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Chapter Thirty-Four

“ H ow are your applications going? I can’t believe they’re due in a few weeks,” Maci said as we stood behind the counter in Vera’s Café.

It was midday on Halloween, and children were already coming into Vera’s in costumes, part of the progressive trick-or-treat through local businesses put on by the chamber of commerce.

I was wearing my plant lady costume from the previous year and offering a decorative potted plant bowl filled with candy instead of soil to the kids.

“Applications?” I asked absentmindedly.

Maci gave me a bewildered look. “For four-year schools. What else?”

“Oh! Right,” I said, trying to recover as a jolt of anxiety coursed through me. The truth was that all thoughts of applying to four-year schools had fallen off my radar, and that realization was alarming.

For years, all I’d planned to do was work hard to get into the art school program that my mom had attended but never finished. I rubbed my brow, realizing that I hadn’t even thought of the school in months .

“I’ve submitted four applications so far. I have a few more to do. It’s the essays that are killer. Do you have to do an essay for the art school application, or is it more of a portfolio thing?”

“Both. A portfolio plus a written statement.” The words came out automatically. I had been tracking the admissions requirements for the school for years. How had the fact that the application window was now open completely slipped my notice?

A strange loosening occurred in the pit of my stomach, as if I could feel something slipping out of my reach.

“Are you okay? You look a little pale.” Maci’s forehead was pinched in concern.

“I’m fine,” I assured her, taking a large sip of my tea. I was suddenly very glad I’d brought a potent calming chamomile blend from Evergreen Academy to Vera’s Café.

Maci continued to fill me in on the status of each of her applications and the current rankings of where she was most hoping to get accepted. I tried to listen carefully and respond where appropriate, but my thoughts were elsewhere.

Without realizing it was coming, I had reached a crossroads.

This was the point where I decided whether to continue chasing the dreams I’d had before learning I was a magical botanist—the dreams I thought my mom would want me to fulfill—or to take a new path that was completely unknown and see where it led.

With everything that I was invested in at Evergreen Academy, thoughts of attending art school had slipped my mind. What did it mean that I was no longer striving for that?

I needed to discuss this with someone, but no one met all the criteria.

Maci and my aunt were obvious choices in the past, but they didn’t know what was really going on at Evergreen Academy.

Yasmin would be a supportive listener, but she’d grown up in the world of magical botany. Would she understand my dilemma?

And then there was Callan. I knew he could empathize. His parents wanted him on one path, and he wanted to be on another. But could I really compare what I was experiencing to his much more unpleasant situation? The only person who was forcing me to choose between these two paths was me.

I let out a deep breath and set an alarm on my phone to remind me to complete the art school application that weekend. I took another sip of my tea and reassured myself I didn’t need to make any choices now. I needed to leave the door open and hope that, when the time came, I would know what to do.

“Ready to go get our Frank cuttings?” Maci asked, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Our candy shift is just about over.”

“Right, let me make sure Mathew is ready to take over for us.”

“My mom takes a cutting every year. Our backyard is starting to look like an orchard of mis-sized trees.”

I laughed. “Aunt Vera took a cutting last year, and it’s still in a little pot in her living room. It takes forever for those cuttings to become actual tree-sized.”

“Some of my mom’s oldest ones are a decent height now. A few are even providing some shade in the summer. My grandma once joked they must be magic trees since even my mom and her black thumb managed to keep them alive.”

I went to the back of the bakery where Mathew was just finishing clocking in. Once we passed off the candy pot, Maci and I headed to the Wildflower Trail at SCC.

The parking lot was nearly full, and families were streaming down the trail to Frank, the oldest oak in town. I turned to my left and saw a truck I recognized.

“Callan’s here,” I breathed, surprised.

Maci raised her eyebrows. “This wasn’t a planned meetup between you two?”

I shook my head, and we joined the others heading to the tree. When we got there, I spotted Callan hovering near the back of the gathering crowd.

“Hey, what are you doing here? Didn’t you know this was a locals event?” I teased as I came up beside him.

“I’m emptying the tree boxes after this. Professor East said they fill up after this event. I offered since I figured you might be here.” Callan’s words were quiet so that Maci couldn’t hear. She was busy greeting one of her neighbors and didn’t notice.

“Good guess,” I said, thinking of the time I had helped Callan empty the boxes the previous year.

