Crystal Magic (Clearwater Witches Book 1)

by Madeline Freeman

  “Your teachers will have access to it, but I see no reason why any of them would come to check it. You’ll have your fresh start here, Kristyl.”

  For the first time since pulling up in front of the building, I can breathe freely. “I’m glad for that.”

  Mrs. Cole goes over my schedule with me and explains some of the big rules in the student handbook. By the time we’re done, the energy in the building has changed and I’m not surprised to hear a bell.

  “You should get going so you’re not late to your first hour.”

  In the hallway, dozens of students, most in groups, head off in different directions. I take in a deep breath. No one knows me here. I can be whoever I want to be. I don’t have to be the freaky girl who’s always in trouble. I can just be… me.

  Jodi doesn’t pull me into a hug before she leaves, even though her eyes say she wants to. Instead she presses a handful of bills into my palm for lunch money, squeezing my hand a beat too long before heading out the main door.

  Part of me wants to follow her, but another part—the part that speaks with my mother’s voice—urges me to grab this opportunity for a new beginning and make the most of it.

  A prickling sensation builds in the corners of my eyes at the thought of my mom and I try to rub it away. I won’t cry about my mom, not here. Taking in a breath, I start toward the nearest stairwell. I take no more than two steps before I collide with someone. Searing pain cascades down my chest and I cry out, my hands going to my abdomen to find my shirt soaked with hot liquid. A sniff tells me it’s coffee.

  A squeal emanates from the girl standing in front of me. She is tall—or at least taller than me—with long brown hair that hangs in loose spirals around her shoulders and the coldest blue eyes I have ever seen. Her eyes narrow and her mouth curls into a sneer.

  “What the hell? Watch where you’re going!”

  “I’m sorry.” The words escape my mouth instinctively. I’ve learned it’s best to ask for forgiveness right away, no matter if something is actually my fault. It’s a coping mechanism I’ve developed after years of getting into this kind of situation with this kind of girl.

  So much for a fresh start.

  “Not as sorry as you’re gonna be if you got any of that on me.” The girl examines her outfit—a tight-fitting green tunic top over leggings and knee-high boots—and turns in place so her companion can help her check. Her hands clutch at the necklace she wears around her neck—some kind of pendant with an ornate design that holds a clear, glass-like stone in place. “Bridget, how does it look?”

  “It looks okay,” Bridget pipes in after completing her inspection. “I think it all got on her.”

  After the brief reprieve, the girl turns her cold eyes back on me. “Do you have any idea how much that coffee cost?”

  I don’t look away from the girl, but I feel the eyes of other students on me. A crowd has gathered, the way one always does at the hint of drama. “Four dollars?” I venture tentatively. “I’ll buy you another one. I can get you the money tomorrow, if you like—”

  The girl’s withering glare stops my tongue. “How is that supposed to help me today?”

  I’m not sure whether the question is rhetorical.

  A bell sounds in the hallway and the students who had gathered to watch our spectacle scatter. I want to scatter with them, but I remain rooted to my spot.

  Bridget tugs on the girl’s arm. “Crystal, we’ve gotta go. We’ve already been late once this week.”

  I’m stabbed by a pang of irony at the girl’s name. Well, at least I won’t forget it.

  Crystal’s eyes tell me she doesn’t want to leave—she wants to dole out the appropriate punishment for my actions—but she relents. “Watch where you’re going, new girl. You’ll stay out of my way if you know what’s good for you.”

  Duly noted, I think, but I keep my mouth shut. Crystal and Bridget strut off in the direction they had been heading and I scurry the opposite way, even though I’m not entirely sure where I should be going. Once safely enclosed in the stairwell, I look down at my coffee-stained schedule. A brown stain covers my stomach and the crotch of my pants and I lean against the wall, squeezing my eyes closed tight in an attempt to stop the prickling sensation gathering there. I can’t cry. Not now—the school day hasn’t even started yet. But how am I supposed to go through the entire day with a coffee stain covering so much of my body? That’s all anyone will ever remember about me—the spaz of a girl who wore coffee-covered clothes her first day. It might be better than the way people at my other school thought of me, but not by much.

