Witch Ways (5 page)

“No. She wouldn’t do that.”

“So, what makes you say she’s got me where she wants me?” I closed the kitchen door behind us and trailed Uncle Mitch to his T-Bird. “Why would she even try? She didn’t even know I existed until I was sixteen years old.”

“Fifteen,” Uncle Mitch corrected me. “And of course she knew you existed.”

“So, why now? Why wait so long?”

“Knowing your grandmother, I’d say she waited until she thought you’d be interesting.” He climbed into his car and turned over the engine. “I’m sorry if that hurts your feelings.”

After I got in beside him, I asked, “If I stop being interesting, can I go back to Hartly?”

“I think that ship has sailed. Besides, you’ll always be interesting. It’s part of who you are.” Uncle Mitch pulled the car down the drive and paused at the mailboxes. He changed the subject. “When does Bree come home?”

“Tomorrow. It’s been really weird not being able to talk to her.”

Uncle Mitch smirked. “Because you don’t have your phone?”

I nodded and put on a lonely and pathetic face.

“No worries. All that weirdness will end when she comes home from the hospital. Although, she’s going to have a hard time climbing trees with a cast on her leg.”

We fell into a charged silence. Uncle Mitch was probably thinking about microbes while I thought about Faith Despaign Academy.

No one would feel as awkward and new as me. School had started two weeks ago, so I’d be two weeks behind. Everyone would have already chosen lab partners in biology, a study group in history, and locker partners. Teams would have been aligned, cafeteria tables claimed, and projects assigned. Everyone would have an established place, except for me. All the other new kids—if there were any—would have already integrated. I’d be on the fringe. Alone.

I checked my ponytail in the mirror and rummaged through my purse for a tube of lip gloss.

“You look great,” Uncle Mitch said, looking up from the road to smile.

“Thanks. It’s temporary. Remember, looks are fleeting.” I smeared the gloss on my lips. Its familiar strawberry taste made me feel a bit better.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean, I’ll have to start wearing school-issues as soon as they get here, and they’d make Mother Teresa’s clothes look vogue.” I closed the mirror on the sunshade. “If I went to the public school, I could wear whatever I want.”

“Really? Is that what you think?”

“Yeah.”

“So, if you showed up in a gorilla suit no one would mind?”

“Why would I wear a gorilla suit? That sounds really hot—and not in a good way.”

“My point is that in every social circle norms and mores are established,” Uncle Mitch said. “They might be subtle, but they always exist. It’s just like ecosystems. For a species to survive, a careful balance—”

I stopped listening. I loved Uncle Mitch, but at that moment, I was way too worried about Faith Despaign to listen to a lecture on ecosystems and abiotic components. At Hartly, the thespians didn’t associate with the student government. The jocks didn’t mingle with the chess club. The only two circles that overlapped in any acceptable way were drama and choir. Even the band had an established hierarchy—the jazz band was cool, but not as cool as the drum line, while the kid playing the triangle was bottom tier.

I played the cello. Not cool. Not to mention huge, bulky, and awkward.

I hoped to make it on the school newspaper, because I liked writing stories and I thought the kids wearing cameras around their necks looked cool. Did Faith Despaign even have a newspaper—or a journalism class? At Hartly I’d had an in with the journalism teacher, because Mr. Keith had also been my freshman English teacher. At Faith Despaign, I’d be at the bottom of the fish pond.

I slumped back in my seat, miserable.

“Any introduction of a nonnative species can and will cause substantial shifts in the ecosystem function,” Uncle Mitch said.

I tuned in, just because it was easier. “You mean me?”

He beamed. “Exactly! Ecosystems, like any social gathering, are dynamic, subject to change. By just being there—someone new in a new place—you’ve already disrupted the status quo. After today and your introduction into this school, things at Faith Despaign will never be the same. Returning to how they were before your arrival is an impossibility.”

“Maybe I liked things the way they were.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t have burned down the science room.”

“I didn’t mean to burn down anything. You know I wouldn’t do that.”

“I don’t think it was intentional.”

“What? You think I had this burning ulterior motive?”

“You were angry.”

“Of course, I was angry. Melissa Blankley told three guys I was going to ask them to homecoming.”

