I grabbed a fresh piece of tape, sticking the photo back on the wall.
“You can do this,” I whispered to myself. “You’re going to do this.”
Chapter 16
I hadn’t even realized that I’d fallen asleep until my clock radio went off, the excited morning disc jockey blathering on about the upcoming night’s lunar eclipse.
“It’s going to be a clear night, in the mid-fifties. Perfect weather to bring all the moon-worshipping crazies out tonight, people!” He crowed, laughing with a raspy voice. I can tell you the name of one crazy that will be out. I groaned and rolled over, putting my purple pillow over my head. I contemplated casting a quick spell to make his microphone melt like chocolate in the sun.
“I probably could do it, too,” I muttered, as if he could hear me. And then what DJ Shut-Up-Please was saying sunk in—it was Wednesday. D-Day. And last night, I’d had no dreams, no hints, nothing. I tried to tell myself that it was a good sign—maybe it meant I was on the right track—but part of me worried that it meant I was doomed, regardless. A lost cause.
And then another part of me fretted that I might say the wrong thing and accidentally cause the pavement on Park Avenue to turn into marshmallows—so I kept fairly quiet on the drive to school. Brendan was also quiet—the shadow I could see under his non-black eye a telltale sign that he hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. I wanted to ease his mind, to reassure him that I was going to be fine, but I didn’t know what to say. So I stayed quiet, holding his hand in the space between us in the backseat of the car service. The space felt like it expanded with every block we passed.
Finally when we got down to my basement locker room, Brendan leaned against the locker next to mine and spoke.
“I’ve been thinking, Emma. I really don’t think we should meet Megan tonight,” he said quietly, looking down as I threw the small bag I’d packed for that night into my locker. “I was up all night, doing research online…maybe we don’t need to approach this magically. Maybe we can just get her arrested, or charge her with harassment.”
“Brendan, I don’t think—”
“No, listen to me. We can get a restraining order on her—I almost got one freshman year, to be honest,” Brendan admitted, looking down sheepishly. “Casey suggested it, actually, so I’m sure the paperwork still exists. Come on, Em, can’t we talk more about this?”
He looked at me hopefully, his eyes searching my face. The black eye actually made his eyes look more vibrant green. Of course Brendan can make a bruise look hot. When he has a paper cut I bet his abs somehow look better.
“Sure. Of course we can,” I lied, stuffing my books for my morning classes into my backpack. “I’ll meet you after basketball practice and we can talk about it then.”
Brendan just chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Emma, like I’m really going to go to basketball practice with all this stuff hanging over us?” He shook his head at me, before brushing my bangs out of my eyes tenderly. “Come on. I have my priorities.”
My mind raced. Brendan had to go to basketball practice. I was counting on it as a diversion. Otherwise, he’d stay with me—and I’d never be able to sneak away to meet Megan alone.
“I don’t think you should skip practice,” I said calmly, my mind grasping for an excuse he’d agree with. He could risk another suspension? No, he won’t care. The team needs him? Nope, won’t work.
“We don’t know who Megan’s little spy is. What if it’s someone on the basketball team? Why would you skip unless you were with me?” I reasoned.
“That’s kind of a stretch, don’t you think?”
“Do you really want to risk tipping off Megan?” I asked innocently enough, and Brendan relented, nodding his head in agreement.
“I’ll just work on my spell in the library, and I’ll meet you in the quad at five,” I fibbed, giving him a bright smile. But Brendan looked at me skeptically.
“We’re handling this together. Remember you promised me that I’d be with you,” he said somberly.
“I remember,” I said as sincerely as I could. I also remembered that I lied.
