The Wizzle War (5 page)

“If we try to go against Peabody,” warned Diane, “we’re somebody dead.”

“She’s got the power,” conceded Cathy, “but we’ve got the numbers. She’s outnumbered three hundred to one. Surely we can beat her!”

“Boy,” sighed Mark Davies over the lunch table, “was Wizzle ever mad! He asked me if I printed the paper and I said no. Then he asked me if I wrote the articles and I said no. Then he asked if I knew who did and I didn’t answer, so he gave me ten demerits for not answering. I’ve got to do two hundred lines! Listen, Bruno, the next time you get a brilliant idea, use someone else’s printing press!”

“At least he got the message,” said Bruno, pleased.

“He got the message, all right,” said Boots. “At this morning’s assembly I thought he was going to kill all of us. The Fish didn’t look too pleased either.”

“I got lines last night,” muttered Wilbur sourly. “Boy, did I get zonked at dorm inspection! He took away all my food and left eight demerits. Now I’ve got eleven.”

Chris Talbot joined the conversation. “Pete and I picked up three demerits for having a messy room. Our room isn’t messy!”

“And it doesn’t look like Wizzle is going away,” added Larry. “I overheard him talking to a member of the Board, complaining about the
Free Press
. He raved about how immature and irresponsible we are, and he said he was taking down his input boxes because we were too childish to merit them. And he said he’s staying.”

“Hey, Larry,” asked Pete, “do you have any idea what’s going on at Scrimmage’s? They’re doing nothing but phys. ed. over there, and there’s this lady with a real loud voice.”

Larry shrugged. “The word is that Miss Scrimmage has a new assistant. That must be her.”

“It’s unreal,” confirmed Boots. “She’s running around there at dawn barking orders like a drill sergeant. I feel sorry for the girls.”

There was a loud crash behind them. “Hi, guys. I’m out.” Sidney Rampulsky gathered up the things that had fallen from his tray, put his lunch down on the table and sat down beside Mark, his roommate.

“Welcome back, Sidney,” Bruno greeted him. “Did you get a copy of
The Macdonald Hall Free Press
?”

“Yeah, I was reading it on my way over here and I bumped into Mr. Wizzle. He gave me five demerits just for having a copy! But I think he was mad because when I fell, he went down, too.”

“Did you fall again?” stormed Mark.

“This time it’s okay,” grinned Bruno. “He fell on Wizzle. All right, you guys, when should we publish the next
Free Press
?”

‘‘Never!”
chorused everyone.

Bruno pounded the table. “Well, come on, then. We need ideas on how to get rid of Wizzle. Are you just going to sit there and let him walk all over you?”

“Yes!”
chorused everyone.

“What?” cried Bruno.

“Look,” said Chris Talbot. “Wizzle’s really mad. As it is, he’s taken away the whole school’s off-campus privileges
indefinitely.”

“Yeah,” said Mark, “and my paper is shut down. If something else happens, Wizzle’s going to start expelling people.”

“But we can’t let little things like that scare us,” protested Bruno.

“Being expelled is not a little thing,” put in Boots. “It goes on your record for good.”

“Not to mention that your parents kill you,” added Pete. “I have enough trouble explaining my grades.”

“Gee, Bruno,” said Sidney, “I don’t like Wizzle very much, but I don’t want to risk getting expelled.” There was general agreement all around.

“Besides,” said Larry, “if we all keep our noses clean, the only problem will be the dress code, and we’ll just have to get used to that.”

Bruno’s eyes reflected deep pain. “But what’s the point of having a committee if we don’t do anything?”

“Well,” said Wilbur, “I guess we don’t have a committee, then.”

Bruno leapt to his feet. “You’re darn right we have a committee! As long as there’s a Macdonald Hall, there’s always a committee! I don’t care if you all walk out! Boots and I are still on the committee!”

Boots turned to his roommate and best friend to deliver the message that had been in his mind all day. “Not me, Bruno. I’m out. I’m sorry. I think it’s great that you have so much school spirit, but this is the end of the line. It’s just too dangerous.”

“Come on, guys,” said Larry. “We’ve got to get to classes.”

They got up and moved out of the dining hall, leaving Bruno
all alone, staring at the empty chairs.

* * *

“Look at this, Mildred,” chuckled the Headmaster over the breakfast table. “It’s the greatest cartoon I’ve ever seen!” In the middle of
The Macdonald Hall Free Press
was a drawing of a computer with evil eyes, sharp teeth and a menacing expression. Around its neck was a wide tie clearly marked
WizzleWare
. The tie acted as a leash, and was being held by a little man wearing a T-shirt that said
Call Me Wiz
. In the foreground was the Faculty Building of Macdonald Hall. The computer was spewing a dark cloud, which hung over it.

