Page 6

*ugly shirts and kleenex-jammed nostrils*

“Y OUR TIMING IS PERFECT,” Mr. Shields said, glaring at me from behind his tiny wire-rimmed glasses. He was wearing a lab coat even though it was the first day of school, so either we were in for a wild year of daily scientific experimentation, or he hadn’t known what to wear and was using his white coat as cover. He probably had pajamas on underneath. “I was about to review the section in the class rules about my intolerance for tardiness.”

I wanted to disappear as the entire science class stared at me, standing there like a joke in the front of the room.

I heard a few whispers and a loud giggle, which made sense because I looked hilarious.

In the very worst way.

Jackson’s football had given me a bloody nose that wouldn’t stop, hence my lateness. So instead of walking through the halls beside my supermodel and influencer besties while wind blew our hair and cool music played in our wake, I had to sit in Miss Nessbin’s office with Kleenex jammed up both of my nostrils.

And now—insert huge sigh of disappointment—my honker was ginormous.

Thick at the top, thick at the bottom, with no narrowing or cute little button tip. My nose was like something a ham-fisted preschooler made with Play-Doh.

Also—it was starting to get a bluish tint that hinted purple was coming.

Please, God, no purple.

“I was in the nurse’s office,” I said, holding out my pass, and as Mr. Shields peered at me over his glasses like he needed more information, I added, “With a bloody nose. It was bad. Like, blood was pouring out everywhere and I had to—”

“Got it,” he snapped, his eyes narrowing as he watched me like I was a toddler picking my nose.

I could feel my cheeks turning hot pink as I noticed Evan Winters sitting at a table in the back of the room.

Evan was in my science class; whaaaaaaaat?!

His eyes met mine, his lips turned up in a lazy grin, and he said, “Wow.”

THE WORLD STOPPED.

My heart, the spinning of the Earth, the burning of the sun, and the expansion of my lungs. Everything in the cosmos stopped as Evan let loose with a giggle and gave his head a shake, like the sight of me was the funniest thing he’d ever laid eyes upon.

I’d been dying of hope that I would have him in a class, and now I was just dying.

Evan Winters was gorgeous and popular, and I’d daydreamed about him liking me since the second quarter of third grade. I’d known in my heart that all it would take for us to hit it off would be a solid placement on the seating chart. I’d show him how charming I could be, enticing him with my neatly written lab notes and witty comments while he… well, kept being as adorably perfect as he’d been since I first saw him playing tetherball at recess, four long years ago.

But as he eyeballed my shirt with his perfect eyebrows scrunched together like two black caterpillars kissing, I wanted to disappear.

Not the shirt, Evan—don’t look at the shirt!

Because when my nose started gushing blood, the adorable first-day-of-school T-shirt I’d been wearing (white V-neck with tiny silver stars) had become a crime scene.

It looked like someone had been clubbed to death while wearing that shirt.

And at my school, if your shirt got hit with bodily fluids, Miss Nessbin turned to the lost and found.

Now, if this had happened at the end of the year, I would’ve been fine. By May, the lost and found was filled with an equal distribution of “cool” and “not cool” attire, in all shapes and sizes. Last year Kennedy scored an amazing Adidas hoodie the day Bart Sturdy threw up on her. She was sad about the disgusting ordeal, but pretty happy about the delightful wardrobe grab.

But at the beginning of the year, that box was nearly empty.

Which was why I was wearing an oversized fluorescent green T-shirt that said SAFETY ISN’T ONLY FOR NERDS IT’S FOR ALL OF US .

Mr. Shields let out a long-suffering sigh, as if it were the worst thing in the world that he had to deal with a tardy student like me, and he said sternly, ominously, “Take your seat beside Mr. Matthews.”

I swear I heard it in that garbled, slow-motion reverb usually reserved for scary characters in horror movies. Beeeeesiiiiiide Miiiister Mattthhewwwwwwwssss.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

I glanced in the direction of where he was pointing, and of course there was an empty seat at Jackson’s lab table.

As Jackson Matthews stared at me with a huge grin on his face and that stupid beanie on his head, I knew that he was bad luck. My mom always said Where there’s smoke, there’s fire , and that guy had been the wispy vapors floating around every single time I went up in flames.

He’d popped up at the portal, he’d popped up right before I got smacked in the face with a hot dog last night, and now he’d popped up in time to ruin the first day of seventh grade by pounding me in the face with a football.

It was probably his fault my wishes were so slow. Maybe he screwed them up when he hit them with his rock or something.

It still annoyed me that Noah had told him about the magic at all, for the record.

Nana Marie had been adamant about keeping the secret of the lore in the family (Allie and Kennedy counted as family), yet somehow this overgrown near-stranger was in on the magic.

It felt very wrong .

Honestly, with how tall he’d grown over the summer and how massive his chest was, it was almost like he was getting my wishes.

Grow six inches—check.

Get boobs—check.

A weird feeling came over me as my brain rewound those two thoughts and played them again.

He’d definitely grown six inches (at least), and he definitely had sprouted an impressive chest.

But no.

NO.

That’s impossible , I assured myself, because centuries-old magic granted by otherworldly faerie beings didn’t get accidentally stolen by a kid throwing a rock.

It didn’t work that way.

Right?