Brendan just raised one jet-black eyebrow. “You promise? I’m serious, Emma, I think we can handle this without magic. I just think—”
“You never know who can overhear us, so wait to tell me all about your idea later,” I said, picking up my backpack by the shoulder straps. I leaned up on my tiptoes to derail his train of thought with what I intended to be a quick kiss. But as soon as my lips touched his, Brendan’s hands gripped my hips, pulling them closer to his. His lips were soft but demanding, parting my lips as he elevated our kiss from casual to intense. I dropped my backpack with a thud on the floor, winding my arms around his neck as Brendan gently pressed me back against the lockers, one hand sliding up to cradle my face. Finally he pulled away, his breathing a little more even than mine. But when I rested my hands against his chest, I could feel his heart pounding through his white shirt.
“Emma, if something happened to you, I would never, ever, forgive myself,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know if you realize it, but you’re the most important thing—the best thing—that’s ever happened to me.”
“Brendan, you’re the—”
“I’m not saying this so you’ll say it back to me,” he interrupted. “I’m only saying it so you understand how important it is that we stand together tonight.”
I nodded, blinking twice to push back the surge of tears that threatened to flood my vision. Brendan wiped away one escapee tear with his thumb and smiled tenderly—and I felt the stabbing ache of guilt in my heart. He was going to be so hurt when I didn’t meet him. When he realized I had deceived him, and was going alone. But it was the only way I knew to keep him safe.
A few minutes later, I slipped into my desk behind Jenn, as my classmates chattered around me excitedly. Nicole McAllister was leaning forward on her desk again, her butt back in the air as she made plans to watch the lunar eclipse at Paul Cuevas’s house. Marcus Colby tried to take pics of her in-the-air rear with his cell phone, but Madison Wefald kept shoving her hand in front of his camera, blocking his view and sticking her tongue out at him. The rest of the juniors were in just as jovial a mood, anxiously awaiting the bell ringing at three—to them, it signaled the start of a week and a half of Vince A-free days. In comparison, I sat dolefully in my desk, lazily drawing loopy scribbles on my already doodled-upon green notebook. The only student who looked even remotely as miserable as me was Jenn. Her head was down, resting in the crook of her elbow, her other arm swinging as it hung off her desk. She’d been pouting ever since her parents grounded her for getting wasted at her sister’s dorm. Jenn treated her grounding like an epic social injustice; I half expected her to call Amnesty International to plead her case.
As she heard Nicole and Paul making their plans, Jenn turned around, resting her elbows on the back of her desk and frowning at me dejectedly.
“What are you doing for spring break?” Jenn spoke as mournfully as if she’d asked me where I’d buried her puppy.
“I haven’t really made any plans.” Fight an evil witch with your superstar triple-threat mojo, save your boyfriend from a vengeful threat, maybe go shopping. “How about you?”
“Nothing.” She sulked, her glossy lips turned down in a pout. “My parents are insisting on grounding me. It’s so unfair.”
I studied Jenn. Her eyes were alert and clear, her honey-colored hair was carefully brushed. She looked pretty damn good, to be honest.
“You know, Jenn,” I began honestly, “that might not be a bad thing, to take a break from the partying.”
She rolled her eyes. “You and Cisco need to move into an old age home in Boca Raton together, I swear,” she said. “You sound jus
t like him, and he sounds like my parents.”
Jenn’s tone turned acerbic as her lips pulled down in a scowl that defined the term “bitchy.” “He ripped me a new one on the phone last night. ‘You should really cut back on the raging, Jenn. I don’t need to get drunk every night and I have plenty of fun. Bleh, I know everything, look at me, I’m so perfect,’” she said in a mocking, faux-deep male voice that was supposed to be Cisco. My temper flared, heat crawling across my skin. He’d been nothing but a good friend to Jenn, and honestly, he had a point. We were all getting a little tired of having to pour her into a cab at the end of the night.
I took a deep breath to calm myself down and stared at her, irritated. “He’s right. You should cut back on the drinking. You party too much. You’re going to look like an old lady before graduation,” I told her sternly. I meant every word. I didn’t care if Jenn threw a fit—I was sick of her acting like a spoiled brat.
