Free Blackwood: A Hexed Story by Michelle Krys Page A

moment, waiting for me to answer.
    “Who’s Lizzie?” I finally ask.
    “My best friend in high school. We went our separate ways in college.” Her lips turn down in a frown. “I guess that wasn’t a great story after all.”
    I offer Mom a wan smile.
    “It’ll all work out, honey,” she says gently. “That Jessie girl seems really nice.”
    “Yeah…”
    “Oh, hey! Don’t forget I have that meeting after work, so you’ll have to take the bus home.”
    “Yeah, I remember.”
    “Good.” Mom crosses the room and kisses my forehead, then ruffles my hair so that it sticks up at crazy angles. “And you’re not a loser to me, okay? You’re the coolest girl I know.”
    I roll my eyes, though I’m smiling genuinely now.
    “All right, I’ve got to get going or I’ll be late.” She snatches her purse from the hook near the door and then she’s off to work. O’Haira takes up her mewling again, banging her head into me until I pat my legs. She hops up, her gentle purring a vibration on my lap.
    I pet her absently, thinking about what Mom said. A part of me knows she’s right, that I should just let Indie go already, but I can’t help the part of me that still holds on to hope I can save her: the girl who made wings out of paper taped to her arms and convinced me to try “flying” off the back porch with limited success. The girl who helped me hide in the laundry after Dad found the results of my art on the living room wall. The girl with the snarky sense of humor, who constantly made me laugh with her outrageous comments.
    I’m going to give this one last shot. If it doesn’t work…well, then
    I’ll give up.
    Until then, Operation Save Indie is going into effect.
    —
    An hour and a half later, the bus squeaks to a stop in front of Fairfield High. The school is built low to the ground, except for a big rotunda that rises from its center, and is spread out across half a city block. The place is swarming with students talking in clumps on the grassy quad.
    I shoulder my backpack and violin case before filing off, scanning the property for Indie’s big blond curls.
    The sun is high over top of the school’s rippled red roof, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. It’s not even nine in the morning, but the air is already warm with the promise of yet another unseasonably hot September day.
    I’m still looking for Indie when something at the corner of the property catches my eye.
    A guy in a leather jacket leans casually against the white stucco side of the school, partially hidden in the shadow of a huge sycamore. Though he’s got his hands jammed in the pockets of his black pants, his narrowed eyes watch the students moving toward the front door with a little too much interest, as if he were ready to pounce. I don’t know who he is or what he’s doing at my school, but the sight of him makes me go cold inside, a rash of goose bumps flaring up on my arms.
    He looks at me. I gasp, momentarily shocked into stillness.
    And then sense comes back and I hike my bag up my shoulder, hurrying up the steps. I don’t look back, but I swear I can I feel his eyes follow me all the way to the door.
    It’s easy to forget about the strange guy once I get inside. The first bell hasn’t even rung yet and already the place is so uncomfortably packed with students that I have to elbow my way through kids laughing and talking in big groups all down the hall. I push toward my locker, still scanning for Indie, even though there isn’t really time before class for this type of intervention.
    “Paige!”
    Jessie Colburn pops up beside me, her books pressed against her chest.
    Jessie is a transfer student who just moved to Los Angeles from Nebraska after her dad got a job doing film production for Universal Studios. With her glossy red hair, perfect alabaster skin, and rosebud mouth, she could easily become part of the Pretty People Club, but for some inexplicable reason she hangs out with me. I keep waiting for her to