“Here’s your paper back. If you’d like help, you can call on me, anytime.”
I waited for a miniscule flash of thanks or apology to flit through Kayleigh’s eyes but got nothing. She just snatched the page and edged past Fallon to get out the door. Fallon said nothing, but she shot me a look that was so icy that I actually shivered before she let the door go. I caught it before it snapped shut and stood there, considering. When I caught a mane of fuzzy dark hair out of the corner of my eye, I dashed toward it.
“Miranda?”
Miranda, her back to me as she sipped from the water fountain, straightened, then turned slowly.
“Um, Ms. L?”
I leaned in so our foreheads were nearly touching. “I need to talk to you.”
Miranda tried to inch away from me, her butt up against the water fountain. “I told you—”
“It’s not about Fallon,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s not about bullying or what happened in the hallway.”
Miranda looked around. I realized we were circled now, girls strategically angled to look like they weren’t paying attention to us, but every eyebrow was quirked, every glossed lip was pursed in a slick smile. Miranda looked part horrified, part pacified—as though being the center of unwanted attention was something she had gotten used to.
“Please?” I said on a whisper.
Miranda took a step forward and I led her to an alcove in the hall. I would have dragged her into my room, but after Kayleigh and Fallon, I figured it wouldn’t be long until Heddy or Principal Lowe stationed an armed guard there.
“You’re not really a teacher, are you?”
I started. “Well, no. I’m a substitute.”
Miranda smiled. “Yeah?”
I felt an instant wave of guilt and I made a mental note to get my hormones checked. I was investigating a crime scene undercover, and feeling guilty for lying to possible major players.
“Yeah. Look, I know we talked a little bit before—about clubs and stuff on campus.” I held her eyes, hoping my raised brows would convey what I didn’t want to say.
“Yeah, so?”
I lowered my voice. “And the covens?”
Miranda shrugged. “Yeah, we talked about that.”
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Look, I don’t work for the school, okay? At least not officially. But I really need to know, Miranda, are there girls who think they’re witches here?”
Miranda didn’t seem startled by my question, but she didn’t answer, either.
“The book that you dropped in your scuffle with Fallon? This is it, right?” I unfolded one of the color copies of the book’s cover.
Miranda gave it a cursory look, her shoulders rising a half inch. “Yeah, why?”
“It’s a book of spells, Miranda.”
“I know. You don’t think that I—I’m not some kind of witch. I just—some girls . . .” Her voice trailed off, her eyes focusing on her shoes.
“It’s okay. I know what they are.”
Miranda’s head snapped up, her eyes wide. “You do?”
“Protection spells. I know what this is, too.” I unfolded the copy of the symbol carved into the desk in my classroom.
Miranda took the page from me and studied it. “Is this in the book? I didn’t really read it.”
“You don’t recognize this symbol?”
Miranda swung her head. “Should I?”
“You said you weren’t friends with Cathy Ledwith.”
Miranda leaned against the alcove wall and yanked on the straps of her backpack. “Not really, no.”
“You knew her from around school?”
She nodded wordlessly, her eyes skittering to mine, then going back to her toes.
“Did you know she had the same spell book that you have?”
Miranda looked up, but the “oh my!” expression I was wanting wasn’t there. Instead, she shrugged again and said, “No. Was she one of the witches?”
I swallowed hard. “No, I don’t think so. But the book is for protection. So is the symbol. Cathy had both and now you—you at least have the book. What—or who—are you afraid of, Miranda?”
Miranda kicked at the ground, the toe of her sneaker grimy and well worn.
I hunched so I was directly in her line of sight. “Miranda, this is important. You’re not going to get in trouble if you tell me.”
Finally she looked up, her cheeks blazing red. “I bought it by mistake.”
I felt my eyebrows arch up. “By mistake?”
Miranda kicked at the floor again, checked her backpack straps a second time, and glanced at the ceiling—anything to avoid my gaze while the blush on her cheeks went all the way to the tops of her ears. “I thought it was a book on love spells.”
“Love spells?” I said it out loud, then clapped a hand over my mouth. Then, in a whisper, “You wanted a book of love spells?”
“Yeah.” It was barely a mumble.
“What for?”
Miranda looked up at me. “What do you think?”
Now I felt myself blush.
“Look at me, Ms. L.”