  I could call Jodi, but she told me she was heading into work right after dropping me off. She was already off all last week on account of me, so I don’t want to pull her away from it. I don’t want to give her any reason to regret taking me in.

  Another bell rings and a wave of dread sweeps over me. I’m late to class. Not a great way to make a good impression on my teacher. I need to get moving, but I can’t make myself go.

  The stairwell door creaks open, but I refuse to look. Whoever it is can’t make the day better. In fact, they could only make things worse. Maybe he’ll continue on his way without noticing me.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  No such luck.

  I take in a steadying breath before opening my eyes. Standing before me is a guy with the brightest, clearest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re such a contrast from that Crystal girl’s eyes that for a moment, they’re all I see.

  His eyebrows furrow. “Do you need some help?”

  “I’m okay.” The words are an obvious lie, but I press on. “I just bumped into some girl and she spilled her coffee on me. That’s all.”

  “It looks pretty bad. Do you have something to change into?”

  I shake my head. “It’s my first day. I don’t have, like, a closet of clothes stashed in my locker or anything. I don’t even know where my locker is. Or my class, for that matter.” I press my lips together to keep from continuing; if I do, I’ll spin out of control. Hysteria is rising in my chest. If only I could go back in time and redo this day.

  “It’ll be okay,” the guy says. His face goes thoughtful and I take in the rest of his appearance. The amazing eyes are set in a handsome face with a jaw that is strong but not pronounced. His blond hair is short and gently spiked. He looks a little like he could be in a boy band, but in a good way. The curve of his lips is gentle and pleasant and he has a cleft in his chin. On his face is the barest hint of stubble.

  A thrill of electricity courses through my brain. He meant to shave this morning. But he forgot to plug his phone in last night and it died before his alarm went off. That’s why he’s late.

  He snaps his fingers, pulling me out of the flash. “Here, hold this,” he says, handing me the folder he’s been holding.

  I take it without question and he pulls the dark blue hooded sweatshirt he wears up over his head. As he does, his tee-shirt rises up, revealing a stretch of taut stomach. There’s a swooping sensation low in my belly.

  “Here,” he says, holding the sweatshirt out to me.

  I stare at him. “You want me to hold this too?”

  A smile stretches across his face, revealing a set of perfect teeth. My stomach swoops again. “Sure, that. Or you could wear it to cover up the coffee stain. It’s long, so it should cover it all.”

  I shake my head. “I couldn’t do that.”

  “What, you’d rather walk around with the coffee stains all day? Go on, I insist.” He takes his folder from my hand and presses the hoodie closer to me. He’s not going to give up, so I take it, turning it over in my hands. Emblazoned in white on the front of the shirt is the high school’s name and two C’s bisected by an arrow. On the back is the number seventeen, below the name MARSH. I pull it over my head. It’s warm and smells spicy, like aftershave or body spray—something distinctly masculine but not overpowering. I tug the sweatshirt down so it comes to my mid-thigh. It’s far too large for me, but the gu
y was right—it covers all the coffee stains.

  “Thank you.” My voice is small.

  The corner of his mouth twitches upward, revealing a dimple in his cheek. “Of course. What kind of man would I be if I let a damsel remain in distress?” He winks.

  I feel heat in my cheeks and look down at my schedule. Something about wearing his clothes makes me brave. “If you’re still in the rescuing mood, maybe you could help me navigate to my first hour.”

  “Of course.” Instead of taking the schedule from my hands, he moves to stand behind me, looking over my shoulder. His nearness overwhelms my senses. My stomach flutters. Warmth is radiating off his body and I think I might spontaneously combust.

  “You’ve got Buchanan in two-fourteen. I’ll take you.” We walk up the stairs side by side. He watches me out of the corner of his eye. “What’s your name, anyway?”

  “Kristyl Barnette.”

  “Kristyl, huh?” He makes a face. “No offense. I’m not a huge fan of that name.”

