“Kaitlyn, wait!” I exclaimed, and tried to go after her, but she was gone already, lost in the rush of students to get to their next classes, and I couldn’t see her anymore.
I rounded on Nancy instead.
“Why did you do that?” I demanded, grabbing her by the shoulders and squeezing hard—though not as hard as I could have, or as hard as I wanted to. “Why would you say such a cruel thing and make sure she could hear it?”
“Because,” she snarled. “It’s obvious you’ve got some kind of thing for the little freak and anybody who prefers her over me has a fucking problem. So if I can’t have you—neither can she!”
She tore herself away from my grip and flounced off down the hall, accompanied by the two girls who always followed her everywhere, all three of them casting scathing glances over their shoulders at me.
I watched them go as my Drake roared inside me with frustration. For a moment today, I had felt like I was making some progress with Kaitlyn. She had felt so soft and right in my arms and the way she had met my eyes across the Dining Hall made me hope…
But there was no hope now, I thought bleakly. Not now that Kaitlyn thought I was talking about her and saying awful things to hurt and degrade her.
Damn Nancy Rattcliff! My hands curled into helpless fists as I went towards my own fifth period class. What was wrong with someone like that? Why had she felt it necessary to ruin the only chance I’d ever had with the female I so desperately wanted?
And what could I possibly do to convince Kaitlyn that none of what Nancy had said was true?
7
Kaitlyn
I’m ashamed to admit I had to stop in the bathroom to cry a minute before I made my way to fifth period. I knew I would be late for Trig, but I just couldn’t make myself care.
I locked myself in a stall, sat on the closed lid of the toilet, put my face in my hands, and sobbed.
What a fool I had been! What an idiot to think that someone like Ari Reyes could care anything for someone like me. He had probably been setting me up for some kind of mean trick—one of those Cruel Intentions things where he would make me think he liked me and then screw me over in the worst, most public way possible to make everyone laugh at me.
Well, if that was the case, then Nasty Nancy had done me a favor, I told myself, blowing my nose and straightening up at last. At least now I knew how he really felt.
“I won’t be fooled again,” I said in a low, trembling voice. “I don’t care how nice he seems—it’s all just a trick. I won’t be stupid enough to get taken in a second time.”
Leaving the bathroom stall and making sure I was alone, I made myself go to the mirror and look at my reflection.
The right side of my face—which was all I could see—was actually quite pretty. I’m mixed and I got all the best features of my African American mother—her full lips and high cheekbones—as well as the best of my Caucasian dad—a cute nose and big, clear aquamarine eyes. They stood out with startling clarity in my smooth creamy pale brown face.
Or the right one did, anyway.
Stealing myself for what I knew was coming, I forced myself to pull back the curtain of hair that covered the left side of my face.
I looked like someone had taken a lighter to a Barbie doll and melted the plastic.
My left eye drooped downward and my left ear was nothing more than a misshapen lump. The left side of my face was a mass of ugly pinkish scar tissue.
Sometimes I thought I could bear all the other scars on my body, if only The Fire hadn’t affected my face. If only this one part of me—the part that all the world saw first and judged me by—wasn’t so hideous.
I knew it was wrong to think of myself this way. I’d had lots and lots of body image therapy once the doctors had determined the skin grafts weren’t going to take and I was going to be stuck this way for life. So I knew this kind of negative self-talk was wrong and harmful.
But damn it, sometimes I just couldn’t help it. When people like Nancy said terrible things about me, they felt true. And while I knew that my self-worth shouldn’t be tied to my looks, I was a teenaged girl. Looks mattered to me, whether I wanted them to or not.
That was just the way things were.
“Look at yourself,” I said harshly, speaking to my reflection. “Take a good long look, Kaitlyn. This is how you look—this is what you are. And this is why nobody like Ari Reyes is ever going to want anything to do with you. Remember that.”
Then I pulled my curtain of hair back around, mercifully hiding the ruined left side of my face, and headed out of the bathroom for Trigonometry. It had been a tough way for my sad little crush to die—a hard lesson to learn—but I had learned it.
I wouldn’t be fooled by Ari Reyes or anyone like him ever again.
8
Kaitlyn
“So, are you ready to get cooking?” Megan asked brightly when I walked wearily into the Home Ec classroom.
Truthfully, there was nothing I wanted less than to be in a class with Nancy Rattcliff right now. I could see her and the other two Weird Sisters sitting at the front of the classroom, whispering together. When they saw me walk in, Nancy said something to them and the three of them broke into nasty laughter which was clearly at my expense.
At that moment, I wished I was anywhere else in the world. I would rather be back in Ms. Sojourn’s class listening to an endless excerpt from Diary of a Witch that told how to make mashed mung bean hummus.
No matter how boring it was, at least there was no one laughing and making fun of my scars. When Nancy smirked at me, I almost turned around and walked out of the Home Ec classroom to go ask the school secretary to put me back in my old class.
Two things stopped me from going.
