Free Blood Magic by Tessa Gratton

sometimes.
Migraines, Nicky, that’s all
, she’d said. But I knew better.
    Fortunately for my theater career, Silla was there on Friday. She seemed tired, but I was starting to think she always did. And I didn’t really care when I watched how her jeans hugged her thighs and pressed right into her hips. Her friend Wendy grabbed an extra serving of green-bean casserole and plunked it onto Silla’s tray. Silla’s lips curled back in disgust, but she didn’t remove the casserole. And she let Wendy pick out a blue carton of 2 percent chocolate milk.
    “You just can’t take your eyes off,” Eric laughed as he plopped down next to me. “She’s bad news, bro.”
    “Because of her parents?”
    “Because she’s nuts.”
    “Really?” I chewed my own helping of bean casserole. It tasted a lot better than the same in Chicago.
    “Really.”
    “Isn’t everybody?”
    “Oh, man, you have it bad.”
    I skewered a hunk of meat loaf and pointed at him with it on my fork. “Look, just because you didn’t get there first …”
    “Yeah, I did, actually.” Eric’s eyes drifted to Silla and Wendy as they sat with a handful of other girls near the windows. “Freshman year, when she was still hot.”
    “Still? She’s gorgeous.”
    “Not compared to before.”
    “Before what?”
    “Before the summer … her parents …” He shoved meatloaf into his mouth but turned to shoot a look at me that plainly said,
Duh
.
    I nodded like I knew. But I still hadn’t asked anyone the details beyond what I’d read on the Internet. It almost came up several times, but I didn’t—quite—make it. I wanted to ask her, not someone else.
    “She was hot. And eager, man. A few of us were looking forward to her brother going away to college. But then, with her parents … she dropped like twenty pounds from all the wrong places, ya know, and hacked off all her hair. And stopped flirting. I can’t really blame her. But she’s just bony like a skeleton now.”
    “I guess I’m lucky not to have the comparison,” I said, but knew I’d prefer her current incarnation.
SILLA
    Ms. Tripp had a desk pushed back against the windows, but she never used it when I was in her office. She preferred to invite me to join her on the plush yellow sofa, as if we were just sitting down to tea.
    “So, Drusilla, tell me one interesting thing you’ve done this week.” Ms. Tripp folded her hands over her crossed knees and smiled.
    “I met my new neighbor,” I mumbled, perching on the couch. I dragged one of the bright purple throw pillows onto my lap and skimmed my fingers over the embroidery. Talking to Ms. Tripp was awful, no matter how nice she was. I fixed my calm mask back into place. The ocean-green one, with seashellsglued to the edges and some bright coral emblazoned over the cheeks like a false smile.
    “Ah, yes, the new boy. Nicholas, isn’t it? I’m sure he appreciates you being welcoming. I was thrilled with the kindness everyone showed me when I arrived.” Her tone was gentle, asking me without asking if I would look at her.
    There was no reason to be surly, so I did. Ms. Tripp had one of those sweet faces they write romance novels about, with piles of curling hair always escaping the ponytail on the back of her head. She wore cardigans like they were going out of style. Her smile probably would have soothed less damaged girls. When I’d first shown up, she’d asked, “What would you like to talk about today?” but had quickly realized the depths of my desire not to talk to her at all. Now she always had something prepared. When I hesitantly returned her smile (the better to escape on time), she said, “What is the best gift your father ever gave you?”
    The spell book, even though he hadn’t exactly given it to me. But I wasn’t about to tell Ms. Tripp about it. My eyes lowered to my hands, flat against the purple pillow. The rings glittered dully. I flicked my fingers, wanting to be peeling away the skin for fresh