Mr Muddy was right! I had no idea where my old timetable was and tragically I’d forgotten pretty much EVERYTHING I’d learned last half-term.

  It’s break and I’m doing some broom-cupboard-bonding with Stan for old times’ sake.

  He was so happy to see me! Literally, it was the best* frog reunion of my whole life. OK, he still looks a bit gloomy, but I think that’s just his face because he leaped out of his cubbyhole behind the grumpy receptionist Mrs Slater’s desk and on to my head before I was through the front door.

  And I’m still on frog rota! Which is a relief because I’d been worried when the first thing Mr Muddy said after we’d filed into his classroom was: “Right! Who’s going to take over frog duties this half-term? It’s time to give Bea a break.”

  “It’s fine.” I tried to sound like I wasn’t stressing. “I don’t mind looking after Stan.”

  What I meant was: Please, please, please don’t give my best-friend-frog to any other witch!

  I held my breath as Mr Muddy peered at Stan. “He does seem a little less gloomy since you’ve been looking after him,” he said. “Have you changed his diet?”

  I shook my head (not if you didn’t count the one-off accidental feast of fish fingers and far too many biscuit crumbs).

  “Well, does anyone object to Bea staying on frog rota until the end of the term?” He looked round the classroom. “No other takers for Stan?”

  There was a chorus of nos. I put my hands over the frog’s little ears in case his feelings got hurt – what was wrong with these witches?

  “Fine, that’s decided then.” Mr Muddy waved his wand like he was knighting me and announced, “Bea Black, I appoint you Year Seven frog monitor for the rest of this term!”

  There was a spattering of applause led by Winnie and Puck.

  “I suppose you have a lot in common,” giggled Blair.

  I looked at Stan in all his frogginess and he looked at me in all my person-ness and we both shrugged. Whatever.

  It probably wasn’t the right moment to ask Blair how to do a loop-the-loop on my broom.

  Survived three periods of witchy Physics! OK, I didn’t manage to levitate five objects at once in time to music like everyone else (even Puck – although he broke two windows in the process), but I did manage to levitate the tuna-and-toffee-popcorn sandwich Dad had made me up in the air and twice round the classroom! Such a shame† I lost concentration and let it drop into the bin.

  Mr Muddy says he’ll make a levitator out of me yet. Mr Muddy is a very optimistic teacher.

  I’ve cracked Extraordinary school lunches! Avoid everything savoury and concentrate on cakes and puddings. The dream!

  Chocolate cake for lunch – extra chocolately witch chocolate cake. (Also a handful of Brussels sprouts because Sir Scary Cook insisted, but Stan ate most of them.)

  EVERYONE is talking about the Grand Tournament. The Year Elevens are going to do a Synchronized Skeleshaker Display!

  Eeeeuw, Stan is FARTING! I have a bad feeling the sprouts were a mistake.

  English started out badly. Madam Binx has set us the IMPOSSIBLE task of learning the first thirty-three verses of the Great Ode to the Winter Solstice OFF BY HEART.

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds.” She raised her voice over all our groans. “I know you all learned at least the first ten verses in mini-witch school.” She flicked her wand and a stack of little red books took flight from the shelf behind her and dropped one by one on to our desks. I opened mine and gulped.

  “I don’t suppose Bea learned the Ode at her Ordinary school,” sneered Hunter. Izzi and Blair sniggered and I went red.

  Madam Binx glared at them and smiled reassuringly at me. “I’m sure you’ll catch up in no time, dear … and, talking of catching up, how did those half-term incantations work out?”

  She was asking me? Oh no! I went even redder.

  “Come on, Bea! Let’s see what magic you can make happen with words.”

  I’d never managed to make anything even slightly witchy happen in English before, but I’d worked hard on my ‘piggle’ spell. All I could do was try so I shoved all my doubts away, closed my eyes, pocus-hocus-pocus-focused and said:

  “Piggy-hig and higgle-piggle,

  Make that witch’s wand a squiggle.

