Georgia Byng: Molly Moon & the Morphing Mystery

With butterflies in her stomach from the excitement of it, Molly focused her mind. She silently thought a question to their tutor, What are you thinking? Immediately, one of the hazy bubbles that always appeared when Molly wanted to know someone’s thoughts popped up over Miss Hunroe’s head. In it were pictures—various images that merged as Miss Hunroe’s mind wandered and flitted about. First Forest’s soup bowl, full of bread, shimmered into view.

“Yes, it is dreadful,” Miss Hunroe agreed. “The flu has no mercy. It forces people to bed for days and days. No mercy.” Then she laughed. “And I’d love to be able to control the weather, too. What a charming idea!” Above her head the bubble filled with a moving picture of Miss Hunroe standing on a hilltop with tall, teardrop-shaped stones all about her. She had a baton in her hand, and above her the sky flashed with lightning as she conducted the weather. “It would be fun, don’t you think, Molly?”

“Er, yes,” Molly stammered, feeling as if she’d been caught looking through a keyhole. She let the bubble above Miss Hunroe’s head pop. “Yes, um, snow and blizzards one moment, hot sun the next.” Molly nodded with a smile. “And it would be nice to make it rain in countries where they have droughts.”

Miss Hunroe leaned toward the table and sipped her soup elegantly from her spoon. Opposite her, Forest slurped.

“Man, this soup is very, er, bready! Must be a new recipe.”

And so the meal went on, a little stilted as everyone was on best behavior with the stranger in the house. But Miss Hunroe was good-natured, and as the minutes ticked by, the ice melted.

“So what are your plans for our education?” Micky asked as Miss Hunroe passed the peas to Forest. “I’m very good at physics,” he added matter-of-factly. “Well, I’m good at all sciences, really. My knowledge is more than up-to-date.” Micky paused as he saw Forest give him a raised eyebrow. Micky had been told that he was forbidden to let Miss Hunroe know that he was from the future. “But,” Micky went on, “my knowledge about the twentieth century and its history is full of holes. I would like to know more about this time.”

“Gosh! You sound like an alien who has just arrived from another planet!” Miss Hunroe observed.

“I’ve always been completely useless at school stuff,” Molly interjected, feeling that she ought to get things straight from the start. Miss Hunroe frowned. Molly crossed her arms and looked down at her plate of chicken, potatoes, and peas. “Sorry. But that’s the way I am. I thought you should know.” She looked up at Miss Hunroe, who was smiling at her. And her smile was so nice that Molly found herself promising, “I will try, though.”

Miss Hunroe put down her knife and fork. “Well, I do have a grand plan,” she began. “And it begins with a gentle entrance to the classroom. I have spoken to your parents, and they are both agreed that an educational trip to London would be a lovely way to start the school term. And so, tomorrow morning, we are going to London. We will come back the next day, and we are going to pack a lot in. The natural history museum, the science museum, art galleries. What do you think of that?”

Molly and Micky nodded, amazed.

“I’m afraid dogs aren’t allowed in museums, so your Petula will have to stay behind. But it looks like Rocky is ill, so they can have each other for company.”

“I’m sure Petula would prefer to be here,” Molly suggested, reaching down and massaging Petula’s firm neck.

“I’d love to go,” said Micky.

“Sounds like a brilliant idea,” Molly said, really relieved that Miss Hunroe wasn’t like the other old troutlike teachers that she’d known.

“Well, that’s settled, then,” said Miss Hunroe. “Pack your bags tonight. Your parents will let Ojas know to pack his. We will be staying in a nice place, by the way, but the location of that is going to remain a secret.” She winked conspiratorially.

“It sounds real cool, Miss Hunroe,” Forest remarked, stroking one of his dreadlocks. “Wish I was coming, too.”

“You’re most welcome to,” said Miss Hunroe.

“Maybe you should come,” suggested Molly.

“Yeah,” agreed Forest, “the bright lights of Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London. I’ve heard the queen throws groovy late-night parties!”

“Oh, yeah,” said Molly. “Forest, the queen has garden parties, daytime parties with cucumber sandwiches and scones and cream and smart guests with fancy hats—not late-night parties.”

“Hey, Mol, don’t tread on my daydreams!”

“Okay, Forest,” Molly said, smiling. “If you say so—the queen is a funky dude.”

“Well, it would be great,” said Forest, “but I have a feelin’ Miss Hunroe here needs to size you guys up. Besides, I’ve gotta do some big-time yoga tomorra.”

“Perhaps tonight, if there is time, we shall have a little music,” Miss Hunroe said, pulling a gold coin from her pocket and eyeing the piano that she could see in the drawing room next door.

When everyone heard Todson trip up the front stairs and heard a tray with breakable things on it smashing to the floor, Miss Hunroe made a goodness-gracious-me face.

“Do you think he’s all right?” She pushed back her chair and went to see. “Oh, my dear!” Molly, Micky, and Forest heard her exclaim as she helped Todson up.

“Don’t worry about me,” came Todson’s reply. “I’m always falling over.”

“She’s a nice lady, ain’t she?” said Forest. “Cool. Wish I’d had a teacher like her when I was a kid.”

Todson tripped up two more times, once over Petula when he was carrying a big gelatin mold. It nearly shot off the plate. The other time, he tripped carrying the cream, so that it splattered out of its pitcher and actually put out a candle.

“Bravo!” Miss Hunroe laughed.

Molly and Micky went to bed, leaving Miss Hunroe and Forest by the grand piano. As they went upstairs they heard Forest suggest, “Hey, Miss Hunroe, would ya like to hear a new song I wrote? It’s all about the planet.” Chords hit the air, and then Forest’s song began.

“Oh, everyday folks, where ya going?

If your eggs had no yolks, would you be singing?

The bees they are dying, the deserts are frying,

And you keep on wasting an’ driving an’ buying…”

His words floated up the stairs, following Molly and Micky to their rooms. Fifteen minutes later, the music changed style. Evidently Miss Hunroe was a skilled pianist. She played beautifully. Though Molly only heard parts of the piece that Miss Hunroe was playing, the sweetness of the music lulled her to sleep.

The next day the sun had broken through the rain clouds. However, the atmosphere in Briersville Park had grown heavy. In the night, Ojas, Lucy, and Primo had arrived back, but, after a sleep, they and Forest had all caught the flu. Todson had taken them morning tea in their bedrooms and found them all very sick indeed. Only Micky and Molly and Miss Hunroe had escaped. So, as the others slept in, Molly, Micky, and Miss Hunroe gathered in the kitchen for breakfast.

“It’s such a pity that Ojas and Rocky can’t come,” said Miss Hunroe, leaning against the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in her hand. “But there will be other trips. And lovely Todson is here to look after everybody. So we don’t need to worry about them in that respect.”

“What if we contract it while we’re in London?” Micky asked, glancing up from a math puzzle in the day’s newspaper.

“Well, then you come straight home.”

“Miss Hunroe’s right,” Molly agreed, biting into her ketchup sandwich. Splodges of red shlop oozed out and fell onto her lap. She took a slug of concentrated orange squash from her glass. (Ketchup sandwiches were Molly’s favorite food, while concentrated orange squash was her favorite drink.) “This place is crawling with flu germs. We’re probably better off going to London.”