by E Hall
Honey and Elisha look at me down their noses with smug smiles on their lips.
“Or are you trying to make yourselves feel superior?” I ask and fold my arms in front of my chest. I take a deep breath, looking from the girl to Honey and Elisha.
They turn away from us. The girl stifles a laugh.
I introduce myself to her. “I’m Maija. What’s your name, and do you have any idea what their problem is?”
Sunshine dawns on her face and she smiles widely. “I’m Sage, and they’re probably laughing because I’m not like my brother.”
“My sister and I are complete opposites,” I say as the line moves forward. “Is Bobby your brother?”
“Unfortunately.” She gives me a careful look as though assessing whether I’m talking to her because I like him.
I’m not sure how I feel only that I know how he makes me feel. I bite my lip. “We’ve hung out a few times.”
“I saw you guys in a room with candles.” She waggles her eyebrows but her eyes beneath are dim.
“Oh, yeah. That.” I quickly play it off. Not mentioning what he asked me to do because I don’t quite understand it myself.
She leans in. “Be careful, Maija. Not everyone is what they seem.”
At least that’s what I think she says because Honey and her friends’ laughter drowns her words as they strut past with pie in hand.
I’m about to invite Sage to sit with me, but she’s disappeared into the crowd. I pass Honey and Elisha, seated at the table where Bobby Gold and a few of his buddies linger over dinner. I flash him a smile and get one in return. Honey’s scowl deepens.
After I sit down, a twinkle flashes and I blink my eyes a few times.
Bree, my roommate, stands over the table in front of me with her arms crossed. She taps one foot impatiently. A few other pixies flank her as though ready to do battle. I didn’t realize they change size. If I were standing, we’d be eye to eye.
I can’t get my apology out before she says, “What were you thinking? You almost set the room on fire. Why would you do that? You have your space. I have mine. I didn’t ask to be your roommate or even be here, and—” As she talks, her voice gets higher and higher and her pixie shimmer darker and darker.
Wyatt clears his throat loudly, which would get anyone’s attention because of the command in it.
Everyone turns their attention to him. “Calm down. Let’s talk this out.”
Bree fumes. “Talk this out? She cast her awful magic all over my side of the room. She started a fire. She—”
“I was trying to make it more inviting, so you’d want to stay, to hang out,” I try to explain. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you what you’d like your side of the room to be like. But how could I? You’re never there.”
She blanches. “Don’t tell West.”
“Where has he been?” Bobby Gold asks, tilting back on his chair and joining our conversation. He winks at me. “Seems like he doesn’t care too much about this school anymore.”
“Left us in Storch’s hands,” Wyatt says.
“She’s the one we should worry about,” I mutter.
Everyone starts talking at once, going back and forth about the faculty, administration, and the state of the reform school. The chatter turns into an argument. Then a plate smashes. A vampire and an elf face off.
A gray, shadowy figure comes into focus next to the table. He removes his top hat and smooths his fingers along the brim.
Wyatt looks at JJ curiously. Their eyes meet and for one moment, I almost think I see a flash of recognition pass between them. Despite Wyatt’s elven warrior status, he’s a peacemaker and whistles and everyone falls silent.
JJ, in his gruff British accent, says, “How much should we complain before we do something? What’s the threshold between working out our differences and pointing fingers, blaming someone else? At my old boarding school—”
A vamp interrupts, calling, “When, in 1882?”
JJ scoffs and ignores him. “We’re practically prisoners. It’s like they’ve thrown us all in here together and hope we don’t kill each other. Or maybe that’s what they want.” He inclines his head. “I say we don’t let them have their way.”
A few people start clapping and then a few more. I feel Bobby Gold’s eyes on me.
He says, “Or not. We don’t have to get along.”
I laugh at his sense of humor and add, “We may have disagreements and we’re different, but we’re also alike. Stuck at this place. We all have talents. That’s something in common. Let’s try to get along.”
