The Book at the Top of the Closet

Chapter Thirteen

The more I read from Aria's journal, the more I can't help but be anxious about going home for spring break. So far all the times I've come home for breaks or long weekends, my brother and sister were around. This time, it'll just be me. And with everything that's happened lately, I don't feel like the same person who went home for those visits.

I know who I am here, finally. I took a risk with that spell, and even though it went terribly, I saw something in myself that night. I saw the spark of fire in my soul that women for centuries have burned for because that kind of fire scares people. I felt powerful- I wanted that power. Knowing I could do real magic was almost as intoxicating as the out of body experience. I'm scared to death, but I want more.

There's no way I can do magic at mom and dad's, though. I remember one time when I was a kid I thought ghosts were real, and I told my mom I hoped I could meet one and be friends with it. She prayed for like an hour straight. I can't even imagine what she would do if I came home and announced, "I'm a pagan witch now.' Get out the torches and pitchforks, folks.

School won't be out for another two days, so I have two whole days to strategize about how much of my college life I can tell my parents about, and how much should be left unsaid. Corny as it may be, I like for them to at least feel like they know what's going on in my life. They've always pushed me to succeed in school and now that I'm here, classes have been sort of the last thing on my mind. I'm not doing badly, my study skills from years of terminal nerdiness have prepared me well, but I don't exactly have any classroom experiences that are the kind of thing you write home about, so to speak.

Veronica comes over after her last class of the day, and I regale her with my messy internal monologue about going home. When it becomes clear that not only am I not going to relax and watch the movie she brought over, I may actually give myself a full blown panic attack if I keep talking about family, she takes action.

"Enough, already. Little miss hot mess, you need to take a breath. In. Out. There you go." She puts her hand on my forehead, and I'm ninety percent certain she's trying to calm me down the way you calm a horse. Little gentle circles.

"Oh quit rubbing me," I swat at her hand, but I can't stop the smile from cracking across my face.

"I've got something more fun you can think about," she says.

"Oh?"

"Remember that girl you were talking to at the ER?" A little snarky grin crosses her face.

"Wendy?" I offer.

"Yeah. Well she's in one of my classes. I thought I knew her from somewhere, you know?"

"Okay? I'm almost afraid to ask- What does this have to do with me?" I ask. Veronica leans in, elbows propped on her knees. She looks like an eager kid about to tell me all about a guerilla dodgeball game.

"So the other day, this guy in our class is making an ass of himself. I mean really, really sticking his foot in his mouth. Guy is sitting there talking all about how political correctness is ruining education, and we're all like, come on dude, this is an intro to poli sci class. Not the time or place for your weird rant." She pauses, taking a long swig of water. I'm not sure if she's stopping to build tension, or if she's just talking so fast she needs to catch a breath.

"Anyway, the guy starts in on how he thinks feminism and the gay rights movement are conspiracies against Christianity and the 'values of our forefathers'," she makes dramatic air quotes, "and I swear, everyone in the class wants to strangle him, but no one's saying anything. Until," she stops, making full eye contact with me. "Until Wendy stands up."