Harvest of Changelings Read Online Free PDF Page B

skittered across the floor into his hand, leaving a very faint, blue trail behind it. It had happened again, a few days later, on Halloween. Miss Windlemere, to everyone’s surprise, had worn a black witch’s dress and hat to school. She had even cackled a few times. Wasn’t she supposed to keep her true identity secret? She had just about been ready to sit down at reading group when Malachi pushed the chair back. Miss Windlemere had dropped straight to the floor, collapsing just like the Wicked Witch of the West.
    But only in the past few weeks, since his birthday, had Malachi been able to count on the tricks. Kaleidoscopes, toy cars and trucks, stuffed animals, balled-up paper, pencils, books—all of them had flown about his bedroom, leaving fading smoke-blue trails in the air. And if he could move all those things, how hard could the clock hands and the office bell be? I can do this. Malachi bent low over his desk, so Miss Windlemere couldn’t see he was only pretending to write. He clenched his fist and tightened his chest. Focus, see the bell, the clock . . . There. The afternoon bell rang, shattering the class’s sleepy silence into a rush of voices and moving bodies. Miss Windlemere jumped up from her desk, looking first at the clock and then at the class as it surged up and out, moving around her like she was more furniture.
    â€œWait, that can’t be right, it’s not 3:05, wait, good-bye, good-bye. . .”
    I did it, I did it, I did it. Okay, careful, don’t push them out of the way, but I bet I could; it wouldn’t take much. Blow them away, like the Big Bad Wolf. Just huff and puff, and blow them all down. Serve ’em right. Not now. Walk, run, shove, like everybody else. Maybe I ought to give Miss Windlemere another surprise—yeah, move her chair out, there, until it is right behind her and when she steps back—Yeessss. Malachi stopped at the door and looked back. He had never seen anybody so surprised in their life. He blew. Miss Windlemere took a quick step back, her hair suddenly loose about her head, and dropped heavily into her chair. When the chair started spinning in circles around the room, she froze, her hands in the air, her mouth open.
    â€œGood-bye,” Malachi yelled and left, as the chair began to slow down. He didn’t want to hurt her, just shake the old lady up a little. If Miss Windlemere even suspected Malachi had anything to do with the moving chair and the early dismissal, she’d kill him. Then the principal would kill him. And after that, his dad.
    Sailing paper airplanes around the classroom had been the last
time they had called his dad. “You had everybody making planes?” his dad had asked, shaking his head. They were walking home from school after meeting with the principal. “Everybody? Why do you do this stuff? How do you think I feel when I get these calls from your teacher and the principal? Malachi? Are you listening to me? Look at me, Malachi.” His dad stopped walking and squatted down to face Malachi. They were a block from home on Vandora Springs Road, right in front of the Easy Eye Optometrist. A big eye stared down at them from the roof of the low, brick building. For a long moment his father said nothing, until Malachi finally looked away. He hated it when his dad did this. Go ahead and yell, get mad, not this. “I want you to be happy, son, and you have just gotten more and more miserable this entire year, doing more and more stupid stuff like this. Maybe asking you to tough out the teasing was a bad idea. Maybe that new school we talked about is the answer. I met the principal; she’s a really nice lady. What do you think? Can you hang on until school is out?”
    That had surprised Malachi: he had been sure his dad wasn’t seeing him anymore, wasn’t seeing what was happening, didn’t want to see.
    Once outside the classroom, he scooted, keeping close to the wall, and just