Jenn’s eyes glazed over and her lips parted. She stared at me, slightly slack-jawed with a vacant expression on her face.
“He’s right. I’ll cut back on the drinking. I party too much. I’m going to look like an old lady before graduation,” she repeated, almost robotically, before turning around in her desk, sitting up straight instead of slouching dejectedly over it as she had been.
“Oh, very funny,” I said sarcastically, and Jenn turned back around to face me, staring at me like she’d never seen me before.
“Hey, Emma,” she said, blinking in surprise. “What did you say? When did you get here?” She looked up at the clock on the pale yellow-beige wall behind me.
“I’ve been sitting here for a few minutes,” I replied slowly. “We just had a whole conversation—remember?”
“Um, no. What are you talking about?” Jenn asked, squinting at me in confusion. “And you guys say that I should stop partying.”
I stared at her, dumbfounded.
“Don’t look so shocked—Cisco talked to me about it last night,” Jenn said calmly. “I’m not mad. He’s right. I’m cutting back on the drinking. I party too much.” She repeated the words as if they were her own, adding, “I’m going to look like an old lady before graduation.”
And then I realized what I’d done.
I’d cast a spell on Jenn, without even knowing it. I didn’t light any candles. I didn’t make anything rhyme. I didn’t wave an athame or a wand. I didn’t even throw my hands in the air and wave them like I just don’t care. All I did was say something—and mean it—and my trifecta of witchy goodness took care of the rest. Me, someone who usually has to spend half her time focusing and concentrating to levitate a simple highlighter, just threw out some words off-the-cuff and brainwashed my friend.
It. Felt. Awesome.
The last bell rang, and Jenn turned around in her desk, sitting primly. She probably now looked like the model student—thanks to me. I stretched out my feet in the aisle next to me and crossed my ankles, leaning back in my desk with a smug smile creeping across my face. My head bopped slowly from side to side along with the little tune in my head, a variation of “Ring Around the Rosie” but with different lyrics. Nyah nyah nyah nyah boo boo, I put a spell on yooooou.
Mr. Agneta strode in, yelling at the chattering students to calm down.
“Yes, yes, spring break is here. So exciting.” His voice dripped with so much sarcasm I expected to find a puddle of it on the floor.
The class continued talking, seemingly oblivious to Mr. Agneta, who scowled as he stared at the class. He eyed the large wooden compass and picked it up, holding the chalk end against the board.
Oh, no, not again. I plugged my fingers in my ears, bracing myself for the inevitable deafening screech—but then I had a flash of inspiration. What rhymes with ears? And then I had a perfect rhyme in my head.
Narrowing my eyes, I stared at the white nub of chalk sticking out of the wooden compass. I leaned forward on my desk, resting my chin on the heel of my hand, my fingers splaying across my face to cover my mouth. I whispered, “Break in half and save our ears, break in half and calm my fears.” I glanced around the chattering classroom speculatively. No one seemed to notice that I was essentially talking to myself.
Mr. Agneta put the compass against the board, and dragged the chalk down the length of it, leaving a jagged, thick white line on the black background. He turned to stare at the classroom smugly—but then paused, realizing that his little display didn’t bring about the ear-destroying screech he intended. Ha! Suck it, Agneta! I smirked at my arrogant math teacher—sure, the wooden compass didn’t break in half like I’d wanted, but at least I’d silenced his favorite instrument of torture. He’d have made an awesome dungeon master in the Dark Ages, the sadist.
Mr. Agneta stared at the blackboard, his beady little eyes twitching. And then those eyes opened comically wide as a large crack appeared in the center of the craggy chalk line, splitting it in half. Flakes of white-covered slate broke off as the fissure grew, the chips raining onto the floor. They hit the glossy wood with a light tapping sound, like fingernails drumming on a desk. Noiselessly the jagged crevice stretched out, veins shooting off it and radiating out like outstretched fingers. Fingers that gripped the top and bottom of the blackboard.