A few people laugh, others clap softly, but mostly my words settle quietly over the dining hall.
Bobby’s eyes hold mine and then his hand lands on my shoulder, sending a delightful warmth through me. “Whatever you say, babe.”
My smile only falters when JJ storms off, slamming the great wooden door behind him.
Is he ticked off or is he...a word flies into my head. Is JJ jealous? No, I tell myself. That can’t possibly be.
Chapter 17
★
The conversation about the administration and Riptivik’s status as a reform school carries into the next day.
There are rumors and dangerous ideas about how they didn’t plan carefully enough and threw so many different magicals together without thought of the consequences. Others blame the OMM for not creating policies. I overhear talk about dissent and protests. And others seem nonplussed.
I’m deep in thought when I arrive at arithmetic class and don’t notice I bump into someone until my books fall from my hands and my notes scatter to the floor. Crouching, I hurry through an apology, cleaning up because if I’m not in my seat at the bell, Professor Frickman will most certainly give me a detention.
When I get to my feet, Bobby Gold passes me a tidy stack of papers.
“Thank you,” I say, backing toward my desk.
He sits beside me in a vacant spot.
From across the room, Winnie Tarbell’s eyebrows lift and her eyes widen. I shrug and grin before taking my seat.
Bobby says, “Math isn’t my thing so I was sent to this class to catch up.”
I’m about to respond, but the bell chimes.
Without preamble, Frickman launches into the lesson. Like a moth to a lantern, I want to turn toward Bobby. I steal a glance. His tiger-eyes meet mine and he smirks. Every few minutes I sense his gaze on me, and I fight the urge to smooth my hair and fidget. Spying is proving easier than I thought, but there’s nothing to report other than how hot he is.
Halfway through class, Frickman gives us ten minutes to complete a problem using a new equation.
“Do you have an extra piece of paper?” Bobby asks.
I pass him one and our hands brush. I check my skin as though his gilded gorgeousness will rub off on me like pigment.
I try to focus on the equation, but my thoughts repeatedly travel back to my birthday when I made a wish and somehow knew I’d soon fall in love. I can feel the warmth of Bobby beside me. Could it be him? I’m so giddy I practically squeak.
He whispers, “Maybe you can tutor me. I’m terrible with numbers.”
Dewey would probably be better suited since this kind of math is new to me, but I won’t pass up the opportunity. “Of course.”
When Professor Frickman resumes his lesson, Bobby’s hand grips mine for a split second as he discretely tucks a piece of paper in my palm.
Before I open it, I realize he must be the one who left me the note at Imogen Hawke’s statue last month. He was in Hawthorne Hall. It had to be him. Bobby Gold is my secret admirer. He’s looking after my heart because he wants it for himself. My leg jitters and excitement bubbles inside. I can’t wait to tell Yassi.
As quietly as possible, I unfold the paper. In scratchy block letters, it says Come watch me play rumpus after classes are over today. He flashes me what I’ve come to recognize as the classic Bobby Gold smolder.
My pulse quickens, and I give a little nod.
After the bell, I spot Yassi along the path on my way to futurism. As I pick up the pace to catch up with her, I overhear people talking about the incident at dinner. Like the game of telephone played in kindergarten, the stories have already changed.
One person says a pixie got into a fistfight with a witch. Others say magic was cast. Not even close. Bree and I ended things on good terms with a promise to have a private talk about being better roommates.
I’m outside Popperwell’s classroom where he’s talking to a group.
The bell chimes. No one moves.
Without pause, Popperwell comments on a law passed less than fifty years ago giving all magical beings the same rights under magical law. Under Chancellor West’s direction, we were making progress at the academic level and opening our doors to magicals beyond witches, warlocks, and the like. It’s a delight getting to know all of you, your backgrounds, and interests. Did you know my great, great, great uncle was a cyclops? This was long before any intermingling was acceptable. Each time a baby has been born into the family we anticipate the gene—” He points to his face. “Two eyes. One working ear.”
