Hawthorn Academy- Year Two Page 3

  I couldn't force my friends to get along, but that hadn’t been a problem last year. What had changed? I wracked my brain, trying to think of an answer. That was why when I opened the door at the top of the stairs, I almost hit Noah in the face with it.

  "Sorry!" I stepped back, blinking.

  "Whatever." Noah sailed past me, his elbow colliding with my shoulder. It had to be intentional since he was the same height as me.

  "No, I mean it. I'm sorry. About everything." My voice cracked. "Wait, Noah."

  Noah said nothing. His footsteps echoed in the stairwell, hollow like the pit of my stomach. All he did last year was run away from me, but somehow, this was worse. We were in our own home, not a campus half-full of bullies hell-bent on dividing us. Now instead of running, he just power-walked like I wasn't important to him anymore.

  It was all I could do to keep from sobbing as I shut the door behind me and locked it. Even the familiar weight of Ember landing on my shoulder to greet me didn’t offer much comfort.

  "Peep?" My dragonet craned her neck until she could look me in the eye.

  "I don't know, girl." I sighed and shook my head. "Sorry I didn't bring you out, but you were fast asleep, and I didn't want to wake you."

  Ember didn't peep at this, only rubbed her cheek against mine. During the school year, she was always up before me, but lately, my familiar had been sleeping in. I thought it'd be no big deal.

  I missed having my little friend around, and apparently, Dylan did too. I stopped in the kitchen, for once not because I was hungry. Out with my friends, it felt too people-y, but being home alone wasn't much better.

  "Dad?" I raised my voice, calling through the house. "Mom?"

  The door to Mom's home office opened just as I walked past it. That startled me, so I jumped backward, bumping into the counter and knocking over a stool. And here I’d thought I'd outgrown the clumsiness that had plagued me last summer.

  "Aliyah. I'm glad you're here. Something came up that I wanted to mention to you." Mom stepped out into the kitchen, closing the door behind her. This was usual because sometimes the stuff she looked at on her computer was confidential.

  Mom worked in the Magical Academics Department for the entire state of Massachusetts. She helped with standards and common practice in extrahuman education for both public and private schools, but she also coordinated transfers and special education accommodations for extrahuman students.

  "Oh, really?" I blinked. "Me?"

  "It seems you'll have a transfer student in your year at Hawthorn come September."

  "I guess we have room for one, all things considered." I shrugged, glancing away. The last thing I wanted to do was have another in-depth chat about my dating life.

  "Yes. The one fellow who got held back." Mom refrained from uttering his name out loud. That was nice of her, but I'm a big girl and should be able to handle hearing the name of my toxic ex-boyfriend.

  "You mean Alex Onassis." I raised an eyebrow, refusing to give him the Lord Voldemort treatment in my own home.

  "Yes, the one who scored so spectacularly low on his final exam, who went from a B minus to failing in sixty minutes."

  "And people wonder where I get my capacity for sass from." I smiled.

  "Well, you know what they say about fire magi." My mother chuckled.

  "Our burns are sick?"

  We ended up in a knock-down drag-out laugh-fest. Minutes later, we leaned on the counter, gasping for air and holding our sides. It felt like both of us needed a good laugh, or really, all three of us. Ember was in the same state on the countertop, curled around the fruit basket for support.

  I opened the fridge, produced a pitcher of lemonade, and poured us two glasses. I even splashed some into a small bowl for Ember, who lapped it up, then smacked her lips and stuck her tongue out like a toddler eating a Sour Patch kid. After that, I gave her water in another dish and we drank together, eventually recovering from the laugh-in.

  "So, tell me about this new student." I poured more lemonade. "Why the transfer?"

  "He bonded with a familiar during his last week at his old school. Unexpectedly, but that happens sometimes. His family reached out and asked if it was possible for him to attend Hawthorn."

  "Oh?" I tried to hide the intensity of my curiosity. I had a million questions about the mysterious new student but wouldn't be able to ask them all. "Why did they call you?"

  "I went to middle school with his mother."

