Page 25 of Practically Witches

Her eyes widen. “I lose my magic and you make a date?”

“No reason for both of us to suffer.” I grin at her, but she narrows her eyes and shakes her head.

“You might be the most selfish person I know.” Her smile says she doesn’t mean it.

“Yeah, but I have a date.” I wag my eyebrows and she laughs. It’s a semi-normal morning.

“What are you going to wear?” She eyes my closet with the same disdain she’s always had for it. “Bob the Builder overalls, or are you going as a minion?”

“Ha ha.” Not ha-ha at all, but I can give her this one. “Builder, of course.” I roll my eyes.

“At least go glam.” She walks to my closet, shakes her head, then heads to her room. When she comes back, it’s with a white tank and a flannel shirt she tiesaround my waist.

“This isn’t glam.” I hate to break it to her, but this is me. Everyday.

She nods. “Yeah, but he apparently likes you as you are. We’re just going to dress it up a little.” She hands me some spangly sunglasses. Designer. Her style. But I slip them on and suddenly, I’m not Bob the Builder. I’m a better version of me.

“Sometimes, it’s just about the accessories.”

I nod. “Yeah, but I can’t wear them in class.”

I have naturally wavy, usually frizzy hair. But I also have hair product that makes it shiny and semi-well-behaved. And when she pushes the glasses up and my hair frames my face while the glasses hold the top back, I look kind of amazing on that careless level of not trying that other girls can manage, usually with a messy bun. A simple pair of gold framed glasses is a game changer. Who knew?

Obviously, Aimee knew. And now, I know, too.

I walk into the common area in front of the buildings where the concrete is crowded with witches waiting for their first classes to start. My first class starts at nine. Aimee’s starts at 8:40 and I don’t know what time Zane’s starts, but I see him by the coffee cart. Fuck. There’s no way a girl can resist allthat.

He is wearing a tight shirt stretched across what I personally know is a rock-hard chest. Jeans that make his legs look long and his waist look thin. Hair that’s just a little too long, but perfectly styled so that he looks careless but in an artful way.

He looks up from his drink then down like he doesn’t see me, but I know he did. Then, he looks up again and smiles. It’s the smile that gets me. Every time.

I walk over with Aimee, trying for cool, hoping an untied shoelace won’t be the thing that ruins my morning.

As we walk over, Aimee says, “Don’t go and make lunch plans with the pretty boy. We’re going to that club.”

I stop walking because I wouldn’t ditch her for lunch plans. “I already invited him along.” And I flash her a grin of my own.

Before she can respond, we’re at the coffee cart in front of him. Or actually, he’s in front of me and I wait for him to say something, but Aimee motions for me to lift the glasses.

My heart is thumping. This could go so wrong. I could get my hair tangled around the metal that holds the nose pads in place, or rip off my own ear, or something else to embarrass me to within an inch of my life. But I risk it. Because I need to change my game and this is my chance.

Chances don’t come around every day, so I flip the glasses up, smile back at him, and say, “Hey.”

But we’re not having the moment I want us to have, the one I’ve gone over in my head ten or thirty thousand times. Instead, he’s almost somber.

“Is everything okay?”

I stare at him because his smile has faded and there’s some sadness in his eyes. “Another girl was attacked.” My head tilts on its own while I wait for the rest of the story. “Ariya Glover.”

“Ariya Glover.” I repeat her name because I know her. We aren’t friends, but we’re friendly. I’ve had a few classes with her. She’s actually one of the people my age who’s talked to me here, who doesn’t think I get special attention and favors because I’m my mother’s daughter. And then I look up at Zane.

This is a hard time for all of us since we’re all equally in danger, but there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on about his reaction. That is, until I figure it out. “You dated her, too?”

“I mean…” He shakes his head and shrugs, then pulls me away from the rest of the group. “It was a blind date. Only happened once. She was nice enough.” A second later he sighs and rakes his fingers through his hair, pushing it back for a second before it all falls back into its disheveled perfection. “This can’t all be because of me.” I don’t know a lot about distress. I’m not one of those women who is particularly afflicted with things like that, but I can hear his, like an extension of his voice. It makes it deeper. Uncertain. Regretful.

I want to ease whatever he is feeling. And it doesn’t matter that I haven’t really told anyone what I saw. Not my mom, not Aimee, not anyone. I’ll tell him. “I saw the…villain.” It’s such an odd word, but I don’t know another.

“Villain?” When he says it, I think of superhero comics and the green men who try to crash through them.

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