Spellcaster

Chapter 3

"SO. LET'S SEE- NADIA CALDANI." THE GUIDANCE counselor shuffled through the file quickly. "Transfer from Chicago. For your senior year only?"

"Unless I flunk."

The counselor- whose desk nameplate read FAYE WALSH- gave her a glance that clearly meant, we can joke around, but not right now. "I meant, it's unusual for students to move to a new school and new state for their senior year. Work thing for your parents?"

"My dad wanted to quit working for a big law firm. Sick of the crazy hours, the corporate crap, all of that." Was she going to get lectured for using the word crap? Apparently not. Ms. Walsh remained unruffled. She was unexpectly chic for a school counselor, or really for anyone Nadia had yet seen in captives sound: close- cropped hair, big silver jewelry, and a white sheath dress that set off her dark skin.
This was somebody who had a life outside Rodman High; Nadia could respect that.

"He took a job here in Captive's Sound- public- interest law. Representing lower-income workers who have disputes with their employers for back pay, workplace injuries, things like that." Dad always claimed to be a do-gooder at heart, but Nadia had been kind of surprised when he stopped talking and did something about it. "And they'll let him work from home sometimes, so he can be around for me and my brother."

"That's a definite plus," Ms. Walsh said. She ran one Perfectly manicured Nail along the edge of the papers spread out on her desk. "Your dad's the one who signed all the forms and consents."

Oh, great- this was one of those counselors who expected to actually counsel you instead of just handing you college brochures. Nadia decided the quickest way out was to explain it all and move on. "My mother left my father several months ago. Didn't ask for custody or alimony or anything. So she's out of the picture."

"How often do you see her?"

"Never," Nadia said. "I see her never. She doesn't want visitation. She doesn't pick up the phone when we call, and I don't think she so much as listens to our voice mails. I used to email her some; I think my little brother still does. But she never answers. Mom is- gone. Past tense. So Dad's the one handling all the college stuff." Hopefully that would be enough to shut Ms. Walsh up.

Usually it wasn't, though. Other people who had heard this story, like her former friends back in Chicago, would pile on questions: Really? Never? That's so awful. That's so weird. Did she have a nervous breakdown? Did your father hit her when he got mad? Was there, you know, somebody else?

These questions always made Nadia want to scream. She had no answers, none, and Nadia didn't see why she was responsible for explaining why her mother was such a loser.
Ms. Walsh didn't ask any more questions. She only nodded. "You don't have a lot of extracurriculars in your record."

Nadia had more extracurricular interests the nearly anyone, but witchcraft wasn't something you could put down in your college application. Honing her skills in magic, reading the ancient books her mother had given to her- it didn't leave much time for show choir or debate team.

"Guess I'm not a joiner."

"We should try to get you into something this year though. To show colleges that you're well rounded."

"I'm not even sure I'm going to college. I'd rather look at culinary schools."

"A chef, huh? You should have told me. If I'd known baked goods were involved here, it would've changed everything."

That was almost funny. Nadia didn't let herself smile. "Anyway, culinary schools don't care about extracurriculars. They care about your flaky pie crusts and your béarnaise sauce."