll win it my way," Mike said. "Now what do you guys want to talk to me and Sab about?"
"Sit down, Michael," Kate said. "Hilda, Zelda, and I have talked it over, and we agreed that the two of you should go get some formal . . . . trainin' when it comes to your powers."
"Training?" Sabrina asked.
"Whattaya trainin'?" Mike asked. "I think I handle my powers quite nicely."
"You've got to admit, Mike, all you do is play around with your magic," Zelda said. "You too, Sabrina."
"So who's gonna train us?" Mike asked. "You guys?"
"No," Kate said. "Although we should. But there comes a time in every witch's life when they have to go through this."
With that, Kate handed both Mike and Sabrina a brochure of some kind. Jerry looked over Mike's shoulder to see what it was. On the front of the brochure was a photo of what looked like a large house.
"Witchwood Hall?" Mike asked.
"School for witches," Jerry read. "Since thirteen hundred. Whoa, old school."
"Boarding school?!" Sabrina yelled.
"Aunt Kate, I'm too old for boardin' school!" Mike shouted.
"I attended Witchwood Hall when I was your age, Mike," Zelda said.
"Yeah, well, Aunt Zelda, you and Aunt Hilda are ancient," Mike said.
That happened to be true. Hilda and Zelda were in their six hundreds. Not a lot of people realized it, though.
"There are witches of all ages there, Michael," Kate said. "From kindergarten to college, and older. The point is you and Sabrina need to bone up more on your magic. All you two ever do with it is play around."
"But boarding school . . . . ." Sabrina said. "That's not fair! I won't even get to see Harvey this year!"
"Yeah," Mike said. "And when will I spend time with Phyllis and Jerry?"
"Holidays," Hilda, Zelda, and Kate said in unison.
"And you can write letters," Hilda said.
"All witches have to attend Witchwood Hall at some point in their lives," Zelda said. "And it'll be good for you two to attend together, considering how close you two are. It'll make it easier."
"I don't know," Mike said. "Is it in the Other Realm?"
"Yes," Kate said.
"But I don't do well in the Other Realm!" Mike yelled. "Sabrina and I are half mortal! What are all the kids gonna think?!"
"Will you two relax?" Hilda asked. "You'll do fine! And it's only for a year. Or two."
"But I'm too old for boardin' school," Mike whined.
There was no getting out of this one. Mike and Sabrina were going to Witchwood Hall, and that was that. They were told to pack some things, because the school year started the very next day.
"I can't believe Aunt Kate's makin' me go to boardin' school," Mike said as he packed. "I'm too old for school!"
"The curriculum doesn't look so hot," Jerry said, looking through the brochure. "But then again, it's a school for witches, so why am I surprised?"
"What exactly is in there?" Warren asked.
"Flying lessons," Jerry said. "Instead of home ec, there's potion mixing, and there's also incantations, levitation, and a lot of other stuff."
"Why can't I learn that at nigh school?" Mike asked. "I have to go to boardin' school. I'm . . . ."
"Too old for boarding school," Jerry, Phyllis, Warren, and Carole said in unison.
"I've said that already, huh?" Mike said, smiling sheepishly.
"About a million times," Phyllis said, nodding.
Mike blushed, and continued packing. Jerry continued to look through the brochure.
"I don't think you'll be needed the clothes," he said.
"How come?" Mike asked.
"Because you got school uniforms."
"Oh no! What could be worse?"
"The uniforms could be. They're not that bad."
Mike grabbed the brochure away from Jerry to see what kind of horrible school uniform he would have to wear. It was basically just a white shirt underneath a dark pink sweater vest, and gray pants (gray skirts for the girls).
"Of course you wouldn't think it was that bad," Mike said, throwing the brochure back at Jerry. "You wear that sort of thing all the time!"
"I think you'll be able to wear your boots with it," Jerry said, ignoring Mike's remark.
Mike rolled his eyes and continued packing. The next day, he, Sabrina, Hilda, Zelda, and Kate met at the studio. They were going to get to Witchwood Hall from there.
"Good luck, Mike," Phyllis said.
"Yeah, and if you're not too busy with homework, write," Jerry said.
"Don't worry, I will," Mike said. "And I've got my radio with me, so I can listen to your show. I just hope I can pick it up in the Other Realm."
"I just hope they let you listen to him," Sabrina said.
"Why wouldn't they?" Mike asked.
"Because Jerry's a mortal," Hilda said. "The Witch's Council is testy about mortals in the Other Realm."
"But it's just over the airwaves," Mike said.
"I suppose Dean Birch wouldn't mind," Kate said. "You might want to bring it up with her, though."
"Okay, I will," Mike said. "Well, let's get this show on the road."
Mike picked up his suitcase, and Sabrina picked up hers. Kate opened the porthole to the Other Realm, and walked inside. Mike and Sabrina followed, and then Hilda and Zelda. One thunder crash and lightning flash later, the group was standing in front of Witchwood Hall. The Dean of students, Mildred Birch, was greeting all new arrivals. She spotted Kate, Hilda, and Zelda and walked over.
"Welcome to Witchwood Hall," she said. "I'm sure you'll find it very rewarding for your niece and nephew."
"Yeah," Mike said, looking at the large building.
"We'll see you later," Kate said to Mike. "And Michael, behave yourself."
"Okay," Mike said, edgily. Sabrina turned to Dean Birch then.
"He's got an explosive temper," she warned. "And he takes everything literally. You say he's gonna hit the roof, he usually does."
"Oh shut up," Mike said.
Dean Birch just nodded, and she led Mike and Sabrina into the school, giving them the grand tour of the place. The school was at least ten stories tall, complete with elevator, although most students just floated up the stairs.
"We're a pretty lenient school," Dean Birch said. "But we have a few rules."
"Doesn't every place?" Mike whispered to Sabrina.
"Today is our orientation day. Tomorrow will begin the regular school day. Breakfast starts promptly at seven thirty, and classes start at eight thirty. Lights out at ten, unless you're with the night class, which doesn't concern the two of you. Floating in the halls is fine, but flying broomsticks inside is strictly prohibited. No running in the halls, no gum chewing in class, no talking while the instructor is talking."
"Just like mortal high school," Sabrina said.
"Yes, we witches aren't that much different from mortals," Dean Birch said. Mike caught how she said the word "mortals." It was like she spat it out, like it tasted bad.
"Uh, Dean Birch," Mike said. "I don't know if you realize this, but Sab and I are half mortal."
"Yes, I'm aware of it, Mr. Nesmith," Dean Birch said. "You poor kids. But, we must learn to make the best of it. You two are actually the first half witches at Witchwood Hall."
"Oh," Mike said. "I take it you don't dig mortals."
"Not particularly, Mr. Nesmith. At any rate, study period is between four o' clock and five thirty. There is to be complete silence during study period."
"But I can't concentrate without music."
"Then listen to your music on headphones, Mr. Nesmith."
"Works for me."
"I think I've covered all the rules. I'll show you to your rooms."
Dean Birch walked inside an elevator. Mike and Sabrina followed. They went up to the sixth floor first. Dean Birch led Mike and Sabrina to a door, and opened it.
"This is your room, Mr. Nesmith," she said. "I'm sure you'll be comfortable here."
"Okay," Mike said, walking into the room. It wasn't anything fancy, just a single room, which was how Mike liked it. He liked his privacy. He looked around and noticed that the room was a little empty however.
"Is it okay if I jazz this place up a bit?" he asked.
"Decorate it however you like, Mr. Nesmith," Dean Birch said. "You're going to be living in it for a year. Come, Miss Spellman. Your room is on the eighth floor."
"I'll see you later, Sabrina," Mike said.
"Bye, Mike," Sabrina replied, and she followed Dean Birch to the elevator.
