This was … a complication.
What is going on here? It’s not like someone is using magic near me—even if I could feel that, I don’t think it would feel like this. It’s more like some source of magical energy is kept here. But shielded—encased—in a way I don’t understand.
Nadia clutched the straps of her backpack tighter as she hurried inside the registrar’s office. Don’t think about it now, she told herself. You can figure it out later. Besides, there’s nothing you can do about it without Mom around to help. For now? All you have to do is get through the day.
Even waiting for her class schedule was almost more than she could take.
“So, like, Jinnie’s just standing there, like nothing is going on, even though we both know what’s going on, so I’m like, hey, Jinnie, and she’s like, hey, Kendall, and I’m like, what’s up, and she’s like, nothing. I swear to God, she is so fake.” The girl in front of Nadia somehow managed to talk into her cell phone without pausing, even though she was chewing at least half a pack of gum at once. “And she’s all, did you have a good summer, and I just went, yeah, because I’m so not getting into that with her.”
Nadia prayed for the ancient secretary behind the counter in her lilac polyester suit to find whatever the heck it was this girl wanted so she’d leave already. Or shut up. Either way.
The door opened and shut behind her; Nadia didn’t bother turning around. The girl in front of her did, her sandy hair falling over her shoulder. Almost instantly, her freckled face went from pleasant to nasty, her expression from vapid to mean. “Speaking of total fake bitches,” she said into her phone, far too loudly, “that skank Verlaine just walked in.”
Nadia couldn’t help but turn back to look.
The first word that came into her mind when she saw Verlaine was Goth. But that wasn’t right. The black dress she wore wasn’t lace or leather; it had puffed sleeves and a wide belt at the waist like something from a 1950s movie, and her shoes were cheerful kelly-green Converse sneakers. Her complexion was so white that Nadia had assumed she was wearing that stuff Goths used to come across like porcelain dolls or ghosts—but Verlaine was really that fair all over. And her long hair wasn’t an elaborate wig or even a dye job, unless she’d been thorough enough to even do her eyebrows. Instead, it was really, truly, totally silver-gray, though Verlaine seemed to be no older than Nadia herself.
The most striking thing about her, though, was how … hopeless she looked. Like people were mean to her all the time, and she no longer even dreamed of anything better. Her only response was to roll her eyes and say, “Kendall, give it a rest.”
Kendall said, “I have to go. If I don’t get out of here soon, the skank overload will kill me.” She stowed her phone with another withering glance toward Verlaine; Kendall’s bubbly personality seemed to have changed in an instant. “You’d think having two fags for dads would mean at least somebody would tell you what to wear.”
Nadia couldn’t hold it back any longer. “You’d think anybody wearing those shoes would know they didn’t have the right to tell anybody else what to wear.”
Kendall, caught up short, stared down at her shoes like she was trying to guess what was wrong with them. They were fine, as far as Nadia could tell, but with fashion, attitude was half the battle. Verlaine’s face lit up; her smile looked uneven, as though she didn’t get much practice.
“Here you go, Miss Bender.” The secretary shuffled out with a manila folder, which Kendall snatched from her hands before stomping out. “And you are?”
“Nadia Caldani. I’m new. You should have my records from Chicago.”
“Oh, yes. We have your schedule—right back here—” The secretary wandered toward the back room, still in no hurry.
“Thanks,” Verlaine whispered. “Kendall was being such a witch.”
Nadia tried to brush aside her momentary annoyance. “I prefer bitch, actually. Most witches are perfectly nice people. Sorry—pet peeve.”
“No worries. About time somebody else with some attitude got here. Captive’s Sound is mostly a graveyard for the living.”
“Wow, you make it sound awesome.”
“I’m exaggerating. Graveyards are more exciting.”
Nadia smiled, but talking to Verlaine felt—weird. She didn’t want to make any friends. After the way everybody had started avoiding her in Chicago—like her bad luck was catching—well, “friendship” obviously didn’t mean what Nadia had always thought it did. And there was just something about Verlaine … something she couldn’t put her finger on....
There was no time to think about that, though. By the time the secretary finally waddled forth with her class schedule, Nadia was already almost late for her first class. She politely waved good-bye to Verlaine, who didn’t really react, only nodded; then she rushed toward what she thought was the right building. Forget the locker—that she could find later, and it wasn’t like she had any of her books yet.
“There he is,” whispered one girl excitedly. “Holy crap, he got even hotter over the summer. I didn’t think that was possible.”
“He’s nice to look at,” said another whisper, “but he’s bad news. You know that.”
“It’s a bunch of crazy gossiping old people. That’s all that is.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, how come you never talk to him, either?”
“Shut up.”
Nadia couldn’t help but turn her head to see who the whispering was about—and her eyes went wide.
Mateo. He was here, in her school—letter jacket on his shoulders, dark hair brushed back, even more gorgeous in the daylight than he’d been in the dark. In those first terrifying moments, she’d assumed he was a couple years older than she was, but apparently he was a student at Rodman, too.
For his part, when their eyes met, he froze in place. It was almost as if the sight of her—scared him.
But that couldn’t be right. He’d saved her from the wreck, which was the single bravest act she’d ever witnessed. Why would he be scared of her?
Nadia said, “Mateo, hi. I didn’t realize you went here.” Was that a stupid thing to say? It wasn’t like they’d talked a lot about school or anything else.