Class Dis-Mythed

I twisted my lips. He assumed they were going to fail. Not MY apprentices!

The humming grew louder and more shrill.

Schlein yelled, "When will they stop?"

But Melvine and the Gargoyle still would not quit. The potato flicked back and forth between them so rapidly it looked like a solid line of flame. The two moved within a couple feet of one another, with the magicians covering the event picking up tight images of their faces and hands. Melvine was sweating now. The Gargoyle looked as though he was, too, until I reali2ed it was the heat from the potato. It was actually melting the stone!

The huge, underslung jaw was set. He clapped his hands on the missile then batted it back. I could see that his palms were beginning to slag. In a moment they would melt off.

The Gargoyle knew it, too. He batted the potato one more time to Melvine then retired, flapping his hands to cool them. Melvine received the potato then floated it in the air over his head while he accepted the applause of the crowd.

Schlein's voice boomed over the noise.

"It looks like—yes, it is—Melvine of the Sorcerer's Apprentices is the winner! But what about the potato?"

Melvine looked up at it. The hum had risen to a scream. Red numerals appeared in the air. The audience chanted along as they counted down.

"Ten, nine, eight, seven..."

"It's going to blow," Schlein said, cheerfully. "Everybody duck! Bye-bye, Melvine!"

Melvine's face hardened into the stubborn expression I had learned to associate with his refusal to acknowledge what someone else had just said. He glanced upward then thrust his hand toward the blazing globe of fire. It shot upwards, with Melvine close behind.

One of the crystal balls following the match must have been operated by a wizard adept at flying, because it never lost sight of them. They flew up and out of the open arena, heading for the clouds. Melvine waited until he was well above the crowd then stuck his fingers in his ears.

High above him, the potato detonated deafeningly, sending flaming sparks off in a hundred directions.

"Wow, what a finish!" Schlein said. "Melvine, of the Sorcerer's Apprentices!"

I found myself cheering wildly along with the others. "That was amazing!"

"Very stylish," Markie said, applauding. "Did you teach him that, Skeeve?"

"Well, not really—" I began.

"He sure did," Bunny said proudly. "Melvine learned it from seeing him save us all from that explosion!"

Schlein appeared among us again, wiping his brow. "Well, that was dramatic, my friends. We've never come so close to having the potato blow in the head-to-head competition. I have to tell you, most of the first row was already heading for the door when—can you believe it?—that Cupy drove it right up into the stratosphere! Wait, I'm getting a message from the judges." He put a finger in one ear and seemed to be listening. "Yes, they are awarding an extra point for style to the Sorcerer's Apprentices. Way to go, guys!"

I cheered and stamped my feet. "Great job, Melvine!" I yelled.

This game show stuff wasn't that bad after all. I sat back to enjoy it. I had always felt that most of the sporting events Bunny viewed were kind of stupid. I felt no connection to images seen in a crystal ball, but this—these were my own students.

The next round was a challenge between paired teams. The Shock Jahks and Sharkbait went up first, chosen by small white feathers that floated out of the air and lit on the team

captain's heads. One from each team had to walk on a tightrope while the others passed items up that had to be assembled before the walker reached the other side. In deference to the shark's mode of locomotion, she was enclosed in a tube of magikal force.

"Touch any side, and it will be as if you fell off," Schlein warned. "The loser will get one penalty point. Once you reach the far platform, you must have a working Jack-in-the-box in your hands. Set it off to get a bonus point!"

We watched breathlessly as the 'walkers' moved forward. The shark assembled her items by magik as they floated in the air next to one of her lidless eyes.

The Shock Jahks didn't seem to have much in the way of magikal ability. If an item fell out of their uppermost member's hands, it fell down again. Still, teams appeared evenly matched. I was on the edge of my seat as they neared the second platform.

"It's the Jahks—no, the Sharks! No! The Jahks are pulling ahead! Hang in there, the shark just flicked her way through the last hoop—Ooh, no! She touched it! Too bad! Penalty!"

There was a loud HONK!

"With one moment left, the Jahk skips ahead and rings the bell! Wow, what an upset! Sharkbait, favored to win, drops out of this round. They'll be on the Wheel of Misfortune later today."

I peered at the flying shark's obstacle course. It seemed to me that the last ring of magik she had to swim through was just a little lower than the others, making it impossible for her to dodge. I shook my head. Maybe I was imagining the inequality. The angle at which we were viewing the contest was an oblique one.