by E Hall
How could they? Before my first class on Monday, I march across campus with a mission. I’m resolved. I’m going to get answers. The administration building is intimidating on a regular day, but its stone exterior burns as the sun rises and doesn’t give me the faintest sense of hope that a new day otherwise might. Nonetheless, I forge ahead.
Inside, it’s quiet except for the ticking of a clock. No one sits at the desk and I wait a few polite minutes, expecting someone to come out from the washroom or another office. Nothing stirs. I clear my throat. “Hello?” I call, uncertain.
There’s what could only be described as a roar from somewhere deep in the building. A basement? A door slams. Feet stop. Storch appears through a door. Her eyes meet mine with anger as if I interrupted her morning routine. “What are you doing here?”
My anger rises to meet hers. “This is an office. I’m a student at Riptivik. I’ve been patient. I’ve been waiting for an explanation. Since none has come, I’d like to contact my parents.”
She growls a laugh. No, it’s a roar.
“Magicals gave up their rights the moment they walked through those gates. You are no different. You aren’t important or special.”
My mother’s voice about how I am special whispers in my mind. So does her reminder to use my manners. She says you catch more flies with honey, but what about dragons?
The bells toll.
“Don’t you have a class to get to?” Storch glares.
I huff off.
She calls, “Maija, be careful.”
I whirl because it sounds like a threat. My manners go out the window. “Why’s that?”
“You don’t know who you’re dealing with or what’s coming.” Her eyes flare.
My anger gutters like a candle and goes out. Definitely a threat. Definitely getting out of here.
Assignments consume me, leaving little time to think about how much I miss my family and to wonder what senior year would have been like at Hamilton High...or what Storch said.
On Friday, I make my way to Nightingale Hall. The shadows of twilight stretch long and fog rolls in from the mountains. The lanterns flame to life, casting halos of light along the path.
While waiting outside Professor Arrowsmith’s classroom door for the tenth time in a row, ruminating on how she should have at least let me know if she was canceling the class, footsteps echo from the stairwell.
“Finally,” I mutter.
I linger in the alcove next to the doorway, preparing a polite but meaningful statement about communicating the schedule better. I could have been spending this valuable time in the library. However, instead of a stout teacher wearing a shawl and beads like Yassi and Dewey described, a familiar, dark figure fills the hall. He’s wearing a top hat.
JJ strides toward me, but his face is set like stone as though he’s deep in thought. He reaches the door and turns the handle before startling.
“What are you doing lurking in the shadows?” he asks in an accusatory tone.
“I’m not lurking,” I reply. “I’m waiting.”
“For who?”
“Professor Arrowsmith. Seminal seminar. I’d argue she doesn’t exist and that this class is a joke, but other people claim to have seen her. It says on my schedule that I’m supposed to be here.”
He grunts. “So here we are.” He pushes the door open and enters a dim, dusty classroom.
“I never thought to go right in,” I mumble, following him. The door closes behind me. At the bang, this time, I startle.
The air feels cooler, almost like we’re outside. JJ turns on a low lamp. It illuminates the angular planes of his face. I imagine he spends more time in the moonlight than in the sun. Being in this classroom, I almost feel like we’re on the moon.
The space is sparse with several tables on the side near the door. On the opposite wall, shelves contain numerous instruments, mostly made of glinting metal and glass. In the center of the room are cushions set up haphazardly atop a rough stone floor.
I lean against a table, clutching my textbook to my chest. He’s staring up at the ceiling. When I look up, puffy clouds float above us. Instead of plaster or tin, like most of the other ceilings in these old buildings, this one is made of glass.
“Wow,” I whisper. When I glance back down, JJ stares at me. The memory of meeting him at the bonfire, and how he knew my name, flares in my memory.
“I was going to say the same thing,” he says in a voice so low and thin I’m afraid I imagined it.
“That night when we met at the bonfire, how’d you know my name?” I ask.
He eyes the door but doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks up at the ceiling again. I wonder what his smile would look like. He swallows hard when I repeat the question.
“I don’t think she’s going to show up,” he says, evading my inquiry again.
I step closer to him. “Did you hear me?”
After a long pause, he says, “Yes.”
“How’d you know my name?” I repeat.
“I told you already—the stars.”
“Explain,” I say. Irritation prickles my skin.
He gets to his feet and crosses the room to the door, but it won’t open. He tries again, but it’s locked. He whirls around. The hem of the old-fashioned jacket he wears over the boy’s version of the school uniform (slate gray slacks, white button-down, and coordinating sweater vest) widens like a cape. Fists form at his sides and his expression turns harder.
“It’s the only door,” I say, having already scanned the room—part afraid of being locked in here with him and part eager to get back to my dorm since Arrowsmith is a no show.
“We’ll use the window,” he says gruffly.
“That’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” he retorts with a cold laugh.
I inspect the singular window at the front of the classroom. It’s a vertical drop five stories down, at least. “We’ll call for help,” I say.
“That’s deadly,” he says darkly.
His eyes float over mine and I push away a shiver. Our gazes meet. His lips quirk like he senses my consternation and it amuses him. His lips are what’s dangerous. The shiver returns. This time I push both the thought and sensation away.