Mr. Agneta cautiously backed away from the cracking slate, protectively holding the wooden compass in front of him with a shaking, white-knuckled grip. The loud buzz of student voices in the classroom halted as everyone stared, fascinated at the silent phenomenon in front of us.
The blackboard shook against the wall, and then gray dust—a mix of pulverized blackboard and chalk—poofed out of the fissure, like the exhaust on a train. As easily as if someone were tearing a piece of loose leaf in half, the blackboard ripped in two—without the ripping noise. Without any noise. It was eerily quiet—because I’d deemed it so. I broke out into a cold sweat, my long hair plastered to the back of my neck. What the hell did you do?
I got my answer. With a final cloud of dust, the trembling blackboard plummeted onto the floor, shattering into pieces that scattered loudly across the hardwood surface, the jagged slate cutting deep gashes in the thick, shiny lacquer. That made noise—a loud crashing commotion that jolted the classroom out of their collective stupor. A few students yelped in shock at the commotion. Some guys cheered. Mr. Agneta jumped up on his desk chair, crouching like someone who’d just seen a mouse.
And I just stared ahead, at the disastrous, destructive result of the second spell I’d pulled off that day. A spell I deliberately cast because I wanted to teach Mr. Agneta a lesson.
Barely two hours into your day and you’re already crossing the line Randi warned you about. Get it in check, Connor.
I gaped at the front of the classroom in awe, my hands gripping the black, navy and green plaid of my skirt. The wall was pockmarked with embedded struts, which hung limply from the crumbling plaster behind the blackboard. I remembered how Brendan had managed to jerry-rig a fix for the broken library chair with some Scotch tape. We’re going to need a bigger roll of tape. Mr. Agneta gawked at the destroyed pile of slate before turning to the class, red-faced.
“I barely— I didn’t even— I hardly touched it!” he stammered, and I heard a few students snort. Mr. Agneta narrowed his little lizard eyes as he scanned the classroom, looking for the culprit and finding Paul Cuevas hiding a smile—badly—behind his math textbook.
“You.” Mr. Agneta pointed at Paul, whose shoulders shook as he fully buried his head in his math textbook, roaring with laughter.
“Stop laughing,” he ordered petulantly, stamping his feet on the floor like a toddler having a tantrum. “Go down to Principal Casey and tell her what’s happened. The rest of you put your books away.” He held up a stack of photocopied papers and smirked. “Pop quiz time.”
Jenn chattered excitedly on the way to English class about the pulverized
blackboard, wondering aloud if some of the more litigious parents would try to sue Vince A over possibly hazardous school conditions.
“I mean, what if someone were standing there writing on the board—”
“Mr. Agneta was,” I reminded her, guilt churning in my stomach. I didn’t particularly like my teacher—he started picking on me as soon as it became clear I was going to ace his class—but what if the board had broken more quickly, and fallen on him? What if I had accidentally broken him in half? I’d crossed a line, all because I felt like teaching him a lesson.
“A student, I mean,” Jenn prattled on as we arrived at English. Brendan strode into class a few minutes after I had settled in my chair—on time for once in his high school career. As soon as he sat down in his desk, he turned around to face me, an amused look on his face.
“Is it true Agneta broke the chalkboard?” Brendan asked, the very picture of schadenfreude as he folded his arms on the back of his desk chair, smirking.
“That’s the public story,” I replied quietly, resting forward on my forearms.
Brendan raised one arched black eyebrow and leaned closer to me.
“What do you mean, public story?”
I pulled Brendan closer, and whispered in his ear, “I only meant to break the compass so he’d stop screeching the chalk on the board, but this whole witchy power boost thing is a lot stronger than I thought.”
I sat back in my chair with a guilty look on my face—a look that turned to surprise when I saw Brendan was biting his lower lip, trying to fight back his amusement.
He lost the fight—Brendan buried his face in his folded arms, the messy top of his head shaking as he roared with laughter.
Spellcaster Page 27
