Magic Swap (Hidden World Academy Book 1)

by Sadie Moss

  Magic Swap

  Hidden World Academy #1

  Sadie Moss

  Copyright © 2019 by Sadie Moss

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  www.SadieMossAuthor.com

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Also by Sadie Moss

  Chapter 1

  There’s a saying that the more you do a thing, the easier it gets.

  Personally, I don’t think that’s quite true.

  I don’t think the thing actually gets any easier—I think you just get used to how hard it is, and you accept the work that goes into it.

  This probably sounds like a deep and philosophical thought, and maybe it is, but mostly I’m just talking about the choreography I’m trying to learn right now.

  “Nice, everyone! That was solid,” Kamala calls, clapping her hands together. She’s a good dance captain, and she knows when to rein us in and keep us disciplined and when to let us goof off a little. “Let’s run through it one more time, yeah?”

  I wipe sweat off my brow and shoot a grin at Hector, my partner for most of this piece, as we reset to our starting positions.

  I’ve been dancing in one style or another for pretty much my whole life. I don’t know if I’m good enough to make a career out of it, or if I even want to, honestly, but I love it.

  When I was little, my mom enrolled me in ballet—I think to try to teach me things like discipline and coordination and all that. I liked it well enough, but when I was thirteen and discovered hip hop, that was when I really fell in love. I used to watch dance crews and music videos until Mom had to drag me away from the computer.

  Kamala strides back up to the front of our formation, checking to make sure everyone’s set before she starts the music again. The thumping bass seeps into my bones, and this time, my movements are cleaner and sharper, like the music is literally pulling my body through space.

  I’m breathing hard by the time the song finishes, and Hector punches me on the shoulder, grinning at me. “Fuck yeah. You killed that.”

  “Thanks. You too.”

  I smile back as we all break formation, heading to the sides of the room to grab water and towel off. I’ve always been pretty good at picking up choreography, which is nice, because my favorite part of dance is when I get to let go of thinking about the steps and just focus on how it makes me feel.

  “This is looking so fucking hot, you guys!” Now that she’s no longer in drill sergeant mode, Kamala’s natural exuberance rises to the surface as she tugs on a sweatshirt over her sports bra. “We’ll meet same time next Saturday, yeah? Keep drilling your choreo, and hey, no pressure, but if you want to meet up with your partner on your own time and keep practicing, I got no problem with that.”

  Everyone rolls their eyes good-naturedly, but none of us complain about her enthusiasm. We’re all on this crew because we love it, so meeting on our own to practice some more is no hardship.

  Hector promises to text me to set something up, and as I’m finishing up my cool down stretches, Kamala lifts her chin at me. “Hey, Gabbi! A few of us are going out to The Elk Room for some drinks and stuff. You want to come?”

  “Oh, man, I’d love to—” My phone rings.

  Ah, damn. That’s the Sex and the City theme song. Means my mom is calling.

  She and I used to watch that show together all the time. Maybe not the wisest choice for an impressionable young teenager, but hey, it was fun bonding time, and I like to think I turned out pretty well-adjusted anyway. And now the song always makes me think of her.

  “Sorry, I’ve got to get this,” I say as I grab my phone to answer it.

  Kamala waves me off with a no problem, and I grab my stuff, heading out of the studio. I have better reception out on the street. “Hey, Mom, what’s up?”

  “Hi, Gabs,” she chirps. “I just wanted to make sure everything’s going well.”

  I suppress a fond, exasperated grin. I know what’s coming. “Yeah, everything’s going great.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad. I just wanted to make sure—we haven’t seen you in a while, so I thought maybe something was wrong—nothing big, of course, but maybe your schoolwork—”

  Yup, it’s what I thought. I haven’t stopped by the house in a few weeks, but not because anything’s wrong. I’ve just been… busy living my life. I’m starting my junior year in college, so it’s not like I’m a little kid anymore.

  But I’ve always been close with my parents, and my mom’s having a hard time cutting the apron strings, so to speak. I was born and raised in Baltimore, and I’m attached to this city. It’s my home. I know it by heart, and I love every bit of it. So when it came time to apply for college, I thought, hey, why go somewhere else, right?

  And I wanted to stay close to Shane too. My little brother is only thirteen—my parents have fully admitted he was a surprise, although they always make sure to add the word “happy” to it whenever they say that—and I want to make sure our relationship stays solid despite the seven year age gap between us. I’m somewhere between a parent and a sibling to him at this point, since I’m so much older. But I try really hard to stay in his life, to make sure we don’t grow apart.