  "So he's from Providence?" I blinked. "Was he at Trout?" Trout Academy was a prep school for magi and changelings down in Rhode Island.

  "No." Mom took a deep breath. "The Academy."

  "The what now?" I almost dropped my glass, lemonade and all. The Academy was practically juvie, despite its pricey tuition and fancy branding as a place for young extrahumans to learn self-discipline.

  "You heard me. Since you're both on disciplinary probation next year, I'm sure you'll run into him more than you might expect. There are study requirements you'll have in common."

  "I thought Familiar Bonding was just for first-years."

  "He’ll need that since he’s new to familiars. Second-years on probation have a mandatory study hall, one they spend with the previous year's top student as a mentor."

  "Oh? The top student?" I shake my head. "Hal's in the infirmary half the time, so he's got no time to mentor anyone."

  "The top student last year wasn't Hal Hawkins. It was Logan Pierce."

  "What?" I blinked. "Wow. I'm proud of him, but I had no idea."

  "That's the other reason I wanted to talk to you. I was just about to call the Pierces, speak with Logan, and inform him about the extra responsibility next year. But from what you and Bubbe have told me, his home life is complex."

  "You could say that." I wasn't sure how much off-record information Mom had about Logan's dysfunctional family. Between my friendship with him and Noah’s with his older sister Elanor, Bubbe knew just about everything.

  "Maybe you could join the call with me. It might help for Logan to see a familiar face. We’re dropping an unexpected change on him, after all."

  "I think you're right, Mom," I said, nodding. She knew about Logan's accommodations at school. He wasn’t a typical learner and had unconventional strategies to deal with it. "Sure. It'll be nice to see him, even if it’s only on a screen."

  Logan Pierce had been one of my best friends at school last year. We got so close, people made bets on when we'd date. We decided to stay platonic like I am with Izzy or Cadence, a relief for both of us.

  Mom went into her office. I let her have privacy for the information she handled. It wasn't easy, especially not after what she did last summer.

  Mom had secretly gone down to Providence, testifying on official record against her own brother without telling any of us, not even Dad. We didn't find out until Passover, when she brought the news clipping as her symbol of liberation. She'd freed herself from the toxic half of her family finally and totally with that act.

  Could she be hiding something personal in her office among work stuff that everyone steered clear of for legal reasons? Yes. Would she? Again, yes. It wasn't easy to deal with the idea that your mother had survived childhood by using judicious dishonesty, especially not while I was still trying to figure out who I wanted to be.

  I was lucky at the same time because each person in my immediate family gave me different examples. Some of my other friends had it worse, and sharing our problems gave us all more perspective.

  Mom opened the door again, letting me into her office. She had her video conferencing computer pointed at the bookcase behind her, which was mostly for show. She did sometimes use a few of those books but kept it tidy. This would be an asset when calling the Pierces.

  Logan's parents were all about how things looked, though not in a professional or stodgy sort of way. They were a showbiz family, so fixated and focused on being flashy that all of Logan's academic and other achievements didn't matter to them. They disparaged
his artwork and his grades, saying they’d never look good on stage.

  Mom pulled up a chair for me to sit beside her in the camera's range. We waited through the chimes as the conference call software made its connection. It was early in the morning in Las Vegas, which was where Logan's family lived, but the call was part of a calendar agenda displayed on Mom's screen, with invitations given and accepted. Apparently, they'd agreed to it.

  When someone answered, the camera turned on so we could see the other end of the call. I hadn't formally met Logan's parents, just seen them in passing at Parents’ Night last fall. They'd largely ignored Logan, lavishing most of their attention on his sister Elanor. But today, the entire family hadn't shown up. Only one of them answered the call.

  "Good morning Mrs. Pierce." Mom's tone was cool and professional, designed to keep things calm.

  "What's this about then?" Mrs. Pierce stretched, stifling a yawn. "You can't possibly want to talk to Logan." She gave me a side-eye Izzy would have envied.

  "As a matter of fact, I do." My mother gave a slight nod. "Headmaster Hawkins asked me to inform him about a special assignment starting this fall."

