“Oh dear, oh dear, please summon Marcus now!” Mr. Appleblossom called out to the blackboard in his typical rhyming, iambic-pentameter fashion. He wrung his hands and muttered, “And quickly, please. I swear, I don’t know how …”

“I have done so already. He’s coming through tube.” The theater blackboard preferred free verse.

Immediately Mr. Today appeared and surveyed the scene, twenty students flattened, arms and legs hanging motionless off the edge of the stage or swinging lightly with what little momentum remained. “Good heavens,” Mr. Today said. “Have we had a bit of a brawl, Sigfried?”

Mr. Appleblossom, pacing and muttering still, held out his hands dramatically and cried, “Oh why, oh why, this ruthless waste on me? Am I but sand, and they the stormy sea?”

Mr. Today coughed loudly into his hand, although it might have sounded more like a laugh to anyone who was listening closely. When he could speak again, he smiled politely. “Dear, dear Sigfried, your troubles are great indeed. And yes, it’s true this sort of thing rarely happens elsewhere, but surely you understand the nature of the theater and its desperate want for dramatics … don’t you?” Mr. Today had to sort of squinch his lips together to keep from an all-out grin, which would of course lead to chuckling, which wouldn’t be good at all at this moment, he knew.

“Aye,” sighed Mr. Appleblossom, “’tis true, the action’s in the stage. However, wishes me they’d tone the rage. For what, but spells, is there for me to do to stop the madness—’fore they slug me too?” He dropped his arms heavily at his sides and gazed imploringly at Mr. Today.

“You did the right thing, Siggy.” He turned toward the stage. “Did you hear that, students? I want you all to think about your actions, because next time Mr. Appleblossom won’t be quite so kind in stopping you. If you don’t work out your differences in a proper manner, next time he’ll use a stinging soliloquy rather than the boring one, and you’ll all be really very sorry that it came to that. Is that clear?” Mr. Today didn’t wait for an answer, since the children were rather unable to speak. He turned back to Mr. Appleblossom. “Let’s hope that’s the last of it for this group,” he said quietly.

Mr. Appleblossom sighed again, but this time it was a more relaxed sort of sigh, or maybe just a simple letting out of breath that had been held. “Great thanks and more, my friend; I’ll keep them here. Perhaps you’ll join me later for a—”

“Cup of tea?” interrupted Mr. Today. “Of course. Just let them go when the spell wears off. Incidentally, what strength spell did you use? A temporary one, I’m assuming.”

“Well … ’twas quite a row, you’ll understand it. An hour, less or more, will sure disband it.”

“Fine and good. If you need me again, please do summon.” And with that, along with a hasty shaking of Mr. Apple blossom’s hand, Mr. Today disappeared inside the tube before the instructor could fire off another rhyming couplet.

When the spell wore off, each child regained his full presence at his own pace, the bigger students before the smaller ones. Samheed was first, being quite solid and muscular already for his age. He stood and looked at the scene, at Alex’s face now puffing up red and purple, and he hung his head slightly, feeling a bit ashamed. “May I go?” he asked Mr. Appleblossom in a resigned voice.

The instructor didn’t pause as he scratched notes in his paperwork. He merely nodded stiffly, like one of the mansion statues. But as Samheed neared the tube, Mr. Appleblossom turned and spoke a warning to the boy.

You know, Samheed, no rival can compare

his acting gifts to yours, but I declare:

If you don’t shake that attitude, and soon,

I’ll drop you from my program. You’ll be goon.

Samheed’s face burned at the reproach from his own private instructor. Yet he couldn’t resist giving the little man a puzzled look. “Goon?”

Mr. Appleblossom sighed impatiently. “‘Gone,’ then. Oh, my stars, I hate imperfects.”

Samheed dropped his gaze, entered the tube, and completed the couplet for his teacher. “I’m sorry, sir. I meant no disrespects.”

When Samheed was gone, Mr. Appleblossom tapped his forefinger against his lips and, after a thoughtful moment, smiled grimly to himself.

Samheed’s First Secret

The next evening, after everyone had ignored him completely due to his nasty behavior, Samheed sought and found Alex in the lounge. He slipped uneasily into the curved booth seat around the table from him, scouring Alex’s face, and frowned. “All right, Stowe. I’m sorry about the black eye,” he said, a bit begrudgingly.

Alex shrugged and fixed his eyes on the tube, waiting for Meghan.

Samheed rolled his eyes, as if it pained him to say it. “I mean it. I just … when I get mad, I just sort of go … a little crazy.”

Alex looked down at the floor. “All right,” he said, his voice cool. “It’s not like I care, anyhow. And I know you’re only apologizing so Mr. Appleblossom will keep you in the program. I heard what he said. You’re a real jerk sometimes. And I’m not afraid to punch you back, you know.”

Samheed, who stood several inches taller and weighed several pounds more than Alex, tried not to scoff. “Oh, I know,” he said as seriously as he could. “You can punch me now if you want.”

Alex glanced up at Samheed, a suspicious look on his face. “What’s the fun in that?”