When we got back from lunch, Ms. Glott took over the lesson. “I love words,” she said. “There are so many ways to have fun with them. I’ll be sharing a lot of that with you while I’m here.”

I stopped listening. I was desperately searching the room for that last oxymoron. I ran every adjective I could think of through my mind. Tall, short, big, little, slow, fast, and tons of others.

Nothing.

I could feel sweat trickling down my forehead. Dry sweat? No. Fast trickle? No. Soft forehead? No,no,no.

The bell rang. I checked the clock. Three-thirty. It would take me half an hour to get to the library. And I only had until 4:05 to find my last oxymoron.

As I walked toward the door, I glanced over my shoulder at the front desk. Mr. Vernack was talking with Ms. Glott. They were laughing and discussing onomatopoeia. Normally, I’d be happy to have such a fun student teacher, but I had too much on my mind right now. I needed that last oxymoron.

“Student teacher!” I shouted, smacking myself on the forehead. I couldn’t believe I’d been searching all over the place when the answer was right in front of me. Student was the opposite of teacher. I whipped out the camera and pointed it at her.

Ms. Glott glanced over toward me and smiled.

Please, I thought as I pressed the button.

CLICK!

Whirrrrrrr.

It sounded like some gears were turning inside. I left the classroom and hurried to the library.

“Seven oxymorons,” I said, putting the camera down on the table in front of the professor.

He took the camera and slipped it into his pocket. “Did anyone help you?” he asked.

I thought about Benedict running around with me. I guess he tried to help, but I’d been the one who’d found the oxymorons. “Sort of,” I admitted.

“Do your own work from now on,” he said. “If you tell anyone too much, you might never be cured.”

He reached into another pocket and pulled out a small, cloth bag that was tied at the top with a piece of gold string.

“Seven anagrams,” he said.

I took the bag from him. It felt just like the purple cloth they used for the curtains on the school stage, except it wasn’t dusty. “What are anagrams?” I asked.

He gave me an annoyed frown. “And where are we? And what do we have all around us?”

“I know,” I said. “Look it up.”

I headed for the nearest dictionary, wondering how hard this task would be.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Scrambling for Answers