  “Would it have anything to do with the raging bitch who spilled her coffee all over me?” The words come out before I can stop them and I slap my hand over my mouth, mortified. Wearing this stranger’s sweatshirt, or maybe his kindness, is making me say things I normally wouldn’t.

  He laughs and I relax. “Ah, so you’ve already had the pleasure. I’ve known her my whole life and, well, I think you got it right. Raging bitch pretty much sums her up. Crystal Jamison is not one of my favorite people in the world. But you…” He studies me as we reach the top of the stairs and I feel self-conscious. “You, I like. So I think the name’s gotta go.”

  “What? You’re just gonna change my name? Start calling me Persephone or something?”

  He laughs, holding open the door and allowing me to pass through. “While Persephone isn’t bad, I was thinking of something a little less dramatic. A nickname, maybe.” His lips press together as he thinks. “Krissy and Kristy are a little too pedestrian. Kris is too masculine.” He snaps, a smile spreading across his face. “I got it. How about Krissa?”

  “Krissa?” I’ve never heard the name before. It sounds unusual, but not too unusual. “I think I like it.”

  “Okay then. Krissa it is. New school, new name.”

  “New friend?” The assumption is bold, but I’m feeling bold. “I don’t even know your name.”

  He holds his hand out formally and I take it. “Owen Marsh.”

  “Owen.” I like the feeling of his name in my mouth. “It’s nice to meet you, Owen.”

  “It’s nice to meet you too. But I’m afraid it’s time to say goodbye.” He nods toward the door to our left. “This is Miss Buchanan’s class.”

  “What about your sweatshirt?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be back for that.” With a grin, he starts off down the hall.

  I knock on the door to the classroom and after a moment, the teacher opens it. “Ah. You must be the new student I saw on my roster today.” She smiles and walks over to her desk. I close the door and follow her. She clicks the mouse on her computer a few times before looking at me again. “Kristyl Barnette, is it?”

  “Actually, I go by Krissa.”

  Chapter Five

  The first few classes of the day pass without incident. Owen is in my second hour and manages to convince the teacher to give me a seat near him. During third hour, I try to pay attention to the lesson, but my thoughts stray to Owen. I catch myself smelling his scent and smiling and try to tell myself not to harbor any delusions about Owen liking me, but I can’t help it.

  When the third hour bell rings, I head into the hallway. Owen is standing there, and his face lights up when he sees me.

  I walk over to him. “Were you waiting for me?”

  “I may have inadvertently memorized your schedule. You know, so I could keep an eye on my sweatshirt.”

  “Of course.” I can’t help smiling. Is this what it’s like to flirt? I bite my lower lip. No, he’s not flirting with me. He’s just being nice.

  “You’ve got lunch now, right?”

  I check my schedule, although I know I do. “Would you look at that.” I grin.

  He starts down the hallway and I keep pace with him. “I thought you could sit with me and my friends. Unless you’ve already got lunch plans.”

  “No, no plans. Just a few dollars from my aunt. Maybe you can show me what’s edible in the cafeteria.”

  We walk through the large foyer by the front office where I bumped into Crystal Jamison. So far I haven’t seen her again and I can’t say I’m sad about that. Owen leads me through a back hallway and we emerge in a large, open area with vending machines. “This is the commons. There are doors here that lead out into the courtyard. When it’s warm, sometimes we’ll eat out there. Back there is the lunch room. And here is the dreaded lunch line.” He shudders dramatically. “Actually, all things considered, the food’s not terrible. Was it bad at your old school?”

  My gaze drops to the floor as we get into line. My mom always packed my lunches. Even when I was in high school and complained I was too old for it, even when I begged for her to let me buy lunch. She insisted it was too expensive. I probably could have qualified for reduced lunch, but my mom never filled out the paperwork. I think it was pride: She wanted to prove she could take care of me, even without my dad’s help. She always made sure my needs were provided for and that my wants, which were few, were satisfied. A lump forms in my throat and I swallow hard. “The food at my old school was fine.”

  Owen’s eyes narrow and he closes them for a moment, shaking his head. “Yeah, I think people always make it out to be way worse than it is.”