First, I didn’t want to leave my Coven-mate hanging. Megan had stuck by me in difficult situations before—most notably the awful PE class where I was forced to dress in shorts and expose my scars. Through the horrible ordeal, Megan had had my back in a big way. She even Shame-marked Pedro Sanchez, the Drake who was picking on me, and eventually got him expelled. She had been there for me and I wanted to be there for her in return. I had promised to take this class with her and I didn’t want to let her down.
Second, if I left now, Nancy and her crew won.
I wasn’t going to let that happen, I told myself firmly. No matter how tired or emotionally worn-out I felt, I wasn’t going to let that bitch drive me away and triumph over me.
Lifting my chin, I shot Nancy a steely glare before taking my place at the table by Megan’s side. Nancy glared back and then said something to her friends that made them laugh again. Something cruel, no doubt, I thought, still glaring.
Of course Megan saw the exchange.
“Wow, what is that all about?” she murmured in my ear.
I wished I could tell her everything—about how Nancy had been rubbing herself all over Ari and how the two of them had been talking about me and the awful things I had overheard. But I knew Megan well enough to know I couldn’t do that.
My brave, wonderful Coven-mate might have enough self-control not to use her magic for personal things like getting her classes switched or making the school food more palatable. But if she heard that Nasty Nancy was being cruel to me, she would definitely want to avenge me, which would no doubt lead to her using her magic illegally. And that was sure to get her into trouble.
Which could be exactly what Nancy and the Weird Sisters want, I thought, shooting them another hard glare. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if they were trying to get back at Megan by using me.
Well, it wasn’t going to work.
I knew perfectly well that my Coven-mates considered me weak and fragile—someone who had to be handled with care. And maybe in the past, I had been that person. But I didn’t want to be her anymore. I wanted to take care of myself and fight my own battles from now on.
So instead of telling Megan everything, I just shrugged.
“No big deal—I just haven’t forgiven N
asty Nancy for tying me and Avery and Emma to trees and trying to kill you. That’s all.”
“Oh. Well, I’m not exactly over it either,” Megan admitted. “But the best revenge is living well, right?”
“Right,” I said with heartiness I didn’t feel.
“Good. So let’s get baking.” She rolled up her sleeves, showing the white ladder of neat little scars marching up the insides of her forearms.
When Avery and Emma and I first met her, she had kept her arms and legs hidden as much as possible to keep these old cutting scars from being seen. But now that she was bonded to Griffin and he found her completely beautiful—scars and all—she seemed to feel free to let them show.
I had a burning moment of jealousy and despair. I wanted so badly to be able to do that same thing—to roll up my sleeves in preparation for work. Such a simple, easy, everyday thing to do and yet my own scars were so much more extensive, so much more visible.
So much uglier.
Megan seemed to read my thoughts on my face.
“Hey,” she said in a low voice, “Roll up your sleeves if you want. Who cares about the scars?” She flashed her own again, defiantly. “Remember what I told you—nobody can make you feel inferior unless you let them.”
I bit my lip and looked around the room. Megan and I were seated at the very back table and everyone was facing front—even Nancy and her crew, since class was about to start. No one was looking our way.
Maybe I could be a little bit brave.
Taking a deep breath, I unbuttoned the cuffs at the wrist of my long-sleeved uniform shirt and rolled my sleeves up to my elbows. The scars on my left arm were worse than the right, though the backs of both hands were equally bad, due to me trying to shield my face from the flames in The Fire. I’d had to wear compression sleeves and gloves for a long time during my recovery but by now I was about as healed as I was ever going to be.
“There, see?” Megan smiled at me encouragingly. “That’s not so bad—is it?”
I had to admit it wasn’t. The Home Ec classroom was warm, due to the Florida heat outside and the fact that the long line of ovens on one side of the room were all preheating at the same time. The cool air circulating around my bare forearms felt good.
“It’s okay,” I said, nodding. “When do we start?”
“Not until Mrs. Hornsby gets here. She gets really angry if we start without her,” she murmured.
Just at that moment the classroom door opened again and a plump woman in her forties with black hair scraped back into a ponytail came in. This must be Mrs. Hornsby, I thought. Megan had told us how she’d made a big deal when Megan was late on her first day of class, but apparently she thought nothing of sweeping in five or ten minutes past the bell herself.
“Good afternoon, class,” she said self-importantly as she came to stand at the front of the classroom. “Today we will be finishing our baking unit which means you’re going to be making your very best dessert today for your final exam. Now let me warn you,” she went on, raising a finger and arching one black eyebrow as she glared around the classroom. “This dessert will count for fifty percent of your grade. So it had better be good. Give your very best effort!”
“Yes, Mrs. Hornsby,” chorused the class.
“Very good.” She nodded briskly. “Now, I see we have a new student in our class today,” she added, staring right at me. Which meant, of course, that the rest of the class stared too.
I swallowed hard and had to fight the urge to hide my arms behind my back. Beside me, Megan pressed close, putting her shoulder to mine and letting me know she was there.
Comforted by her presence, I lifted my chin and did my best to look the new teacher in the eye.
“I transferred from Classics of the Occult,” I said, trying to make myself loud enough to be understood. “I hope that’s all right.”
Mrs. Hornsby shrugged her plump shoulders.
“I don’t mind but of course that means the project you do today will be one hundred percent of your grade—not just fifty.”
