The XYZs of Being Wicked

by Lara Chapman

  More silence.

  I shake my head, frustrated by Kendall’s rudeness. What did I ever do to her?

  Determined to act like I don’t care, I put my glasses on and take the large envelope from my top desk drawer so I can look at my schedule again. I crawl into bed and prop the pillows behind my back. Mom was right. The bed is comfortable, but it’s not the same as my bed at home. There are no stuffed animals, no snoring dogs, and no posters on the wall. I can’t hear Dad’s favorite sports channel from the living room TV or the clanging of dishes as Mom cleans the kitchen.

  Our room is silent.

  An ache squeezes my chest. Do not cry.

  Kendall tosses her book onto the desk carelessly, grabs pajamas from her dresser, and goes into the bathroom. I take a deep breath to calm myself down. I can’t let Kendall see me upset.

  I take my schedule from the envelope and review it again. I already have it half-memorized.

  Schedule for: Hallie Simon (Seeker, Room 128)

  1st period—History of Dowling

  2nd period—English

  3rd period—Math

  Lunch

  4th period—Elements of Witchcraft

  5th period—Science

  6th period—Study Hall

  7th period—Personal Growth

  I have no idea what I’ll learn in the Elements of Witchcraft or Personal Growth classes, but it sure sounds better than band with my old music teacher. She was always screaming at us to sit up straight, even though we already were.

  I wish I knew Kendall’s schedule. The brown envelope is on her desk, and my fingers itch to open it. Sitting perfectly still, I listen to Kendall in the bathroom. The sink is on, so she’ll be busy for a minute. I tiptoe out of bed and quietly put my fingers to the back of the envelope.

  One more quick listen. The water is still on.

  I open the envelope carefully and peek inside. I glance at the bathroom door, still closed. Kendall will kill me if she catches me. But this is a new day for Hallie Simon. No more wimping out.

  I pull the top paper out, a centimeter at a time, until I can finally read it. I look at it carefully and compare it to my memory. Her schedule is identical to mine.

  “Of course it is,” I whisper to myself.

  The water shuts off, and I frantically shove the paper back inside. But it gets hung on a loose paper clip, crinkling the paper.

  Get the paper into the envelope.

  Get the paper into the envelope.

  I hear the flush of the toilet and see the bathroom light go out.

  Out of time, I flip the brown envelope over and hope she doesn’t look at it tonight. I can fix it while she’s sleeping if she’ll just ignore it for now. I hop into bed, grab my glasses, put my schedule back in front of my face, and ignore Kendall when she comes out of the bathroom.

  She doesn’t say anything, just climbs into bed and brushes her hair. Acting way calmer than I feel, I put my papers back into the envelope and grab one of my new books from the desk.

  I pull my pillows down and slip farther into the sheets.

  Kendall puts the brush on her desk, then eyes the envelope.

  I hold my breath. Please don’t look at it.

  Her hand touches the envelope, and my meatless spaghetti threatens to reappear. I have to do something to distract her.

  “Good night,” I say, my voice perkier than the best cheerleader’s in Texas.

  She gives me a suspicious look, then climbs into bed.

  She turns to her side, facing me, eyes closed. I feel my body relax, my heartbeat slow to a normal pace.

  I can’t believe my good luck. I open my book to the first page and begin reading.

  Suddenly Kendall reaches up and turns the light out, purposely leaving me in complete darkness.

  “Hey,” I say, shooting up in bed to turn on my desk lamp. “I’m reading over here.”

  Without so much as an apology, she rolls onto her other side and puts her back to me. I imagine the girls in other rooms, talking nonstop, getting to know each other and sharing stories about families and friends from home.

  Of course, I know I’m not alone. Ivy is probably enduring her own silent treatment from Zena. That gives me a little comfort, but I still fall asleep praying I get a new roommate soon.

