Hannah Jayne - Under a Spell

“Hey there,” I said with a wave.

The girl’s eyebrows appeared over the top of a book and then her dark eyes, small, darting. She pressed a fuzzy strand of deep brown hair behind one ear.

“Can I help you?”

I cleared my throat and reminded myself that I was the adult there, so my first instinct to fall all over myself and hide my head in my turtleneck sweater was not a good one.

“My name is Soph—Miss—Ms. Lawson. I’m going to be substituting here for a little while. Are you waiting for someone?”

The girl’s eyes swept over the ring of empty seats. “No.” She went back to reading.

“Mind if I sit?”

“It’s social suicide.”

I batted the air. “Been there, done that. So . . .”

“So.”

“You are?”

The girl sucked in a deep breath and laid her book down flat. She narrowed her eyes at me and shrunk her hands into the sleeves of her sweater. “Are you really a teacher?”

My heart started to thud and I surreptitiously looked around for Will, then attempted to send him a telepathic Abort! Abort! message. I had been undercover all of two hours and was already found out.

“Look, I’m not on drugs, all right? If you’re the sober companion or whatever, you’re at the wrong table.”

Relief crashed over me. “Sober companion? Me? No. No, I really am a—a teacher. Substitute. Totally. Here to teach. Things.”

The girl blinked at me, her dark eyes sizing me up, taking me in, and finally spitting me out. “Miranda.”

I blinked back. “Miranda?”

“I’m Miranda. Why are you sitting here?”

“Oh, well, I—” I picked at a dried lump of something with my thumbnail. “I just saw you sitting here and—”

“No,” Miranda groaned. “Why are you here in the cafeteria? Most teachers don’t interact with us unless it’s on the lesson plan.”

“Oh.” I straightened. “I guess I don’t really have anything in common with most of the other teachers.”

Miranda looked at me and nodded, her expression blank. She went back to her book.

“So, other than reading, what else is there to do around here?”

She lowered her book a few inches and cocked a brow, not quite understanding. “The usual, I guess. Basketball, soccer, clubs.”

I pounced. “Clubs! What about the clubs?”

Miranda slid a bookmark into her book and eyed me. “Regular clubs. French club, Spanish club.”

“Oh,” I said, nodding. Miranda rattled off a few more of the basics—astronomy club, a branch of Amnesty International, Lock and Key Club.

“Are there any others?” I asked. “Like, maybe not sanctioned by the school?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

I thought fast. “When I was in school, there were all the regular ones, too, but then sometimes some girls would start their own clubs—like stoners or—” I licked my lips, pausing. “Band.”

Miranda sat back, a reproachful look on her face. “You read the paper, huh? You want to know if there’s a coven here—if we’re all a bunch of crazy-assed teenage witches, killing the prom queen.”

I was taken aback by the cutting judgment in Miranda’s reply, but did my best to chuckle it off nonchalantly. “Well, no. I wouldn’t think that you’d kill—I mean, no, but yeah, of course I read the paper. But the coven? I don’t believe that. Not for a second. There were always girls in my grade who wore torn black fishnets and Doc Martens with their uniforms. A little black eyeliner and everyone thought they were witches.”

Miranda didn’t say anything and I felt pinned under her gaze. Finally, I relented and dropped my voice. “Do you know anything about any covens on campus?”

“No. I’m pretty sure you’re safe—no one’s going to turn you into a goat.” She stacked her books and slid a hand under them, then stood up. “I’ve got to get to class.”

Miranda left me sitting alone at the lunch table, feeling just as stupid as ever.

“Well, love, ready for this?” Will sunk into Miranda’s abandoned seat.

“Ready for what? We’ve checked out half the school and asked around and”—I made an O with my fingers and eyed Will through it—“zero.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“You found something?”

Will laced his fingers behind his head. “The geezer in the office agreed to lend me some yearbooks. I thought I would do a little research, see what I could scratch up.”

“The geezer?”

“The old bird.”

I frowned. “Heddy’s not a geezer. She’s . . . seasoned.”

Will shrugged and produced a bag of Skittles, picking out the orange ones.

I leaned forward. “So, did you find anything?”

I prayed Will would whip out last year’s yearbook, open to the photograph of last year’s coven, complete with names and addresses, so I could skirt Mercy High and leave these hallowed halls back in my nightmares where they belonged.

“Not yet. She’s getting them together for me.” Will cocked his head and the bell rang. He grinned and downed his whole bag of Skittles while my stomach dropped into my groin and threatened to expel everything I’d eaten in the last twenty years.

“Looks like we got some classes to teach. You okay? You’re looking kind of green.”

I just nodded, somehow certain that opening my mouth would lead to a spew of vomit or one of those blood-curdling banshee yells. Who ever thought it was a good idea to let me teach people?

My heart thundered in my ears as I stood up and followed Will. I closed my eyes and thought of Nina, of her glistening eyes as she danced around and told me these girls were lucky to have me. I was the adult.

“ I’m the adult here,” I whispered under my breath.

“What’s that, love?”

“Uh, I’m just, uh, thinking about the case.”

Will stopped and turned to me, the back of his hand softly brushing over my cheek. His eyes held a sympathetic softness that I had never seen and my body started to melt into him. “Don’t be nervous, love. The girls are going to go crazy for you.” His voice dropped; it seemed slightly choked. “How could they not?”

He gave me a half smile, and when his soft palm left my cheek I was acutely aware of what wasn’t there.

Will left me in the hall with my traitorous body piqued, every synapse and nerve on high would-you-make-a-goddamn-decision-already alert. Which is why I nearly choked on my tongue—and launched my big-girl briefcase through the window—when I walked into my classroom and was met by thirteen pairs of made-up eyes, some curious, some scathingly judgmental, most bored.

I got through my first class without throwing up or making a complete fool of myself. I think I may have even passed as a semi-decent substitute teacher. The lunch bell rang at the same time Will knocked on my door frame.

“So,” he said, jamming his hands in his pockets. “Did you get through your morning classes okay, Ms. Lawson?”

The way Will’s lips curved over my name sent an inappropriate bolt of lightning right through me. “It was fine,” I stammered. “You?”

“Fine.” We stood there in an awkward beat of silence.

“We should finish our tour of the school, see if we can find anything.”

“Aha. This side of the school is the evil side. Cauldron in the gymnasium. Flying monkeys in the lockers.” He grinned, produced an apple from somewhere, and took a huge bite.

I couldn’t figure out whether I wanted to smack him or lick the tiny dribble of apple juice from his lip.

“Come on.”

We made the rounds, poking in empty classrooms and nonchalantly trying to overhear student conversations, ears piqued for anything suspicious, anything that sounded remotely like a teenage girl firmly entrenched in the dark arts. We learned that someone named Carlie was a slut, that no one used Facebook anymore, and that the boys from St. Ignatius were so sex-starved, they would buy you anything if you showed them the top of your boobs.