“So, what’s this all about anyway? Professor East just said it was a popular local event.” Callan indicated the gathered people.

“Just an old town tradition. Every year, on Halloween, an arborist harvests cuttings from Frank. He’s informally labeled Weed’s oldest tree, and having a cutting from him is considered good luck. People take their cuttings home and grow them in pots until they’re large enough to be planted.”

The town’s mayor raised her voice then, and we turned our attention to her.

“Thank you all for joining us for the annual tree-cutting giveaway. Collect your cutting, and make sure to leave a letter for Frank if you have the chance. There are donuts and apple cider provided by Shasta Pumpkin Farm at the end of the trail.”

Everyone clapped then began to collect their cuttings. I stepped forward and selected a sturdy looking twig. When I returned, Callan was eyeing the plant strangely.

“What is it?” I wondered if he thought the tradition was odd or if I had done something sacrilegious for a magical botanist with a tree affinity.

He surveyed the area and lowered his voice. “It feels like someone is using their power.”

I looked around even though there was no point.

By all accounts, Callan’s ability to sense people using their magical botanist powers was extremely uncommon, and I didn’t share it.

I rarely had the opportunity to witness him use it since there was no reason for him to sense magic being used on campus.

“Huh,” I said, not having much else to offer. This gathering seemed perfectly normal to me.

Callan’s shoulders relaxed, and he shook his head. “Maybe it’s nothing. Want to stick around and help me with the letters? ”

“Sure, let me just tell Maci the plan. Can you drive me back to my car after?”

When Callan nodded, I informed Maci I was staying behind with Callan. She gave me gushy eyes, which I waved off.

Callan and I waited for the townspeople to continue along the trail for the cider and donuts, then we began to stuff the backpack he had brought with the letters from the letter box.

I paused to glance at one. “This one is a poem,” I said, skimming the handwritten sonnet.

“I think some people find these boxes a way to express themselves artistically without having to share their work more broadly,” Callan said.

I pulled out another piece of paper and opened it, my forehead scrunching together. “This one is blank. Should I throw it out?”

“No, we bring them all back. Professor B. ultimately decides what to store.”

I shrugged and put the paper in the envelope with the others, resolving to stop skimming the notes so I could work more quickly. By the time we’d collected letters from every tree along the trail, a breeze had kicked up. I shivered.

“Here.” Callan shrugged off his jacket and offered it to me.

“Oh, I’m fine. You don’t have to?—”

“I can see goose bumps on your arms.”

“All right,” I said, taking the jacket and slipping it on. The familiar sandalwood and peach smell settled in around me, and I tugged the jacket more firmly around my body. “Thanks.”

His coat was warm and comforting, and I wondered if this was kind of what it would feel like to get a hug from Callan. I’d never seen him hug anyone, unlike the gregarious Hollis, who handed them out like candy.

We began to walk down the trail, Callan’s backpack full of letters.

“So, going to any Halloween parties tonight?” Callan asked as we approached his truck. “I see the plant lady costume still looks great on you.”

I glanced down at my dress underneath his jacket, having completely forgotten I was wearing it.

“Thanks, but I won’t be wearing this tonight. You’re lucky you even got a second chance to see it. I wasn’t expecting to run into you here.”

Callan grinned, and I bit my lower lip, knowing we were both remembering the dinner he had made for me on Halloween the previous year.

That had been when the walls had first started to come down between us.

Now, we were so much more than the near strangers we’d been then.

Callan opened the passenger door, and I climbed in.

“I suggested a dress-up garden party at Evergreen tonight since you all don’t traditionally celebrate Halloween. I’m doing a group costume theme with my friends. We could dress you up too. You did say you’ve never dressed up for Halloween before.”

Callan eyed me sideways before putting the truck in reverse. “Do I even want to imagine what you would dress me as?”

“Hmm, let me think. You’ve got the tattoos. And you’re slightly broody. So maybe a rock star?” I paused. “But your tattoos are very earthy, so maybe a hippie rock star? Ohhh, a lead singer from a seventies hippie band. We’d have to get a wig, though. Or maybe you’d be the drummer?—”

Callan cut me off with a groan. “For the love of botany, remind me to never let you dress me, local.”

I scoffed in faux offense, but a warm glow filled me as the weight of his jacket pressed into my shoulders and the comforting tingle of his presence cocooned me even more than his coat.