What if I ruin everything?
Sleep must come for me, dragging me from despair into unconsciousness, because I see Dad. He doesn’t want me to give up, but what am I supposed to do? You can’t fight a hurricane with half an umbrella.
I jolt awake when someone opens my door. My head jerks forward, and my body floods with adrenaline. But then I see Mom standing in the dark, bathed by the motion-sensing lights in our driveway. Every horrible thing I said to her comes rushing in.
“Mom?”
She reaches for me and pulls me out of the car. “It’s okay, Han. I’m here.”
“You were right.” I bury my face in her neck and don’t even try to fight the tears. “I can’t do this. I’m done.”
“Oh, sweetie,” she says, holding me fiercely. “I didn’t want to be right.”
16
I SPEND THE RESTof the night catching up on homework.
This is my life now, I guess. Discovering murdered witches in the morning and reading Shakespeare after dinner. I dodge Archer’s calls, and on Monday morning, when Cal stops by before school, I ask Mom to lie and tell him I already left. Cal tells her Archer is looking into David’s death and asks if I’ll call him.
From my hiding spot around the corner, guilt worms into my chest, but I can’t call. I won’t.
At school, the halls are hazy with wisps of memories. I walk through Benton’s form twice before homeroom, but I don’t acknowledge him. He isn’t part of my life anymore. I’m embracing my future as a Reg. It’s only a matter of time before the drug is airborne and everything I’ve spent my entire life working toward won’t matter.
I’ll never learn to create fire with nothing more than my own magic.
I’ll never inherit my grandmother’s coven.
Even though part of me remembers what Elder Keating said—that I’ll always be an Elemental, no matter what happens to my magic—it’s hard to believe her right now.
On Wednesday morning, Morgan meets me by my locker before homeroom with a mischievous smile on her face. I’ve spentthe last two days distracting her with kisses whenever she asks how I’m feeling, and I spent an hour last night sketching her as she practiced for her dance solo.
She glances over her shoulder to make sure no one is in the hall before she plants a kiss on my cheek. “So... my dad wanted me to invite you over for dinner.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Why is your dad inviting me? Isn’t that your job?”
“Well, Iwastrying to spare you from my parents’ interrogation, but now they’ve got this wholeMeet the Girlfrienddinner planned.” She sighs dramatically and leans her head on my shoulder. “Any chance you’re up for an awkward night meeting my family?”
“Honestly? That sounds perfect.”
The bell rings, and Morgan hugs me tight. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She slips away to her first class, leaving me a smiling mess in her wake.
But when we get to Morgan’s house after school, she shuffles me off to her bedroom, calling to her parents that we’ll see them when dinner is ready.
“So, are you embarrassed of me or them?” I ask when the door closes behind us.
My girlfriend freezes halfway across the room. She glances back at me, a mixture of shock and embarrassment on her face. “What? No, not you. Never you. My mom and dad are just... super dorky. I’m trying to spare you their weird parent humor. Especially Dad’s. That’s the one downside to having a bisexual dad. You get Dad Jokesandbi puns.”
I laugh, and it might be the first real one since Ithaca. “Do I look like someone who minds?” I gesture to my T-shirt and theLET ME BEPERFECTLY QUEERslogan across the front. I spin to show her the back, which readsI’MSUPER GAY.
“Well, when you put it that way.” Morgan reaches for my hands and draws me closer. “Maybe I wanted an excuse to make out with you.”
“Nowthatis a plan I can get behind.”
She’s still in her jeans and a flowy sleeveless shirt from school, and her exposed skin is warm against mine when I trail my fingers up her arms. My lips meet hers, a soft, barely there kiss. “But all of this stays on with your parents home.” I gesture to our clothes.
Morgan blushes and bites her lip. “Deal.”
It’s a delicate dance, this thing between us. We collapse into her bed together, and with her legs interlocked with mine and her lips warm against my neck it’s hard not to get carried away. I want to lose myself in her. I want to replace all the bad memories with new imprints of joy on my skin. But when we’re both breathless and desperate to do things we know we shouldn’t without more privacy, we force ourselves to slow down. And when we start to get carried away again, we stop.