Once they were gone, Mike closed the door and looked around the room. It wasn't much. Just four gray walls, a bed, a closet, a chest of drawers, a desk, a lamp, and a window. Mike looked out the window for a moment or so. His room had a great view of the garden, complete with stone statues. Mike sighed, and sat down at his desk. He snapped his fingers, and his suitcase opened. Mike began conducting his things to decorate the room. He always did that whenever he needed to unpack something. It drove Jerry, Phyllis, and the others crazy. When he was finished, the room looked more . . . . . . Mike. He had photos of him and his friends on one wall, as well as safety pins and cigarette packages on another, like his dressing room at Screen Gems. He wondered what Dean Birch would think of it. Once he was done decorating, he walked out of his room and took a little walk around the school, trying to familiarize himself with it.
"This might not be so bad," he said, walking around. "I'll learn more, practice more, and bug Dr. Brackett more when I get back home."
As Mike was walking around, he bumped into a girl, carrying a large stack of books. They fell to the ground.
"Sorry," she said.
"Me too, I guess," Mike said, and he bent down to help her pick up her books.
"Thanks," the girl said. "This is my second day. I'm a little nervous."
"Yeah, me too. I mean, I'm nervous too. It's my first day here. I don't know why I let my aunts talk me into this. I'm too old for school."
"Yeah, so am I. I'm twenty-two."
"I'm twenty-three. My aunts told me witches of all ages enter this school."
"My roommate's four hundred and seven. But she doesn't look a day over thirty."
"I envy her."
"Come on. Let me show you around."
"Well, let's get up to the eighth floor and get my cousin. It's her first day here, too, and I think she'll benefit from a tour."
The girl nodded and she and Mike walked towards the elevator. They ran into Sabrina right away.
"Hey, I was just coming down to see you!" she shouted. "Who's your friend?"
"This is . . . . ." Mike started. Then he realized he never got the girl's name. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"It's Nicole," the girl said. "I didn't catch yours, either."
"It's Mike, and this is my cousin Sabrina," Mike replied.
"Come on," Nicole said. "I've only been here two days, but I found it easy to get around."
Nicole led Mike and Sabrina back to the elevator and gave them the twenty-five cent tour of Witchwood Hall. She showed them all the classrooms, the cafeteria, the gymnasium, and the library.
"I'm half expecting Harry Potter to walk by," Sabrina replied.
"Me too," Mike said.
"This place will do that to you," Nicole said. "Come on. Everybody's meeting in the cafeteria!"
Mike and Sabrina shrugged, and followed Nicole to the cafeteria. Once they walked in, Nicole ran to her friends and began gabbing. Mike and Sabrina just stood there for a moment, and slowly walked in. They found an empty table and sat down.
"Is it just me, or does this feel awkward?" Mike asked.
"What do you mean?" Sabrina asked.
"I mean I've never been in a room full of witches before. I'm sensin' somethin' funny, but I'm not entirely too sure what."
"Your sixth sense is working over time."
Mike didn't say anything. He just looked over at a table full of girls, who looked like they were high schoolers. They kept whispering and giggling. Mike figured they were a clique. The popular kids. The girls caught him looking at them, and they started giggling.
"I wonder who that loser is," one of them said.
"He's gotta be half mortal," the ringleader of the girls said. "I can always tell a half mortal."
"Too bad he's only half," another said. "He's kind of cute. For a dork."
The girls began giggling over that. A gong was heard then. All the witches in the room snapped to attention as Dean Birch took the stage.
"Welcome, witches, to Witchwood Hall," she said. Everyone began applauding. "We hope to have a wonderful school year, like we have had for over seven hundred years now."
"Is she for real?" Mike whispered.
"Shhh," Sabrina said.
"We will now get our schedules," Dean Birch said, pronouncing it "shed-yool" like a typical British person. "There will be signs with the letter of your last name, to avoid confusion."
The students stood up and began looking for their appropriate signs. Mike and Sabrina separated, since A-K was one line, L-P was another, and Q-Z was another. Once they got their schedules they met back at the table.
"So what are you stuck with?" he asked.
"The beginners course," Sabrina replied. "How about you?"
"The same. Let me see your schedule."
"Only if I can see yours."
Mike nodded, and he and Sabrina switched schedules. Much to their surprise (and delight), they were in the same classes together. Every single class together. Mike breathed of relief.
"This is good," he said. "You know me. I don't make friends easily."
"Explain Micky, Davy, and Peter," Sabrina said.
"Believe me, it wasn't easy. They were just three guys who wanted to start a band, and needed a guitar player, and boom."
Mike just glared at his cousin, and the two of them went back to their rooms, preparing for the next day. At six thirty in the morning, Mike's alarm clock went off, and he got up. He did a couple of stretches, and snapped his fingers. He was now wearing the Witchwood Hall's school uniform, complete with his green wool hat. He looked at himself in the mirror and sighed.
"Pink is not my color," he said. "And sweater vests aren't my style. Ugh. However, and I'm never gonna understand it, Jerry can pull that look off and look good."
Mike shrugged, and walked to the elevator. He met Sabrina in the cafeteria, talking to Nicole and some of her friends. Sabrina waved to him. Mike waved back, and then got in the breakfast line. He expected to see some pretty gross things, but to his surprise, most of the dishes were like a normal cafeteria breakfast. Of course, he mostly stocked up on Frosted Flakes and Froot Loops. Anything with sugar in it. He was going to need the energy. He brought two boxes of each cereal to the table, and poured them all into one bowl.
"You're gonna be bouncing off the walls if you eat that much sugar coated cereal," Nicole, who was eating Grape Nuts, said.
"I know," Mike said. "I'm gonna need it. I'm a nervous wreck, and it'll hold me over until lunchtime."
"He's hypoglycemic," Sabrina explained. "And constantly eating."
"Constantly eating?" one of Nicole's friends said. "It couldn't hurt. He's really skinny."
"Thanks," Mike said.
Mike had learned to take all the slams at his skinny figure as compliments. People were always commenting on how he was "too skinny." But he didn't mind that much anymore. People would kill to have the figure he did! At any rate, once breakfast was over, Mike and Sabrina went to the elevator for their first class, which was on floating. Mike saw the clique of girls he encountered the day before huddled into the back corner of the room, whispering. Mike and Sabrina sat closer to the front.
"What do you make of this so far?" Mike asked.
"I think we should have staid home," Sabrina replied.
Mike nodded in agreement. Suddenly, a small explosion was heard, and a puff of smoke appeared in front of the classroom. It was obviously the teacher. He was short, and thin, and he wore round, thick glasses that looked like they were made out of the bottoms of Coke bottles. He waved the smoke away and picked up his roster.
"Now let's see . . . . ." he said. "I suppose we should get started with roll call, shall we? Now then, my name is . . . . ."
The teacher fiddled around with the papers on his desk. Mike and Sabrina glanced at each other, and threw each other identical odd glances. Then they shook their heads and sighed. The teacher finally found his notes.
"My name is Allouscious P. Festerman," he said, writing it on the board.
"Gesundheit," Mike said. A few of the kids giggled. Mr. Festerman didn't even notice. He just picked up the roster.
"Let me see . . . . ." he said. "When I call out your name . . . . . let me know if you're here or not. Let me see . . . . . Wilfred Wilcox."
"Here," Wilfred said.
Mike looked at those four girls and rolled his eyes. Four girls, one brain. That was the way he saw it.
"Sabrina Spellman," Mr. Festerman continued.
"Here," Sabrina said.
"Ja vol!" a kid in the back called, in a German dialect.
"Gesundheit!" Mike called out again. Then he whistled.
"Wilson DeWitt," Mr. Festerman continued. He didn't get an answer. "Wilson DeWitt? Are you here?"
"No, I'm absent!" Wilson called out, sarcastically.
"Michael . . . . . . is that Neshmesh?" Mr. Festerman said, getting a good close look at the roster.
"Nesmith," Mike corrected. "And yes, I'm here."
"Ah very good," Mr. Festerman said. "A full house. Wonderful, wonderful!"
"Wunderbar!" Ernest shouted.
Mike rolled his eyes and Mr. Festerman started the lesson. The basic idea of floating was simple. It took a lot of concentration, however. You simply had to think, and it happened. Mike and Sabrina figured it would be a piece of cake for them. However, the two of them only got about two inches off the ground, while the others managed to reach the ceiling. The four girls in the corner started laughing.