“JJ, I’ve come here ten nights in a row, waiting for this stupid class to start. I have loads of homework. I don’t want to be here either. But the fact that you are and I have a question you refuse to answer is frustrating. You’re maddening and confusing and—” And cute, in an odd kind of way, but I leave that part out.
He folds his hands in front of his chest and leans against the wall. “Most people say I’m moody and mean. I prefer to think I’m misunderstood,” he says dryly.
I exhale sharply. “Proud of that, are you?”
He shrugs.
Just then, my eyes land on something shiny and metal across the room. “I’ll tell you how to get out of here if you tell me the truth.”
The quirk of his lips returns. They’re dangerous and deadly. “Which truth?” he asks.
“Why are you so mysterious?” I say. Frustration strains my voice.
“Moody, mean, misunderstood, and mysterious. I like it.” He chuckles and pushes to his feet.
“Insufferable,” I hiss, quickly coming up with a plan to make him as annoyed as I am. It might be juvenile, but I don’t care. He’s so intolerable, I’m willing to take desperate action.
He crosses the room, and I follow him like a shadow. When he reaches his arm up to check the door again, I do the same. When he clears his throat, I copy. When he scuffs his boot on the wood floor, I mimic him.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“What are you doing?” I repeat.
The corner of his lip curls up. Mine follows.
“Oh, I see.”
“Oh, I see,” I repeat.
I meet his eyes. Those gray pools almost make me forget that I’d rather get out of this room than play this game. Almost.
Our eyes stay locked lik
e that for what feels like forever. Forever until he leans closer. This time I don’t copy him. I can feel his cool breath on my neck when he whispers, “You did say you knew a way to get out of here,” he says.
Slowly, ever so slowly, reason comes back and the swoony spell lifts. My eyes land on the ladder I saw before.
He spots it and says, “Ah ha.”
“I want an answer,” I say, as he checks the ladder’s stability before climbing.
He pushes open the glass hatch to the roof. The night air relieves me from that strange and intense moment as our eyes swam together.
“My answer is let’s get out of here.”
I follow him up the ladder and onto the portion of the roof that isn’t glass. The wind blows my hair back and he grips his hat as we both scramble along the edge toward what appears to be a second roof, lower down. He slides down a drainpipe and lands on an outdoor patio still three stories up.
I hesitate. Heights aren’t my thing. Neither is being locked in a classroom. Neither is JJ. I grip the drainpipe, willing my feet to leave the relative safety of the roof.
JJ tries the glass doors and thankfully, they open. “Coming?” He gazes up at me and clicks his tongue before coming back.
I’m frozen.
Extending both his hands he says, “If you fall, I’ll catch you.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t.” Then he adds, “But of everyone here, I’m just about the only person that you can trust,” he says. I think. A gust of wind blew at that exact moment, gusting away the words.
It’s this or get caught by the ever-increasing number of guards patrolling campus and be accused of trying to escape or something. I carefully shimmy onto the drainpipe, holding on for dear life.
JJ steps closer and as I slide down, I feel his arms gather around me. My stomach does a weird thing that has nothing to do with my already-present nerves.
I turn as he lets go and we’re nearly eye to eye again.
“You okay?” JJ asks.
“No,” I croak out.
“Come on,” he says, gesturing to the door.
We’re in an atrium with numerous potted plants—some bigger and taller than him. The light is dim and the air earthy.
“I’m going to answer my questions myself. You didn’t use magic to unlock the door, so your skills are at least as poor as mine are. You didn’t tell me why you knew my name so you have secrets. You—” He closes the space between us in three strides and puts his hand over my mouth, silencing me.
Footsteps echo from the interior of the building. JJ pulls me into the shadows behind the door we exited. I try to wriggle away, but his grip tightens.
The figure, with golden hair and the glint of golden eyes, slowly passes. It’s Bobby Gold. It’s as though he’s looking for something or someone. I’m about to call hello to him, but JJ grips me against his hard chest, still holding his cold hand over my mouth. I fight the urge to bite his fingers. We remain silent until a door down the hall opens and closes.
“You shouldn’t ask or try to answer questions, Maija,” JJ says, gliding as quietly as a ghost toward the stairs. When we reach the bottom, a shadow grows on the wall and Bobby comes around the corner.
“Well, hello. I was looking for you, Maija.”
“Me?” I ask.
Bobby glares at JJ who returns the obvious contempt.
JJ ignores him.
Bobby says, “It’s late. You should be back in your dorm. Don’t you have homework?”
“What about class?” JJ asks me as though we didn’t already establish our teacher is absent at best, a flake at worst.
“With Arrowsmith?” Bobby scoffs. “Cancelled. Indefinitely. Something unfortunate happened. She won’t be able to make it. That’s why I’m here.” He beams a smile at me.
JJ shifts so he’s standing close to me, almost like a shield. He stiffens. His lips part as though choosing careful words to direct at Bobby. Instead, he turns to me and says, “Let’s go.”
“I’ll walk you back if you’d prefer,” Bobby says sweetly.