  "Then why isn't the headmaster calling?" She closed her eyes. "Unless this isn't an assignment. He screwed up again. I knew he couldn't handle things at Hawthorn, not with his disability."

  I sat blinking, my mouth wide open. Logan told me about how his parents made him feel lesser and not good enough. I thought it was only about performance art, which Logan only did under duress. But there she was, dragging his name through the dirt, and he wasn't even there to defend himself.

  Mom's face stayed neutral, almost stony. Clearly, she'd heard this sort of thing before from parents. The fact that it was all too common from her perspective turned my stomach.

  "Mrs. Pierce, your son had the highest grade point average in his year. That's why he's being asked to mentor a transfer student this fall."

  "That's impossible." She clicked her tongue against the top of her mouth. "Not that he couldn't make grades with enough outside help." She glanced at me. "But he's been to your house, so you know what I'm saying. Logan can't do this. He's not normal. Can't even look people in the eye when they talk to him. My son's no mentor."

  "He helped plenty of us last year, you know." I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer. "Logan's got some of the best study tips we've ever heard. I even use them."

  "Yes. Aliyah, right?" She raised an eyebrow. "I hear you're on probation."

  "Not academically." I grinned. "In large part, thanks to my good friend Logan."

  "Is that Aliyah?" Logan's voice was muffled, coming from the other side of a closed door behind Mrs. Pierce. "Can I talk to her?"

  "Part of the purpose of this call is to discuss this with Logan. I'd appreciate his presence." My mother nodded.

  "I'm not sure I'll permit him to do this."

  "Mrs. Pierce, your son will be seventeen this summer."

  "Well, yes, but that doesn't mean he's an adult."

  "In the Massachusetts Magical Academics Department, it does. He can make certain decisions about his schooling the year before he's a legal adult. Your permission is not required."

  "Well, I never." She shook her head. "He’s still sixteen for another two months, and this is Nevada. Nothing here says I have to let him talk to you."

  "That's true." My mother nodded. "I'll simply send him a certified letter instead. You can expect that next week. Or you can allow us to have this chat, and you won't be bothered in the future."

  "I think you ought to send the letter, Mrs. Morgenstern." She stifled a yawn again, but this time it looked different, as though she’d faked one of them. I couldn't figure out which. "The difference between our time zones is inconvenient. My son shouldn’t make decisions without a proper night’s sleep. He had a very late night, rehearsing for our new show. I'm sure you understand."

  "Perfectly." My mother's smile could have cut diamonds. "I'll send the letter then. Remember, it requires his matching signature, which I have on file."

  "I know what certified mail is." She waved as if she sat on a parade float instead of a tufted chair. "Good day."

  The screen went blank. I didn't even get a chance to talk to my friend. It occurred to me I could have begged a few moments on account of my birthday, but it was too late for that. I needed to think more quickly in the future.

  "Mom, are the other parents always like this?" I shook my head. "How do you deal with it?"

  "I have a unique blend of perspective and experience when it comes to these issues." She shut down the software. "It's unfortunate, but we always do what's best for the student. At least the laws in our state allow for that."

  "Is this why you chose Hawthorn? For the academic program?"

  "To help people like me, yes." She looked up at me, eyes rimmed with the red of unshed tears—the angry kind. "I got my wish. To be the person I needed at that age."

  "They're lucky to have you, Mom." I stood up. I would have offered her a hug, but sometimes when Mom got like this, she needed the distraction of work. "Can I get you anything? More lemonade?"

  "No, I've got to print that letter and get it to the post office as soon as possible." Mom made a few clicks with her mouse, doing exactly that. "But when I get back, how about we go get a coffee? Something fancy over at the Witch’s Brew. It's your birthday, after all."

  "Sounds great, Mom."

  I got out of her way, and less than twenty minutes later, we sat in the coffee house, having a nice afternoon together. I wished Logan the same, no matter how unlikely he was to get it in the near future.