“I don’t think it’s funny,” said Mrs. Sturgeon. “It’s disrespectful and rude. The boys should be punished. It’s too bad you don’t know who is responsible.”

The Headmaster laughed. “Certainly I know. The cartoon — Talbot, of course. The boy certainly has talent. And this headline
Sanctity of Macdonald Hall Threatened
 — that’s obviously Walton. I recognize his flair for the dramatic. This cautious one here is O’Neal — gets right to the point, he does. The intelligent one is Drimsdale, the one about ties inhibiting the intake of food is obviously Hackenschleimer, and there are assorted tidbits from Anderson, Wilson and Rampulsky.”

“They should be punished,” his wife repeated. “Poor Mr. Wizzle.”

“On the contrary, Mildred,” said Mr. Sturgeon seriously, “I think this newspaper is quite an accomplishment. That’s what education is about, after all — to encourage independent thought and self-expression.
Our boys have every right to express their own opinions about how this school is run.”

“If they were complaining about
you
, you wouldn’t be so complacent,” accused Mrs. Sturgeon. “Poor Mr. Wizzle will be so upset!”

“If you had seen him dishing out demerits last night, you wouldn’t be quite so sympathetic. He’s antagonizing the boys and they’re not intending to take it lying down. I don’t blame them at all. Mildred, I’m in a very difficult position. I never liked Wizzle and I always considered him and his ideas a nuisance. But now things are serious. The boys aren’t happy here at Macdonald Hall anymore. And Wizzle is so angry over this newspaper that if anything else like it ever happens he’s liable to start talking about expulsion. And the Board just might go along with him. That certainly isn’t what we want at Macdonald Hall.”

“I can see your point,” his wife conceded. “Is there anything you can do privately to calm the boys down a little?”

“Mildred, be realistic. As Headmaster I have to support Board decisions, and Wizzle is a Board decision.” He smiled wryly. “And while I’m mentioning that the boys aren’t content, I guess I’d be less than honest if I didn’t admit that I don’t like being a lame-duck Headmaster. I haven’t made an administrative decision yet this year. Wizzle does all that.”

“Oh dear. And the boys really don’t like Mr. Wizzle.”

Mr. Sturgeon sighed. “I’m afraid, Mildred, there are hard times ahead.”

* * *

“Miss Peabody,” said Miss Scrimmage timidly over tea in the Headmistress’s sitting room, “don’t you think you’re being a
little harsh with the girls? All those laps? And calisthenics again this morning?”

“Absolutely not,” replied Miss Peabody. “Those girls are much too soft. But just give me a little more time with them.” She produced Cathy’s letter and chuckled at the mere memory. “One of them wants to get rid of me so badly that she sent me a job offer from Russia written in green ink on pink stationery. Now, that’s funny! Oh, I am enjoying it here!”

“Really?” said Miss Scrimmage. “From the way you act — all the shouting and screaming — I would have guessed that you were quite unhappy.”

“The girls need it,” said Miss Peabody firmly.

“Well,” sighed Miss Scrimmage, “I always like to think that the girls are fond of me.”

Miss Peabody looked at her pityingly. “I always like to think that the girls are
scared
of me.”

* * *

Boots returned to room 306 after class that afternoon, his footsteps heavy. In all their classes together, Bruno had ignored him totally. Feeling exhausted, Boots put his key in the lock and opened the door. His jaw dropped.

Right down the centre of the room was a thick line of masking tape. It divided the two beds, dressers and desks, and all Boots’s possessions that had been placed in Bruno’s part of the room were now piled on the bed by the window.

Bruno was lying on his bed staring thoughtfully up at the ceiling.

“Bruno, what’s all this?”

Bruno did not turn his head. “Just be glad that you’re still staying in the room. I had your bags packed and outside the door, but Wizzle came along and slapped me with five demerits for making a mess in the hall. That ought to please you. You’re a big Wizzle fan.”

“You know I’m not a Wizzle fan. I’m just —”

“Anyway,” Bruno went on, “since we seem to be doomed to room together, you stick to your half and I’ll stick to mine. Right now your feet are on my half. Shove off.”

“How come the bathroom and the closet are in your half? Not to mention the door.”

“First come, first served,” said Bruno. “You can use all three — especially the door.”

“Bruno, this just isn’t like you.”

