Spell Book & Scandal

Chapter Seventeen

I've barely closed the door to my room before Christina opens it and barges in, her hands on her hips. "Did you seriously think you could get away with something like that? With your shitty spells? It's a wonder you didn't blow somebody up."

All my rage, frustration, and feelings of not-good-enough bubble to the surface, and I grab my spell book. It falls open to the page of angry scribbles about my sister, and I thrust it in front of her face. "I don't care what you say," I tell her, almost screaming. "This is what I really think of you. You're wicked, and worthless, and maybe I can't scribe, but at least I'm not a nasty witch like you!"

Christina's eyes flicker over the page, and then she laughs. "I'm not afraid of your words. Seriously, Shelby, you couldn't scribe a spell to light the candles on Mom's birthday cake. What are you going to do to me?"

Furious, I take the book back from her and flip to a new page. "Anything I can," I say, picking up a red pencil and starting to scribble. I'm writing nonsense words, just a stream of thoughts and feelings, but I am gratified by the mildly worried expression on Christina's face. And when the page under my hand begins to shimmer, Christina turns pale and leaves, slamming my door behind her without another word.

I wish I could teach her a lesson, I think, dragging my pencil across the page in jagged lines. Turn her into a toad or something nasty. Or better yet, find a way to make her see what it's like to be me.

My chest feels tight when I look back down at the spell book. Across the page in bleeding red letters, I've scrawled the words "walk a mile in my shoes and see what it's like to be me." The words shimmer and blur before my eyes, and I slam the book shut when I realize I'm crying again.

"It's not fair," I say to my empty room, the tears flowing freely down my face. "I never did anything to her. I've never done anything to anybody; why is it always like this?" Obviously, nobody answers me, and I sniffle, grabbing a tissue and blowing my nose. I force myself to inhale slowly through my stuffy nose, trying to calm myself down, but I can't stop the tears now, and I finally decide that there's no reason for me to get myself under control. Everything is falling apart; I might as well break, too.

Sobbing, I set my spell book on top of my desk and kick off my shoes. I don't bother changing out of my school clothes, just flop down across my bed and bury my face in the pillows. It feels pathetic to be melting down like this, but I'm too frustrated and exhausted to really care. My chest constricts painfully with each breath, like my skin can't contain me anymore, and I slide under the comforter, pulling the sheets up to my nose and burrowing down in the blankets like I'm a little girl again. Only this time, there's no nightmare to escape from, other than the miserable moments of my plain, boring life.

I must fall asleep, because the room is dark when I open my eyes again. Tears are dried on my cheeks in salty trails, and my skin feels strange and tight. Groggily, I sit up in bed. A hot shower will at least make me feel sort of human, even if the water can't wash away the hurt. I shuffle toward the door of my room, but I bump into the wall once I get to the hallway.

Shaking my head, I try to orient myself. There never used to be a wall there before. My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I see the faint blue glow of the LED nightlight in the bathroom. It looks farther away than I remember, and the angle of the door seems weird, but my brain is too foggy to figure out what's wrong. Nobody comes out to check on me, and from the stillness in the house, I would guess that it's well past midnight. I cried myself to sleep and missed dinner? My stomach clenches at the thought, and I wonder why Mom didn't come up and get me. Maybe she's too mad about the whole spell thing, I think, and this time the pain in my stomach has nothing to do with hunger.

Guilt, shame, and misery follow me into the bathroom, fogging up the glass as soon as I step into the shower. I run the water hot, as hot as I can stand, and then I step under the spray with my head tipped back, letting water run into my eyes to wash away my tears. Idly, I run my hands through my wet hair, but I don't grab the shampoo or anything; I just fiddle. It feels longer than it should, and I pause for a moment, tugging a strand around to look at the ends of it. It's impossible to tell since I'm soaking wet, but I would almost swear my hair is darker than it was when I washed it yesterday.

Puzzled, I turn off the water and reach for a towel. Wrapping it around my body, I step out of the shower, shaking the moisture out of my hair. When I flip my head back up, I glance at myself in the mirror, and I freeze.

A familiar face looks back at me, a face that I know as well as I know my own. But it's not me I'm seeing in the mirror.

It's Christina.