"I told you he was only half," Portia said. "Hey, Sabrina! What are you waiting for? Fly on up here!"
"I'm working on it," Sabrina said.
"Concentrate, Sab," Mike said. "This takes total and complete concentration!"
Mike squeezed his eyes shut, and put his fingers to his temples, picturing himself floating right out the window of the classroom. Unfortunately, all he could manage to do was two inches. Portia and her friends began laughing hysterically. Mike sighed, and sat down at his desk.
"Don't feel bad, Mr. Nipsmouth," Mr. Festerman said.
"Nesmith," Mike corrected.
"We can't all be perfect floaters on day one," Mr. Festerman continued. "It's much tougher for half witches anyway."
"So I've noticed," Mike said, glancing at Sabrina. She couldn't get very far off the ground herself.
"What are you, Sabrina?" Hermione asked. "A half like Mike?"
"Silly, she's not half mortal," Portia said. "I can always tell. She's just probably not witch enough."
"Hey, you can't talk to my cousin like that!" Mike shouted.
"Then why don't you come up and defend the family honor?" Portia challenged.
Mike squeezed his eyes shut, and bit his lower lip in concentration. He could feel himself rising off the ground, and he thought he'd be up to the ceiling by now.
"Am I doin' it?" he asked.
"Nein," Ernest said. "You're still two inches off the ground."
"I'm afraid Mr. Heffelbergerdusseldorferhoffmanvonclineschmidt is right, Mr. Nishwash," Mr. Festerman said.
"Nesmith," both Mike and Sabrina said at the same time.
"Whatever," Mr. Festerman said.
Mike just shook his head. He couldn't want for this class to be over. Next on the agenda was a potion mixing class. Mike felt he would fare better in that one. In his spare time, he hung out in the basement and cooked up some pretty wild concoctions. He was adding ingredients into his cauldron, checking the book every now and again for the correct ingredient.
"This is gonna be a snap," he said.
"Better than floating class," Marianne said with a smirk.
Mike glared at her and poured some purple goop into the cauldron. The instructor, Ms. Fruger, walked around the room, checking up on her students' work.
"All right class," she said. "I think we're ready for the next step. Now, add the fried mollusks to the mix . . . . ."
"Check," Mike said, pouring a container of mollusks into the cauldron.
"Only after the powdered lizard's teeth have been added," Ms. Fruger said.
"Uh oh," Mike groaned. He forgot to add the lizard's teeth. The cauldron began to bubble and overflow until finally . . . .
Green goo covered everything in the classroom. Mike stood there, sheepishly. Everyone in the room looked at him as if he created a federal offense.
"Don't worry about it, Michael," Ms. Fruger said. "We all make mistakes and blow something up."
Ms. Fruger didn't sound too pleased at this. Mike sighed and snapped his fingers. He restored his concoction and the entire classroom, put in the lizard's teeth, and then the mollusks. Then he waited until Ms. Fruger finished her instructions before he put anything else into his cauldron.
After potion mixing was something called Target Practice. Mike did pretty well in this class. The instructor, Mr. Davis, would throw an object into the air, and the students would zap it (one at a time), and turn it into another object. It could be bigger or smaller, or the same size as the original object. Mike was on a roll. Mr. Davis was impressed.
"Beginner's luck," Portia commented.
"Eat your heart out," Mike said.
Although, the Texan spoke too soon. Mr. Davis tossed another object into the air, and Mike prepared to zap it, but his battery ran dead.
"Shoot!" he shouted. "The ol' battery just died. Must be lunchtime."
Mike's battery was a good indicator when he needed to eat. It usually ran dead during those times. Portia and her friends began laughing.
"I thought half witches still had the magic of full witches," Eunice said.
"They do, unless they have low blood sugar," Mike replied, calmly. He walked over to the bench and sat down next to Sabrina.
"I don't think this is gonna work out," he said. He waited for his cousin to answer, but she didn't. She was too busy gabbing with Nicole. Mike sighed and shook his head.
During study hall, Mike was in his room, reading one of his text books.
"I don't think I'll ever get this stuff," he said.
"Who?" a voice asked.
"Me, that's who. These formulas are too intricate for me."
"Me! You'd have to be a genius to figure these out, which I'm not. I'm just half witch, who doesn't know Transylvanian bats from English muffins."
"Me! Aren't you listenin'?!"
Mike groaned, slammed his book shut, and walked over to his window, where the voice was coming from. It turned out to be an owl. A horned all sitting on the window sill.
"Hoo, hoo," he said. "Hoo, hoo!"
"Ah ha," Mike said, opening his window. "You were about to drive me insane there, ol' buddy."
"Hoo, me?" the owl asked.
Mike reached his arm out the window, and the owl climbed onto it. Mike walked over to his desk and sat down.
"You fit the décor of this place very well," he said.
"I try," the owl said, hopping off Mike's arm, and then walking around on the desk. "Nice room you have here. Who's your decorator?"
"Mr. Nesmith," a voice said. "To whom are you conversing with?"
"Just an owl, Dean Birch," Mike said. Dean Birch opened the door, and saw the owl on Mike's desk, walking around.
"And does the owl talk back, Mr. Nesmith?" she asked, giving Mike a sharp glare.
"He does to me," Mike said. "He won't to you."
"I think we have been watching too much Mr. Ed, Mr. Nesmith."
"No, seriously, Dean Birch. I can talk to animals. My aunts call it a Dr. Doolittle. And they can talk back to me."
"Hoo, hoo," the owl hooted. "Hoo, hoo!"
"What's that?" Mike asked, leaning over. The owl began hooting again. Mike gave him a stern look.
"I'd love to tell her," he said. "But I can't say that, unless I want to get kicked out of school my first day, you understand."
"Very funny, Mr. Nesmith," Dean Birch said. "Get back to your studies."
Dean Birch left the room and walked down the hall. Mike groaned and shook his head.
"We should go tell her to lay an egg," the owl said.
"I agree," Mike replied. He opened the window and let the owl fly out. Then he went back to his text book.
A week went by. Mike was getting into the swing of Witchwood Hall. But he didn't like it any better than he had when he arrived. Portia and her friends still gave him a hard time about being half witch. And they were getting chummy with Sabrina, which bugged him. Sabrina also never talked to him. She was always off with either Nicole and her friends, or Portia and her friends. Mr. Festerman kept calling him things like Nishwash, Nesslerood, Nesbaum, Neshmesh, and the like, while he always managed to pronounce Heffelbergerdusseldorferhoffmanvonclineschmidt perfectly. On Saturday, Mike was in his room, writing a letter home.
Dear Jerry, I hope your having a better time than I am. Witchwood Hall is all I thought it would be. Rotten. I don't fit in. There's this one clique of girls that was able to tell right off the bat that I was half witch, and the ringleader says she can tell right off. And they think Sabrina is a full witch, and they're being all chummy with her, and leave me out of everything. Sabrina's been able to make friends, but I haven't. I'm in this one floating class, and I can't get two inches off the ground. My teacher keeps mispronouncing my name, and there's this one German witch in the class who's name is Heffelbergerdusseldorferhoffmanvonclineschmidt (what a mouthful!) and he gets it right every time! This is gonna be one long year. I wish you were here, Jerry, then I'd have someone to talk to, other than Hoots. Hoots, by the way, is an owl that I found perched on my windowsill. You can't talk much to an owl. I'll talk to you later, Jerry. Mike.
Mike put his letter in an envelope, stamped it, addressed it, and zapped it to the mortal world. Three days later, Dean Birch came up to his room, with a letter in her hand.
"This arrived for you from the mortal world," she said. "From a . . . . . . Jerry Blavat?"
"Oh yeah," Mike said, getting up. "Thanks!"
"Friend of yours?"
"My best friend."
"Well . . . . . yeah. At least we think so. I mean, it has yet to be proven that he isn't with all the energy he's got in his system."
