Climbing into my bed, I wince, stretching my legs out and covering them with my navy-blue comforter. Who knew practicing magic would hurt as bad as lifting weights?
After two hours of my parents showing me how to channel my magic—with the help of our bond—I have a slight grasp on what I can do. It sure makes me appreciate writing essays and doing calculus homework. At least they don’t involve lifting the couch with my pointer finger and circling it around the living room while carrying on a conversation with Mom inside my throbbing head.
“The pain will ease as you get stronger.”
Mom’s words had sounded promising, but the frown she and Dad exchanged didn’t inspire confidence.
(Note to self: Face it. It’s too late. You suck as a wizard. Just like everything else.)
Rubbing my eyes, I grab my phone from the wooden nightstand and swipe a finger across the screen. Ignoring a text from Iggy, I reach over and pick up the slip of paper Piper gave me and enter her as a new contact. Pressing the icon, I start a new text message with her…
…and stare at the blank screen.
My pulse thrums in my temple and I swear I can hear it in my ears. My mind is blank. Empty. What is a word? I’m like Gandalf. I have no memory of them.
I drop my phone on the bed and hold my head in my hands, squeezing it like I can juice the words from my brain and hopefully string them into a coherent sentence.
C’mon, you’ve read hundreds of freaking books. Just a few words. This isn’t rocket science.
Grabbing my phone, I punch in a text and hit send.
Me: Hi. This is Zaidyn. Here’s my number.
Way to go. Channeling my inner ten-year-old again.
I set my alarm and toss my phone on the nightstand, covering my eyes with my forearm. Piper’s face replaces my dark bedroom. Her gray eyes flash with laughter as she reads my pathetic text.
Of course, it’s my number. Who else’s phone would I text her with? I should have said something, anything smoother. Like. Hey, it’s me. See you tomorrow. Or Hope you’re having a great night. Hell even, Text me if you need math help would have been better.
I should have asked Iggy what to say in my first text to the girl of my dreams. Then again, he would have just laughed at me and told me I was overthinking it—like always.
“Ugh, is there a magic spell to make me less of a nerd?”
Flipping off the lamp next to my bed, I slide further under the covers, craving an end to this shitastrophy of a day.
My phone buzzes and I nearly knock over the nightstand trying to grab it. I squint as the blue light of the screen blinds me to the rest of the room.
Piper: Hi, Z. Thanks for the text. How is your night?
A slow smile spreads across my face. She not only replied, she asked me a question to keep the conversation going. Maybe she’s just being polite, but I’ll take it.
Me: Good. How’s yours?
P: UGH. Good, but student council is driving me crazy.
As president, Piper usually gets her way, but I guess her new project isn’t off to a good start.
Me: How so?
P: Nobody seems to care about the recycling program. It’s like they’re stuck in the 80s. The board is voting on it tonight. Not looking hopeful rn.
I shake my head and chuckle. Ahh, the eighties. The decade of extravagance and aerosol hairspray. Not much environmentalism going on back in the day.
Me: I’m sorry. I promise to recycle if that helps.
P: Thx. Ur sweet. <3 CU tomorrow.
Me: Yep. Goodnight.
I lay my phone on the nightstand and clasp my hands behind my head, sinking my shoulders into my feather pillows with a sigh.
Z. Not Zaidyn, but Z, like a friend.
Idiot, it’s just easier to text than spelling out your weird name.
Ignoring the doubt that normally smothers any attempt to feel normal, I sink further into my pillows, resisting the tingling of magic across my skin telling me to fly.
(Note to self: Fly tomorrow when Ky is chasing you. Piper dreams are waiting.)
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