Witch (Supernatural #2)

5: Nothing But the Truth

Confession, noun.

1. acknowledgment; avowal; admission.
2. something that is confessed.

***

I stared at the words for a few minutes, wondering if I was dreaming. Then, the sound of people approaching the locker room snapped me into action. Yanking the doll out of my locker, I shoved it into my backpack. It couldn't be more than a temporary solution as I didn't want anyone to see the abomination as I was casually pulling out notebooks. For now, though, it would have to do. The note was nothing but a crumpled piece of paper by then and followed the doll into the bag.

Rose and Amanda walked in as I was zipping up.

"Hi Isla," they both said, smiling.

Smiling back, I turned to my locker, shoving the bag in. My heart was racing, my mind was shutting down the part that did the rational thinking as it went into panic mode. This couldn't be happening. It hadn't even been a week since I had moved here and already I had messed up. I should have known better than to light that fire, than to play with magic. Of course, it would have come to bite me in the ass!

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, what am I going to do?

As my mind worried, my body moved on autopilot, going through the all-too-familiar motions. It undressed, it pulled on the swimsuit, it grabbed the towel and headed for the pool. It dove in gracefully and set a nice and steady pace for my warm-up. It came to the surface every three strokes to take a breath and went back under. Swimming was such a routine for me that, obviously, I could do it in my sleep. I turned at the end of the lane without having to think about it. It was such an automatism that it left my mind too much room to think about something else.

In this case, that something else was utter panic.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, what am I going to do? That was the only thing I could really think about. Well, that and the sight of that creepy half-burned doll. The panic was such that I didn't even hear what Coach Evers said; I simply did what the rest did. Ken tried to talk to me but, at the sight of my face, he must have guessed I was too distracted. He smiled it off and said he'd meet me later.

That was basically how the whole day went. I couldn't focus on anything but that damned doll. When I saw Noah at lunch, I briefly considered pulling him aside and telling him about it. But if I told Noah, he would tell Grandma. There would be trouble. Not to mention that he would be both furious and worried. I could already imagine what he would say. How could I so carelessly have used my magic after what had happened to Mom? And how could I? The threat had been real even before that doll had been put in my locker; I had known that it hadn't been safe. Why would moving several hundred miles make any difference? If it happened at home, it could happen here. What was I thinking? I wondered.

Ken managed to convince me to join him for lunch - that was how distracted I was - and when we showed up at the table, Joyce had tried to 'convince' me to sit elsewhere, but I was so lost in thought I completely ignored her. I wasn't distracted enough to miss the grin Ken smothered in his noodles. Noah winked at me, which I forced myself to grin at. He couldn't know something was up, he just couldn't. He would put himself in danger if only to keep me out of it. I managed to join in the conversation but couldn't fully appreciate the gossip that was being dished out.

The worst was my second to last period. Tate was in that class and had managed to claim the seat next to mine. The second he sat down next to me, I wanted to tell him about the doll. It was this instinct inside me; it told me that I could trust him with this. It was his job after all. But I didn't. The last thing I wanted was to bother him with something that might not even turn out to be anything serious. For all I knew, someone had a terrible sense of humor and left the doll as a joke. Okay, the worst joke in the history of bad jokes. But still, I wouldn't bother him until I was certain there was an actual threat. And, let's face it, dolls in lockers weren't threats. Regardless of how burned they were.