Funny Tragic Crazy Magic (Tragic Magic Book 1) (2 page)

R
ight now, one
table away from me, Henry Jarbonie is drinking Jell-O through a straw. His
hospital gown is open at the back, but he is facing perpendicular to me, so
luckily I can’t see anything puke-inducing. I do know that I will never sit in
that chair again though; no amount of Lysol is going to wash this memory from
my mind.

I
have the decency to wear pajamas. The best thing about being here in Saint
What’s-Her-Name’s home for the mentally disturbed is that I no longer have to
deal with the horror of zippers. All that time and energy fastening clothes
together is better used drinking Jell-O through a straw, or painting with watercolors,
or staring out the window at the peaceful expanse of green grass and blue sky.
They wouldn’t want to give us crazies any more stress.

There
are some real characters here. If I were a writer for real, or if I were making
this stuff up, I would find a life’s worth of inspiration from visiting hours
five through seven.

I
guess it’s possible for this story to mean something. I hope it does. I hope
someday someone finds this, or I put it online and someone else reads it. It
would be like revenge, I guess… proof that the Grandfathers and Grandmothers
aren’t infallible… that they can’t hide the truth forever. One day someone
might just take them down. Or maybe one day Disney Channel would even make a
movie out of this. I’d like to see them try.

Okay,
where was I?

Joe.

My
life kind of started, and ended I guess, when I met him. He’d probably say the
same thing about me; only thing is, for me it’s actually true. See, he was an
Instinct. A rogue. He knew he could do magic, but he didn’t know the whole
culture. He didn’t know if he was the only one.

I
was the first person he met who could do magic. That fooled him into thinking I
was someone special. But that comes later.

I’m
no good at this.

Okay,
so when I met Joe I was well into my plan to get my mom’s notebook back. Right
then, that meant I was trying to be invisible. I wanted the Grandmothers to
forget about me so I could sneak in and take back the notebook without a fight.
I wanted them to think I wasn’t any kind of a problem. Then, even if the
sneaking in didn’t work, maybe they’d just, you know, give me the notebook back
anyway.

It
wasn’t a good plan, but it was all I had. So I tried to look unthreatening… you
know, wearing sissy dresses, braiding my hair, wearing pearls. Trying to look
so out of date and out of touch, even the popular kids wouldn’t know I existed,
much less the Grandmothers.

The
funny thing is, the more out of date I tried to be, the more the popular kids
complemented me. I started to get this reputation for being hip and
fashionable, which was the opposite of what I was going for, but… I guess I
still had enough vapid in me to think it was cool.

The
first day of school my junior year, I was wearing a pink baby doll dress with
an appliqué peter pan collar, lace tights and pearl earrings. It was a cold day
for the end of August, so I decided to turn back for a cardigan. I pulled my
parents’ Toyota out into my driveway and left it idling, and then locked the
car with
stay
. My notebook was in my backpack on the backseat. I was
only inside for about two minutes, but when I got outside, the car was gone.

Cold
air blew past me and whipped around my flimsy dress. The air smelled like magic
-- woodsy, with a little honey mixed in.

How
did they know?
I thought. I decided the best thing
to do would be to pretend as if nothing strange had happened. I hadn’t written
anything about my plans in my notebook. If anything, it would just show the
Grandmothers how unprepared I was, and how much I didn’t know.

I
put a smile on my face and started walking to school, humming a happy tune that
kept turning darker when I wasn’t paying attention. A passing car honked at me,
and a senior stuck his head out the window and howled. Real juvenile. I smiled
back and waved at the moron as a non-threat would.

When
I got to the school, my feet were already aching. Mary Jane’s are not only
hideous, they are also kind of uncomfortable. By the time I walked through the
parking lot, I already had a red streak across my skin where the white leather
rubbed the side of my foot.

My
car was abandoned five stalls from the back of the parking lot. It was empty
when I reached it. The rune for
stay
still glowed on the outside of the
car door, and it was my exact color code. I know it was still viable. It was a
strong rune too: I tried to open the door, but even with all my strength, it
wouldn’t budge. I wiped the runelight, and it fell to the ground like glitter
from a cheerleader’s Prom poster.

Inside
the car, on a post-it note stuck to the steering wheel, was a note.

IOU
one ride to school ~ J.

FYI,
none of the Grandmothers names started with a J. On a hunch, I opened my
backpack. My textbooks were all there, and so was my lunch money. My notebook
was gone, and in its place was another note.

IOU
one notebook and an explanation. If you can’t find me, then you’ve got no use
for either. ~J.

Now
in case you haven’t guessed it by now, a Witch’s notebook is their whole life.
The limit to a Rune’s magic is how much they know, so stealing someone’s
notebook is akin to calling an airport and saying you are going to take over
the world… oh, and you have a bomb. It’s one of those unwritten rules that you
never steal another person’s notebook. That’s their legacy. That’s their power.
That’s their strength.

