Page 3 of Practically Witches

She turns to me again. “And maybe we should tell Mom.”

That’s it. She’s out of her mind.

“Aim, no way. We aren’t supposed to be practicing magic outside of the Institute. You know how she is. And she’ll lose her shit. Probably kill us.” And by us, I mean me.

“She might be able to figure out your magic block.” It’s a reasonable thought. Probably makes sense, but the last person in the world I’m ever going to be able to stand to disappoint is my mother.

“I’ll figure it out on my own.” And nothing is going to stand in the way of that either.

Chapter

Two

The sun is shining, at least, while I’m waiting out front of the Institute for Aimee. If it was raining I would’ve already given up, but I have a few minutes more patience left in me thanks to all the vitamin D from the sun.

The Institute is made up of four large brick buildings with ivy crawling up the outsides. They sit in a slight arc with the outer buildings on each end angled and the two center building next to one another. The grass is green and lush and there is a wrought iron gate around the property, which includes a soccer field, a baseball diamond, a swimming pool, and a large wooded section in the back outside of the fence.

Three of the buildings have multiple floors, a hundred or so classrooms, and offices for the administration and department heads.

The fourth building has the cafeteria, library, band and choral rooms, and a lounge. A couple streets over there’s a dorm and some cabins buried deep in the woods that areused for specialty magic—whatever that is. I have never taken a class in one of those buildings and I’m kind of glad.

From where I’m standing, leaning against a tree in the common grassy area across the drive from the buildings, I can see the front doors of all the buildings. And Aimee has yet to walk out of any of them.

She’s a big joiner at school. She sits on four councils—Students for the Equitable and Responsible use of Potion Sales; Spells and Magic Apprenticeship; Real World Applications of Magic; and Chess Club. It could be that she’s busy with one of those, but she usually mentions it ahead of time so I can get a ride home with someone else.

It’s Wednesday, and unless something has changed since last period when she went to Philosophy of Magic and I went to Alchemy and Ancestral Magic, she should’ve been here ten minutes ago.

Finally, she runs out of building four’s door, looks around until she spots me—in the same place I wait for her every day—then waves and jogs over. It’s not a good sign that she doesn’t have her book bag. I know for a fact she has homework in Portal Science.

When she gets to where I am, silvery-blonde ponytail swinging, breaths heavy—she bends and puts her hands on her knees. “I’m staying after today to try out for choir.”

I’m not annoyed. “You’re trying out for choir?” I tut because this is a magic school, not a singing school. Although our first year she played softball and ran track. I guess choir isn’t so out there.

She nods. “I’ll be home around six.”

I shrug. “Okay.” Not like I’m her keeper. And maybe I can work on the magic, build my confidence and figure out for myself what I’m doing differently when Aimee is there and when she isn’t.

By the time I get home, I’ve gone over the spell twenty times in my head. “How was class today?” Mom is home, fresh from the garden and hasn’t even taken her gardening gloves off yet. She is a green witch, which means that she draws her power and the tools she uses in her magic from the earth. She’s also a hereditary witch so her power was passed down the same way the color of her hair—silvery like Aimee’s—is also passed down.

“It was fine. Aimee is trying out for choir.” She’s washing the vegetables she’s picked from the plot she planted in the backyard so she doesn’t see my eyeroll. It’s our last year at the Institute, why Aimee wants to be in choir is beyond me. We could use that time to work on spells and potions. Things will make us money in the future.

“I told Madeline Hughes about your oven mitts and she wants to order a pair to hang in her kitchen.” Mom’s smiling and so proud, I feel moderately bad for deceiving her.

“Oh, okay. Well, she can have the pair we already made.” Simple solution.

“But I wanted to keep those.” Mom tilts her head, and I don’t know if she knows or if she’s really put out because I was going to give the mitts to her friend.

“Oh, okay.” I nod like I understand. But I don’t have a plan. I can order more. Or I can muddle through making her a pair myself. “We can always make more.”

Mom smiles. “Good.”

She even winks at me, and I head for the upstairs. “I’m going to drop my stuff off in my room and get to work.” I’m a liar and I hate it, but it’s not because I want to lie. I have to. She doesn’t understand that the world isn’t black-and-white.

But it is what it is. I can’t be the only student at the Institute who flunks out because I can’t get my spells right. I won’t be.

By the time I get upstairs, I can hear her playing the radio. She loves the oldies—the songs from the seventies and eighties—and is probably dancing around the kitchen singing into her broom. And I like thinking of her that way. It’s a simple vision in my head, but so clear, so happy.

I don’t think about it as I shut the door to the attic loft. Mom’s innocent, trusting us, and I’m the one taking that away from her. It skews my perception of her. She’s never been the enemy but she’s a master at her magic. She won’t understand why I can’t do it. Why I have to go behind her back.

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