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I wouldn’t be fooled by Ari Reyes or anyone like him ever again.
8
Kaitlyn
“So, are you ready to get cooking?” Megan asked brightly when I walked wearily into the Home Ec classroom.
Truthfully, there was nothing I wanted less than to be in a class with Nancy Rattcliff right now. I could see her and the other two Weird Sisters sitting at the front of the classroom, whispering together. When they saw me walk in, Nancy said something to them and the three of them broke into nasty laughter which was clearly at my expense.
At that moment, I wished I was anywhere else in the world. I would rather be back in Ms. Sojourn’s class listening to an endless excerpt from Diary of a Witch that told how to make mashed mung bean hummus.
No matter how boring it was, at least there was no one laughing and making fun of my scars. When Nancy smirked at me, I almost turned around and walked out of the Home Ec classroom to go ask the school secretary to put me back in my old class.
Two things stopped me from going.
First, I didn’t want to leave my Coven-mate hanging. Megan had stuck by me in difficult situations before—most notably the awful PE class where I was forced to dress in shorts and expose my scars. Through the horrible ordeal, Megan had had my back in a big way. She even Shame-marked Pedro Sanchez, the Drake who was picking on me, and eventually got him expelled. She had been there for me and I wanted to be there for her in return. I had promised to take this class with her and I didn’t want to let her down.
Second, if I left now, Nancy and her crew won.
I wasn’t going to let that happen, I told myself firmly. No matter how tired or emotionally worn-out I felt, I wasn’t going to let that bitch drive me away and triumph over me.
Lifting my chin, I shot Nancy a steely glare before taking my place at the table by Megan’s side. Nancy glared back and then said something to her friends that made them laugh again. Something cruel, no doubt, I thought, still glaring.
Of course Megan saw the exchange.
“Wow, what is that all about?” she murmured in my ear.
I wished I could tell her everything—about how Nancy had been rubbing herself all over Ari and how the two of them had been talking about me and the awful things I had overheard. But I knew Megan well enough to know I couldn’t do that.
My brave, wonderful Coven-mate might have enough self-control not to use her magic for personal things like getting her classes switched or making the school food more palatable. But if she heard that Nasty Nancy was being cruel to me, she would definitely want to avenge me, which would no doubt lead to her using her magic illegally. And that was sure to get her into trouble.
Which could be exactly what Nancy and the Weird Sisters want, I thought, shooting them another hard glare. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if they were trying to get back at Megan by using me.
Well, it wasn’t going to work.
I knew perfectly well that my Coven-mates considered me weak and fragile—someone who had to be handled with care. And maybe in the past, I had been that person. But I didn’t want to be her anymore. I wanted to take care of myself and fight my own battles from now on.
So instead of telling Megan everything, I just shrugged.
“No big deal—I just haven’t forgiven Nasty Nancy for tying me and Avery and Emma to trees and trying to kill you. That’s all.”
“Oh. Well, I’m not exactly over it either,” Megan admitted. “But the best revenge is living well, right?”
“Right,” I said with heartiness I didn’t feel.
“Good. So let’s get baking.” She rolled up her sleeves, showing the white ladder of neat little scars marching up the insides of her forearms.
When Avery and Emma and I first met her, she had kept her arms and legs hidden as much as possible to keep these old cutting scars from being seen. But now that she was bonded to Griffin and he found her completely beautiful—scars and all—she seemed to feel free to let them show.
I had a burning moment of jealousy and despair. I wanted so badly to be able to do that same thing—to roll up my sleeves in preparation for work. Such a simple, easy, everyday thing to do and yet my own scars were so much more extensive, so much more visible.
So much uglier.
Megan seemed to read my thoughts on my face.
“Hey,” she said in a low voice, “Roll up your sleeves if you want. Who cares about the scars?” She flashed her own again, defiantly. “Remember what I told you—nobody can make you feel inferior unless you let them.”