The
jerk had stolen my car, and my notebook.

I
put my backpack on, adjusted my frilly dress, and marched into battle. I didn’t
bother reapplying the rune for
stay
on the side of my car. Apparently,
that wouldn’t stop my new enemy.

At
school, people smiled at me, and I smiled back. But my eyes floated from one
rube to another, searching for some kind of oddity. I passed the school office,
and saw some new kid standing in line with his elbows resting on the counter.
He was so skinny I sucked in my stomach in response. In his back pocket, my
folded-in-half notebook stuck out like some sort of victory flag.

That
was the jerk who had stolen my car, and was now rubbing it into my face. First
off, let me tell you, he was too tall, and he had black earrings in his ears
like he was some kind of punk. In fact, his hair had this sticky-up faux Mohawk
quality, which I have never found attractive. His body was really hot though, I
will admit that, even though he was plainly too skinny. He wore skinny jeans
and bright colored Chuck Taylors. When Coach Jensen accidentally bumped into
him, that jerk flipped him off.

The
other students milled about on their way to class, flowing around me as if I
wasn’t even there as I spied on my new enemy. As he turned to his side and bent
to reach down for his backpack, his light brown hair fell in front of his face.
He stood, tucked a strand of his hair behind one ear and then finger combed the
rest of it toward the ceiling. He clearly needed a haircut.

For
some reason, I couldn’t breathe for a second; it was as if my heart was in my
throat.

I
sucked in my stomach, adjusted my dress, and then walked the heck away. He
never glanced at me so I know he didn’t realize who I was. I knew who he was
though, and that was an advantage.

There
was no way he would win.

I
saw him again in second period. Mr. Beaman made him stand up in front of the
class. He said his name was Joseph Penrod. Some of the morons in the back
laughed at his name. He laughed twice without humor, and then glared. Mr.
Beaman cleared his throat and then gestured to an open seat in the front row.

I
sat in the front row just two seats away from him because of the master plan to
get my mother’s notebook back. My focus now was on a lesser operation: get my
dumb seven runes back from the loser Joe.

During
the class, as Mr. Beaman droned on about European History, Joe was scouring
through my notebook. I could see the glittering purple pen marks on the first
page, reminding me how idiotic and selfish I was. Joe took out a black BIC pen
and started doodling on the edge of my notebook. Honestly. It was enough to
steal someone’s notebook, but to write on someone else’s runes - serious
etiquette breach.

I
think I sighed, or growled, or muttered, or something, because Joe turned
toward me. That was the first time he noticed me, I think. He seemed confused
that I was glaring at him, but then I remembered that he didn’t know who I was,
and that was an advantage, so I turned back to Mr. Beaman and pretended I
didn’t notice him.

He
watched me throughout the rest of the class though. I could feel where he was
watching. While he looked at my hands, they felt a tad hotter; when he looked
at my face, I fought back a blush, and when he looked at my legs, it felt like
they were sunburned.

That
was his Instinct magic. Runes and Instincts use their magic differently. See
there are two branches of magic: Runes and Instincts. Runes, like me, collect
our magic in our hands. When we write a rune, we pull a line of magic, kind of
like a laser beam. It’s as if my fingers were pens writing with light instead
of ink. Instincts’ magic runs through their entire bodies, more like a diffused
flashlight than a laser. So when they look at you, you can feel some of that
diffused magic on whatever they focus. I had only met two other Instincts, the
Grandmothers Helena and Tiffany, but that was exactly how it felt when they
stared at me as I was accepted into the Fellowship for Female Witches.

When
I realized he was an Instinct, I relaxed in my seat. Instincts have just one
ability, and most Instincts can’t do runes. I had been taught that my entire
life. So even though he had stolen and doodled all over my notebook, I knew he
couldn’t do anything with the runes inside.

I
looked over at him, and he quickly turned his eyes back to the teacher. Mr.
Beaman was asking a question about… I don’t know, something, and I raised my
hand and answered. I was trying to get Joe to look back at me, but he wouldn’t.

I
looked away from Joe and ripped a corner from my homework notebook. On a lark,
I wrote the words
“I owed you this”
with my pen. Then with the tip of my
fingernail, in a rune so small it looked more like a pinprick of light, I made
the rune for
stay
. I had used the same rune on my car door, but this one
would work. Probably. I could feel his eyes on my arms trying to see what it
was I was writing, but when I looked over at him he had turned away from me. I
smiled and then casually tossed the sheet of paper underneath his desk.

The
bell rang. I pulled my stuff together and slid it all into my bag. Joe collected
his stuff into a gray messenger bag and then stood. The rune caught underneath
him, and his feet wouldn’t move when he thought they would. He fell, tripping
over his own feet. Everyone in the class except me laughed at him, especially
the morons in the back of the room. I wiped my fingers in the air, and the rune
fell. Joe moved his feet and then reached for the note on the floor.