  Seven

  I knock on Ivy’s door ten minutes before class starts. I’m relieved when she opens it. I’m happy to see her freckled face instead of Zena’s. We haven’t met, and we don’t need to. I already know she isn’t going to be a friend of mine.

  “Hang on,” Ivy says, walking away from the door.

  I peek inside and see the same comforter I have on my bed. In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was looking into my own room. She reappears with a small bag on her shoulder.

  “What do you have first period?” I ask.

  Ivy shuts the door, then grabs the schedule from her bag. “History of Dowling.”

  “Perfect. We have the same first class. In fact,” I say, leaning over to look at her schedule more closely, “we have all of our classes together.”

  Ivy looks as relieved as I feel. “How was the first night with Kendall?”

  I pause. “Quiet.”

  “Same here. It’s like living alone,” Ivy says.

  I don’t tell her about snooping in Kendall’s envelope and how, in the middle of the night, I had to silently fix her crumpled papers in total darkness.

  I don’t tell her that I woke up more homesick than I’ve ever been in my life. That if I could figure out a way to do it without disappointing my parents, I’d split and never look back.

  When we walk into history, the room is already half full. Of course, Kendall and Zena aren’t there. Kendall is all about making a big entrance, and I assume Zena is probably the same.

  Dru is in the front row, toes barely touching the ground. I smile at her and wave, then sit a couple of chairs behind her. Ivy takes the seat next to me.

  “Do you know anyone?” I ask Ivy, hoping she might have made friends at dinner last night.

  Ivy scans the room, then nods. “A few.”

  “I only know Dru, the small girl in the front row. She sits on the other side of me in the dining room.”

  “She’s eleven?” Ivy asks, eyes wide.

  I shrug. “All Seekers are eleven, right?”

  A woman I haven’t seen before enters the room. She’s way younger and way cooler than the dorm moms. She looks like she’s a student. There’s no way she could be older than seventeen. Her fitted black skirt stops midthigh, and her bright purple shirt almost hurts my eyes. Her black hair is shoulder length, and there are strips of purple died around her face. In my old school a teacher would probably be fired for wearing a dress that short and having purple highlights.

  “Well, that’s different,” Ivy says.

  I nod, watching our teacher, mesmerized.

  She writes her name on the board. Lady Jennica Silver.

  She turns and raises her hand. I guess all teachers use that signal to get their class quiet, and it works. Everyone in the class stops talking.

  “Good morning. I’m Lady Jennica. We have about five minutes before class starts,” she says, her voice deeper and raspier than I expected. “You’re going to need a spiral-bound notebook and a pencil. You’ll be taking a lot of notes today.”

  Everyone begins digging in their bags for supplies.

  I open my spiral and write History on the top in perfect cursive. Being a great student has always come easily for me. I’m the nerd who likes school, who always gets her projects turned in early, who’s always the teacher’s pet. The fact that I don’t have a social life makes it easier to be a good student.

  Lady Jennica whispers something inaudible, and a PowerPoint suddenly shines on the screen behind her.

  She looks at her watch, then snaps her fingers, and the lights dim.

  It’s like she’s a real-life remote.

  “Let’s get started, shall we?” La
dy Jennica asks.

  I look at the door, wondering if Kendall is going to be a no-show. That doesn’t sound like her. She likes arriving just as the bell rings, but not exactly late.

  As if on cue, the door opens and the darkened room floods with light from the hallway.

  Zena enters the room first, arms wrapped around a binder in front of her chest. “Sorry, Jennica,” she says.

  “Lady Jennica,” the teacher corrects sternly.

  “Right,” Zena answers, tapping a finger to the side of her head. “Lady Jennica.”

  Zena walks into the room, not embarrassed about her late arrival. Following close behind her is Kendall, familiar confident smile on her face. My stomach turns at the sight of her.

  With Zena in her back pocket, any chance of Dowling leveling the playing field between me and Kendall is gone. Just like my chances of starting over.

  Gone.

  Gone.

  Gone.

