My next few classes were just as hopelessly distracting, and I began to develop a new appreciation for celebrities and what they had to go through every time they went out in public. Being stared at was hard to ignore. It sort of made you feel like a monkey in a zoo. Only, I’d put myself in this cage, hadn’t I?
By the time the bell rang for lunch, all I could think about was escaping. Instead of sauntering down the hallway and letting my hips sway back and forth like earlier, I found myself power walking beyond the cafeteria, to Ms. Zia’s office. I skipped the Monkey Business and headed straight for her door. Only, when I was about halfway there, my path was blocked.
I stopped short to keep from running straight into them, letting out a little gasp as I did so. There, having appeared just like a mirage, were the last five people I would’ve ever expected to see in front of me: Gigi, Camden, Wheatley, Rhodes, and Eliza.
The Elite.
I mumbled, “Excuse me,” and tried to make my way around them, but as I moved, they moved too, putting us once again face-to-face.
“Hi,” Gigi said with the slightest hint of a smile.
I was so caught off guard by the fact that she was speaking to me that I couldn’t think of anything to say. Nothing that would be worthy of a conversation with someone like her, at least.
“I’m Gigi,” she added, filling the silence. “And you are?”
I knew this one. “Brooklyn,” I said quickly. “My name’s Brooklyn.”
“What an interesting name,” she said. Then, as if it was an afterthought, she added, “I visited New York once with my dad and we went to this cute coffee shop in Brooklyn. They had these amazing little cappuccinos. . . . Have you ever been there?”
“No.”
Gigi looked at me like she was expecting more to the story, so I obliged. “My parents don’t really like to travel. They have this weird thing about needing to know where the closest hospitals are and stuff.”
She just nodded. Her expression hadn’t changed, so I couldn’t tell if I’d given her the response she’d wanted or had utterly failed whatever test she was giving me.
“So, Brooklyn,” she said, staring at me intently, “where have you been hiding?”
“Uh . . .”
“Are you new or something?” Eliza cut in perkily.
Her question surprised me. Considering the fact that I’d been sitting just rows behind her in first period for the past few months and had been at the same school as all of them for the past three years, I thought maybe she was kidding. But one look at her face and I knew she wasn’t. Was it really possible that she didn’t recognize me? That none of them did? Talk about self-absorbed.
“Not new, really,” I answered slowly. I didn’t want to make them feel stupid for not recognizing me, so I chose my words carefully. “But I did sort of just go through some . . . changes.” I absently reached up to touch my long, blond locks.
Eliza squinted at me and then took a step back. Looking me up and down, she studied me critically. “Who’s your surgeon?”
“Huh?” I asked, totally confused.
“Who did your work? I had my nose done last year and my guy did an okay job, I guess—I told him I wanted Dakota Fanning’s nose, but he gave me Kristen Stewart’s—anyway, I’m thinking of getting it redone, because nobody takes Kristen Stewart seriously nowadays, and possibly even my boobs. Are yours real? Anyway, I just wanted to know who your doctor is because he obviously did a good job. I don’t even recognize you.”
When Eliza finally stopped to take a breath, everyone stared at me, waiting for a response. Only, what was I supposed to say? I had magical plastic surgery? Nope. Not an option.
“Um, thanks?” I responded, my head still spinning from the bizarro turn the conversation had taken. “But I didn’t have any of that done. My boobs are the same ones I’ve had since I was thirteen. I guess it’s just a really great bra?”
Eliza opened her mouth and then closed it again as she processed what I’d told her.
“Please forgive Eliza,” Gigi said, reaching out and touching my arm. Inside, my head was screaming, Gigi is touching me! Gigi is touching me! but I just smiled at her. “A casting agent just told her that she looked too ethnic to play the girl next door. She’s sort of obsessed right now.”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to fix your imperfections,” Eliza said to no one in particular. “Like none of you have had anything done.”
“So you’ve been right here all the time, then?” Gigi continued, rolling over Eliza’s last comment.
“That can’t be right,” Rhodes said, giving me a smile that made my heart dip in the way that only a gorgeous guy could. “I would’ve noticed you.”
“Down, boy,” Gigi said without looking at him. “But seriously, why haven’t you been on our radar before now? What’s the story?”
Even though I was wearing a tank top, I could feel myself starting to sweat. This was beginning to feel more and more like an interrogation rather than a friendly first meeting. And truthfully, I wasn’t sure how to answer their questions without raising suspicions or having them realize who I really was. So I winged it.
“I honestly don’t know why we haven’t crossed paths before,” I said, shrugging. “And there’s no story, really.”
“Or it’s just not a story you want us to know about,” Camden said.
He said it nonthreateningly, but I could tell he was deadly serious.
“No, really. I’m just a regular kid.”
“There’s nothing regular about you, girl,” Rhodes said, shoving his hands into his back pockets.
I couldn’t help but blush at his compliment. Gigi looked from me to Rhodes and then back at me.
