Four Witches and a Funeral (Wicked Society Book 3)

by Daisy Prescott

  I stomp down the hall. Outside of the glass doors, large raindrops splatter the brick walkway. “Could this day get any better?” I say out loud. Shouting in class and now I’m talking to the weather.

  A pale hand with long, familiar fingers holds one of those tiny collapsible umbrellas in my line of sight. “Here.”

  Not sure about the day getting better, but it seems it can get more awkward.

  I glance up to meet the dark eyes of Andrew. His lanky frame towers over mine. From his black Chucks to his almost black hair, he could be a hipster, but he is too nerdy, too cool, too something, to be trendy. Maybe it’s the glasses; the thick black rims are not exactly stylish. His messy hair hints at a lack of combing rather than bedroom shenanigans. He looks smart, if intelligence had a facial expression. Too-smart-for-his-own-good smart.

  Andrew clears his throat. I’m staring at him. Definitely more awkward. I fumble with something clever to say.

  “Oh, thanks. I have my hoodie.” I reach behind my head to pull my gray hood over my hair to prove it. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay.” He holds my gaze as he stuffs the umbrella into his backpack. “No problem.”

  He doesn’t say anything more. I decide to keep my mouth quiet so I won’t be more embarrassed by my awkwardness. Beyond that, something about him makes me tingle. He unsettles me, and I’m not sure if that is a good thing or not. I hesitate before I give him a small smile, and dash out the door.

  The rain sputters into a mist a few yards down the path, and I tug down my hood. Maybe my day has started to turn around. Smiling, I search for Andrew in the doorway or on the steps behind me, but he’s disappeared.

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