"I see. Mr. Nesmith, I don't know how explicit I was with my policy on mortals."
"Well, you said no mortals in the school, so . . . ."
"Yes, and no outside mail from the mortal world, either."
"But we're not sure if Jerry's a mortal or not."
"I'm afraid, Mr. Nesmith, that all your mail will be screened from the mortal world, unless you are conversing with a witch who lives in the mortal realm, like your aunts. Anyone else . . . . . well, what can I say?"
"But that's not even fair!"
"It's the rules, Mr. Nesmith."
Mike groaned. Dean Birch took the letter, and zapped it to shreds. Once she was out of sight, Mike snapped his fingers and restored it. He just had to see what Jerry had to say.
Dear Mike, I'm taking a big risk sending this to you. I get the feeling that the students at Witchwood Hall are anti-mortal (or at least some of them) and that may be why they're giving you a hard time. But if I know you, my pal, you'll stick it out. I really wish I could be there, too. I'm going crazy over here! Since Bob went back to school, there isn't much to do around here. Davy hangs out with Quackerjack, Micky hangs out with Reggie, Peter hangs out with Drake, and I'm sort of left in the dust. I think I know what you went through before I came out to LA to join Camp Monkee Mallard. I think it's easier when there's eight of us instead of seven. I'm sure you feel the same way. Linda says hi, as do the Monkees and the Mallards. Phyllis and Carole send their love. Hopefully you can sneak another letter out. Or maybe you can even sneak a phone call. Keep on rockin'! Jerry.
"I wish, Geat, I wish," Mike said. He reshredded the letter and threw it in the trash, just in case Dean Birch came back.
A few more weeks went by. Witchwood Hall would be closed for Halloween. It's as big in the Other Realm as Christmas is in the mortal world. Mike nearly did cartwheels when he heard that. On Halloween, he dashed to a porthole to the mortal world as fast as he could. He ended up in his basement, and he ran all the way upstairs.
"Trick or treat!" he called out.
"Mike!" Phyllis shouted, hugging him. "Kate said you'd be coming home for Halloween!"
"Yeah, now what about Christmas?" Jerry asked.
"I'll be home then, too," Mike said. "But don't count on Thanksgivin'. Witches have this thing against it, because of colonists and the witch trials and all of that. They have a thing against pilgrims."
"And you don't?" Jerry asked.
"Well," Mike said, shrugging.
"So how do you like Witchwood Hall?" Warren asked.
"I hate it," Mike said. "Sorry I didn't write back, Jer. They won't let me answer letters to mortals. They won't even let me see letters from mortals."
"No wonder you didn't answer my letter," Phyllis said.
"How are you and the students gettin' along?" Kate asked.
"Not at all," Mike said. "Sabrina's completely ditched me. She's made friends easily with these witch snobs who do nothin' but torment me 'cause I'm half witch. I mean, so's Sab, but they think she's a full witch. The only person I talk to at school is Hoots, and he's an owl. I also talk to Ernest, but I wouldn't say he's my friend."
"Ernest?" Phyllis asked.
"Yeah, Ernest Heffelbergerdusseldorferhoffmanvonclineschmidt," Mike said.
"Gesundheit," Warren said.
"Yeah, that's what I said," Mike said. "He's German, but he speaks good English. He's nice enough, but . . . . . well, you know. He's not Jerry."
"Yeah, Jerry's one of a kind, that's for sure," Phyllis said.
"Thank goodness," Jerry replied. "I'd like to go back with you, Mike, I really would. Then maybe you wouldn't feel so bad."
"Thanks," Mike said. "But who knows what Dean Birch's gonna do if she finds a mortal in her school."
Mike went back down the stairs to the porthole. Jerry just stood there, watching him go, deep in thought.
"Well," he said. "We'll just find out what Dean Birch's gonna do when she finds a mortal in her school. Of course, I'll have to be extremely careful. Besides, who's to say I'm not fully a mortal? Nobody knows that for sure!"
"What are you babbling about?" Phyllis asked.
"Oh, nothing much," Jerry said. "I'll see you later, Phyllis."
Jerry left the Nesmith house. He had some shopping to do. The next day, he came into the studio wearing a dark pink sweater vest over a white shirt, gray pants, and a pair of black shoes. The others stared at him as if he were crazy.
"I know you dig sweatah vests, mate," Davy said. "But even that is a fashion don't!"
"Ha, ha," Jerry said. "You guys have fun. I'm gonna go drop in on Mike."
"I don't think that's such a good idea," Micky said.
"Yeah, the Other Realm isn't big on mortals," Peter said.
"But we're not too sure if Jerry's a full mortal or not," Quackerjack replied.
"Exactly," Jerry said. "See you later."
Jerry opened the porthole in the studio's floor, and walked through it, directly to Witchwood Hall. All the students were walking around the halls, heading into the cafeteria. He had just made it in time for breakfast. He saw Mike sitting with Ernest at a table in the corner and ran over.
"Hey, Mike!" he shouted. "Mind if I join you?"
Mike's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. He was about ready to keel over and have a heart attack! He jumped out of his chair and nearly strangled the Geator.
"What are you doin' here?!" he shouted.
"I just came to see you, that's all," Jerry said.
"You're takin' a very big risk, you know that! If Dean Birch finds out you're here, both of us are dead!"
"Well, what can she do?"
"Man, I don't know, but I don't think it'll be good!"
"You'd better stop yelling. Everybody's starting to stare at us."
Mike let go of Jerry's shoulders and looked around the cafeteria. Everyone there was staring at him, oddly. Everything had stopped dead in their tracks. Sabrina's jaw nearly scraped the floor. She ran over to her cousin and Jerry.
"What are you doing?" she asked. "You could be in big trouble if you stick around."
"Look," Jerry said. "Mike doesn't fit in here at this school. He told me he was lonesome, so I figured I'd come by and . . . . . you know, cheer him up a little."
"Don't get me wrong, Jerry," Mike said. "I'm thrilled to see you. I'm so happy you're here. But you shouldn't have come. Dean Birch hates, uhh . . . ."
Mike glanced around. Everyone in the cafeteria was still staring at him. He glanced at Portia and her friends, and they looked like vultures, ready to dive on their kill. Mike motioned for Jerry to lean in.
"She hates M-O-R-T-A-L-S," he whispered.
"So what?" Jerry asked. "It has yet to be proven that I'm a full M-O-R-T-A-L."
"You can't stay," Mike said. "Everyone will know. Especially Portia Wallace. She can smell any kind of witch a mile off."
"How good can she be?" Sabrina asked. "She thinks I'm a full witch."
"Mike," Ernest said. "Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?"
"Yes, Mr. Nesmith," Dean Birch said, coming into the cafeteria. "Please introduce us to our new student."
"Uhhh," Mike said. "Sure. This is Jer . . . . . . uhh, Geraldini Blavatowski. He's a transfer student from . . . . . . . I guess, I guess Philly"
Mike knew there was a city in the Other Realm with the nickname Philly. He just wasn't sure if it was called Philadelphia or not. But it technically wasn't a lie. All Mike had to do was lie about his name, since Dean Birch knew of a mortal named Jerry Blavat.
"Oh," Dean Birch said. "From Philasoria, eh?"
"No," Jerry said. "Philadel. . . . . ."
Mike stomped on Jerry's foot before he could say anything further.
"Yeah, Philasoria," Jerry said, getting Mike's drift right away.
"Now what kind of a witch are you?" Dean Birch asked. "Are you half like Mr. Nesmith, or whole like Miss Wallace?"
"Well, see . . . . ." Jerry said. "Uhh, that is . . . . . I don't, I don't really . . . . ."
"He doesn't really know," Mike said, quickly. "Umm, he never knew his parents. Right, Geraldini?"
"Yeah," Jerry said, nodding. "That's it. So I don't know if I'm half or whole or what."
"Well, we'll find out," Dean Birch said. "You've got to be half. I smell mortal on you. At any rate, welcome to Witchwood Hall, Mr. Blavatowski. I think you'll enjoy it."
