After I walked the twin headaches to the junior high, I had to crowd into a musty auditorium with every jackass who’d ever called me “Crazy Man’s Kid” and every jackass who’d ever let them. On a logical level, I knew that school was not a waste of time, that high school would end, that sooner than later I’d be out of here. But some mornings, it was pretty hard not to stand up and walk out of the building.
“I know many of you have heard of senioritis,” the vice principal said as she gestured at an eye-stabbingly bright PowerPoint. “But remember, colleges will still see your senior year GPA. Now, who here is thinking of applying to Penn State?”
Hands shot up in the air. My stomach sank. There was Brooke Tanneman, who’d put white seed beads in my hair and told everybody I had lice last year. And Owen Cope, who’d spread the rumor that I was a devil worshipper back when we were both freshmen. And Dennis Holtzmann, who wasn’t awful, but who did spend all of freshman year walking around with a lacy bra outside of his shirts to protest … something. He’d never been clear what, exactly. These were the people trying to get into my college. So much for high school ending.
“Good, good. Make sure you don’t let those GPAs slip; they could make the difference in your acceptance. Now, Penn State doesn’t have a minimum GPA requirement per se, but that doesn’t mean they don’t take it into account…”
A few groans rose up in chorus across the auditorium, hopefully a sign that not all of them would be getting into my college after all. Near the front row, a boy shifted, resting his feet on the empty seat in front of him. Clearly not someone planning on Penn State. Who was that?
I sat up straighter—quite a feat in those creaky old seats—and leaned forward. It wasn’t Dmitri or Lance or … or anyone I’d ever seen before, actually. Oh, crap. In a podunk little town like Easterton, it was kind of impossible not to know everyone. The timing couldn’t be coincidental.
The strange boy leaned over and whispered something to Jasika Witters. I gripped the armrests on my seat. Jasika was good people. Possibly the nicest, most genuine person in this whole rotten school. She and her family lived on Postoak. She took care of her kid siblings like I did, and after they got a nasty case of redcaps in their master bathroom, she’d kept it secret. She’d been volunteering at the hospital since June, for goodness’ sake! How much more good-person could you get? And he was … what? Targeting her?
The boy grinned at something Jasika said and glanced back. Right at me. My heart jumped into my throat and, for just a moment, I was eight years old staring at the Fae prince who’d destroyed my home. This guy wasn’t pale by a long shot, and he had dark hair and dark eyes and skin like an acorn, but something about those high cheekbones, the smooth skin, the wide, expressive mouth. Oh God. Ice flooded my veins.
This was not a coincidence. A new student couldn’t just happen to show up right after a court Fae. One of them was in the school. Maybe even the same one from before. How? The whole building was made of reinforced steel. The catwalks alone stretched above us like a big, anti-fairy barrier. He ought to be shivering, panting, sweating just being near it. Were the more powerful court Fae somehow able to tolerate it?
“… Okay, lots of you thinking about heading to Pittsburgh. So, let’s talk about those SAT scores,” the vice principal said.
A band tightened around my chest. I sucked in a shallow breath as I slipped out of my seat, stumbling across the aisle. There were a lot of heys and watch its as I bumped into knees on the way out. The dark-eyed boy watched me, his brows furrowed. I clenched my hands to stop them from shaking. I wanted to scream. I wanted to puke.
I slipped into the restroom, my heart racing. My control frayed at the edges like an old piece of rope. I had to compose myself. I had to think. What would Gooding say at a time like this? Probably something annoying about keeping calm. But he’d also tell me to figure out what I was up against.
I took a deep breath, then another, and ran my fingers through my hair, mussing it into a heap. Usually, I could just look past a glamour. This one was different. It was too powerful, too human-looking. I needed a detection spell, then. Gooding would have a heart attack if he knew I was practicing this without him. Well, he’d never know.
I needed fire, and some sort of herb to burn. I glanced around the sparse restroom. Toilet paper came from plants, but I doubted that would be very effective.
My eyes fell on a little cardboard box poking out from behind the eternal out-of-order sign on the tampon dispenser. Of course. Everyone knew someone hid a pack of cigarettes in here, but nobody knew who. I pulled it out, and eureka! A little plastic lighter to boot. I fished one of the cigarettes out of the box and, after a few flicks, got a flame going in the lighter. I took a deep breath and let the new guy’s face swim to the front of my mind.
“Show me the truth of the boy. Show me his face. Show me the truth of the boy. Show me his face,” I chanted as I lit the cigarette. The paper caught easily, turning the tobacco and chemicals inside into bright embers. The acrid stench burned my nose. I angled it away and stared into the smoke, praying that whatever laws of magic or physics governed these spells decided I was doing it right.
“Show the truth, dammit!”
For just a hair of a second, something shifted in the smoke. Something that looked like it might be a face. Was I just imagining it, or was it working?
Creeeeak!
I whirled around, the cigarette still perched between my fingers. Brooke Tanneman stood in the doorway, holding up her cell phone. Before I could drop the cigarette, I heard the click! Her eyes sparkled with wicked glee.
“Busted, freak.”