  Try to use it, watch it wriggle,

  Higgy-pig and piggle-higgle.”

  I opened my eyes to gales of laughter. But they weren’t laughing at me… Blair’s wand was wriggling like a caterpillar! My magic had worked!

  I’d SPELLED!

  A second later, a gold star zoomed out of the end of Binxy’s wand, transformed into a golden caramel and dropped into my hand! My first EXTRAORDINARY GOLD STAR!

  So, in the end, it was the best English class EVER.

  Blair’s wand is straight again, but (not for the first time) she’s not happy with me. I’ve tried to explain that it was only because her wand happened to be the closest – but I don’t think she believes me.

  Celebrating a (mostly) very good first day with yummy ordinary‡ takeaway pizza.

  * Also ONLY.

  † NOT!

  ‡ Non-witchy!

  Mr Zicasso liked my worm portrait! He said I’d really captured the magical essence of my subject. I said thank you and didn’t point out that he was looking at it upside down.

  He was in a very good mood. “It’s my favourite time of the year,” he announced with a twirl of his paint-spattered cloak. “Time to make a start on your Winter Solstice masks!”

  Winnie had explained the tradition – how at the bonfire party every single student would be wearing a mask representing one of the creatures of the land, lake and sky from the Great Ode to the Winter Solstice. Handmade masks didn’t sound that exciting to me, but everyone was cheering.

  “There’s card and scissors on your desks” (and suddenly there was) “and paint in here.” Mr Zicasso opened a huge cupboard and gestured with a ta-da to the rows and rows of tiny jars of paint stacked up inside.

  Two minutes later, we were all crowding round, oohing and aaaahing at the rainbow of colours.

  “I WANT DRAGON RED!” bellowed Hunter, diving for one of the biggest, brightest jars at the same time as half the class.

  “Calm down!” said Mr Zicasso. “There’s plenty to go round.”

  I didn’t know what colour I wanted, but not red. I picked up a glowing golden pot and peered at the tiny label:

  Oooooh! I weighed the pot in my hand. It felt strangely warm, but I wasn’t sure it was the one for me. Maybe a deep dark blue instead? It would be easier if I knew what sort of mask I wanted to make and that would be easier if I could remember which creatures were in the Ode. Maybe yellow? Violet? Rosy pink? There were too many colours to choose from.

  “I’ll go for this one,” I said at last, standing on tiptoe to reach a tiny pot on the top shelf. The little jar was cold and the paint inside was a bright lime green that reminded me of the moss on Cauldron Pond.

  “Hahaha, perfect choice for you, toadbrain!” snorted Hunter, elbowing me out of the way as he reached for another pot of dragon red.

  I didn’t care what he said. It was the perfect choice. I squinted at the label.

  Noooo!

  I’ve made a decent start on cutting out my frog mask.

  If you’d asked me half an hour ago if I wanted to go to another Extraordinary party in any sort of frog costume, I’d have said NO WAY, but no matter how often I tried to put that paint jar back on the shelf it just kept jumping back into my hand.

  At first, I thought I might make a lizard or a green bird or something else non-hoppy, but Winnie says it’s very important to trust the label, and Winnie’s always right, so frog it is. It’s probably for the best – it’s an easier shape to cut out than a dragon (like half the class) or a phoenix (like Winnie) or a bat (like Amara) or a griffin (like Fabi) or even a HIPPOGRIFF (like Puck*).

  I’m trying to persuade Stan to pose for me, but he’s not in the mood.

  Maths was less fun. It turns out I’m still a bit wobbly on my eight times table. What a surprise. Mr Smith was very nice about it, but he says times tables are a core skill for all witches and he’s set me extra homework.

  I was walking to lunch feeling a bit useless when I saw the noticeboard.

  There it was, right at the bottom:

  Even though Ms Celery had told me before half-term it was going to happen, seeing my name up on the board was still really exciting. I went a little closer and put out my finger to touch the lettering.