I swallowed hard. One hundred percent? Had I screwed myself by transferring in here? Back in Ms. Sojourn’s class, I’d had a solid A. Now I was risking my grade—as well as my GPA—on a roll of the baking dice.
“Kaitlyn is going to be baking with me, Mrs. Hornsby,” Megan said, speaking for me when I couldn’t quite get any words out.
“Very well.” Mrs. Hornsby frowned skeptically. “In the past, I would not have recommended that anyone put their grade in your hands, Miss Latimer. But in the past few months, you have shown marked improvement. If your friend wishes to throw her lot in with yours, academically speaking, I will allow it.”
“Thank you. I do,” I managed to get out.
“Very well.” Mrs. Hornsby nodded decisively. “Then let’s get cooking!”
“Whew,” Megan whispered, miming wiping sweat off her forehead as the class started to murmur and clatter as they got their baking implements together. “That was close! For a minute there, I thought she was going to tell me I’m a total idiot in the kitchen and you’d better bake your own cake.”
“You’re not an idiot—you were being sabotaged before,” I protested, frowning.
Indeed, before Megan had come into her power and worked a spell which kept Nancy and the rest of the Weird Sisters from using their own magical abilities for anything but good, Nancy had screwed her over several times in this very class. She had made Megan burn her cookies, made sure that half her cake burned while the other half didn’t bake at all, made her use salt instead of sugar in a blueberry pie, and other awful tricks which had nearly caused Megan to fail and had turned Mrs. Hornsby against her completely.
Luckily, Nancy and the Weird Sisters were now unable to do anything but nice spells, which would make someone else feel good or bring them blessings. So their magic was useless when it came to doing bad deeds.
Not that they didn’t still try.
As Megan was mixing the wet ingredients for our cake while I sifted flour and cocoa powder into the bowl for the dry ingredients, one of the Weird Sisters walked past our table.
Megan pretended not to notice when the girl whispered something under her breath—doubtless casting a spell. I followed her lead, keeping my head down while I sifted.
We followed the same protocol, looking down when the second Weird Sister came by our table, also muttering a spell. By the time Nancy herself came by, Megan had clearly had enough.
“You have a problem, Nancy?” she demanded, glaring at the other girl. “Or do you think you can make my cake fall just by staring at it hard enough?”
Nancy glared at her.
“Maybe I can.”
Megan gave her a sweetly sympathetic look.
“Oh, sorry hon, but I’m afraid that’s not going to work. Or did you forget that I neutered your magic? See, you can only work nice spells now. Things that make people happy. I’m sure that must be hard for you to understand, since you only used your magic for evil in the past. But unfortunately, that’s just the way it is.”
Never let it be said that my Coven-mate can’t throw shade when she wants to. I looked at Megan admiringly.
Nancy scowled.
“We’re going to find a way around your meddling magic, you little Charity Case upstart,” she snarled at Megan. “You’re going to be sorry you ever entered the Magical world in the first place—see if you’re not!”
Megan leaned over the table we were standing at and looked Nancy full in the face.
“Do…your…worst,” she said slowly and deliberately. “Just remember, only happy spells. ‘K, hon?” And she smiled brightly.
For a minute, I thought Nancy might actually explode with rage. Her face turned red and her too-large lips tightened down to a thin white line.
“Fine,” she hissed. “I will—you’ll see, you little bitch!”
Then she raised her hand and shouted, “Mrs. Hornsby? Mrs. Hornsby, could you please come over here?”
9<
br />
Kaitlyn
I felt my throat start to close with panic as the Home Ec teacher looked up from talking to another student and started towards us.
“Yes, Miss Rattcliff?” she said, frowning and wiping her hands on the long white apron she wore as she got to us. “What is it? Is there a problem?”
“There certainly is, Mrs. Hornsby.” Nancy widened her eyes innocently. “I was just walking by this table and I saw that new girl’s hair getting into their cake batter.” She pointed at me and made a face, as though what she’d seen had thoroughly disgusted her.
“That’s a lie!” Megan said immediately. “Kaitlyn is very careful to keep her hair out of the way.”
“Not from what I saw, she’s not!” Nancy exclaimed dramatically. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s more hair than flour in that batter. Ugh!”
“Mrs. Hornsby, Nancy is just trying to get us in trouble,” Megan insisted.
“No, I’m not!” Nancy looked at the teacher with wide, innocent eyes. “Mrs. Hornsby, I’m not trying to make trouble—I’m only thinking of you. I know you have to taste all our projects to give us a grade, and I didn’t think you’d want to end up with a big wad of hair in your mouth.”
“I most certainly do not.” Mrs. Hornsby glared at Megan and me. “Both of you girls have extremely long hair—you really should be wearing hairnets.”
I felt frozen inside. A hairnet? As in something that would pull my hair completely away from my face and show off my scars? This was as bad as the awful PE class where Coach Vasquez had forced me to put my hair back into a ponytail. Worse, maybe, because everyone in the class would be staring at me while I did it, curious to see what I had been hiding behind my concealing curtain of hair.
Fang and Claw: Nocturne Academy, Book 2 Page 5