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from the loudspeaker, and the principal’s voice came on.
    “Teachers will lead their classes out to their designated safe spots,” he said. “This is not a scheduled fire drill. I repeat, this is not a scheduled fire drill.”

Chapter 7
    “Do you think there’s a real fire?” B asked George as they filed through the corridors, the alarm ringing deafeningly overhead.
    George sniffed the air. “I don’t smell any smoke.” He elbowed B. “Here’s one you’ll like: What did the fireman say when the church caught on fire?”
    Leave it to George to make jokes at a time like this! “What?”
    “Holy smoke!” George laughed to himself again.
    Classes streamed out of every room, hurrying outdoors. Usually during a fire drill the students would joke about the noise and the inconvenience. But now the teachers moved quickly and lookedserious, not to mention wet. The sprinklers had gone off throughout the entire building. Mrs. Fox, the librarian, looked ready to murder someone.
    They exited onto the soccer fields under the bright noonday sun. B had to shield her eyes. Mr. Bishop passed behind her, striding up and down the length of his class’s line of students, counting heads and muttering to himself.
    “Someone’s missing,” Mr. Bishop said loudly. “Class, please stand still while I count again.”
    Just then the fire truck swung into view and disappeared behind the school.
    “It’s Jason,” Kim called out from the end of the row. “He’s not here.”
    Mr. Bishop turned toward the school, but before he took off running, out staggered Jason, clutching Mozart’s hamster cage.
    Jenny started clapping. “Jason’s a hero!” she cried. “He saved Mozart!”
    She seemed to expect the rest of the class to join in her applause, but no one did. Mr. Bishop relieved Jason of the cage, then said, loud enoughfor the whole class to hear, “It was extremely irresponsible of you to linger in the classroom during the fire alarm. Especially when you heard the principal’s warning.”
    Jason stuck out his lower lip. “I … I was afraid of something bad happening to Mozart.”
    B and George exchanged a glance. Just yesterday he was torturing the poor hamster. B wasn’t convinced by Jason’s heroics, and neither, she could tell, was George. He must have been up to something.
    Finally, the principal announced that there was no fire and it was safe to return. One by one, the classes straggled back in. George went on ahead, chatting with Jamal about last night’s soccer game, but B hung back to hold the door open for Mr. Bishop, whose hands were tied up with Mozart’s cage.
    “Thanks, Beatrix. I mean, B. Sorry.” He gave her a friendly nudge. “To be or not to be.”
    “That is the question.” B knew that line of dialogue because her mom said it to her all the time.
    “Do you know where the quote is from?” Mr. Bishop glanced at B out of the corner of his eye.
    “William Shakespeare wrote it,” B said, stepping up her pace to keep up with Mr. Bishop. “It’s from
Hamlet.”
    Mr. Bishop smiled. “Any student who can quote from plays and poetry is all right in my book.”
    B felt a flutter of pride. She stood a little taller. “I do like to rhyme.”
    “Magnificent!” Mr. Bishop said. “When this spelling business is finished, I plan on a poetry unit. Tell me, do you make up any rhymes of your own?”
    B had to swallow a laugh. If only he knew! “I try,” she said. “But they don’t really work.”
    They reached Mr. Bishop’s classroom. B’s class was gathering up their bags and books, which were damp from the fire alarm sprinklers.
    Things were looking up. Maybe Mr. Bishop didn’t think she was a total loser. And she decided that she wanted to win the spelling competition even more to impress him. With a little luck, theBlack Cats tickets would be hers. B glanced at the bulletin board, where the tickets were pinned.
    Except, they weren’t.
    B gasped.
    Jenny Springbranch had noticed, too. “Oh! Oh!