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looping scribbles all over the board. “I’m gonna learn how to write for real, and then I’m gonna leave everyone notes telling ’em what I really think about ’em.” He scowled. “Especially that bratty boy who’s always poking pencils at me.”
    “Jason,” George and B said in unison.
    Mozart ran to Mr. Bishop’s desk, bouncing and swiveling in the big office chair. He opened drawers and riffled through the papers, spilling some to the floor, and then stood on the seat of Mr. Bishop’s chair, jumping high while the springs squeaked, still laughing that maniac laugh.
    George and B raced to the desk to try to clean up the mess. George elbowed B.
“Do something!”
    “Right,” B said, her mouth dry as the cedar chips in Mozart’s cage. “I’ll … do something.”
We all know how well that’ll work,
she thought. She cleared her throat and fixed her gaze on Mozart. “H-A-M-…”
    Mozart stopped jumping and pointed an accusing finger at her. “No, you don’t,” he shouted. “I ain’tgoing back in that cage again! I’m FREE, and no witch-girl or stripy-horse-boy is gonna stop me!” And, taking a flying leap off Mr. Bishop’s seat, he raced toward the door, wrenched it open, and took off running down the hall.

Chapter 10
    Mozart was gone.
    Because of B’s spelling, a ham sandwich appeared on Mr. Bishop’s desk. Without thinking, George snagged the sprig of parsley on the plate and ate it.
    “Now what?” George said.
    “Catch him!” B cried.
    “You want me to tackle him in the middle of the long hallway?”
    “Pretty much,” B said. “Just don’t get caught, and don’t hurt him. But you’ve got to get him back here, where I can transform him back into a hamster.”
    George shouldered his backpack. “What if you can’t? What if he’s stuck a human, just like I’m stuck a zebra?”
    B closed her eyes. “Don’t say things like that, George,” she said. “We’ve got to stay positive. I’ll change him back, and I’ll change you back, too. I swear. But for now, use that supernatural speed of yours and
find that hamster
before he tells the whole school that I’m a witch and you’re a zebra!”
    George nodded. “The teachers are bound to notice the strange new kid in orange,” he said. “If he keeps up this loony stuff, he’ll get triple detention in the next five minutes.” He went to the door. “Catch up to me, okay?”
    B nodded and hurried to tidy up Mr. Bishop’s desk, while George galloped after the human hamster in a tracksuit.
If I ever get out of this mess
, B vowed,
I will be a good little witch who practices her spelling lessons only at the M.R.S. and never takes risks like this again. I knew it was dangerous to try to make George a better soccer player. And see where it’s led!
    Satisfied that the room was tidy enough, B grabbed her things and took off after George and Mozart. She wished she had George’s supersonic hearing, because there was no sight of either boy.
    Fortunately, the halls were empty, with most of the sixth-graders already at lunch. B ran as quickly and softly as she could through the school, glancing down each side hallway.
    She was just passing the music wing when she heard a braying sound. Sure enough, at the end of the hall was a tall form with devil’s horns and a moving tail. She turned on her heel and scooted down the hall toward her best friend.
    George saw her coming and waited for her. “He just ran into the band room,” he panted. “He’s trapped in there.”
    “Well, here goes,” B said. “Let’s see if our Mozart is a music lover like his namesake.”
    They tiptoed in the room. There was no sign of Mozart. The empty band room looked strange with all the instruments abandoned, the chairs and music stands standing in crooked rows, a few sheets of handwritten musical scores scattered on the floor. George peeked under the bell of a giant tuba, and B grinned.
    “A kid couldn’t fit under a tuba, silly,” she whispered.
    “What