  There are times I kind of wish I had gone out of state though. Just to spread my wings a little.

  “Hey, y’know, I just got out of dance rehearsal,” I tell Mom, cutting in before she can build up a huge head of steam. “How ’bout if I stop by? We can all have dinner together.”

  “Oh, you don’t have too much homework?”

  “No, no, it’s totally fine, I’m all good.” My classes are easy right now, since they’re all basic classes, American History 201 and that kind of thing. I have to take a certain amount of courses in different areas of study in order to graduate, since I’m going to a liberal arts college. “I’ll head home now, how’s that sound?”

  “If you’re sure…”

  “Of course I’m sure.” I grin while I say it, so that my mom can hear the smile in my voice. I love her, I really do, and I don’t want to hurt her feelings, even if I do
feel like I need to start spreading my wings a bit more.

  I wave goodbye to everyone as they exit, and then I take the bus up to my neighborhood. My parents have lived in the same place my whole life, and there’s a bit of comfort in the familiarity of it.

  As I walk down the sidewalk, which is completely shaded by large trees, someone calls my name from one of the front stoops.

  I glance up, grinning when I see who it is. “Hey, Dean.”

  Dean Lablanc and I grew up a few houses down from each other, but we weren’t best friends. We would play in the same group of kids, but we went to different schools—his parents put him in an all-guys Catholic school—and now he’s going to a different college in Baltimore than I am.

  “Hey, Gabbi. You home for the weekend too?” he asks, trotting down his parents’ front steps to fall in next to me, joining me as I walk down the street toward my house.

  “Yeah.” I chuckle. “You know my mom; she gets antsy if I don’t stop by once a week.”

  I can’t help the fond smile that creeps across my face as I say the words, and Dean’s answering grin is wide, beaming out of his face like someone cranked the wattage up.

  Ah, crap. Darn it.

  It took me a while to figure out, but I think Dean has a bit of a crush on me. I could be wrong, but I’ve noticed he always blushes a little when he talks to me, and he laughs at all my jokes, whether they’re funny or not.

  I’m a good enough judge of character to know that Dean’s a really good person. But we’re not close, and I don’t feel anything when I look at him. No spark, nothing. I’ve known him my whole life, and I’m pretty sure if I was going to develop an attraction to him, it would’ve happened by now.

  And it’s not that he’s unattractive. He’s tall, with tan skin, dark hair, and a fluid, kind of sensual way of moving. He’s Italian, and you can tell—he has that sun-kissed look to him all the time, same as his mom. But I just… don’t feel anything. He’s going to make someone very happy as their boyfriend.

  That person just isn’t me.

  We chat for a couple of minutes as we walk, and when we get to my parents’ house, I pull out my keys, telling him to say hi to his folks and his sisters for me before I slip inside.

  The moment the door closes behind me, I hear a voice yell, “Gabbi!”

  I look up toward the top of the stairs. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the little shit who stole my Pokémon card collection.”

  “I didn’t steal it. You left it at home.”

  “Because you hid it from me!”

  “You don’t even use it!”

  I point at the floor in front of me. “Get your butt over here and hug me, and maybe we’ll call it even.” I don’t use my Pokémon card collection anymore, not since middle school, but I can’t let him think he can just get away with that shit, now can I?

  Shane slides down the banister and lands right in front of me, grinning. He looks like me: thick blond hair, blue eyes, a wide face, and a pert nose. Although my hair’s wavy and shoulder length, and Shane keeps his short.

  I give him a big hug. He can annoy the hell out of me, and we’ve had some screaming fights that made my mom announce she was shipping us both off to Canada, but he’s my little brother and he always will be.

  “How’s school going?” I ask as I pull away.

  “It’s all right.” Shane shrugs, and then wrinkles his nose. “You smell awful. Take a shower, you caveman.”

  I roll my eyes. “I just came from dance rehearsal, and I’m not gonna take hygiene advice from someone who smells of eau de gym sock.”

  “Har har. Very funny.”

  “No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend yet. Or do you still think kissing gives you cooties?”

  “Mom! Gabbi’s making fun of me!”

  “He started it!” I wrap my arm around his shoulders. He’s still a couple inches shorter than I am—for now. I know it won’t last, so I’m trying to enjoy it while I can, before he gets another damn growth spurt and I’m shorter than he is. “C’mon, squirt, let’s go see what’s for dinner.”

  Mom and Dad are both in the kitchen. Dad’s cooking something that smells savory and delicious while Mom sits at the table going through some paperwork. Mom’s the type of person who can burn water, so Dad does all the cooking, which he loves doing anyway. He once considered being a professional chef before switching to a more stable career in real estate when Mom got pregnant with me.