My attention volleys between the two. I’ve tried not to think about how West ordered me to spy on Bobby. Will I get class credit for it?
JJ says, “My dorm is next to Fiona Pennylegion House. I’m going in that direction anyway.”
I give him a look, a reminder that I’m supposed to spy.
Bobby’s golden eyes smolder. “It’s chilly. I’ll make sure you stay warm, Maija.”
“How about we all walk back together,” I suggest, not sure how to handle the demand from JJ or the sudden appearance, interest, and overture from Bobby.
“I’d rather rot,” JJ says.
“You would, wouldn’t you,” Bobby says and then turns his golden smile to me.
Ignoring them, I start toward the door. Bobby catches up and JJ trails behind.
Once we’re outside, I take a deep breath of the cool night air, eager to get back to my dorm.
Bobby asks me questions about myself. Ones I’m all too happy to answer like a normal person, unlike JJ and his pride at being moody, mean, and mysterious.
We talk about my life back home, my parents, and how I had no idea magic was real. I leave out the part about being a wish witch because I don’t even know if that’s true. By the time we reach the glowing lights of Penny House, he’s practically heard my life story and we’re both smiling. The problem is I’m supposed to be getting inside info on him. Spy fail.
“So what about you?” I ask.
“Ah, well, it is getting late, save that for next time. But let’s meet up again soon. Maybe this weekend?”
“I’d like that.” I turn into my dorm and the electric shock of my time locked in a room with JJ gives way to the golden warmth of the walk with Bobby...even though I’m a double agent.
I hurry up to my room to start my homework, buzzed and unable to concentrate as I replay the moments bringing me back to my dorm and everything that happened before it.
☆
The next morning at breakfast, I tell Yassi about being locked in the classroom in Nightingale Hall with JJ Thorne. As if on cue, he appears. When our eyes meet, something like relief washes over his face, but his expression quickly turns stony again.
He glides past, hardly even mumbling a hello. He seems angry or preoccupied, but his eyes say something else. Concern? Relief? Curiosity?
When he’s out of earshot, Yassi says, “I think half the school has a crush on Bobby Gold and the other half on him.” She eyes JJ. “The girls in choir won’t stop talking about him. This is only the second time I’ve seen him and what, we’ve been here for two weeks already? He’s like a ghost.”
“Three weeks,” I correct. “And I see him every day.”
If we weren’t stuck on this campus, crossing paths all the time, I’d fear he’s following me. There’s something forbidden about him. Maybe that’s why I find myself strangely and frustratingly attracted to him...or maybe I’m just as mixed up in my (non) love life as I am in my witch life.
“He’s got swagger. I’ll give him that. Like Harry Styles in a top hat and waistcoat. I wonder if he has tattoos and can sing.”
“You know about Harry Styles?” I ask.
Yassi gives me a side-eye. “I don’t live in a cave. My grandmother did though. Besides, my sister has a major crush on him. Justin Bieber too.”
JJ settles at a vacant table. I think of our staring contest last night and how he leaned in. Not like he was going to kiss me. No, like he was testing me, to see how far I would take the game.
Yassi goes on, “He’s like some kind of Edwardian throwback. Maybe he’s a time jumper.” Her eyes soften. Then she shakes her head. “No. He’s not that. Something else though.”
“What do you mean?”
“He doesn’t smile. Something about him is a little crooked. Be careful, Maija.”
Chapter 12
★
It’s been three weeks since I found out th
at I’m a witch and left home with a djinn disguised as an OMM official for an uncertain future.
I’m homesick and write my parents a letter. I have tons of questions but mostly do the reverse of the conversation I had with Bobby Gold—telling them everything about my new life like I told him all about my old one. I explain exactly what happened with the djinn and how now I’m basically in jail. But like their letters, these parts will be probably be crossed out with thick black ink or magic. Still, I’ll do whatever I have to in order to get out of here.
I’ve seen Bobby in the dining hall a couple of times since the night we walked back to my dorm together. His smile somehow stays with me like sunshine, following me wherever I go, even on these dreary, cloudy almost-autumn days. I can’t take my mind off him or his golden eyes. I have no idea why West wanted me to spy. JJ seems more suspicious, skulking around. Maybe I should spy on him? What do spies do anyway? Remain unseen or at least unnoticed and collect information. No doubt there are nefarious goings-on at this academy turned reform school. But the usual questions remain: why, what, and why?
When I write to my parents about my non-class seminal seminar, another pair of eyes replace those. They’re steely and powerful. I try to flashback to Bobby, but my brain won’t budge.
I have to write a futurism paper and quote my father. “‘It’s our differences that make us unique and figuring out what we share in common brings us together.’”
Apparently, that doesn’t apply to my roommate Bree because I have yet to see her. I wander downstairs to see if Miss Mayweather can mail the letter for me.
She’s in her office and asks me how my classes are going.
“Fine. But Professor Arrowsmith never showed up.”
“Oh yes, tragic accident. Turned to stone. Transfixed we suspect. It’s been all over the news. Not the regular news, mind you. We have the Daily Vine. They say print is dying, but not in our world. The papers from the trees are actually still alive. It’s a magical form of recycling.”