Page 29 of Magical Academy for Delinquents
I smacked his chest. My new undergarments hadn’t arrived in the mail yet. I’d had to hand wash and enchant today’s pair, which alternated between electric blue and pink light. “That’s the real reason you scooped me up, you perv.”
He gave a shrug. “I had to see the truth for myself.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
He shrugged the shoulder that held my hand before squeezing my fingers and asking, “Are those regular LED panties or are they spelled? I want that spell. Oh man. Can you imagine Professor Huchmala with glowing panties?” Zavier chuckled as he held open the door to Building A. His enthusiasm was as high as a preschool boy’s in the sandbox.
He led the way to Magical and Norm Intersections, my only class with him, painting bright mental pictures of Huchmala in disco-ball style undies. I had to admit, his idea had appeal. Professor Huchmala was the art therapy professor. I’d met her Friday, and she had an awkward vibe that she spread around like peanut butter. It stuck to the roof of your mouth after you left her class. She was an older woman with shoulder-length silver hair, crow’s feet, and blue eyes that never made eye contact. She always looked slightly to your right. She wore a lot of sweater dresses which meant the light from luminescent panties would penetrate, drawing attention all day long. Joy for every student—until she noticed.
I bit my lip and debated helping Zavier out. But I’d used my Natural magic for the panties. I didn’t really want anyone to know I was a Darklight yet, and so far, the faculty were keeping it under wraps. And while he came across as harmless, the guy was on his last shot here. That meant he’d done something big.
“Sorry, they’re just norm panties,” I shrugged, lying as we sat off in a corner of the lecture hall by ourselves.
Zavier sighed. “That’s okay. Now I’m totally gonna fuck off in class and try to think of how to write a spell to do that.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Instead of that, can you tell me what the fuck is up with my tutor? He was a no-show.” That pissed me off to high heaven because I’d worked damn hard to ensure that I got Malcolm assigned to me. I’d had to hack the system twice, because some dumb admin troll had changed it back.
I worried that I’d ticked Malcolm off in class the other day. I ran a hand across the back of my neck.
A girl with cherry-red pigtails and gauged piercings in her ears sat down in the chair next to me. I glanced over at her, because no one had bothered to sit near me yet at this school. Grayson’s scorn apparently carried some weight. But this girl smiled at me before she sat. I realized she had gold earrings looped through the steel tunnels in her earlobes. She dug her book out of her bag and ignored us, flipping open to the current chapter—The Great Fog. It was all about the 1960s war between technology and magic, each trying to muddle the other’s power. I could see the page was highlighted in several marker colors. I briefly wondered what a nerd of this caliber was doing at MAD, but then Zavier spoke to me.
“Who’s your tutor?” he asked.
“Malcolm Bier,” I said.
The girl looked over at me, her earrings jangling as she turned and blinked cat eye makeup at me. That’s when I realized she had a nose-ring, lip piercing, and a piercing through her dimple. The first words out of her mouth were a warning, “Shit. Even I’ve heard of him. He goes here? If that guy ghosts you, it’s a good thing. Trust me. You don’t want to be mixed up with all that. He’s on like eight countries’ watch lists.”
“Sorry, who are you?” I asked. This girl wasn’t on my list of students. My eyes roamed her suspiciously.
“Emelia.”
“New transfer?” Zavier asked, stretching and sliding an arm not-so subtly behind my back.
“Potential. My mom’s trying to scare me into compliance by sending me here for a week,” Emelia laughed nervously. “I think it might work.”
“Know the feeling,” I responded, easing back against Zavier’s arm, because I liked the feel of his bicep against the back of my neck. I probably shouldn’t have done it, considering it would probably only encourage him, but the way his fingers curled possessively around my shoulder and pulled me closer felt good. Even if it was only a momentary distraction.
Emilia eyed us for a second before the professor—a white haired man with a ponytail—called us all to attention. When Emilia turned to face forward, Zavier leaned in. His breath was hot against my ear as he whispered, “Giving in already, dirty friend?”
I fought against the tingle that ran down my spine at his words. “No, you’re just a good headrest,” I replied.
“You’d be a good headrest too. But not for my face … for my—”
“Mr. Kieltyka,” Professor Wolfe called out, saving Zavier from a good punch to the nads. “Please step on down here for a demonstration.” Wolfe smiled, which made his wrinkled face double the number of ripples in his skin. He shoved his hands into his tweed pant pockets and waited patiently as Zavier uncurled from around me and made his way down the steps toward the wooden podium. There were quite a few steps on the way down, because at least a hundred students fit into this room, which was set up as a semicircular auditorium with a small raised stage at the front. I imagined that quite a few faculty members were huddled in their lounge, drinking coffee and complaining about us while Wolfe took a good chunk of the student population off their hands.
“Now, we’ve already discussed how norms and magicals have had quite a terrible history of violence,” Wolfe stated. “I know we live in a somewhat segregated society as a result. It’s proven easiest. Most of you have only gone to school with Magicals. Most Norms stick to their side of any given town. But, it’s very important we cultivate positive relations with one another. Today, we’re going to go over some of the proper protocol for when you meet a norm.”
Wolfe turned to Zavier, who dwarfed him by at least half a foot. But the professor didn’t seem intimidated in the slightest. In fact, from what I could tell (this was only my second class with Professor Derby Wolfe) our professor was just one of those genuinely happy guys. He constantly strove to crack jokes in class. Some fell horribly flat. But he was the only professor I’d ever known to make that kind of effort. And I appreciated it.
Wolfe said, “Mr. Kieltyka, you’re going to be my assistant today. But, instead of dressing you in sparkles and sawing you in half—”
“Boo!” One student called out.
“Do that instead,” another guy shouted.
I just laughed as Zavier struck a feminine pose that showcased the blinking ankle cuff he wore as he said, “Don’t worry everyone, I’ll still be eye candy no matter what.”
A couple erasers were thrown at Zavier. One hit Professor Wolfe, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Today, I’m going to play a norm. Once in a while, you might encounter them at the bank or grocery store. They often hold administrative positions, even within our own government or prisons. While we no longer have to wear patches on our sleeves to identify ourselves as magicals, it’s considered polite to identify yourself as such if you engage a Norm in conversation.”
