Amos ducked down in the seat. “That’s my teacher from school.” Mrs. Wormwood knocked on the car window. “Excuse me, Prince Gustav. The students are waiting.” She knocked again. “Yoo-hoo, Prince.” Amos slid into the floor. “If she sees me, we’re dead meat.” “May I offer a suggestion, sir?” “Only if it has to do with catching a quick plane to Mexico.” “I think you should go through with it. She won’t know you. You’ve fooled everyone so far—even the prince’s own relatives.” Amos sat up. A little. “You don’t know this woman. She has radar or something. Once, in the back of the room, Jimmy Farrel was making this pile of spit wads while she had her back turned. Out of the blue she stopped, went straight to Jimmy’s desk, and made him eat every one of them. It was spooky.” Charles watched Mrs. Wormwood beat on the window. “I suppose we could cancel. But it wouldn’t do the prince’s reputation any good.” “You don’t understand,” Amos said.