“Okay, then. Well, it was nice meeting you, Brooklyn,” she said. “I guess we’ll be seeing you around. You definitely won’t be able to hide from us now.”
She and the other Elite stepped to the side, allowing me to continue on down the hallway. As I was walking away I heard Eliza say, “I don’t see why it’s such a big deal to give me her doctor’s number. Hello? Share the wealth.”
As I walked away from the most influential kids in the school, I could no longer hide the grin that had been threatening to appear on my face. Had that actually just happened? The fact that one of them remotely envied something about me just about made my head explode. Even if Eliza had thought I was made up of fake parts, she’d still noticed me. It was all I’d ever wanted.
Well, that, and to be a part of the group myself.
But this was a start.
I began to skip the rest of the way to Ms. Zia’s office, but when I nearly tripped over my three-inch heels, I slowed my gait to a slightly awkward power strut. Practically bursting to share my earth-shattering news with someone, I hurried in and sat down in my usual spot.
Ms. Zia was reading something intently on her computer and only looked up briefly to see who’d walked in.
“And how can I help you?” she asked me in the “I’m a responsible adult” voice she usually reserved for people who weren’t me.
“Um, you can listen to this crazy story I have to tell you,” I answered, too excited to bother giving her a hard time for her less-than-stellar hello.
Ms. Z. looked back up at me from her screen and shook her head as if clearing it. “Brooklyn?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s you.”
“That is correct—now give the lady a prize!” I said in my best game-show announcer’s voice.
“But you’re . . . blond.”
I rolled my eyes. It was the first time she was seeing me after my magical makeover and she was understandably thrown off by my newfound hotness.
“And my skin cleared up,” I added.
“Wait, weren’t your eyes brown before?”
“You’re very observant, Ms. Z. You know, I’ve always really liked that about you,” I said, feeling extra hyper after my run-in with The Elite. “So, what do you think of my makeover?”
 
; “Makeover?”
“Yeah,” I said, standing up and slowly turning around so she could get the full effect.
Ms. Zia swallowed hard and then leaned in closer to study me. “You’re like . . . a whole new person.”
“I know! Isn’t it great?”
But instead of getting the same level of enthusiasm back, my question was met with silence. After a few awkward seconds, Ms. Z. seemed to gather herself and then cleared her throat.
“You look . . . different.”
“Good different?” I asked, giving her a chance to react more like I’d been expecting her to.
She hesitated before answering.
“Different different.”
When she saw my face fall, she got up from her chair and came around her desk to sit down next to me. “I didn’t mean it that way. You look great, Brooklyn, it’s just—I thought you looked pretty great the other way too. What’s with the extreme makeover? Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s pretty freaking awesome,” I said, still riding high after my encounter with the upper crust. “I was just tired of being the me that nobody knew. I wanted to look back on my high school experience and actually be able to say that I experienced it. Right now I’m just . . . existing. And I’m over it.”
“Brooklyn . . .”
“Look, Ms. Zia, I know what you’re going to say. High school isn’t everything. And yeah, okay, maybe it’s not. Maybe I won’t even care about any of this a few years from now. But for once I want proof that I was here. I don’t want people to look at my picture in the yearbook and wonder, who is that girl?”
“But do you really want to do that as somebody else?”
Now I was starting to get annoyed. This was possibly one of the most significant experiences in my life so far, and she was taking all the fun out of it. Not that I thought she was doing it on purpose, but still, the line of questioning felt a bit harsh.
“How is this any different from you working out to stay in shape or getting your hair dyed? Why is it okay for everyone else to take steps to improve themselves, but I get the third degree when I do it?”
“Calm down, Brooklyn. I’m not trying to upset you, I just want to make sure you’ve thought about this. If any other student walked in here having changed their entire appearance, I’d be asking them these questions too. Just because we’re closer than I might be with other students doesn’t mean I’m going to sugarcoat things for you. In fact, I’ve always been honest with you.”
“Yeah, sometimes a little too honest,” I muttered.
“It’s just, you know about my past. . . . I’m hoping you can learn from my mistakes instead of making your own.”
“I know, Ms. Z., but you think you’re trying to shield me from the potential downside of high school? Um, sorry. Been there, experienced that,” I retorted. Seeing her face grow serious, I tried to calm down. “Look, I just want to be happy, and I wasn’t before. I wish I was. I wish the old me was enough. I wish there were more people in this school who were like you, but there’s not.”
We’d had this conversation so many times before that I was beginning to feel like a broken record. And because Ms. Z. was the only person in my life who I could confide in like this, she also ended up being the one who was always pushing back and challenging me.
Ms. Zia looked at me and bit her lip as she took in what I was saying. “And you think this will make you happy?”
“It already has,” I said, thinking about my run-in with The Elite.
After another long look and an even longer sigh, she patted me on the arm. “Then I’m here to support you,” she said. She forced a smile on her pretty face.
“Well, I guess I should head to my locker before lunch is over, then,” I said, getting up and gathering my things. “See you tomorrow?”
“Sure, Brooklyn,” Ms. Zia answered, watching me move toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I’d barely gotten my foot out the door when I immediately collided with another body.
