Class Dis-Mythed

I wasn't much of a conversationalist myself. Nothing I had done that day had turned out the way I planned it. The spell-sharing exercise had turned out to be a disaster. Someone had broken into the strongbox in an effort to frame one of the students for theft, and I still had no idea why. Massha's long-awaited demonstration had been derailed by either an attempt at assassination or a foolish mishap. I had sent my regrets back to Hugh, apologizing for the destruction of his anniversary gift to Massha and offering to replace it at my own expense. I knew that it was an inadequate gesture, but what could I do? Massha herself had forgiven me, but I had not forgiven myself. It had happened right under my nose. At the moment I was leaning toward deliberate sabotage. Replaying the events in my mind, I could see a pattern where no one had made a serious attempt to get rid of the ring-bomb. In fact, it looked to my mind's eye as though at least three of them had made efforts to keep the device from leaving the room.

My trap to catch the student who had set it off had failed spectacularly. Or, rather, it had worked too well. I didn't get one confession from the attempted bomber: I got five. They all confessed, everyone except Bee.

One by one, as dusk came on, they crept into my study. With shamed faces and the utmost sincerity they all apologized for having made a stupid mistake and being too ashamed to admit it. Melvine's confession had been particularly impassioned,

which surprised me, in light of the fact that he had never taken the blame for a single thing he had ever done, but his statement was almost word for word what the others said.

"Look," the Cupy said, giving me a sheepish, sideways grin, "the ring was just sitting there. You know I can't keep from fiddling with things. I wanted to see what it looked like with the spell armed, so I invoked it. The bezel started glowing. Then I got curious about what the other buttons did. I played with them a little. One of them turned out to be the failsafe. I knew as soon as I touched it that was the wrong thing. I couldn't get it to turn off. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't disarm it. I couldn't throw Massha's ring out the door without admitting what I had done. I should have said something right away. Instead, I just left it on the cloth with the other jewelry. I'm sorry. Don't tell the others. I feel like an idiot already."

I was puzzled. Why would five of them own up to causing a near-fatal accident when four of them, and maybe all five, had to be lying? Why did they want to stay with me so badly? For that was what they wanted, without exception.

The last to talk with me, Jinetta, had hung back at the door. "You'll keep us on, now that you know what—who the joker was. Right?" She had given me a meaningful glance then slipped off into the dim hallway. Her confession had sounded as sincere as the others, all of which I now doubted.

Bunny and I now really suspected Bee, who was looking mournful. As soon as the meal was finished, he sprang up.

"I'll do the dishes, Miss Bunny," he volunteered.

The others listlessly took on the other chores. Pologne went for the broom and pan. Freezia cleaned the table. Even Melvine pushed the benches back under the edges of the table.

I cleared my throat.

"I've, uh, decided," I began. The students whirled to face me. "I've decided you can stay. I've had a talk with the, er, perpetrator."

"Hurray!" Melvine whooped, sailing into the air and zooming around the ceiling like a flannel-clad bumblebee.

"Hold the happiness," I said. "This is provisionary. I will go on with the lessons if, and only if, there are no more near-death experiences and no more thefts. I want the six of you to start getting along again the way you did in Humulus. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Skeeve!" they chorused. Even Bee cheered up.

Bunny's eyebrows rose to frame the question that she did not ask out loud: why?

I hated to admit the truth even to myself: I didn't want to fail. I had taken on this class. I saw their misbehavior as a failure on my part to express my wishes and make them stick. I would have to be very clear from that moment on to let them know everything I wanted from them. On the other hand, I could hear in my head the voice of my mother, who had been a teacher, and a good one, all her adult life.

"And if they stick beans up their noses, will you feel responsible because you didn't tell them not to?"

I didn't know. I might. But I had to try. The students, and my own self-esteem, were counting on me.

Chapter Seventeen

"Tag, you're it!" B. V. RICHTOFFEN

"Aaaarroroooorrraaaaagghh!''