Page 70 of How to Flirt with a Witch

I scoff and face forward, watching students pass by out the window. I should’ve kept my mouth shut and followed her without asking.Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, or however the saying goes.

Anyway, I’ve got time. I’ll seize my opportunity when it comes.

I direct Natalie to a parking lot, and we walk through a light drizzle to my first class: sociology.

“Did you and Sky grow up in CSAMM, or is there a special school somewhere?” I ask as we enter the warm lecture hall.

I lead us past the scattered students to the empty back corner. Gazes snag on us, a level of attention that makes me fidget. Apparently, whether we’re in a thrift store or a lecture hall, Natalie has a way of turning heads. She’s got her hair in a high bun today, rocking a masc look that weakens my knees.

I bite my lip and dip my chin, fighting a smile. The thrill of her escorting me to class far overpowers the guilt of taking her away from her responsibilities. For the day, she’s mine, and I’ll relish every moment.

“We went to a normal school until Sky was seven and I was ten,” she murmurs, oblivious to the stares. “Then we moved into CSAMM and were homeschooled from there.” She sheds her bomber jacket, her scent beckoning me, and hangs it over the back of the seat. At the sight of the black button-up shirt hugging her waist, heat flares inside me that has nothing to do with the lecture hall’s stuffy air.

I sit beside her in the hard plastic chair. “That must’ve been rough, going to a normal school and keeping a secret at a young age.”

She hesitates. “The hardest part was letting go of the friends I made when I had to start homeschooling. I resisted for the first year. Just wanted to belike them so I could stay.”

I nod, imagining little Natalie having to leave her friends behind. “I guess we’re all desperate to fit in as kids—to be like our friends. Even if it means ignoring part of who we are.”

There’s a flicker of intrigue in her eyes. “You too?”

Forced together by the cramped seats, she’s so close that our arms touch, and her minty breath caresses my cheeks. Her undivided attention is like a flame against my skin.

“Yeah.” My hands are clumsy as I take out my notebook and pen. “I know it’s not the same, but I felt that with my cultural identity. In elementary school, all my friends were white, and the more I noticed our differences, the more I tried to mold myself to be like them. It wasn’t until I met Hazel that I realized I’d been neglecting half of who I was. I was trying to be like my friends, but I lost a part of me in the process.”

She nods, searching my face with a furrowed brow.

The prof arrives and gets settled, plugging in her laptop and opening a slideshow.

“It’s good you recognized that,” Natalie murmurs. “I think some people lose part of who they are and don’t realize it.”

I look at her sharply. “You feel like you are?”

Her brows arch, and she runs a finger over her bottom lip, like she’s debating how to answer. “Being in CSAMM… it’s like our whole identity. I don’t know who I am outside it, and I don’t think anyone else does, either.” She drops her hand. “I’ve never talked about this with anyone but Sky. She feels the same… Like we’re missing part of who we are because our life is just about our duty to the cause.”

This glimpse of vulnerability is intriguing. Natalie’s life and family feel more mysterious than ever—even to her, it seems.

It’s like invisible threads are stitching us together. I want to know her, to understand her.

“Well, it’s important to express every part of yourself,” I say. “The parts that make you similar to your peers… and the parts that make you unique.”

She holds my gaze, a wistful smile on her lips.

The prof starts talking, going through a list of what we’ll cover this term. I look at the slide, but what’s on it doesn’t matter.

Natalie shifts, her chair creaking, her arm brushing distractingly against mine. “Do you feel like you found belonging?”

“I did. But now…” I hesitate. My family’s always been my belonging—being an Alexander. “Moving away from home didn’t help. It’s like starting over.”

“You haven’t found your people at university?”

A strand came loose from her bun while we were outside, and I grip my pen harder to stop myself from reaching up and tucking it back. “Not really. I’ve found people who I might call friends, but no sense of home yet.”

“I think that’s normal for someone who’s a little bit introverted.”

I nudge her, a pleasant jolt shooting up my arm. “Who says I’m introverted?”

“Just a hunch I had when we packed up your cat, plants, and impressive array of loungewear. Not to mention all the pillows, essential oils, and novels we had to leave behind.”