  It turns out Personal Growth is a time when students are required to research their lineage at Dowling. Most of the girls in our class already know their lineage, but I know almost nothing. Unlike everyone else, who can recite their family tree from memory, I have two pieces of information that constitute the entirety of my knowledge.

  1. I have a great-great-grandmother who attended Dowling, named Elsa Whittier Simon.

  2. She was a legendary hedge witch.

  It’s no surprise, then, that I’m the only girl in the library that afternoon. Even Ivy has more information than I do.

  The library is lined with elaborate display cases. Everything from books, to stones, to clothes are displayed. I set my books down and walk the perimeter of the library, which seems even bigger with only me in it. I look for anything that might have Elsa Whittier Simon on it, but case after case, there’s nothing. I don’t know the names of any of the witches in Ivy’s family or even Kendall’s, so the names on the items have little meaning.

  Until I reach a case holding a blood-red ruby necklace. Inscribed on the gold plate in front of it is: Family necklace, last worn by High Priestess Dannabelle Grimm, 1850. At the sight of her name, I recall her picture outside the GC. Her eyes were so lifelike, I felt like she could really see me. I can’t help but wish my lineage was linked to hers in some way. There’s something exciting about Dannabelle that intrigues me. Being a High Priestess beats the warts off digging in the dirt and manipulating herbs as a hedge witch.

  The squeaking of the oversize library doors makes my heart stop. I turn to see a custodian entering the room. I can’t imagine what she’s cleaning. By the looks of things, I’m the only one who’s been in the room all day. I smile awkwardly, and the custodian looks away.

  I walk away from the display cases and back to my seat. I pull the teacher’s research guidelines from my binder and look at the resources I’m supposed to use.

  With no online catalog, I am forced to roam the room, looking for the first book on my research list. I check the aisle to make sure I’m in the right place.

  I look at every book in the aisle twice, and I’m about to give up when I see a book is out of place, sitting on the floor in the center of the aisle. I look around to see who might have placed the book there, but I’m alone. I look at the custodian and see her mindlessly feather dusting the items inside one of the cases.

  There’s no one else in the room.

  How did that book get on the floor when I’m the only one in the aisle?

  My feet are concreted in place. Nothing makes sense. This must be what crazy people feel like.

  I pick up the book and read the cover. History of Hedge Witches.

  It feels like someone’s put ice in my veins when I read the title over and over and over.

  I stifle the urge to grab my books and run from the room. Instead I take the book and sit down at the desk. I watch the custodian as she dusts the items in the case. She is haphazard at best and has to catch an item before it falls over.

  When a phone rings loudly, I jump in my seat. My heart starts beating again when I see the custodian dig a cell phone out of her pocket. She answers it quietly, then looks at me. Apparently wanting more privacy, she walks out the door, leaving her cleaning cart and the open case behind her.

  I sit in my seat for a few minutes, waiting for her to return.

  Curious to see the items in the case without the glass barrier, I quietly walk to the case, watching the door for any sign of the custodian’s return. On the top shelf is a book that looks like a really big Bible. The gold rectangle in front of it reads, Book of Shadows Belonging to High Priestess Sarah Goode. I think of Dru and wonder if this is her ancestor.

  On the second shelf is something that looks like the necklace our ID badge is attached to. In history we learned that the necklace is actually an amulet, a happiness amulet. The necklace in the case is much bigger and much fancier. Instead of being made of stones, it has a mixture of stones and gems, each one different from the other. Hanging from the center of the necklace is a triangular turquoise stone.

  I look at the door and think maybe the custodian isn’t coming back.

  What would happen if I touched it?

  The gold plate in front of the necklace reads, Amulet Belonging to High Priestess Saffra Warnsly.

  Is this the Saffra we keep hearing about?

  I reach in, looking over my shoulder, listening for the custodian.

  I take the necklace in my hand, surprised by how heavy and cold it is.