“And you weren’t planning on that?”

“No. Especially not
those
guys.”

“Because they wouldn’t be suitable mates?”

“Ew. No. Just stop. You are not helping.”

“I’m just trying to understand why you got so angry.”

I swiveled in my seat to look at him. “Just because I got angry, that doesn’t mean I can make buildings spontaneously combust, and you know it.”

He smiled as we pulled up through the gates. “My work here is done.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, still seething.

“You’re no longer nervous. You’ve successfully converted all your pent up worries into anger.” He put the car into park and met my unblinking stare with a goofy grin. “You’re ready to fight.”

“Ugh!” He was so right. How did he do that?

“Go get ‘em, Tiger. Remember, by just stepping onto that campus, you have the power to change it. You can make it better, or you can make it worse. But no matter what you decide, you will change it.”

I climbed out of the car, shut the door, and squared my shoulders, ready to make some changes.

Students dressed in gray, navy, and white swarmed around me. Curious eyes took in my face, dress, and tall black boots. I stood out now, but soon I’d blend into this monotonous crowd.

“Do you know why we wear uniforms?” A voice spoke just behind me, and I turned to see Mrs. Craig. Her big horse face angled toward me with a welcoming smile.

I shook my head.

“It’s so our ideas will shine, not our apparel. Keep that in mind. True beauty comes from the good we share, not cosmetics or fashion.”

I thought Mrs. Craig could use the help of some cosmetics and fashion. Especially since today’s outfit—a black bag with mid-length sleeves—was, if anything, even more shapeless and colorless than yesterday’s giant gray pillowcase. Still, despite her horrible sense of style, I was glad for her company.

“Come, let me show you to your first room.” She handed me a class schedule.

The classes and rooms meant nothing to me, because I didn’t know where any of the classes were or who might be in them.

I followed her up the steps. Yesterday, the foyer had been reverent, almost like a church, but now it teemed with students and rang with hundreds of voices—all talking, laughing, and joking at once.

No one seemed to notice me. They looked past me as if they were looking for and hoping to see someone else—someone who belonged. A few people stared at my boots, and I regretted wearing them. All of the girls wore black Mary Janes secured with a silver buckle. The boys wore black leather slip-ons, the sort of thing Uncle Mitch liked to wear and Scratch liked to chew.

For a moment, I envisioned Scratch, or some other large dog—not a bull dog, but some other faster, hungrier breed—chewing up the student’s shoes, turning leather into slobbery mush.

Screams broke out. Students started pushing and shoving each other.

“What now?” Mrs. Craig groaned.

I stood on my toes, looking over the chaos. Books flew as students jumped out of the way of a fierce-looking, extremely slobbery Great Dane. He held a shoe in his mouth.

My knees buckled. Lightheaded, I sank to the floor, muttering, “Oh please, make him go away.”

I woke up on a bed in a room with eye charts on stark, white, walls, as a florescent light buzzed on the ceiling. A skeleton stood watch in the corner. It took me a moment to remember what had happened, and why I was in this place I couldn’t remember ever seeing before. New school, new people, and the dog I conjured in my imagination turned to real, scary, slobbering flesh.

Closing my eyes, I thought about Bree falling out of the tree and the burning science room. Of course, I didn’t really want those things to happen . . . or did I? I wouldn’t have pushed Bree out the window. Nor would I have struck a match to destroy property. Was I really responsible for Bree’s accident, the destruction of the science lab, and Lizzy the Iguana’s death, just because I thought of them?

No.

Impossible.

I wished for Birdie to come. Maybe she was kooky, like my dad had said. Maybe I’d inherited some of her kookiness, and she could tell me how to make my kookiness not hurt anyone or destroy anything else.

I had to try the wishful thinking thing. It was like the whole “Tell the universe what you want, and it comes true.” Which was bunk. Right? I needed to test it out. I waited for a few moments for Birdie to show up. When nothing happened, I decided to be more aggressive.

“I want an ice cream cone,” I whispered to the universe.

“I’m sorry, what?” a voice asked.

Opening my eyes, I bolted upright. The sudden movement made my head swim and my stomach reel.

