Page 16 of How to Flirt with a Witch

I shuffle out of the lecture hall and into the chilly outdoors, swallowed by a sea of students. The quiet, somber mood tells me everybody was just as defeated by that test. Few things are as humbling as being told you’re gifted in high school only to become painfully average in university.

Footsteps thump on the concrete, and Clayton catches up, his breath misting in the autumn air. “How’d you do?”

“Terribly. You?”

“Same. At least if we all did, the prof will have to move the bell curve, right?”

“There’s always that.”

We have two classes together and have been sitting beside each other in both. I don’t mind. It’s comforting to know someone. I’m just going to have to get creative with ways to turn down dorm parties.

He zips up his hoodie, hunching against the wind. “A few of us are going to Granville Island later to celebrate finishing midterms. Want to come?”

My default answer is on my tongue, but wouldn’t it be nice to meet more people? Also, I have yet to see Vancouver’s famous sights.

“There’s a haunted flea market happening,” he adds, his blue eyes hopeful. “Halloween-themed. Sounds like it’s worth checking out, yeah?”

Hazel’s voice whispers in the back of my mind.“Say yes. Make friends.”

After these terrible couple of weeks, it would be good for me to do something social and take my focus off Natalie and Lucy. I’m getting obsessive about it.

I smile, pushing past my reluctance. “Cool. Sounds fun.”

Clayton’s expression is like the sun breaking through the clouds. And I can’t help smiling back.

As a demonic clown and a convincingly grotesque zombie lumber by, I’m no longer sure if a haunted flea market is my idea of fun. The crowd is shoulder-to-shoulder, invading my space, and there must be a theater troupe here because the creepy costumes arewaytoo detailed. Screams punctuate the buzz of conversations.

We weave through the disorienting maze of tables, which fills a huge building and continues outside under white tents. Clayton’s friends, Johnny, Mo, and Andrea, live on campus in Totem Park as well. Andrea is wearing devil horns and all red, and Clayton has one of those headbands that looks like he’s been stabbed in the brain with a dagger. Johnny and Mo are in jeans and coats, same as me. The only thing on my head is a giant clip. I’m not opposed to dressing up—Hazel and I were ketchup and mustard last year—but I didn’t have time to buy anything today.

“…oh, and the beer gardens,” Clayton says, still talking about parties. “We should check out both…”

“Look at this nineties stuff! Ilovethe nineties,” Andrea cries, pulling me to a cluttered table. She’s been clinging to me since we got here, towing behind me by the strap of my backpack. “Oh my gosh, IloveFurbies. Look how cute.”

She picks up the fuzzy white toy. Its beak is open and it stares at me with glassy, dead eyes. Maybe the setting is getting to me, but I wouldn’t use the word ‘cute’to describe it.

She’s still clamped onto my backpack with the weight of an anchor, making the straps dig into my shoulders. The way she’s clinging to me to stop me from leaving her behind, doing everything to make sure I don’t forget she’s there, I get the sense she’s struggled with holding onto friendships.

Fighting the sense of being smothered, I repeat my mantra—I want to be here, I want to make friends. But lying in bed with a book and a kitten curled up beside me sounds more fun. Am I doomed to not fit in at university?

“Yo, we should buy this for our floor,” Mo says from the next table, inspecting some kind of plastic fountain.

“What is it?” Clayton asks.

“Fondue maker! For parties, you know?”

A girl with scary-good demon makeup brushes past, and I turn away. Maybe this isn’t the best place to come after getting attacked by a possessed cat.

While the guys bicker over whether a fondue maker is a good idea, I walk on to check out more booths, and Andrea drags along behind me.

What would happen if I grabbed her backpack strap in return? Would we keep walking in a circle like a snake eating its own tail, stuck in an infinite loop until someone comes and pries one of our hands away?

The next table is full of vintage dolls—Cabbage Patch Kids, Trolls, Barbies, Care Bears, and a bunch more that I recognize but don’t know the names of. They all stare at me with vacant eyes.

“Cuuute!” Andrea cries.

The elderly woman behind the table smiles at us. “Let me know if you have questions.”

“Thanks.” I’m about to keep walking when a weird, icy sensation travels down my back and into my legs, freezing me in place.