  “Well done, Vice-captain Bea!” boomed … the board? I peered at it nervously and a little shock of silver stars exploded over me like confetti. “Bravo!”

  I’d have fallen over in surprise if Puck hadn’t been standing right behind me. “Congrats, Bea!” he said.

  “Do you mind?” I asked awkwardly, worried he might think I was taking his place.

  He shook his head and grinned. “’Course not. You’re way better at scoring goals than me.”

  I started saying I wasn’t, but then Fabi came over and said I definitely was and that the only thing that mattered was that the Dodos beat the Dragons, especially at the Winter Solstice Grand Tournament!

  “We’ll win,” I said confidently because that’s the sort of upbeat attitude the Dodos need in a vice-captain.

  “Hahahaha! Not a chance.” Blair swooshed past with her nose in the air.

  I was the last person to criticize a witch for being competitive, but she didn’t need to sound quite so smug.

  “We WILL win!” I yelled as she disappeared down the corridor.

  “Well, we’ll try.” Fabi is quite a realistic witch.

  * He’s brilliant at Art.

  First GO match of this half-term.

  We were ROBBED – Ms Celery missed at least two fouls by the Dragons (Puck’s lucky to still have four limbs after Izzi de-broomed him mid-pass like that).

  I scored three goals, but my first attempt at a Flying Cat Swerve was a disaster. It started out well, and I was having a smug hair-in-the-wind-super-witch moment, but I didn’t pull up on my broom sharply enough and ended up in a gooseberry bush.

  “You need to work on your technique before the Grand Tournament, Bea,” said Ms Celery. “You’re lucky you didn’t have a harder landing.” She picked a berry out of my hair and munched it. Just as I was beginning to think she was regretting making me vice-captain, she added, “But you are speedy – a bit more practice and you could be the fastest witch in the year. I’ll be keeping an eye on you when it comes to selecting flyers for the inter-year speed races.”

  And before I could say WOW, with a flick of Ms Celery’s wand, I was back on my broom and in the air and – oh no! – Blair was facing off against me in a race to the Great Chimney!

  “You’ll never be the fastest witch in the year!” she yelled triumphantly as she passed me easily and scored. Broomsticks.

  It’s very hard to concentrate on Maths after a tight match like that.

  “If you’re all determined to talk about GO,” says Mr Smith, rolling his eyes and scribbling furiously on the board, “I suggest you answer this.”

  “The answer is…?” he asks, looking around hopefully.

  “Too long,” chorus half of us (the half that are good at GO), but Mr Smith isn’t in the mood to be fobbed off.

  “Bea Black, put that diary away and answer the question!”

  Umm… My brain has gone blank.

  Winnie saves me. “Thirty seconds!” she shouts.

  I’ve got permission from Mr Muddy to take Stan home with me for the weekends!

  “I don’t mind if your responsible grown-up doesn’t,” Mr Muddy said after I’d explained that I’d missed him* horribly over half-term.

  If there’s one thing I know my dad will be cool with, it’s a visiting frog.

  * Stan, NOT Mr Muddy, obviously.

  If it wasn’t for the Grand Tournament being in a month’s time, I would NOT be getting up this early, but I need to practise every broom skill I have – especially if there’s a chance I could make the inter-year speed races. I’m meant to be meeting Fabi and Amara in the forest in … three minutes ago.

  This time I’m going to leave Dad a note that won’t make him worry.

  I’ve just bumped into Ash and he wasn’t his usual talky-funny self at all. He wouldn’t tell me what was up.

  “Is it friends stuff?” I asked (because, when someone is that gloomy, it usually is).

  For several seconds, he gave me the sort of hard stare that always makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong, but then he said no and shrugged. Before I could ask any more questions, the sun disappeared, big fat snowflakes started falling and his mum was yelling at him to come inside.

  He’s definitely stressed about something.

  I need to come up with a CUNNING PLAN to cheer Ash up. What makes me feel better when I’m stressed?

