by Lara Chapman
In my experience, every time a girl likes a boy, she acts stupid and ignores her friends. I just don’t think boys are worth all the drama.
“Quiet down, ladies,” Miss A says, hand held above her head.
I wonder if we have to go. Maybe I can stay behind and learn how to become more . . . I don’t know . . . witchy. Even a night of cleaning my dorm room sounds better than a social.
When the room grows quiet, Miss A continues. Her face is lit with excitement, and the smile on her face is contagious. If she’s this excited about it, maybe it’s better than I thought.
“The dance is held at Riley Academy, Dowling’s brother school.”
Everyone in the room looks as surprised as me. Everyone except Kendall. I wonder if she knew about Riley. She always had a knack for knowing things before everyone else.
Miss A continues. “Riley Academy is about twenty minutes away. Every year, they host the coed social, which is basically just a dance. They always do a really nice job.”
Hands shoot up into the air. Miss A answers the questions, taking her time to make sure everyone knows what to expect.
“Yes, you may wear your own clothes. Uniforms are not required.”
“No, you may not stay here. Attendance is mandatory.”
“No, you may not wear makeup.”
I think about the handful of outfits I brought from home. I’m not sure any of them are dance-worthy, but I remind myself I don’t care anyway. I’m only going because I have to. I couldn’t care less about boys.
Couldn’t. Care. Less.
“Before we dismiss, does anyone have other questions?” Miss A asks, eyes hopeful.
Kendall’s hand shoots up first. “Can we switch rooms?”
Miss A looks at me, her face sad, then looks back at Kendall. “I’m sorry, Kendall. We don’t allow room switching at the Seeker level. If you elevate to the Crafter level, then you may choose your roommate.”
I can see the hope drain from Kendall like air from a popped balloon. I’m secretly satisfied we can’t change rooms, if only to keep Kendall from getting her way.
Jo raises her hand.
“Yes, Jo?” Miss A asks.
“When are we going to learn some magic? I mean, isn’t that why we came here?”
Miss A smiles, the picture of patience. “When your instructors feel that you are ready, and not a second before.”
Several other questions are asked, but I tune them out. Twenty-four hours ago my life was normal. No magic, no rituals, no hierarchy I had to somehow master.
Despite the doubt dancing in my stomach, I force myself to quiet my nerves. This is my reality. My new life. And I, Hallie Simon, will be the best darn witch Dowling has ever seen.
Ten
Ivy and I are walking to class the next morning when we see Miss A.
With bright orange hair.
I remember my thoughts from last night. How I thought she should choose a color and stick with it.
“Morning, girls! Watcha think?” she asks, fluffing her freshly dyed hair.
Ivy speaks first. “Bold, just like you. It’s perfect!”
I stare at Miss A, stunned. “Yeah, bold.”
Miss A smiles. “You girls are so sweet. There could be worms in my hair, and you wouldn’t say anything. See you two later.”
Ivy starts walking, but I’m cemented to the ground. I thought about Miss A’s hair needing to be dyed last night. And she dyed it. Last night. Is it some sort of coincidence? Or did I put some unknown witchy spell on her?
I speed-walk to catch up with Miss A, abandoning a confused Ivy in the hallway.
“Miss A,” I call to her.
She turns around, a huge smile on her face. It’s so contagious, I have to smile back.
“What’s up, buttercup?” she asks cheerfully.
I look at my feet, then back at my dorm mother. “I was just wondering why you decided to dye your hair last night.”
She props her hands on her waist. “Well, I guess I don’t know. I just thought it was time to pick a color and stick with it.”
Pick a color and stick with it. Are those the exact same words I thought yesterday? They are. I know they are!
Miss A’s face shifts to a look of concern. “Something bothering you, sugar? You can trust me with anything. Whatever you tell me goes in the vault.”
She pretends she’s locking her mouth and throwing away the key. If I didn’t know how powerful she actually was, she’d be really hard to take seriously.
I consider telling her about the amulet, and my hand goes to my chest. I can’t tell her. There’s no way I can tell her.
Fake smile on my face, I shake my head. “Umm. Well . . . your hair really looks great.”
She pulls me to her for a quick, smushy hug. “Thanks, doll. You better get to class. Lady Jennica doesn’t like it when students are late.”
In the time it takes me to walk back to where Ivy is standing impatiently, I decide not to tell Ivy what I thought last night. It has to be a coincidence. But how can I know for sure? Maybe I should try it out. Just a little.
As we walk into Lady Jennica’s class, I ask Ivy, “Do you always wear your hair in braids?”
“Always,” she answers. “My hair is supercurly, and it’s out of control if I don’t do the braid thing.”
Wear your hair down, Ivy. Try something new.
“Ever think about wearing it down? You know, just let it all hang out?” I continue.
She shakes her head. “Not a chance. It’s crazy curly and impossible to control. Serious.”
“I bet it’s pretty.”
“You’d lose that bet.”
Lady Jennica walks in, wearing a solid black dress with heels high enough to make her nose bleed. I wonder if becoming a second, third, or fourth circle witch makes you incredibly beautiful. The older the girls at Dowling, the more stunning they seem to be. And Lady Jennica is no exception. Compared to the Seekers in her class, she is runway-model material.