  Mom lights up when she catches sight of me, putting her paperwork down and sitting up straighter. “Hey, honey! It’s so good to see you.”

  “Hey, Mom.” I hug her. “I’m gonna hop in the shower real quick while dinner’s getting ready. Somebody told me I smell bad.”

  Shane cackles, and I stick my tongue out at him.

  I have some clothes that I kept here since I couldn’t take everything to my dorm, and my parents have pretty much left my old bedroom as it was. With only one other kid in the house, they don’t need the space, and I like that when I come back to visit, I still feel like I’m part of the household.

  “Hey, Gabs. Dinner will be ready in fifteen,” Dad says, glancing up from the stove.

  “Okay. I’ll be fast.”

  I hug him hello, then run upstairs to take a quick shower before heading back down with my blonde hair still damp.

  Of course, the first thing Mom asks me once dinner starts is if I’ve chosen a major yet.

  Ahaha… nope.

  “Not yet,” I tell her brightly, trying to sound nonchalant. “You know how it is. There are just so many possibilities. I’m exploring a little and seeing what really sticks with me.”

  This wouldn’t be such a bad thing if I hadn’t been saying it for months. Time’s running out—if I don’t pick a major soon, it’ll take me an extra year to graduate, and as nice as college can be, I don’t want to spend five years there.

  Not to mention the cost. I don’t even want to think about my student loan bills.

  “Of course,” Mom says.

  “You’ll figure yourself out in your own time,” Dad tells me, his tone supportive and unconcerned.

  Yeah. I hope so.

  I want to pick something. I want to know what I’d like to do with my life, or at least what I’d like to do for the next ten years or so, long enough to make studying about it for four years worth it. Some people seem to have a calling. They just know what they’re going to do, like they were born to do it. I really respect that. But I don’t seem to have it, and damn, I wish I did.

  Dad moves the conversation onto other topics, thank God, and I can relax a little again.

  After dinner, we’re all watching a movie when I get a phone call. It’s Kamala.

  “Hey!” I slip out into the hallway so I won’t disturb my family. We’ve been slowly working our way through the Marvel movie franchise, and the Hulk is about to do some serious smashing. “Is there a schedule change?”

  “Nope, everything’s fine. We’re still set for next weekend. But you’re coming out tomorrow night! Say, around ten p.m.?”

  Tomorrow is my twenty-first birthday. I wasn’t planning on doing much, to be honest. I’ve never really been into making a big deal about my birthday. It’s just another day. It’s not like I did anything to earn a celebration.

  But even though I’m a bit of a loner, I’ve actually gotten to be friends with some people in my dance crew, and it feels nice that Kamala clearly wants to do something for me.

  “Um, okay, sure. My family and I are going out to dinner, but we’ll be back by ten, definitely.” My parents are always in bed by nine p.m., they’re homebodies that way. And Shane has school the next day, so they won’t want to keep him out late.

  “Perfect. We are gonna celebrate the hell out of your birthday, whether you like it or not.”

  “Kamala…”

  “What? It’s your twenty-first, girl. You only get to do that once. I’ll pick you up from your dorm, okay?”

  “Works for me.” Damn
, I have clubbing clothes somewhere, right?

  “Perfect. See you then!”

  “See you then.”

  Despite my love of dance, I haven’t been out to a club in… ages.

  This will be interesting.

  Chapter 2

  My feet are sore. My fingers are a little tingly. I can’t quite feel my face.

  And it’s fucking amazing.

  I’m not exactly a homebody, but I’ve sort of gotten into a rut with my schedule. I hadn’t realized just how bad it was until I went out tonight, but damn, I’m having the time of my life. We’ve had some drinks, we’ve danced all over, and I mean good dancing, because we all know how to shake it and actually pull off some killer moves. Our little group consists of Kamala and three others from our dance crew, all great girls, and I’m letting my hair down and just having a blast.

  I’m also pretty damn drunk, not gonna lie.

  The room’s spinning a little and everything’s getting a bit fuzzy in my head, so Kamala suggests we take a break and find a late-night place to get something to eat. We all stumble outside, laughing and hanging off of each other.

  “Let’s get—let’s get waffles,” Shonda says. She’s practically carrying her girlfriend Lisa, who is a hell of a lightweight. Even lighter than me, if that’s possible. “I want—syrup and waffles. With chocolate chips.”

  “Oof, are you sure? You’ll just barf it all back up again,” I point out, laughing.