I
put on my backpack, walked out of the classroom and then stopped. The locker I
leaned against felt cold through my cardigan as I eyed all the students filing
out of class. When the flow of student ceased, I looked back into the
classroom.

Joe
wasn’t in there. I felt his eyes behind me. I turned around, and he stood
behind me with the biggest smile on his face.

I
guess you had to know Joe to get what I mean; he had a smile that just took
over his entire face. He had this dimple next to his lips, and his eyes… some
people can only smile with their mouths, but Joe could smile with ears if he
wanted to. I can’t explain it. I felt my stomach muscles clench, but I smiled
back.

It
wasn’t until that moment that I realized how lonely I had been without my
family. I guess I’m slow on things like that. Or maybe I didn’t want to truly
believe they were gone… that I was really all alone, until I wasn’t alone
anymore. It was just… I wasn’t the only freak anymore. This obnoxious kid, who
stole my car, and my notebook, was the most important person to me, and I
hadn’t even spoken to him yet.

“Hi,”
I said finally.

He
pulled my notebook from his bag. It had a crease down the middle, and a few of
the pages were dog-eared. “I believe this is yours,” he said without even a
trace of an apology.

My
path to destruction had begun.

I
stood there for a while, smiling like an idiot, waiting for him to apologize.
When I realized he wasn’t going to, I turned away from him and started walking
down the hall toward my next class. He hurried to catch up, and secretly I was
glad.

“So…
Larissa Alvarez is it?” He said my name like it was a foreign language.

I
turned and smiled at him. I didn’t mean it though, and I think he saw the scowl
in my eyes. I could feel the heat from his eyes as he looked at my face.

“You
Mexican?” That was so Joe. He would always say whatever he thought, without any
additional thought of how anyone else would perceive it. Not that there’s
anything wrong with… I mean I was… I mean I am… Just people don’t say things
like that to me. People don’t just ask another person’s nationality so...

Okay,
I’m writing myself into a hole here.

Anyway,
so I didn’t answer his extra blunt question. I rolled my eyes, picked up speed,
and turned the corner of A Hall. The cheerleaders and football team all have
their lockers in the A Hall of the school, which was so helpful of the administration
to give them such an effective nickname.

I
passed Erica Fisher as she stood by her locker wearing her cheerleading outfit.
Her red hair clashed with the unflattering yellow and green school colors. Go
Pirates. She called out my name and then smiled at Joe when we looked over at
her. We both ignored her, which I wouldn’t have done before I met Joe. Before
today, I would have complimented her hair, and taken my place among the herd of
sheep who almost worshiped the girl. Joe was already changing me.

She
followed behind us, hampering our ability to talk about any sort of magic at
all. We just walked together in this awkward silence, about which Erica seemed
far too interested.

Erica
treated me as if we should have been friends, that I should take my responsibility
as a pretty girl seriously, and dumb down. But I wasn’t one of them. I wasn’t
as pretty as I looked. I wore a
transformation
rune on my stomach to
make me appear thinner, and whenever I broke out in acne, a quick rune on the
back of my neck would clear it up. I do have pretty brown eyes and long
eyelashes (I got those from my mom) and when I got the rune for my dark hair
right, it had the perfect amount of curl right at the ends. But it was all just
an illusion, and not a lasting one at that. It wasn’t something I took pride
in; it was just another trick to get the Grandmothers to ignore me.

I
didn’t want to appear like the ditsy shallow girl I pretended to be (not in
front of Joe anyway) so I ignored her, turned on to B hall, and walked into my
English class. Joe followed me in and then stood at the front of the class by
the teacher.

I
took my seat and shoved my backpack under my chair. On the left hand corner of
the desk, someone had carved a curly line out of the polyurethane with a black
pen. I ran my fingers over the line, and sparks scattered from my fingers. That
usually doesn’t happen.

I
pulled my notebook from my bag; it folded up like a taco. I growled under my
breath, held the top and the bottom of the notebook, and tried to straighten it
out against the edge of the desk. I may, possibly, have a little OCD, but that
is as close to having a mental illness as I am willing to admit, while living
in a mental institution.

I
opened up my notebook to draw the mysterious rune. But Joe had beat me to it.
Along the side of the first page, in black pen, was the same exact curled
shape. At the bottom of the shape was one word.
Water.

Joe
knew the rune for
water
. I looked up at him and he smiled at me in that
patented Joe sort of way, and then he turned and left the class.

How
did an Instinct know a rune? I turned the pages of my notebook, and on nearly
every page was an alteration, some cleaning up of my hours of work. Three more
runes were written in his handwriting, leaving my grand total now at ten.

If
they worked.