Page 4 of The Secret Life of a Witch

“Actually, smartass, it does.” He smirks as he lightly tugs on a strand of my hair. “But you really shouldn’t be ingesting milk that’s been out of the fridge for that long.”

My brows pull together. “I thought it took a lot longer for milk to spoil.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?”

My sister lets out an exhausted groan and Penny rolls her eyes—I swear she does.

“Oh, my God, I take it back,” my sister whines. “You are a little weirdo. And so is Hunter. Seriously, how can you two worry about the expiration of milk when you both just ate cereal that’s two inches away from my rotting corpse leg?”

I turn around to shoot her a warning look. “Don’t start on me about this again.”

Her eyes glimmer mischievously. “Start on what? I didn’t really say anything.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Yeah, but you were about to mention thatthingyou’re always bugging me about, which you’re completely wrong about.”

“I’m not completely wrong about it,” she insists. “Hunter’s in love with you, and you need to get your head out of Low Self-Esteem Land and realize this so you can make your move before someone else does.”

I sneak a casual glance in Hunter’s direction and cringe when I note him observing me intently. Yeah, I know he can’t hear my sister, but that doesn’t make me any less squirrely.

“Is Ryleigh talking to you?” he asks without removing his gaze from mine.

I nod, fidgeting with a leather band on my wrist. “Yeah, she’s been pretty chatty this morning.”

“I have, huh?” Ryleigh grumbles, going back into miserable mode again.

“That’s a good sign, right? That she isn’t going to fade anytime soon?” Hunter asks, moving up to the table to glance at the opened textbook.

I choke up at the reminder that, if I don’t save her, eventually Ryleigh will rot into bones that I’ll no longer be able to chat with.

Not wanting to worry either of them, I keep an upbeat tone as I lie, plastering a fake smile on my face. “Yeah, that’s definitely a good sign.”

Concern swirls in Hunter’s eyes as he looks at me. When his lips start to part, I aim a pleading look at him.

Please, please, please don’t talk about this in front of Ryleigh,I silently beg.

“So, what class is this for?” He breezily changes the subject, glancing down at the textbook again.

I could hug him right now for being able to understand what I need without me actually having to verbalize it. “It’s for Experimental Magic Insanity Therapy.”

“You’re taking that class? Since when?”

“Since I signed up for it at the beginning of fall semester.”

“You never mentioned taking it.”

“I didn’t really think it was important.” I reach for the book as he puts his hand down on mine.

“You told me every other class you were taking”—his intense gaze carries mine—“except this one. Why is that?”

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” I reply with a shrug. Inside, my heart hammers deafeningly, though.

Please don’t figure out the real reason. That sometimes I secretly wonder if a experimental treatment could cure me from being the town’s magic ditz.

“No, it didn’t. And it’s weird that you’re taking this class when you hate everything that experimental treatment represents.” Worry lines crease his forehead. “Eva, is this about?—”

“It’s not about anything. I was bored when I signed up for the class; that’s all.” I wiggle my hand out from under his then shut the book. “I have to get to class. I’m running late already.” Swallowing the guilt crammed into my throat, I hug my books to my chest and hurry toward the crooked stairway that leads to the main floor of the house.

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