  Two Three words: CHOCOLATE. FUDGE. CAKE. And the best place to get that in Little Spellshire (outside of Sir Scary Cook’s kitchen) is Taffy Tallywick’s Teashop.

  Only one tiny problem…

  Have persuaded Dad that this is a friendship emergency requiring an advance on next week’s pocket money.

  Problem solved.

  Just got home from Taffy’s and I’m wet, freezing and still very hungry for cake.

  It all started out well enough – Ash definitely looked cheerier when I knocked on his door and suggested an outing to Taffy’s.

  “We should go RIGHT NOW,” I said.

  “Um … Bea, you’ve got that toad on your head again,” said Ash, like that wasn’t a good thing.

  “Don’t be silly.” I rolled my eyes. “You know Stan’s a frog, not a toad. There’s a huge difference.”*

  “But you can’t take him to Taffy’s.”

  “Oh yes I can,” I said, persuading Stan to hop into my hoodie pocket. “Nobody will even see him.”

  And before Ash could come up with any more reasons to delay eating cake, I’d dragged him out of the door. Ten minutes later, we were shaking the snow off our clothes and lining up at the counter of the steamy, warm, sugary-smelling teashop.

  “Two of your largest slices of chocolate fudge cake, please,” I said, grinning at Taffy.

  “Bea!” I turned round to see Fabi and Puck sitting at the table in the corner and beckoning me over. But just as I was deciding to take the plunge and introduce Ash to them properly, Taffy dropped a teapot with a clatter. The sound must have spooked Stan because he slipped out of my pocket, hopped ALL over the room and plopped right into some random girl’s ice-cream sundae!

  “EEEEUUUWWWWW!

  Is that a toad?” she screeched.

  Her friends all joined in.

  “Ugh!”

  “YEEEUKKK!”

  “Gross!”

  Stan glared at them with as much outraged dignity as he could muster from beneath a melting ice-cream hat, then ducked as a spoon was jabbed in his direction!

  Before I could do anything, Ash swooped over from the counter and scooped him up. “He is NOT a toad!” he declared. “He’s a FROG. There’s a BIG difference.”

  “Wait,” said screechy-girl. “Ash, is that revolting toad-frog thing yours?”

  Her friends snorted in a not-very-friendly way. If they knew Ash, they must go to the Academy!

  “Er, no.” Ash went red. “Stan belongs to my friend Bea.”

  I went red too and gave an awkward little wave.

  The group at the table stared open-mouthed from Ash to Stan, to me, to Puck and Fabi (who’d come over to stand beside me), and back again.

  “Oi, Ash,” said one of the boys, getting up from the table and looming over him. “Why are you hanging out with them?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” Ash stowed Stan safely in his pocket and puffed out his chest.

  “Because they go to that school, obviously,” said screechy-girl.

  “And because they’re weird!” laughed another girl.

  “Who are you calling weird?” demanded Fabi (who happened to be wearing silver flares and an even taller top hat than usual).

  And that’s all it took for everything to kick off…

  Screechy-girl picked up an iced bun from the table next to her and hurled it straight at Fabi! Then, before I knew what was happening, a cinnamon roll flew right past my eyes and hit one of the Academy boys smack bang in the middle of his face, and a second later my nose was nearly sliced off by a spinning round of shortbread.

  Taffy ducked a passing cupcake and yelled, “OUT!” in the sort of voice no one from any school could ignore. Moments later, we were all skidding and sliding on the icy pavement.

  “EEEEUGH!” moaned screechy-girl, shaking hunks of bun out of her hair.

  Puck was standing right behind her. “Shame to waste them,” he said, scooping up a handful of snowy bun bits. “Yum.”

  We might have been out of buns, but there was lots of snow… I don’t know who threw the first snowball, but suddenly the air was full of them!

  SMACK!

  PLOOF!

  YOW!! That one nearly took my head off!

  Seven of them against four* of us – it was hopeless … or was it?

 

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