Spell Book & Scandal

Chapter Two

By the end of the day, I'm shivering in my tank top; the school always runs the air conditioning too much, and I gave up on the pink hoodie at lunch, shoving it deep in my locker where I hope I never see it again. Christina could probably change its color for me with a simple spell, but I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of admitting that it was a mistake. I sigh, slamming my locker and adjusting the shoulder strap of my bag. Maybe it isn't the pink that's the mistake, a nasty voice whispers in my mind. Maybe I'm the mistake.

Last block is science, and when I walk into the lab, it's clear that the teacher is fresh out of college. He's standing at the front of the room, looking stuffy and overdressed in a suit and tie, and he nods firmly at each student who walks by his desk, no trace of a smile on his lips. I roll my eyes and head to a lab table near the back. I set my bag on the table next to me, pull out my notebook, and start doodling aimlessly. New teachers are always the worst; not only do they try too hard to have authority, but some of them seem totally oblivious to the interplay between casters, scribes, and normies. It's not exactly a state secret that some people can do magic, but some communities are more inclusive than others. Since we live on the outskirts of Portland, home to all kinds of friendly freaks, most of the normies are happy to coexist with us during the school day, even if that vanishes once we all go home to our mostly segregated neighborhoods in the burbs. But with new teachers, you never know what kind of prejudices you're going to get.

"Young lady," a harsh voice pierces my thoughts, and I glance up from my notebook, ready to see who the new guy is about to light into, but for some reason, he's staring at me. I glance over my shoulder, but there's nothing behind me except lab equipment, and when my eyes swing back to the front of the room, his gaze is still fixed on me. He clears his throat. "That shirt isn't acceptable."

Bemused, I point to myself. "Are you talking to me?"

He glowers. "Don't take that tone with me. I'm sure you know the school's dress code, and tank tops are not allowed."

I frown, thinking about all the girls I've seen today who are wearing tube dresses and halter tops. "I'm pretty sure it's okay."

The teacher's face starts to turn red. "You will not be disrespectful to me, Miss--?"

Instead of answering, I raise one eyebrow and glare at him, doing my best to imitate Christina's angry stare that she reserves for stupid normies. The teacher sputters, and the bell rings. Instead of dropping it and starting class, the man walks toward me, looking for all the world like he's going to try to haul me out my chair in front of everybody. I cross my arms and keep my mouth shut.

The teacher pauses in front of me. "Miss--?"

There's a long pause, and then one of my normie classmates coughs. "That's Shelby King," she says, her voice subdued. "Mr. Halstead, you probably want to drop it."

His eyes swivel away from me and lock on the girl, a goody-goody whose name I can't remember. "And why would I do that?"

The girl glances at me and turns pale. "She's not one of us," she says, pitching her voice low. "There's no telling what she'll do."

I want to jump across the room and grab the girl's stupid perky ponytail, but I keep myself stone still. Now I guess we'll find out what Mr. Halstead thinks of magic.

The man turns back to face me, but the anger that etched his features has been replaced by fear. "Go to the office, please, Miss King."

"But I didn't do anything!"

He takes a tentative step back. "You can come back when your clothes meet the dress code." With that, he hurries away from me and launches into a rambling "welcome to class" lecture. Clearly, he doesn't want to push me in case I decide to turn him into a toad or something, but if I stay, it won't take long before he realizes that I can't even give him a bad case of warts. Tears prick my eyes, but I sweep them away with my hand. I've never been treated so crappily by a normie before, even though I've heard stories about their narrow-minded prejudices. God, I don't fit in anywhere. There's no way Christina would have let a teacher talk to her that way or single her out like that, but I can't think of anything to say or do. For a moment, I'm frozen with indecision and frustration, but then I grab my bag and head out into the hall, letting the classroom door slam shut behind me.

In the hall, I lean against the lockers, trying to decide what to do. Will Mr. Halstead follow up, or will he just be relieved that I left his classroom? Maybe I should try to get my schedule changed, I muse, remembering the teacher's cold glare laced with fear. I guess I could just go to my locker and get the pink hoodie, but now my attempts at changing what people think about me by wearing pink seem laughable. Unless I transfer schools, there's no way for me to have a fresh start. Everyone here knows about my family.

Before I can move, a door farther down the hall opens, and Jeremiah Smallwood steps into view. I tense, ready to bolt, but there's nowhere for me to hide unless I go back into Mr. Halstead's room. Miah is headed right toward me, twirling a misshapen bathroom pass, and before I can decide what to do, before I can even think, he spots me. An easy, familiar smile spreads across his face, and my chest constricts when he walks up.

"What's up, Shelby?"

"You missed the bus," I say, the words slipping out of nowhere.

Miah's grin stretches wider. "I didn't miss it. Mom and Dad finally let me buy a car."

"No way!"

He nods, his smile lighting up his eyes. "Want to see it? I'm supposed to be stopping in the office to pick up Coach's mail, but there's time for a detour. Come on!" Without warning, he reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling me down the hallway toward one of the side exits. I let him tow me along, relishing the feeling of his strong fingers wrapped around mine. I've been half in love with Jeremiah since we were kids, long before he kissed me on a dare on the playground, but since he started dating Becca last year, this is the closest I've got to him in a long time. I close my eyes, trying to imprint the feeling of his hand in mine on my mind, desperate to hold onto this moment forever.

We're outside in a heartbeat, and when Miah lets go of my hand, I try not to sigh in disappointment. He's oblivious, of course. "Isn't she perfect?" He grins, pointing at a rusty old sports car that might have been red in its former life. The hubcaps are mismatched, the passenger mirror is shattered, and the trunk is held shut with a length of twine. I can't help but laugh.

"Seriously, Miah? You're, like, the best caster around. Why haven't you fixed it up?"

He frowns. "I just bought her last week, and I'm still getting to know the way she drives. I might put in a new stereo, but for now, I kind of just want to let her be exactly what she is, you know?"

His words strike me as if we're talking about me, not a stupid car, and my breath catches in my throat. "Yeah, I guess I get it," I admit, looking at the rusty car again.

Miah grins. "I knew you'd understand, Shelby. Mom and Dad gave me grief about her, and you should have heard the shit Becca said." A cloud passes over his face, but then he shakes himself and smiles at me again. "You want to check her out? Maybe go for a ride with me after school?" He slings his arm over my shoulders, and I'm acutely aware of the straps of my tank top and my bare skin against him. Face hot, I clear my throat.

"Um," I croak, searching desperately for the right words, "Okay. Why not?" Mr. Halstead and the whole awful day fade from my mind, and I grin at Miah, wondering if maybe this year really will be the year things change for me.

***