"Oh yeah," Jerry said.
"Don't expect him to stay long, Dean Birch," Mike said. "He's only here for a little while."
Dean Birch nodded, and left. Mike breathed of relief and sat down at the table. Jerry followed.
"Thanks, Mike," he said.
"Yeah," Mike said. "I want you to listen to me, and listen good, Jerry. You can not hang around here and pretend that you're half witch!"
"But I might be," Jerry said.
"I don't care! Dean Birch is gonna find out sooner or later. You just can't stay here. You're only here because you don't want to hang out with the rest of Camp Monkee Mallard."
"Maybe so. But I can't help it. I miss you, that's all."
"I know, Jer, I know. I miss you, too, but . . . . . well, man, I don't know."
"Come on, Mike. Let me hang around for awhile. See how things go."
"Okay. Okay, fine. I'll help pass you off as a witch. I can't transfer magic, so I'll just help you discreetly. Stay close to me."
"And whatever you do, don't tell anyone that you're a mortal!"
Mike and Jerry shook hands on that. After breakfast, they went to Mr. Festerman's class. A lot of the kids were showing off, floating. Mike was still only getting two inches off the ground.
"Can't you levitate yourself or something?" Jerry asked.
"That's a different matter entirely," Mike said.
"Well, how am I gonna get up in the air?" Jerry asked. "The instructor's waiting."
"So are the rest of us," Portia said. "Come on, Geraldini. Or are you not witch enough?"
"He's not witch, period," Sabrina muttered. "Mike, you have to get him out of here."
"I think I know what to do," Mike said. "Jerry, close your eyes and relax."
Jerry shrugged, and closed his eyes. Mike glanced around. Mr. Festerman was watching Tony float around on his back, as if he were doing the backstroke. Mike cracked his knuckles. He closed his eyes, and put his fingers to his temples. He rose his two inches, but managed to lift Jerry about halfway up to the ceiling through levitation.
"Okay, Jerry," Sabrina said. "Open your eyes."
"Hey, this isn't bad," Jerry said. "Tell me, how's Mike doing this?"
"Levitation," Sabrina said. "But don't talk to him. He needs total concentration. He's trying to get himself off the ground, as well as trying to hold you up."
"Ah ha," Jerry said, nodding.
Five minutes before class was over, Mike brought Jerry down. He breathed of relief.
"You may be skinny, Jerry, but you're heavier than you look," he said.
"Sorry," Jerry said, shrugging.
They went to potion class next. Jerry hung by Mike's cauldron, since there were no spare ones left. Mike was thankful for that. This would probably be the easiest class for Jerry. No finger zapping was involved! All Jerry had to do was pour in the ingredients when Miss Fruger said to do it. Target Practice was going to be a little tougher. Mike had to be sneaky. Mr. Davis threw his little object in the air. Jerry gulped and pointed at it. Mike snapped his fingers, inconspicuously. No one noticed. All they saw was the little rock turn into a chocolate bar. It landed in Jerry's hand, and he promptly tossed it to Mike. Mike unwrapped it, and took a bite out of it.
It went on for a week. Nobody knew any better. Mike figured if he could keep it up, he'd have Jerry stay with him the rest of the year. They were hanging out in Mike's room one night, studying together when Mike heard a tap on the window. He got up, opened the window, and stuck his arm out.
"What are you doing?" Jerry asked, looking up from his book.
"Just bringin' in a friend of mine," Mike said, pulling his arm back into the room. Sitting on it was a horned owl. "Jerry, this is Hoots. My owl friend. Hoots, this is Jerry. My best human friend."
"Hoo," Hoots said.
"Jerry, that's who," Mike said. He turned to Jerry then. "It's a little owl humor."
"Yeah, I get it," Jerry said. "Does Dean Birch know you have that thing in here?"
"Yeah, she knows he comes in every now and again. Before you sneaked in here, he was the only one I had to talk to in this place durin' study period. I gotta tell you, I was about ready to lose my mind."
"No offense, Mike, but you've lost your mind a long time ago."
Mike nodded on that one. Hoots flew off the Texan's arm, and began to fly around the room. Mike opened the window, in case he wanted to fly out. Then he got back to his potion class homework. As he and Jerry were working, and Hoots was circling the room, the door opened, and who should be standing there, but Dean Birch.
"Boys, we need to talk," she said.
"What about?" Mike asked.
"There's a mortal in Witchwood Hall," Dean Birch said. "Not a half mortal, a full mortal pretending to be a witch."
Oh no, Mike thought, getting a little nervous. She knows! I hope she goes easy on him.
"Everyone is getting screened tomorrow," Dean Birch continued. "We'll soon find out who the mortal masquerading as a witch is."
"What . . . . what are you goin' to do to him?" Mike asked. "Or, uhh, her, for that matter?"
"Leave that to me, Mr. Nesmith," Dean Birch said. "Now may I suggest you and Mr. Blavatowski get back to studying?"
"Yes ma'am," Mike said, and he picked up his book.
Dean Birch stood there, looking at the boys closely, as if she were trying to pick out the mortal herself. Before she could get anywhere, Hoots came whooshing by, and relieved himself. It landed right on Dean Birch's head. She wasn't too happy.
"Mr. Nesmith, I don't mind if your feathered friend comes in and plays in your room," she said. "But please inform him not to eat before he comes in."
"I'll keep that in mind," Mike said. "Goodnight, Dean Birch."
Dean Birch nodded, and left. Mike jumped up, and opened his door open a crack, making sure she was on her way out. He sighed, and leaned against the door.
"Boy, are we in trouble," he said.
"What are we going to do?" Jerry asked. "They're gonna find out!"
"I hate to think what's gonna happen. You might be turned into a mouse for a thousand years."
"Hoo! Hoo!" Hoots called out. "Hoo, hoo, hoo! Hoo!"
"Oh," Mike said. "He says if you get turned into a mouse, he promises not to eat you."
"Yeah, thanks," Jerry said. "But I could also get turned into a toad, or any other kind of animal. What are we gonna do?"
"I don't know. We'll just have to see what happens."
The next day, the students of Witchwood Hall got in line to be screened. Basically, they stuck their hands into a small box, and the box scanned the person's hand. Then the computer on the box would tell whoever was holding it if the person being scanned was a witch, half witch, or mortal. Mike cut in front of Jerry when he saw the box.
"What did you do that for?" Jerry asked.
"It's crucial that I go first," Mike said. "I have to go before you. I've got an idea."
"I hope it's a good one."
"Trust me. They'll never find out."
"I hope you're right."
Mike nodded. He hoped it would work, too. After awhile, he was up next. He gulped as he put his hand inside the box. The machine scanned his hand, and he waited for the results.
"Half witch," the large, gruff man holding the box said. "Next!"
Jerry gulped, and slowly raised his hand. It was now or never. Mike pointed his index finger at the box, and it fell apart just before Jerry could get his hand inside it. Mike pointed again, and those parts shattered into pieces.
"Now how did that happen?" the man asked.
"Butterfingers," Dean Birch said. "How long will it be until you can fix it?"
"Well, Dean Birch, we gotta put these things together manually, you understand. You can't use magic to fix these things, you know."
Dean Birch groaned. She was going to find who the mortal was hiding out at her school one way or another. Mike and Jerry were in the cafeteria line later, grabbing every kind of junk food they could find to celebrate their victory.
"I can't believe you pulled it off!" Jerry shouted.
"I can't believe it myself," Mike said. "Man, I cut it close though."
"Yeah, if you waited any longer, they'd find out, or my hand would've been sliced!"
"You broke the machine, Mike?" Ernest, who was standing behind Jerry in the cafeteria line, asked.
"Well, kind of," Mike said. "Yeah."
"But why?" Ernest asked.
The three boys walked over to a table in the corner and sat down. Mike looked around to make sure the coast was clear, and then motioned Jerry and Ernest to lean in closer, which they did.
"Ernest, you're my friend, right?" Mike asked.
