Read The Runaway Spell for Free Online Page B

if he’s a hamster again?”
    “Then this is our lucky day.”
    They checked under the xylophone and the marimba. No Mozart. They peered behind the piano, and in back of the sheet music shelves.
    “Are you sure he came in here?” B asked.
    “Positive!” George rubbed his head, where the zebra ears used to be. “Shh … I hear something.”
    B didn’t hear anything.
    “This way,” George said, and headed for the corner where the percussion instruments were stashed.
    Then B heard it, too. A little
ker-thump,
followed by a metallic
chingaring.
    “He just bumped into the cymbals,” George whispered. Then, without warning, he lunged for the big bass drum, swiveling it around to reveal a folded-up kid in an orange tracksuit.
    “Sur-PRISE! Hee hee hee!” Mozart sprang up like a jack-in-the-box and raced, giggling, past George and B, toward the door.
    “H-A-M-S-T …” B cried, but he was already gone.
    George and B looked at each other for a stunned second, then bolted after him. They only just saw him turn the corner, so they knew which direction he was headed.
    “No!” B cried. “Not the cafeteria!”
    They rounded the corner just in time to see the double doors bang shut behind Mozart. George sprinted ahead. By the time B got there, Mozart was nowhere to be seen. The cafeteria was full of its usual mayhem — worse today, perhaps, than normal. It must have been the costumes. Everyone seemed noisier and sillier than usual.
    Nuggets and fries were on today’s menu and B didn’t have to read the menu board to know it. From the looks of the floor, several minor food fights had just recently finished, and chunks of fried food were everywhere.
    George walked up and down the rows of tables, looking and listening for Mozart. Other boys — soccer players, most of them — struck up a “Go, Tigers” cheer at the sight of the popular team captain roving through the caf.
    “Oh, for crying out loud.” B ducked into the serving area and scanned the lunch line. No Mozart.
    Meanwhile, the rest of the sixth grade had joined the cheering mob, their cries echoing off the walls. The cafeteria sounded like a World Cup soccer stadium.
    “Qui-et!” Mrs. Gillet, the head lunch server, appeared in the doorway, waving a wooden spoon.
    B met up with George by the side windows.
    “I haven’t seen him anywhere,” George said. “You would think he’d be easy to spot in that neon orange suit. I don’t get it! And with my, um, superhearing, this place is giving me a mega-head ache.”
    “I’m sorry,” B said. “But so long as you’ve already got the headache, try and see if you can hear anything that sounds like Mozart, will you?”
    George closed his eyes and concentrated. B looked around anxiously to see if anyone had noticed that George’s tail was behaving strangely.
    George threw up his hands. “It’s hopeless in here,” he said.
    B rubbed her temples.
Where would I go if I was a hamster-turned-kid? How would I feel in this crazy, noisy cafeteria if I had a rodent’s brain?
    Scared
, B decided.
So what would I do? Try to hide.
    B pretended to tie her shoes, and while she was crouching low, she scanned the jungle of sneakers and backpacks.
    “Found him,” she said, rising to her feet. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 11
    B pulled George toward the far back corner of the cafeteria and sat down at the last seat, directing George to sit in the seat opposite her.
    “Where is he?” he asked, perplexed.
    “Right by your feet,” B whispered.
    Casually, as though she did this kind of thing normally, B poked her head under the table. Mozart was crouching, his arms wrapped around his ankles, his eyes wide with terror. Little whimpering sounds of fright came from his throat.
    “Oh, Mozart!” B whispered. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?”
    Mozart nodded. His eyes were rimmed with red. “All the noise hurts my ears!”
    “Psst, B!”
    B sat up straight. George was making strange faces at her, jerking his head