  Chapter Three

  It was hotter inside than outside, typical for August. The house at 10 1/2 Hawthorne Street didn't have central air, a fact my father lamented in the kitchen that morning. Bubbe's office did, but we didn't have a compressor for the top two floors. There was nothing we could do about it in the immediate future, either. Not unless one of us befriended an ice magus.

  "I'm going out!" I hollered to my parents as I grabbed my knapsack off the floor near the front door.

  "Where?" Mom's voice from the office.

  "Dunno, someplace cool." I had the front door open but didn't want to leave until getting the go-ahead.

  "Have fun!"

  With that permission, I headed out the door and down the front stairs, not bothering to lock up behind me as I jogged down the driveway. At the end, I stopped, already wiping sweat off my brow.

  "Peep?" Ember circled my head, waiting for me to pick up the pace.

  "It's hot out here for me." I chuckled. "Must be perfect for you, though."

  My dragonet's element was fire. She breathed it, so a day with high temperatures wouldn't bug her. She didn't land on my shoulder, probably because it was too slippery from the humidity and the insta-sweat that went along with it on dog days like this. I'd taken a shower ten minutes earlier, too.

  "Peep!" Ember pointed her nose directly at Izzy's house, which was in front of mine.

  "Yeah, that was the plan." I turned the corner and headed up to the door, ringing the bell at the apartment, not the divination parlor. Isabella Mendez, my best friend, was also from a family that lived and worked in the same building, except their spaces were side by side instead of stacked, and her family were clairvoyant psychics instead of magi.

  The door opened, revealing my friend. She was shorter than me, like most girls I know, and practically everything about her appearance was opposite. Her hair and skin were dark while mine were fair, and she favored buns and braids on the sides of her head instead of up top or in back. We both wore messy buns that day because nobody needed hair sticking to sweaty faces.

  "Oh, no way." Izzy crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. "I'm not going to the Willows. The Tanks are down there."

  "So what?" I shook the bag of leftover Arcade tokens. The Tanks were the local shifter gang and Izzy was not a fan, a point of contention between her and Cadence. "It's boiling, and we want th
e beach."

  "Can't we go to Hawthorn and swim in the baths?" She sighed. "Messing doesn't have anything like a pool. And besides, they're closed all summer."

  " Last time I tried to stop by, the headmaster said I can't come in. Probation sucks." I shrugged. "I can only go on campus if he approves it and I've got an escort."

  "Oh. Sorry." Izzy stared at her flip-flop-clad feet. "I still can't believe it's this big a deal after all this time."

  "Well, lying about being an extramagus is a pretty colossal mistake to make at my school."

  "Magi." Izzy looked back up, shaking her head and clucking her tongue. "So uptight. It's no big deal at Messing if someone's psychic and a vampire or whatever. I can't understand why it's even a thing."

  "Because psychics don't end up with a case of mixed nuts from having extra...extrahumanness, I guess." I shrugged. "But we're boiling out here. Literally." I indicated the sweat beading on my forehead.

  "Okay, I get it. Let's go."

  "But where?"

  "How about tracking down our literal breath of fresh air?" Izzy waggled her eyebrows, then stuck her tongue out like we were still seven.

  She meant Dylan, of course. If it were Cadence making that face and suggestion, I'd get angry at her for being crass about a guy who's in a relationship. But Izzy was probably just making a dad joke.

  "I think he's working, anyway." I shrugged the jest off. "That boy’s middle name should be workaholic."

  "So, let's go to Walgreens and get a soda or something." Izzy beckoned. "It’s air-conditioned."

  We headed to the sidewalk, turning toward Derby Street and the drugstore. Besides Dylan, Brianna worked there. She was a goblin changeling who went to Gallows Hill with Cadence.

  Salem was one of those towns where you could do everything or nothing almost any day of the year. It was magical, literally and figuratively, but also mundane, especially in summer. Nobody thought much about witches riding on brooms, jack-o'-lanterns, or tumbling particolored leaves during the dog days of August. Not even the signs declaring this the witch city could fight thermometers screaming one hundred degrees Fahrenheit.