  When I’m three people away from the register, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Someone is watching me. I glance over my shoulder but see no one. Still, the feeling doesn’t leave me as Owen and I walk to his usual lunch table. I take the seat across from him, but he immediately shakes his head. “Can’t sit there.”

  My heart skips. Didn’t he invite me to sit with him? “Why not?”

  “Spot’s taken.” He points at the seat beside it. “You could sit there.” A smile curls the edges of his mouth. “Or your could sit by me.”

  The tension that had formed in my stomach dissipates and I take the seat beside the first one. While the idea of sitting next to Owen is appealing, I’m not sure whether he’s joking. Besides, I like to look at him, and that would be more difficult if I was directly beside him.

  “So, who’s the seat taken by? A ghost? Your invisible friend?”

  He shakes his head. “Nah, just a friend who’s a little territorial when it comes to seating arrangements.”

  “Really? What’s his name?”

  Before Owen can respond, someone nearly collapses into the seat beside me. To my surprise, it’s not a guy; it’s a girl with wavy red hair and a distinct sense of style. I recognize her from first period. She is wearing a bright orange tunic, heavily embellished with sequins across the bodice, over a pair of purple leggings with cat faces on the knees. Her boots come halfway up her calf and are covered in what looks like black fur. On her face is a harassed look. When she notices me, the look switches to confusion. She looks across the table at Owen, as if verifying she’s at the right table. Then she looks back at me. “Who are you?”

  I bite my lower lip. She seems annoyed by my presence and a thought passes through my mind: What if she’s Owen’s girlfriend? That would explain her irritation. Not only am I some strange girl sitting with him, but I’m also wearing his sweatshirt. Did she notice? I open my mouth to introduce myself, but Owen is already talking.

  “Be nice, Lexie, she’s new. Her name’s Krissa and she’s cool.”

  My heart swells at Owen’s words. Really, he has no foundation on which to base his pronouncement, but it makes me feel good anyway.

  “Krissa?” Lexie asks, turning the syllables over in her mouth. “What kind of name is that? Is it short for something?”

  I nod. “Yeah. For Kri
styl.”

  Lexie’s head cocks to the side and she raises an eyebrow. Then her eyes widen and her mouth drops open. “Hey, I know you!”

  I glance at Owen, who looks as confused as I feel. Lexie turns toward Owen and slams her hand on the lunch table between them. “Kristyl Barnette. She’s Jodi Barnette’s niece.”

  My confusion deepens as I look back and forth at the two of them. “Wait—you guys know my aunt?”

  It’s Lexie and Owen’s turn to look at me with confusion.

  “Of course we do,” Lexie says, as if it should be obvious.

  “Small town,” Owen says. “She owns the homeopathic shop on Main. Everybody’s been in there at least once.”

  I nod. It shouldn’t surprise me that they know Jodi. She’s lived here her entire life. Living in such a small community is going to take some getting used to. “And you guys know about me?”

  “My mom said something about Jodi’s shop being closed last week because she was out of town with her niece.” Lexie picks up a french fry from her lunch tray and chews on it. “She didn’t mention you’d be showing up here, though.”

  I take in a breath. Maybe because I never talked to anyone at my old school, I hadn’t really planned how I would address my reason for moving to Clearwater. I also hadn’t counted on people knowing who my aunt was. When new people started at my old school, it was just assumed they moved to town with their families. But how was I supposed to explain my being here? I cast a glance at Owen. “I… I’m living with Jodi now.”

  “Really?” Lexie asks. “Why?”

  Owen lets out a little laugh. “Wow, Lexie. Let’s save the twenty questions for later, how about?”

  I mouth Thank you to Owen and he nods. I’m not sure if he can tell what I’m feeling or if he already knows something about why I’m here. Either way, I’m glad he intervened.

  I start poking around at the food on my tray, no longer hungry. The back of my neck prickles and, once again, I’m sure I’m being watched. At my old school, people generally ignored me—unless they were really bored and needed a target. The feeling now is the same as the one I’d get right before someone at my old school would come up to do something to mess with me. Surreptitiously, I look over my shoulder, eyes scanning for anyone whose attention is directed my way.