Page 42 of Magical Academy for Delinquents
I rolled my eyes. “If you come down here and lecture me …”
“Then I’m doing what mommy paid me for. Getting you off this crap track you’re on …”
I hung up on Potts, closing the tablet. I wasn’t on a crap track. I was on the right track. I wasn’t making a deal with a single devil. I was recruiting a whole team of them. And if they wanted my soul, so fucking be it. I didn’t need my soul. I needed my brother back.
I ate.
Then I served the world’s most awful detention. I had to plant twenty-five new trees with the groundskeeper because the stupid stone lions kept knocking entire trees down when they clawed them like kittens.
My arms were shaking by the time I reached Sunday’s midday P.E. class. I almost cried when Coach Blafield, a woman with a man’s haircut, told us we were playing croquet. My hands couldn’t do it. They were raw because the groundskeeper wouldn’t let me wear gloves to dig and they shook from holding the same position for an hour and a half. When I tried to clutch the mallet, I couldn’t. I ended up kicking my ball whenever the Coach wasn’t looking.
It earned me dirty looks at first, but soon the other girls in my group were doing it too. Because seriously, croquet was for old people who like spiked lemonade and gingersnaps. As soon as that torture was over, I stumbled to the cafeteria. I hadn’t eaten enough in the morning. I had two sandwiches and a couple glasses of orange juice, sitting at a table all by myself.
And willing or not, Potts’ words started to roll around in my head. Ugh. I didn’t need that. I tried to shove them away, but melancholy followed me, dogging my footsteps just like Evan did.
I grabbed an armful of fruit to take with me, since my feet ached, and I didn’t want to have to come back across campus for a snack. Then I headed back to my room, ready to wallow in self-pity and make a list of every reason I was justified to hate Evan. I waved weakly at Zavier when he tried to flag me down from where he stood in line.
"Project," I called out to him. It was a lame excuse and it earned me some weird stares. Two jerkwads at a table near the door tossed food at me.
"Kiss ass," one of them said.
I shrugged, staring down at him and his eyeliner. "I'm working on the next spell I need to put Grayson in his place."
The guy’s hand froze, spoonful of yogurt ready to launch. "Well, alright then." He shoved the spoon in his mouth instead, proving not everyone cared for Richie Rich.
Zavier bounded over to me, finally abandoning his place in line. "Can I help?" he asked, an eager glint in his eyes.
I shrugged. "Grab your own food though. I don't have anything in my room."
Of course, the kitchen staff loved Zavier in a way they'd never love another student. He held up a finger to tell me to wait, then ran over to whisper to the lunch lady. He came back with a Tupperware container filled with lasagna.
"I didn't see lasagna in the line," I said, as he grabbed two napkin rolls filled with utensils from a crate by the door.
"They made it for the staff," he winked at me and I couldn't help but laugh.
I stared up at him in grudging admiration and he preened. I'd never seen a person do it before, but Zavier literally puffed up when I said, "Damn Midas. You've got the golden touch."
His eyebrows lifted. "Oh, I do. Girls say so all the time. And I'd love to prove it to you."
"I'd love to prove you're mentally defective. Your horny brain has taken over all your other senses." I pushed open the door and we walked outside into the brisk pre-dusk winter air. It wasn’t raining yet, but the clouds looked droopy.
"I wishyou'dtake over all my other senses," Zavier grumbled as we headed past building A to the girls’ dorm.
I quipped, "I'm trying to talksenseinto you. Doesn't that count?"
"Well, why are you sosensitiveabout sex?" he asked. "Why can't we play hide the baloney?"
I burst into trumpet-like, snort-filled, highly unattractive laughter.
"You're full of baloney," I wheezed.
"You could be too," he grumbled, sticking one rolled utensil set in his pocket and unwrapping the other to unleash the fork. He put the rest of the packet into his pants pocket and then opened the lid. He began to eat steaming hot mouthfuls of lasagna as we walked. He ate so quickly I wasn't sure he could even taste anything. It looked more like a gulp and swallow technique.
"You eat like a dog.”
He howled at the sky. Then he paused to lick sauce off his lips. He pointed his tongue and licked slowly, lapping at a bit of sauce that had dripped just off his lip onto his chin. His tongue couldn't quite get the right angle.
"Hold still," I said. I rolled my eyes and leaned up on my tiptoes, swiping the mess with my finger. For some stupid reason, I made eye contact with him. And Zavier's normal smirk disappeared, his eyes traveling the length of my face. Something strange happened to his expression. Or so I thought. But at that moment, the sun broke through between two clouds and light shone right into my eyes, blinding me.