“Oh, it’s a lot like me. You’re the one who’s changed. And when you abandoned Macdonald Hall, I abandoned you.”

“I haven’t abandoned Macdonald Hall,” snapped Boots. “But when I do, it won’t be with my suitcase under my arm and my expulsion papers in my hand!”

“I’m not leaving at all,” said Bruno. “Wizzle is leaving. Now I’ve said all I intend to say to you. Get over on your own side.”

* * *

It was almost 2 AM when Cathy Burton put her ear up to the door of Miss Peabody’s room and signalled that the Assistant Headmistress was asleep.

Five other girls came out of the shadows. As quietly as they could, the group pushed a long table right in front of the doorway. Then they jammed two chairs underneath the table
and placed another smaller table upside down atop the first. Three more chairs were added to the top of this structure, and assorted night tables, chairs, piano stools and serving carts were placed strategically in the corridor, effectively blocking off Miss Peabody’s door.

The girls rushed around the corner and stopped for a last-minute briefing.

“Are you sure all the girls know?” asked Cathy.

The five nodded.

“Okay. It all happens at two. Sergeant Peabody will rue the day she ever tried to match wits with Miss Scrimmage’s Finishing School for Young Ladies!”

* * *

Bruno Walton had not been able to get to sleep. In spite of his air of confident determination, he was disheartened. He was disappointed in his friends, especially Boots, for abandoning Macdonald Hall like this, and had decided to go for help to a source he was sure would not fail him.

He tossed a handful of pebbles up to the second-storey window. Diane’s white face appeared. Her hand waved frantically and pointed toward Macdonald Hall. Bruno shrugged, shinnied up the drainpipe and climbed into the room.

“Go home, Bruno!” whispered Diane frantically.

“Why? What’s wrong? Where’s Cathy?”

“Cathy’s at war!” replied Diane, wringing her hands in anxiety. “Oh, Bruno, you have no idea what’s been going on here!”

“Well, I know there’s some lady making you do exercises.”

“Oh, she’s a monster!” shrilled Diane. “Which is why you’ve got to get out of here! Any second now —”

The fire bell went off with an ear-splitting clang.

“Oh,” grinned Bruno. “It’s a riot. Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

Diana covered her eyes and whimpered.

Bruno grabbed her by the arm and ran out into the residence hall. It was full of girls, fully dressed, screaming, banging doors and making as much noise as possible as they headed for the exits. Suddenly the corridor lights went out.

“What’s going on?” bellowed Bruno, stumbling in the darkness, the bell still clanging in his ears. He grabbed the person nearest to him. It was Cathy.

“Oh, hi,” she greeted him. “How are you?”

Bruno and the girls thundered down the stairs and out the front door onto the lawn. He turned to see a crowd of boys from Macdonald Hall swarming across the highway, coming to the girls’ rescue.

“Where’s Miss Peabody?”
shouted Cathy.

“Yeah! Where’s Miss Peabody?” echoed someone.

“Who’s Miss Peabody?”
shouted half the Macdonald Hall crowd.

“Shut up and rescue, stupid! Can’t you see there’s a fire going on?”

Miss Scrimmage burst out the front door, shining her flashlight into people’s faces and waving her shotgun in the air. “Girls! Girls! Don’t panic!”

“Stay where you are!” Mr. Wizzle was shouting. “Stay where
you are, or you’ll all get demerits!”

Mr. Sturgeon ran into the scene, dressed in his red silk bathrobe and bedroom slippers. “Put the gun down, Miss Scrimmage!” he called nervously, convinced from past experience that even a fire was not as dangerous as the Headmistress with her shotgun. He began to make his way through the surging crowd toward Miss Scrimmage. There, in a crowd of girls, prancing, shouting and rioting with the best of them, was Bruno Walton.

“Walton,” said Mr. Sturgeon, quietly, but clearly.

Bruno wheeled. “Oh! — uh — hello, sir.”

“Walton, is there a fire here?”

“Well, actually, sir,” said Bruno, “I don’t think so.”

“Then what,” asked the Headmaster amidst the screaming voices of the girls, the shouting of the boys and the loud clanging of the fire bell, “is the
meaning
of all this?”

Onto the front balcony burst Gloria Peabody, eyes blazing. She cupped her hands to her mouth. “Atten-
hut
!!!”

There was instant, deafening silence, broken only by the insistent clanging of the fire bell. Everyone froze.

“Now,” she shouted, her strong voice carrying across the lawn even to the apple orchard, where some of the students were perched in the trees, “everyone from Macdonald Hall,
scram
!”