"Ja," Ernest said. "I'm your friend."
"Do you promise to keep what I tell you a secret?"
"Ooohh, a secret!"
"It's really important."
"Okay, Mike. I promise to keep this a secret. You have my word as a full blooded witch. I won't tell anyone. I solemly swear."
"Okay. Geraldini Blavatowski is not his real name. And he's not a witch."
"Right," Jerry said, nodding. "I'm the mortal Dean Birch is looking for."
"His real name's Jerry Blavat," Mike said. "I just made up the Geraldini Blavatowski name because Dean Birch knew Jerry's real name."
"Oooh, this is a big secret," Ernest said. "You could get into trouble!"
"We know," Mike said. "This is why we have to keep this a secret."
"You're the only person we've told," Jerry said.
"And Sabrina knows," Mike said. "I mean, of course she knows. She's my cousin, and she's seen Jerry at least a million times. Ernest you have to promise you won't tell anyone."
"I promise I won't tell anyone," Ernest said. "Cross my heart and hope to die. If I tell, I hope I am struck by lightning, turned into a rat for five years, and never again eat my mater's Weiner schnitzel and apple strudel."
"I think we can trust him," Mike said.
Jerry nodded. The three boys began to pig out. Of course, they had an eavesdropper: Hermione Albertson. She heard the entire thing. She smiled sneakily and ran over to her table. Sabrina wasn't there that day. She was eating with Nicole. At any rate, Hermione sat down at the table and turned to her friends.
"I've got a secret," she said.
"Oooohhh," the girls breathed.
"Is it juicy?" Portia asked.
"The juiciest," Hermione said. "That Nesmith dork was talking to the Hamburger Weinerschitzel dweeb, or whatever his name is, about that Blavatowski geek. Apparently, his name is Geraldini Blavatowski at all. It's Jerry Blavat. And he's the mortal Dean Birch is trying to sniff out. Nesmith had to tell Dean Birch his name was Geraldini Blavatowski because she already knew about Jerry Blavat."
"Ooooohhhhh," Eunice and Marianne breathed. Portia smiled sneakily.
"Well, if Dean Birch is looking high and low for him," she said. "Then we should tell her. It's not right to keep secrets from our dear Dean Birch."
Hermione, Marianne, and Eunice nodded. Then all four of them started laughing. Three days later, Mike and Jerry were walking down the hallway, going to a class, talking over the upcoming test in potions class.
"Man I feel like I'm back in high school," Jerry said. "All I need now is a TV station, and Bob Horn. I could relive my Bandstand days."
"That could be fun," Mike said. "I have to say I like this a lot better than I thought I would. Since you've been here, Jerry, everythin's been goin' like clockwork."
"Glad I came?"
"Yeah. I get the feelin' it's gonna be smooth sailin' from here on end."
"Don't be so sure of that, Mr. Nesmith!" Dean Birch shouted. Jerry and Mike stopped in their tracks and turned around to face her.
"Yes, Dean Birch?" Mike asked, calmly.
"Don't 'yes Dean Birch' me, Mr. Nesmith!" Dean Birch shouted. "You and Mr. Blavatowski are in a lot of trouble. Or should I say you and Mr. Blavat are in a lot trouble!"
"Uh oh," Jerry said. "Something tells me she found out."
"But how could she?" Mike asked. "How did you find out?"
"I never reveal my sources," Dean Birch said. "You know the rules, Mr. Nesmith. No mortals allowed at Witchwood Hall. How dare you sneak in here, you rat!"
"I . . . . well . . . . . uhh . . . ." Jerry stammered.
"It was my fault, Dean Birch," Mike said. "He snuck in to be with me. He's my best friend."
"That doesn't justify anything, Mr. Nesmith," Dean Birch said. "You're in trouble for trying to pass a mortal off as a witch!"
"What are you gonna do?" Jerry asked.
"I'd be only too happy to show you," Dean Birch said.
Dean Birch waved her hands in the air, and a thick cloud of magic flew out of them, and enveloped Jerry. Mike couldn't see him. Once the cloud lifted, Jerry was nowhere in sight.
"Where'd he go?" Mike asked.
"You'll find out sooner or later. Now I want you to get to your room. You are not to socialize with any other student for two weeks."
Mike shrugged, and walked over to the elevator. He walked into his room, and looked out the window into the garden. What he saw caused him to do a double take. He slammed himself against the window, and looked at the stone statues, wide eyed and slack jawed.
"Oh no," he said. "Oh no. Oh no! Oh no!"
In case you haven't noticed, Mike just found out what Dean Birch did to Jerry. She turned him to stone, and transported him into the garden with the other statues. Mike groaned, and sat down on his bed. He couldn't believe what had happened. He also wanted to know who told Dean Birch. He had two suspects. Sabrina and Ernest. Unfortunately, he couldn't question them for two weeks. During lunch the next day, Mike walked out to the garden, and sat down in front of Jerry.
"I'm sorry this happened to you," he said. "I didn't know Dean Birch would do this. Honestly. I'm gonna find out who told, and then make their life miserable."
A couple of kids walking in the garden just stared at Mike as if he were crazy for talking to a stone statue.
"I knew he talks to animals," one said. "But I didn't know he talks to statues, too!"
"I wonder if they answer him like his animal friends do?" the other said. Both of them walked off and laughed. Mike groaned and shook his head.
"I'd better get out of here," he said, standing up. "Or else they're all gonna think I'm nuts."
Mike walked back into the building and went to his afternoon classes. Two very quiet weeks later, he was finally out of isolation from the rest of the student body of Witchwood Hall, but he didn't want to talk to anyone, anyway. He walked into floating class and sat down. Ernest came in and sat next to him.
"Gutentag," he said. "I hope you are talking to me today."
"I'm not speakin' to you," Mike said. "Benedict Arnold."
"What did I do?" Ernest asked.
"Yeah, what did he do?" Sabrina asked.
"I'm not too thrilled with you, either, cousin," Mike said, sourly.
"Now what did I do?" Sabrina asked.
"Don't you two say a word to me," Mike said.
"What happened to Jerry?" Ernest asked.
"He was statued by Dean Birch," Mike said. "And I know one of you told her he was a mortal!"
"But Mike! I swore I wouldn't!" Ernest said. "And I didn't!"
"Me neither," Sabrina said.
"You'd be the type to, Sabrina!" Mike shouted. "Everybody knows you don't like Jerry!"
"That's true," Sabrina said. "But I'd never do anything like tell Dean Birch. I wouldn't hurt my favorite cousin like that."
"Harumph," Mike mumbled.
"Fine," Sabrina said, shrugging.
"I didn't, Mike," Ernest said. "Honest I didn't."
Mike folded his arms across his chest and stared straight ahead, glaring his famous Vulture Glare. Throughout the day, Ernest kept following Mike around, trying to convince him he didn't tell Dean Birch. Sabrina tried the same thing, but Mike was extremely stubborn.
"I didn't tell, Mike!" Ernest shouted. "Honest I didn't!"
"How do I know?" Mike asked. "I haven't known you for that long!"
"You've known me forever, and I didn't tell," Sabrina said.
"Yeah, but you don't like Jerry," Mike said. "You've been jealous of our friendship."
"Okay, that's true," Sabrina said. "But I wouldn't want him to be cast in stone forever!"
Mike just stormed out to the garden. Ernest and Sabrina followed him, as well as a bunch of other students. Once Mike reached Jerry, he turned around.
"Will you two stop?!" he shouted.
"Come on, Mike," Sabrina said. "Be reasonable!"
"Ja," Ernest said. "We would never tell Dean Birch!"
"Then tell me this," Mike said. "You, me, and Sabrina were the only ones who knew Jerry was a mortal. Now, I didn't tell, and if the two of you didn't tell, who did?"
"Well, it wasn't me," Sabrina said.
"Me neither," Ernest said.
"Forget it," Mike said. "I know one of you told!"
"Mike!" Sabrina yelled.
"I didn't," Ernest said, meekly. "I wouldn't. You're my friend, Mike."