With a twirl of her hand, the door closes and the lights dim.
Just as the projector comes to life, Kendall and Zena enter the room. When Lady Jennica looks at the clock above the door, I follow her eyes. The two are a full minute late.
Once they’re seated, Lady Jennica raises her hand slowly, and the lights become brighter.
She sits on the edge of her huge wooden desk, crosses her legs, and pointedly looks at the latecomers.
“Perhaps this is the time to discuss my feelings on tardiness,” she says. It sounds like she’s speaking to the entire class of eighteen girls, but she’s looking only at Kendall and Zena.
“Every second of every minute in this room counts. Miss Fallon, I assume you think you already know more about Dowling than the rest of the girls. Because you’ve been here so long, I suspect you are correct in that assumption.”
I’m dying to see Zena’s face, but all I can see is her ramrod-stiff back. Tense, maybe?
“However, that does not excuse you from my class, or any other class. When you arrive late, you are disrespecting not only me but also your Dowling sisters who arrived on time. Kendall and Zena, we’ve had two classes, and you’ve been late to both of them. Going forward, I will not allow you to enter the room after nine o’clock. If you are not in the room and in your seat by that time, you will be counted absent and I will discuss the issue with your parents.”
I sit on my hands to keep from clapping, and it’s clear everyone in the room feels exactly the same way I do—victorious. Like there really might be equality inside the Dowling walls after all.
“You will not receive special treatment, Zena. There are others in this room whose heritage would demand such treatment, yet they arrive prepared, respectful, and on time.”
Zena’s head turns, and she looks to see who could possibly be more important than her.
Lady Jennica walks to my desk. “Have you met Hallie Simon?”
Zena rolls her eyes, then turns back around and puts her b
ack to me. “Hallie’s the descendent of Dowling’s most powerful hedge witch. Hedge witches can heal the sickest of the sick and can restore harmony to any situation. They’re extraordinarily important. Hallie and her hedge witch ancestry add a great deal of power to Dowling. But she will not receive special treatment.”
As Zena shoots me a murderous glare, Lady Jennica pats my shoulder with a wink before returning to the front of the room. “All of you come with special gifts. Your karama. But none of you will receive special favors or treatment, regardless of how flashy your gifts are. Over the next several weeks you’ll be discovering what those gifts are. This is part of the reason you’re required to conduct ancestry research so early in the year. So that you know your past and can share that with your classmates. Trust me, girls. You may be powerful on your own, but you’re an unbreakable force when you work together.”
Before I shower the following morning, I triple-check to make sure the door is locked, then carefully put the amulet under my towel. It’d be really weird for Kendall to come into the bathroom while I’m showering, but I don’t want to leave anything to chance. No one can know about the amulet besides Ivy.
When I step out of the bathroom, I’m fully dressed, including the sweater vest.
Kendall passes me with a dramatic eye roll. “Loser,” she mutters under her breath.
For once her put-downs don’t bother me. After seeing her and Zena put in their places yesterday, I have renewed hope about being here. If Zena won’t get special treatment, then neither will Kendall. And that means I have a chance of being normal, maybe even popular.
The clock on my desk reads eight fifteen. I promised to meet Ivy in the dining room at eight twenty. Breakfast is open seating, so we get to sit together.
I put on my black loafers and pull my hair back with a headband. It’s my normal, no-fuss look. The whole no-makeup rule is really working in my favor. My face is flawless, while other girls are already battling pimples because of the makeup they used to wear. I know that rule changes next year, but until then I’m just like everyone else.
I add my glasses, making me officially ready for the day.
Grabbing my bag, I head out the door without a good-bye to my roommate. It feels empowering somehow, to do that. Like I’m the one beating her for a change.
I put my hand on my chest, making sure the amulet is still with me. I’m hoping to see the custodian from the library in the dining room this morning. I haven’t seen her once since that first night. And until I find her, I can’t borrow her key.
The dining room is alive with students and teachers, some eating, some talking, some studying. I search the room for Ivy but don’t see her. Dru waves to me, and I wave back. I get in line, grab a plate, and cover it with fruit, eggs, and a muffin. I tuck a pint of orange juice under my arm and walk out of the food line.
Before I reach the table, my eyes are drawn to the dining room door. My feet stop moving and my mouth drops open.
Walking through the door at that very moment is Ivy, hair down.
Eleven
I stare . . . stunned, speechless, and scared.
I thought it.
Then it happened.
Ivy left her hair down.
She pulls at it self-consciously, her useless attempt to flatten the thick curls around her face. She looks less like a farm girl and more like a Disney character. With her hair down her green eyes seem greener, and each freckle more visible.
Ivy sees me and walks to our table, her feet moving fast to avoid the eyes watching her. It’s like a new student has arrived. A new student from Mars.
Dru’s the first to speak. “Wow! Look at your hair.”
Ivy shakes her head, then yanks at the ponytail holders around her wrist. “I should put it up.”
“No, no,” I tell her. “Leave it down. It’s really pretty.”
“It’s pretty now,” she mutters.