A girl with black-rimmed glasses stood in front of me, studying me as if I were a creature in a zoo. She resembled a crow in glasses—super short dark hair and matching black eyes, dressed completely in navy.

“Are you kind of delirious or something?” she asked.

“Maybe just the something,” I replied, leaning back against the wall. “I guess I’m in the nurses’ office?”

She nodded. “Yeah, you took my spot.”

I glanced at the bed, and then scooted to the end. “I can share. I didn’t mean to be a bed hog.”

“That’s okay, I like to sleep alone.” But she sat on the bed anyway and the mattress sagged beneath her weight. “What happened out there?”

I shrugged.

“You don’t have to tell me. If it makes you feel better, I pass out, too. Every time I see blood.” She rolled her eyes. “Miss Cleaves doesn’t get it. She thinks I need to woman-up. I keep telling her that if I have to sit through another session of frog dissecting, I’m going to throw-up. Not everyone can be a science teacher . . . or a nurse.”

“Where is the nurse?” I asked.

“Mrs. Cleaves, she’s also the biology teacher. She’ll check on us after second period.”

Second period?
“How long have I been in here?”

“I don’t know. Long enough to leave me standing.” She bumped her shoulder with mine. “I’m sure Cleaves didn’t know about you when she sent me in here. But it’s okay, honestly. As long as I got to skip bio, I’m good.” She smiled at me. “I’m Courtney, by the way. You can call me Court.”

“Like supreme?”

“If you want.”

“I’m Evie, or Evelynn.”

“Are you new here? I haven’t seen you around.”

Although I really didn’t mean to, I told her about Hartly, the fire, all of it. “I had nothing to do with the fire, really, but the girl who told the guys I was going to ask them to homecoming claims she saw me start a fire. She’s also a trustee’s daughter.”

Court didn’t look at all scandalized, but nodded sympathetically.

Turned out, since we were both sophomores, we shared most of the same classes. When the bell rang, Court suggested I follow her before Mrs. Cleave could come and inspect us.

“Really,” Court told me, “it’s best to avoid her.”

I searched for Dylan between every class, but I didn’t see him until lunch. He sat at a corner table furthest from the line—the senior section, I decided immediately after watching the older students. He had his face angled away from me—his shoulders intentionally turned. It was as if an invisible line segregated their domain from the rest of the cafeteria, or as if a sign reading
Only the tall and beautiful welcome here
marked their territory. The guys didn’t look like jocks or geeks—they looked both beautiful, in a ripped, muscular way, and smart. And the girls . . .

Elven.

Weird word,
I thought, as soon as it popped in my head, but I didn’t dismiss it because it fit so well. Some were wispy thin with long hair, some were as statuesque as Greek goddesses, and the one leaning on Dylan’s arm looked like she belonged in a Victoria’s Secret commercial—despite the fact she wore clothes. But somehow she made the monotone Faith Despaign uniform look sexy.

“Senior stratosphere,” Court whispered, following my gaze. “Don’t stare. It only feeds their superiority complex.” She plopped her tray down on a table and a group of kids looked up, welcoming me with curious glances. “Sorry, this is an ageist school, and until you’re older—or deemed worthy—you’re stuck in the sophomore sector.”

“That’s okay.” I was happy to be included anywhere, especially since the one person I thought I knew wouldn’t look at me. Stung, I sat down beside Court and smiled at her friends.

“This is Evelynn Marston.” Court picked up an apple and polished it on her sweater. “She’s an arsonist.”

“Not really an arsonist,” I muttered, before biting into my sandwich.

Then Court rattled off a list of names of the kids at the table, and I tried to commit them to memory. The two guys, one with a Hawaiian shirt underneath his navy blazer and the other with dollar signs plastered all over his tie, looked more interested in me than the girls.

“Really an arsonist,” Court said, diving into my story. Before she finished, everyone was interested in me.

I flushed from the attention. “It was an accident,” I muttered.

“So, how’d you do it?” the kid in the Hawaiian shirt—Ryan, I reminded myself—asked.

I shook my head. “I didn’t. Someone said I did, but no one could prove it . . . because I didn’t do it.”

Ryan bobbed his head slowly. “That’s what they all say.”

“No.” The kid—Austin—with the money tie elbowed him. “They all say you’re a moron.”