"Some friend!" Mike yelled. "You two are traitors! Traitors!"
Mike clenched his fists and held them over his head. The sky began to cloud over. Sabrina started backing up. Ernest and the others students followed her.
"What's he doin'?" Tony Antonio asked.
"He's about to have one of his world famous temper tantrums," Sabrina said. "He loses his temper a lot, but it really takes something big for him to get a storm brewing."
Mike held his fists in the air as high as they would go. Thunder began clapping then, and lightning flashed. All the students stood there, in shock. Dean Birch came out, looking like she sucked a lemon.
"What's going on out here?!" she demanded.
"Duck, Dean Birch!" Wilson DeWitt shouted.
Mike threw his arms down to his sides, and the loudest clap of thunder you ever did hear blasted out. Rain began to fall heavily, and the wind blew ferociously. Everybody in the garden stood there in shock. Lightning flashed violently.
"What's he doing?" Dean Birch asked. "Studying for his weather altering class?"
"No, Dean Birch," Sabrina said. "He just lost his temper that's all."
Mike held his fists at his chest. Then he thrust his arms upwards, spreading his fingers. The wind picked up, and it started rocking all the stone statues back and forth. All the other witches began to back away nervously. Sabrina groaned.
"This isn't just a thunderstorm," she said. "He's gone and started to brew a hurricane! He must really be ticked!"
"How do you get him to stop?!" Samantha Snively shouted over the wind.
"You don't!" Sabrina yelled.
Mike was still at it. He kept waving his arms around, and thunder exploded. Lightning flashed. Rain cascading out of the sky. Wind howled. Everyone was getting soaked! And Mike wasn't about to stop. He was brewing a category five hurricane! Bigger than Hurricane Camille ever was! With one wave of his hand, the wind began to blow harder. Everyone beat a hasty retreat inside, before they were swept up into it! Mike had gone from a category five hurricane, and was working on one that would have to be classified as a category six! Of course, the National Weather Bureau would have to officially claim a category six hurricane.
"Won't he ever stop?" Tony asked.
"Not until he calms down," Sabrina said.
"How long will that take?" Ernest asked.
"Unless he finds out who told Dean Birch Jerry was a mortal, I'd say until the twelfth of never!" Sabrina shouted. "He still thinks you and I told!"
"That's crazy," Deirdre Molish said. "I saw Portia and her friends talking to Dean Birch the other day about how they knew Mike's friend was a mortal."
"Oh no. We've got to stop him before he breaks something!"
Sabrina, Ernest, and Deirdre ran from Witchwood Hall, in an attempt to stop Mike from causing anymore damage. The other students followed, curious to see what was going to happen.
"Mike, stop!" Sabrina shouted.
Mike just glared at her, but he didn't stop. The wind was causing all the statues in the garden to rock continuously. If the hurricane didn't blow over soon, they would all fall. Well, of course, Mike wasn't about to quit now. He was determined to brew a hurricane so strong, it would blow Witchwood Hall right off it's foundation. He kept brewing up the strongest wind imaginable, until one of the statues did indeed fall off the pedestal. And if things couldn't get any worse for Mike, the statue of Jerry was the one that fell.
"Mike!" Sabrina yelled.
"Oh nein!" Ernest shouted.
"I can't look!" Deirdre yelled.
Mike looked at the falling statue and tried to stop it from falling by using his magic, but he poured all of it into his hurricane. His battery was completely dead. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, until finally . . . . .
The minute the stone statue hit the ground, it smashed to pieces. The storm died down. The weather had cleared up a lot since Mike wasn't angry anymore. Now he was standing amidst pieces of the statue that was once his best friend, wide eyed with shock. He just stood there, looking at the pieces. All the other students were silent for a moment or so.
"Mike," Sabrina said. "Will you listen to us now?"
"Sabrina and Ernest didn't tell Dean Birch your friend was a mortal," Deirdre said. "I heard Portia and her friends talking to her the other day. Somehow, they must have found out when you told Ernest about it."
"Now doesn't that make more sense, Mike?" Sabrina asked.
"Yeah," Mike said, glancing around at the pieces of statue on the ground. Then he turned to Ernest and Sabrina.
"I'm sorry, I . . . . ." he said, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. He just walked back into the school, not looking, or talking to anyone else.
"All right," Dean Birch said. "Everyone back to your studies! And no more of this hurricane business! Miss Spellman, I shall be calling your aunts and inform them of your cousin's irrational behavior!"
Dean Birch stomped into the building, followed by the other students. Sabrina, Ernest, Deirdre, and Nicole stood outside, amidst the broken statue. Sabrina picked up the only piece that was intact, and it happened to be Jerry's face.
"What do we do about this?" she asked.
"I'm pretty good at jigsaw puzzles," Deirdre said. "Maybe we can put him back together and figure out how to turn him back to a person."
"Okay," Sabrina said. "You and Nicole take care of the statue. Ernest and I will take care of Mike. Goodness knows, he's gonna need a little help."
Deirdre, Nicole, and Ernest started gathering up the pieces of the statue and brought them to their rooms, in order to work on it piece by piece. Sabrina kept the piece she picked up. She took it up to Mike's room. She found her cousin sitting at his desk, holding his head in his hands, and gripping his hair.
"Hi," she said.
"You're not gonna rub it in, are you?" Mike asked, not looking up. "I know I messed up big time. I'll probably get kicked out of school for this. Which wouldn't be so bad, actually."
"I'm not gonna rub it in," Sabrina said. "I just wanted to tell you that Deirdre, Nicole, Ernest, and I are gonna try and put Jerry back together. You want to help?"
"Not especially," Mike replied.
"Oh come on, he's your best friend."
"Yeah, I know. But I still don't want to. I'm lousy at jigsaw puzzles. Then I lose my temper when I can't figure it out, then I throw the pieces across the room. Forget it. Besides, a lot of the mess was just little bitty pebbles and stuff like that."
"We're all witches, Mike. We can figure it out."
"Dean Birch is gonna be mad."
"She'll never find out."
"If Portia Wallace has her way, she will."
"Well, I'm just gonna leave this here, in case you change your mind."
Sabrina left a piece of the statue on Mike's desk. Mike rolled his eyes, stood up, and crossed over to the bed. Without looking at the piece of statue, he pointed at it, lifted it up with his finger, opened the desk drawer, and placed it inside. He didn't feel like putting together that statue. He began staring up at the ceiling. As he was doing that, he heard a light tapping on the window. He looked over and saw Hoots sitting on the windowsill, wanting to come in.
"Not today, Hoots," Mike said. "I'm not in the mood."
Hoots hooted, and flew away. On Monday, Sabrina, Deirdre, Nicole, and Ernest got together in the cafeteria and began talking about the progress they were making.
"Unfortunately, we're not getting very far," Ernest said.
"There are a lot of small fragments," Nicole said. "We could really use Mike's psyches to get somewhere."
"Yeah, Mike can see things we can't," Sabrina said. "Especially if he uses his psyches."
"What are you guys talking about?" Portia said, as she and her friends walked up to the table.
"None of your business," Nicole said.
"Come sit with us, Sabrina," Hermione said.
"Yeah, why are you sitting with these dweebs?" Eunice asked.
"Because they're my friends," Sabrina replied.
"Whatever," Marianne said.
"Besides, what kind of friends are you?" Sabrina asked. "I can't believe you guys told Dean Birch about Jerry."
"Now why should we keep secrets from our dear Dean Birch?" Portia asked. "Besides, mortals are nuisances. They're beneath us witches. We're better than they are. What's the point of having them around if you can't torture them?"
"Hey, I happen to be half mortal!" Sabrina shouted.
"That explains a lot," Portia said. "Come on, girls."
The four snobs walked off. Sabrina rolled her eyes. Ernest began making notes on a napkin for a moment.
"So where's Mike?" he asked.
"I couldn't get him to come out of his room," Sabrina replied. "I don't think we'll be seeing much of him until we put the statue back together."
"We'll get together during lunch and figure out what we can do," Deirdre said.
