Free Curse of the Spider King by Wayne Thomas Batson, Christopher Hopper

class,” Mr. Wallace said as Kat walked in. It’s about my test. She just knew it. What else could it be? But the uncertainty ping-ponging around her mind for the remaining forty-nine minutes of American history was what Mr. Wallace wanted to say about her test. His first take was that she’d gotten all the answers correct. Maybe all he wanted to do was congratulate her for her unprecedented success. But that was just it. Kat hadn’t broken the “C-barrier” in American history the whole marking period. Surely Mr. Wallace would be suspicious. But he couldn’t think I was cheating. It was all in my head. Ah! It was maddening.
    Kat fidgeted with her hair incessantly, so much so that Darren Lions behind her smacked her in the back of the head.
    â€œOw!”
    â€œCut it out, would ya, Smurf? You’re annoying me!”
    Instead, Kat rested her elbows on the table, leaned forward, placed her chin just above her elbows, cupping her ears with her hands.
    When the bell rang and the classroom emptied, Kat was both nervous and relieved . . . nervous for the conference with Mr. Wallace, and relieved because her next class was study hall. Alone time. No matter the outcome with her teacher, Kat needed time to think. The voices in her head had not returned, but there was no disputing that they had been there. Voices in the head weren’t exactly healthy; this much she knew.
    â€œMiss Simonson?”
    â€œYes, Mr. Wallace?”
    â€œHave a seat,” he said, pointing to a chair next to his desk.
    Kat put her backpack down and braced herself. She hated confrontation. “If it’s about my test—”
    â€œYes, it is.”
    â€œI can explain—”
    â€œKat, I believe this is your first one hundred since, well, since I’ve known you.”
    Kat sat speechless when she saw the bright-red A-plus on the test cover.
    â€œWell done.”
    â€œThank you, Mr. Wallace.”
    â€œBut I do have a certain discrepancy I’d like to discuss with you.”
    Great, here it comes. “Discrepancy?”
    â€œYour answers were exactly like another student’s . . . in fact, like ten other students’.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œIt would appear that either you spontaneously copied off ten of your friends across the room without me noticing, or each one of the other ten students copied off you for one of their answers, again, without my noticing.”
    Kat was beyond nervous now. “Uh . . . Mr. Wallace . . . I-uh . . .”
    â€œMiss Simonson, I really don’t have a choice here.”
    She looked down into her lap, hands clammy and folded. I’m getting expelled. No more Blue Girl to freak anyone out. “I understand.”
    â€œNo, I don’t think you do.”
    Suddenly, a massive, leather-bound book plopped into her lap. She was so startled she almost jumped out of her chair. “What is this? I . . . I mean . . . what are you talking about?”
    â€œI believe you have what some of us would call a gift, Kat.”
    Kat was completely dismayed now. What? No lecture? No detention?
    â€œA gift?”
    Mr. Wallace peeked over his shoulder to make certain no one else was in the room. “Just read the book, Kat. I think you might connect with it in more ways than one.”
    â€œSo you’re not kicking me out of class?”
    â€œRead the book, Kat. You have study hall next, right?”
    â€œUh, yeah.”
    â€œNo time to start like the present.”
    Kat got up and tucked the book under her arm, all the while eyeing Mr. Wallace as if he’d just escaped a mental ward. “Thanks.” I think, she added to herself .

    Kat shoved her backpack under her desk in room B21 and sat down as far away from the other students as possible. Ms. Reedley sat at the monitor’s table and graded papers. Kat’s cell vibrated and she pulled it out, seeing she had an incoming text from her mom: new hskeeper pickn u up