Everyone laughs.
He continues to talk, poised halfway in his classroom for the benefit of his students and halfway in the hall for those of us gathered. “I’ve never been one to do things the traditional way. When I was your age, I was in love with an elf. It didn’t work out. Back then, things were much different. Her family didn’t approve. Mine couldn’t imagine grandkids that were part elf and potentially only with one eye. Foozles.”
Yassi shrugs like it’s no big deal. At the question in my expression, she says, “Foozle means foolishly old-fashioned.”
Derrington’s stern voice commands from down the hall. “Professor Popperwell, if you’d please relieve my students from your fascinating discourse, it would be appreciated. They’re missing their final period lessons.”
Popperwell pats his ample belly again. “Ah, of course, my apologies, Professor. The students have raised an important inquiry. Best to employ the three Cs, am I right?”
“Not on my time.”
“Of course, of course.” He shoos us away. “Lovely chat, let’s do it again sometime soon. And if any of you need late notices for your teachers, see me.”
As Yassi and I go in opposite directions I call to her, “I’m going to watch Bobby Gold play rumpus after class. You should meet me.”
Everyone late for language arts gets a stern warning, but I’m relieved I missed the practical part of the lesson to avoid starting anything on fire.
When the bell rings, indicating the end of the day, I’m giddy all over again, remembering the note from Bobby and how he might be the one. I picture us together at the Sweetheart Dance and feel the heady warmth of a swoon coming on.
However, the feeling promptly fizzles when JJ approaches from the other end of the hall. He’s like a rain cloud, showering everyone he passes with misery. Some duck and take cover. Others, the brave girls, watch him with cat eyes as he passes, curious about the mysterious JJ Thorne. As I said, he’s handsome, in his way.
However, the sureness in his step as he angles for me makes me want an umbrella.
Chapter 18
★
JJ pauses in front of me. We look each other over as though assessing what weapons the other brought to the duel.
He extends his hand and instead of a pistol, he passes me a small envelope. I don’t get the same flutter of hope I did when Bobby gave me a note in arithmetic. Like when our hands have brushed in the past, a cold zing shoots through my stomach. Showers with a chance of icy rain are more like it. I should probably take shelter.
I turn the envelope over. “What is this?” I ask. Printed on the front in swirly calligraphy is my name. No way did someone as grim and colorless as JJ write it.
Bobby nears us like a beam of sunshine, warming me from down the hall.
JJ nods at the envelope and says, “It’s from Chancellor West.”
I tear it open, reading that seminal seminar resumes tonight and that my attendance is required. I groan.
Bobby casts JJ into shadow, smirks, and then takes my hand. He says, “Ready to rumpus?”
I smile despite the clouds across from me.
Bobby turns to JJ. “Funny, I never see you on the field.”
JJ grunts. “It’s been a long time since I played.”
“I’ll say. Afraid you’re out of shape?” Bobby titters.
With a snort, JJ dismisses him and to me says, “Don’t forget the note.”
“What note?” Bobby asks.
“Something from the administration about a class,” I say, brushing it off and not wanting Bobby to get the wrong idea given his note-passing earlier.
When we exit into the late afternoon, passing a few students on the footpath down to the lower fields, I realize I’m holding hands with Bobby Gold. The Bobby Gold for real. My palm starts to sweat so my small talk turns into rambling questions about classes and second year. Nothing that I couldn’t find out from Yassi or any of the others, but I don’t know what else to say. Bobby has me tongue-tied and stumbling, literally. I trip over a root as he hustles us down to the field. Thankfully, I don’t fall.
I hardly hear his answers as we parade across campus. As we pass groups of girls, their eyes land on him. Smitten, they giggle.
When we reach the stands, he leaves me with a wink and a smile that I’m pretty sure everyone nearby saw, including Honey and her minions. Instead of giggles like from the other girls, I get a glare from them. And from JJ.