Lunch time came around. The foursome were still trying to get that darn statue together. Luckily, Nicole knew someone with the same psychic powers as Mike, and he turned out to be a big help. With his help, they managed to put the statue together in no time.
"All we gotta do now is take out the cracks," Deirdre said, waving her hands in a circle. All the cracks in the statue disappeared.
"There," she said. "Good as new."
"Now all we gotta do is get Mike, and figure out how to break the spell," Sabrina said. "Which is probably going to be easier said than done."
On Saturday, Sabrina finally got around to talking to Mike. He wasn't in a good mood. He hadn't been for about a week now.
"I have good news," she said.
"They're kickin' us out," Mike said, hopefully.
"No such luck. But Deirdre, Ernest, Nicole, and I managed to find another witch who has the same psychic powers you do, and he helped us put Jerry back together."
"Yeah. We put him back in the garden with the other statues, and we might need your help to break the spell."
"Well, I'll do what I can, Sab, but my magic ain't that reliable, you know."
"Don't worry, Mike. We'll help you."
Mike shrugged, and grabbed his spell book. Then he followed Sabrina out to the garden. Nicole, Ernest, and Deirdre were waiting for them, ready to perform some magic. Mike was looking through his spell book as fast as he could, looking for the spell that would counteract Dean Birch's.
"Stone, stone, stone," he said, looking through it. "Spells written in stone, spells cast in stone, here we go, people turned to stone."
"What does it say?" Sabrina asked.
"Not much, unfortunately," Mike said. "Brief overview of the spell, but nothin' on how to reverse it. Maybe if I look it up under reversin' spells."
Mike continued to look through the book, until he found what he wanted. He handed the book to Sabrina, and rubbed his hands together.
"All righty," he said. "Let's make some magic here."
"You know what you're doing?" Deirdre asked.
"I'll say the incantation and wing it," Mike said. "I'm not expectin' too much. I'm only half witch, you know."
Mike cracked his knuckles and began to shake his arms out. The others were looking at him oddly.
"What are you waiting for?" Ernest asked. "Christmas?"
"I'm just warmin' up," Mike said.
"Well, warm up a little faster," Sabrina said.
Mike threw his cousin a dirty Look and started wiggling his fingers. He turned towards the spell book and cleared his throat.
"Well, here goes nothin'," he said. He raised his hands into the air. "Rock, stone, pebble, concrete, turn back to flesh from head to feet!"
Mike thrust his hands forward, surrounding Jerry in his magic. Mike squeezed his eyes shut, and crossed his fingers.
"I hope this works," Sabrina said. "They'll be no living with him if it doesn't!"
Nicole, Deirdre, and Ernest looked on nervously. Finally, Mike's magic cleared, to reveal . . . . . . .
A stone statue. Nothing had changed.
(Fooled ya, didn't I?)
Mike stood there, wide eyed and slack jawed.
"That should've worked," Mike said.
"Maybe I should try it," Ernest said. "After all, I am a full witch."
Mike nodded. Ernest warmed up himself, and repeated the incantation. The same thing happened, complete with the results. Nicole gave it a shot, thinking maybe it had to do with Ernest's accent. Again, nothing happened.
"How old is that spell book?" Mike asked.
"It shouldn't matter," Deirdre said. "There are no out of date spells, or expiration dates, or anything like that. Well, except for magic potions."
"Oh great," Mike said. "Just great. You mean to tell me Jerry's stuck like this forever?"
"Looks like it," Nicole said, shrugging.
Sabrina prepared herself for the worst. She figured Mike would start another hurricane any minute. But he didn't. He climbed up onto the pedestal and looked into Jerry's stone eyes. It was about all he could do.
"I'm sorry, Jerry," he said. "I never should have told Ernest you were a mortal. Then Portia never would've found out, and everything would be normal. I wish I had never come to this stupid school in the first place!"
Mike put his hands on Jerry's shoulders. They were stone cold. The Texan Monkee took a deep breath, and drew the statue close to him, wrapping his arms around it. He heaved a sigh that could have been heard in China. He was glad his back was facing Sabrina and the others. He didn't want them to see the teardrops running down his face. For as long as they had known each other, Sabrina had never seen her cousin cry. Not once. Mike sure wasn't going to let this time be an exception.
Mike's teardrops fell onto Jerry's head. The Texan started clenching his fingers against the stone, but as he did, he felt the stone turn into soft wool, the same material the school's sweater vests were made out of. Mike just stood there, squeezing the fabric between his fingers, staring straight ahead. Also, he could no longer feel cold stone against his face. He felt something soft, like hair. Mike let go of the statue, and backed up a little, to see Jerry, no longer a stone statue, but back to his old self. Jerry turned his head, slightly, and looked down at his feet. He held up his hands, as if he couldn't believe he was no longer a statue himself. For once in his life he was speechless. So was Mike, for that matter. He and Jerry looked at each other, and smiled.
"Jerry," Mike said, finally. "Oh man, am I glad to see you!"
Mike grabbed Jerry off the pedestal and swung up around in circles.
"Hey, watch it, Mike!" Jerry laughed. "I'm getting dizzy!"
Mike put Jerry down, so the Geator could regain his senses. Jerry flashed Mike his great smile, and pulled him close.
"You're a sight for sore eyes, Mike," he said.
"Mike, how in the world did you do it?" Ernest asked.
"I don't have the slightest idea," Mike said. "Man, I don't know what I did, but I'm sure glad I did it!"
"Well, Mike, you're always saying love is power," Jerry said. "And you know there are all types of love, right?"
"Yeah?" Mike said, nodding. "Love for music, love for what you do, and general love. Although there is a lot of general love out there."
"Right," Sabrina said. "There's a different kind of love for family and a different kind of love for friends."
"Exactly," Jerry said. Then he turned to Mike. "You do the math, my pal."
Mike thought that one over. He realized Jerry did indeed have a point. Although he still couldn't figure out how he managed to break that spell, but he didn't care. He, Jerry, and the others started walking back into the school, until they came across Dean Birch standing in the doorway, and she didn't look to happy.
"Miss Wallace informed me you were putting the broken statue back together," she said. "And then you went and broke the spell. Mr. Nesmith, I have no alternative but to expel, and Miss Spellman."
"You mean kick us out of school?" Mike asked.
"That is exactly what I mean," Dean Birch said. "Both of you pack your things and get out of here immediately! From this day on, there will be no mortals, or even half mortals allowed at Witchwood Hall!"
Mike, Sabrina, and Jerry waited until Dean Birch was out of sight and earshot. Then they began jumping up and down cheering. Ten minutes later, they were standing at a porthole to the mortal world. Nicole, Deirdre, and Ernest were standing with them, exchanging addresses and emails with Mike and Sabrina.
"We'll write," Ernest said.
"Yeah, well," Mike said. "We don't know how often we'll write, but we'll write, right?"
"Right," Deirdre said.
"This is all too confusing for me," Jerry replied. "Let's split."
"You know," Nicole said to Jerry. "I've heard all mortals just want to hunt down witches, or exploit them for money. I'm glad to see that isn't true."
"Not all mortals are like me," Jerry replied. "You have some that are truly rotten, but most of us are pretty decent."
"Right," Mike said. "He hasn't tried to make money off my powers. We'll see you guys later."
The group walked through the door to the Screen Gems studio. Kate, Hilda, and Zelda were waiting for them. Dean Birch had contacted them and told them what was going on.
"You're not mad, are you?" Mike asked.
"Well, a little disappointed," Kate admitted. "But we shouldn't have enrolled you two in that school, considerin' Dean Birch is a mortal hatin' moron."
"We simply forgot about how much she hated mortals," Zelda said.
"Yeah," Jerry said. "But I never should've tried to pass myself off as a witch anyway."
"You did it to help out Michael," Kate said. "Goodness knows, Michael could use better social skills."
Mike gave his aunt a dirty look, and he and Jerry walked off to see what the other members of Camp Monkee Mallard were up to, happy that things could go back to normal for once.