We sit down across from Dru and Jo.
When Jo finally looks up from her plate piled high with bacon, she gives Ivy a What the hey look. She shakes her head, then turns back to her bacon.
“What made you decide to leave your hair down?” I ask her.
Ivy shrugs, but that answer isn’t good enough for me. I have to know.
“Yesterday you said you never put your hair down,” I remind her.
She looks at me, confused. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Yep.” I focus on getting the food from my plate to my mouth. Otherwise I might scream and jump and tell her what I thought yesterday.
“Huh,” she says absently, then grabs a mini muffin from my plate.
“It looks great,” I tell her. And it really does. She was right—her hair is curly, but it’s far from out of control.
I think back to yesterday, and how I specifically thought about Ivy leaving her hair down. I was testing myself to see if I could control her thoughts. Never in a bazillion years did I think I could. But looking at her now, it’s hard to pretend yesterday didn’t happen.
First Miss A’s hair, now Ivy’s. Maybe I can only control people’s hair. That’d be a weird—and totally useless—gift. Perfect. If that’s it, if that’s my power, I’m leaving. What kind of a witch would that be? I’d never hear the end of it from Kendall. Of course, it would be nice to make Kendall’s hair a righteous mess.
Jo pops another slice of bacon into her mouth. I’m not normally bothered by people eating meat, but for some reason the smell of her bacon is more than I can stomach today.
“Our Elements of Witchcraft class is going to be good today. I heard someone say we’re supposed to begin exploring our gifts,” Dru says.
Mouth full, Jo mumbles, “About time.”
I stifle an eye roll. This is only our third day.
“I know it’s only our third day, but still. I was expecting more.” Jo puts her hand over her mouth to cover a small burp. The smell of burped bacon hits my nose, and my mouth waters, a warning sign I’m about to be sick.
Please throw that bacon away before I puke.
Ivy looks at the food line like she wants to get something to eat, but stays seated.
“Anyone want my bacon? I’m full.” Jo pushes the plate forward, but no one takes it. Not even Ivy, who looks so hungry, she could eat an entire hog.
“I’ll just throw it away, then.”
My hand freezes on its way to my mouth. Banana in hand, I stare at Jo.
“Why would you throw bacon away?”
Jo shrugs. “Thought that would make you happy, little miss vegetarian.”
My heart bangs in my chest like a basketball, and I bounce my legs nervously.
First she copies my thoughts about it being our third day, and then the bacon.
Can everyone hear my thoughts? How do they know what I’m thinking?
Jo pushes out her chair so forcefully, it falls back, but before it can hit the ground, it pops back up.
“That was close,” Miss A says, walking by. A tiny curl springs loose and moves freely above her head before she swipes it down. She’s dressed like she’s headed to a Cinco de Mayo party, not witch school.
“Nice hair, Red!” Miss A gives Ivy a thumbs-up, then marches on in her oversize Mexican dress and bright red flats. The only thing missing is an oversize sombrero.
“See?” My voice squeaks. “Everyone likes it.”
“No offense, but Miss A isn’t exactly my go-to fashion guru.” Ivy takes a small bunch of grapes from my plate, but I don’t mind.
I’m too nervous or anxious or scared to do much more than breathe.
I put my hand to my stomach, let the weight of the amulet calm me, and clear my mind so I can make it through the day. Something tells me it’s going to be wicked.
Lady Rose sits on her stool and waits for the class to quiet down. Unlike Lady Jennica, this teacher is closer to my mom’s age. Like my mom, I think she probably knows the answers to all my questions.
She’s always dressed in black and wears a bright emerald neckl
ace. Her blond hair is short but fashionable. It always looks like she just woke up and ran her fingers through it, but it’s somehow impossibly perfect. Her voice is warm and reassuring—exactly what I need today.
The elements classroom is set up like a science lab and always smells of the incense Lady Rose burns on her desk. Normally it’s my favorite room.
But not today.
Today the room is buzzing with excited voices, everyone anxious to learn what their gift is.
A chorus of shushing is followed by silence.
“Well, I guess you’ve all heard that today is the beginning of gift exploration.”
The room nods in unison.
“I should warn you that this is a process. It’s a lot more complicated than just pulling a name from a hat. Some of you might already be experiencing your gift. Most of you, though, have not.”
She lowers herself from the stool and sends a quick flip of her hand to the ceiling. The room is now dark enough that it’s hard to see Ivy sitting next to me.
Lady Rose’s voice is soft, smooth, soothing.
“You will learn your first spell today. Its purpose is to open the gift inside you. This spell is only performed once in a witch’s life. For you that is today.”
I take a deep breath, more afraid than excited. If I already think people can read my mind, what’s going to happen after this?
“There’s nothing to fear, girls.”
There it is again!
Now Lady Rose is reading my mind. Or maybe she isn’t. Maybe she says that to everyone.
Another deep breath.
Chill. Out.
“Please listen to the spell as I say it. You will repeat it after me the second time, but this time just listen and think. Think about what the words are invoking in you.”
The room is silent. So silent I can hear the electricity buzzing through the dimmed lights.
“Hear us now, the words of the witches,