After the game, I trail behind Mr. Moody-Top Hat until we both reach Professor Arrowsmith’s classroom. Being back in here, I’m almost dizzy with déjà vu, but I don’t let the door close behind me and lock us in this time.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He looks smug like in another life he was a prince or someone important and knew it. His gray eyes are especially dangerous tonight. “It’s on my schedule.”
“It’s like you’re always around,” I mutter, crossing my arms in front of my chest.
The top of his lip lifts, almost in a sneer. “I think you’ll find you want me around.”
The sound I make is less like a laugh and more like a squawk. “That’s ridiculous.” I start to argue with him when a man clears his throat.
“Hello,” Chancellor West says. “Please, take a seat.” He gestures at the cushions set up haphazardly atop crushed rock. The first time I was in this classroom, I thought of the cold, crunchy surface of the moon.
West goes on, “I’d apologize for being late, but you’ll soon find that time is a rather fluid thing—not moving from one end of an hour to another, but in an altogether different motion.”
And I thought rumpus was confusing. He already lost me.
Chancellor West paces in front of the cushions with his hands clasped behind his back. He gazes up at the ceiling and smiles privately. “It’s been a while since I held the title Professor. I suppose once a teacher, always a teacher. Given the unfortunate circumstances with Professor Arrowsmith, I’ll temporarily be taking her place.”
Before continuing, he crosses the floor again. His silvery robes shimmer in the low light. “Given the familiarity the two of you seemed to have had when I arrived, I trust you’ve gotten to know each other.”
I force myself not to grunt.
“Let’s make introductions anyway and remember our manners. As you know, I’m Winslow West and became chancellor here at Riptivik Magic Academy because I believe that our future starts with you.”
“But it’s a reform school now,” I say eager for answers. Finally.
“Yes. That’s a little matter to take up with the administration.” West folds his hands together. “There have been recent changes at the Office of Magical Management. It seems the non-magical community has had a thing or two to say about our kind, mostly that we’re unnatural. Criminals. All of us.”
JJ’s glare deepens.
“So we’re being punished for who we are?”
“You might think of it that way.” West leans in and lowers his voice. “Or maybe you’re being prepared. Have you found out anything?”
I glance at JJ who gives nothing away in his expression.
“Not really. Storch is mean. She told me that, and I quote, ‘Magicals gave up their rights the moment they walked through those gates,’ and that I should be careful. When I asked why, she said, ‘You don’t know who you’re dealing with or what’s coming.’”
The lines around West’s eyes suggest he’s seen both laughter and sadness in equal measure. But this information seems to harden them. He’s fit and not feeble, but if I had to guess, I’d say he’s at least four hundred sixty-two years old. He carries that much knowledge in his steady stride, the stripes of silver in his hair, and the depth of his eyes, which land abruptly on me. If he didn’t have a genuinely kind smile, I’d flinch.
“That’s concerning. Let’s talk about wish witchery.”
JJ winces with what looks like the peculiar discomfort I feel when Yassi reads my thoughts. He quickly masks it with a scowl.
“Let’s begin. The first rule of magic. You must believe. You must believe in yourself, in each other, in whatever cause you find yourself behind. You must believe in your magic. We don’t accomplish great things by doubting.”
I shift uncomfortably. Easier said than done.
“Magic works in contrasts. We have creation and conservation, as taught by Professors Popperwell and Derrington.”
I shrug. “It’s like good and evil, right?”
“That’s an oversimplification, but you’re on the right track. It’s more nuanced. Very little in this world is clear-cut, black and white. Even though some would have you believe otherwise. Magical concepts are most often complex forms of paradox—when two seemingly incongruent elements or ideas fit together.”
JJ grunts.
West goes on, “To take it further, for there to be creation there must be conservation and vice versa. It’s coexistence and interdependence. It’s a delicate balance. Light and shadow. Without evil, there could be no good for example. Do you follow me so far?”