“Oh!” I said, looking up. When I saw that it was Asher, I couldn’t seem to untangle my feet.
“Whoops,” he said, placing his hands on both my arms to steady me. “Sorry about that.”
I gave him a half smile, wondering whether he recognized me. Then he blinked in surprise and flashed me a smile of his own. “Wow. You look . . .”
Good? Amazing? Beautiful? Like the kind of girl you’d like to have as a girlfriend?
“Different,” he finished after a long pause.
My smile disappeared again.
“Seriously?!” I took one last look at my biggest crush and then stormed off in the opposite direction.
“Sweetie! Can you come downstairs for a minute?”
My mom’s voice drifted into my room as I clicked away on my computer. Given my new look, I decided it was time to update all my photos online so people would be able to find me if they were trying. I sat back and admired the self-portrait I’d taken with my phone.
It was perfect.
I’d pretty much avoided taking pictures of myself before, but now I got excited every time I took a snapshot. Each one seemed to be better than the last, and I wasn’t even sitting there overanalyzing all the things I’d need to edit out later. Instead I’d spent the last hour trying to narrow down which shot I liked the best, and then how to crop it.
I was putting the finishing touches on my number one choice when my mom called out to me.
“Right now?” I asked.
“Yes, please,” my dad answered.
I sighed and made a few hasty adjustments before hitting the publish button. Closing my laptop, I climbed off my bed and went downstairs. When I walked into the living room, my parents were sitting side by side on the couch, looking unusually serious. My stomach sank as I dreaded the conversation I knew was coming.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Why don’t you sit down, honey,” my mom said, motioning to the love seat across from them.
“Is everything okay? You’re kind of freaking me out.”
“Brooklyn, we couldn’t help but notice that you seem to have made some, er, changes to your appearance,” my dad began.
“You’re blond,” my mom chimed in.
“And, well, we know that you just came into your powers, and while it’s natural to want to experiment with things, we think you need to know that there are consequences to every spell that you do,” Dad said.
My fear dissolved into relief, and then the relief turned into annoyance.
“This is because I changed my hair?” I asked incredulously.
“It’s not just your hair,” my mom said. “It’s your eyes, your skin, your lips . . . I’m pretty sure you even made yourself taller. I barely recognize you anymore.” As she finished, her eyes began to well up with tears.
I instantly felt guilty. I had no idea my parents were going to take the makeover so hard.
“Guys, I just wanted a little change. I’m sixteen now. This is what kids my age do! They change their appearance. They wear makeup. They dye their hair—usually crazier colors than this, I might add. I’m just trying something new. Trying to figure out who I am.”
I didn’t add that it was also so I could catch the attention of The Elite. I knew my parents wouldn’t go for the changes if they were for anyone else but me. Even though I liked the new me, too, doing things to please other people was unacceptable in our household.
“Hey, at least I’m not getting tattoos or my tongue pierced,” I added, cracking a joke to try and lighten the mood.
“It’s not so much the changes you’re making that we’re worried about. We’ve read all the parenting books—we knew this would happen one day. It’s how you’re doing it that worries us.”
I blinked at them. “What are you talking about?”
“We think you’re using too much magic,” my mom blurted out.
I glanced from my mom to my dad and then shook my head. “I’ve only done a few sp
ells,” I said, staring straight at them. “Look, you said that when I turned sixteen you would unbind my powers. I just thought that meant I could actually use them.”
“And you can,” my dad answered. “We just want you to practice responsibly.”
“You think I’m irresponsible?” I asked slowly. “Because I did a few beauty spells?”
This was unbelievable.
“We just don’t want you to use magic for everything. There’s so much you can do without using spells and we don’t want you to get used to taking shortcuts,” he said. “Your magical abilities give you an advantage over nonpracticing people, and capitalizing on those abilities isn’t exactly fair to them. It also turns a lot of unneeded attention onto you. We don’t want you to start choosing magic over good, old-fashioned hard work and perseverance.”
“But don’t you think these gifts were given to us for a reason? Why would we have them if we weren’t supposed to use them?” I questioned. I felt like we were speaking two different languages.
“Of course you can use them, Brooklyn. We just want you to use them wisely,” my mom said. “History has shown that the more magic you use, the greater chance you have of people taking notice. And when that happens—well, it can be bad for everyone involved.”
“What are you talking about?”
My parents looked at each other and then my mom pulled out the same book that she’d been holding the night of my unbinding and stroked it gently. “Brooklyn, we know we don’t talk much about our magical history, but we think it’s time you learned about your ancestors and the . . . difficulties . . . that fell upon them.”
Mom was right about that. Trying to get my parents to discuss our family and their ties to witchcraft was like pulling teeth. Every time I’d asked a question in the past, they’d either changed the subject or told me I wasn’t old enough to hear it. It used to frustrate me to no end, because I thought they were just treating me like a kid. But now it seemed as if their motives might have been more complicated than that.
What the Spell Part 1 Page 4