  The clicking of the door stops my breathing, and I watch the door open. I don’t have time to put the necklace back in the same position without being caught.

  The door opens even more.

  Do something, Hallie!

  I look at the shelf and shove a pair of shoes into the necklace’s place, then toss the gold plate for the amulet behind the book.

  The door is halfway open, and I’m standing frozen in front of the open case. Amulet in my hand.

  The custodian enters the room, head down, focused on her phone. I know she’s just a footstep away from seeing me.

  I’m totally busted. She’s going to notice. How could she not notice?

  Dropping the necklace into my pocket, I half-run to the nearest bookcase and pretend I’m looking for something.

  I may be new to Dowling, but I’m pretty sure I’m breaking all kinds of rules. Snooping, sneaking, stealing. The custodian isn’t much better. I’m guessing the headmistress would frown upon her leaving Dowling’s most treasured artifacts unprotected like that.

  I peek through the bookshelves and watch her close the case, then lock it, phone still pressed to her ear. She looks at my empty desk, then pushes her cart through the door.

  Leaving me all alone in the library with a high priestess’s amulet in my pocket.

  Eight

  I speed-walk to the cabinet, holding my breath in the hopes the glass case isn’t locked. That by some miracle it’s still open and I can return the amulet undetected. I tug at the glass door gently, then a little more roughly. Peering into the glass, I see the thick metal latch that secures the door firmly in place. I’m in So. Much. Trouble.

  I pull at every single cabinet, on the off chance the custodian left something unlocked. But everything is locked up tight. Maybe I should put the amulet on the librarian’s desk. I walk to the wooden counter in the center of the room and find a note.

  The Dowling library works on an honor system. If you check out a book, please write your name, the book title, and the date you took it on the form next to this letter. Mark the date when you return it. Because we operate on the honor system, we do not have a librarian. If you need assistance locating an item in the library, please see your instructor or Headmistress Fallon.

  Right. I can see it now.

  “Headmistress, I’m wondering if you can help me. See, I accidentally stole Saffra’s amulet, and now I’d like to return it. Want to help me out?”

  Never. Not in a million years.

  Just thinking about it m
akes me want to jump right out the window. That’d be easier to explain than why I have Saffra’s amulet.

  The only person I trust is Ivy, and she won’t be able to help. I bet Heather could open the case, but I don’t think she’d keep my criminal activity a secret.

  My mind races through the consequences of stealing. Expulsion of me and future generations is a real possibility. Dad would be so upset with me. I can’t let that happen.

  Think, Hallie. Think.

  I can look for the custodian and sneak the key from her pocket. I nearly laugh out loud at the image of me sneaking around a school for witches trying to pickpocket the custodian’s keys. My strengths lie in academics, not reconnaissance.

  I can hide it somewhere in the library and try to return it the next time the custodian cleans the cases. But what am I going to do? Live in the library until that happens? What if she only cleans the cases once a year?

  I can tell a teacher, maybe Lady Jennica. I think about her purple hair and killer clothes. She may be cool, but she’s still a teacher. She’d have to tell the headmistress.

  Maybe I should leave the necklace on the checkout desk. Surely someone would see it and put it back. But what if someone else takes it? Someone who really shouldn’t have it, like Kendall? And what if the custodian gets in trouble? She may not be the most thorough worker in the building, but I don’t want to be the reason anyone gets in trouble.

  I hurry back to my seat and grab my things from the table. I check to make sure there’s absolutely no trace of me being there. I put my hand in my pocket over the amulet to keep it from being seen through my pants. It’s cold and bulky, a reminder that it isn’t mine. That it belonged to someone way more powerful than I’ll ever be.

  What have I done? I’ve been here for only twenty-four hours, and I’ve already jumped into the dark side with both feet.

  I don’t let myself think about what’s going to happen to me for taking the amulet, what wretched forces of evil the amulet’s real owner will throw down on me.

  I don’t think about that.