Break time at Mercy High was a flurry of plaid skirts and high-pitched chatter, everyone stuffed shoulder to shoulder in the lunchroom as the weather outside rolled from an almost-blue to a definite, angry-looking gray.
Will branched off on his own and I paced the cafeteria aisle, infinitely glad that I could cross my arms in front of my chest rather than have to balance a tray while working to keep my eyes locked forward, away from the bullies of my youth. I kept my head slightly cocked, hoping to hear incriminating words pop from the multitude of conversations about clothes, nails, and this week’s pop star du jour, but conversations faded the closer I got, only to start up again as I passed. At the back of the cafeteria, I spotted a girl, sitting at a table full of students who had left an empty ring around her, a solid indicator that she was alone.
“Hey there,” I said with a wave.
The girl’s eyebrows appeared over the top of a book and then her dark eyes, small, darting. She pressed a fuzzy strand of deep brown hair behind one ear.
“Can I help you?”
I cleared my throat and reminded myself that I was the adult there, so my first instinct to fall all over myself and hide my head in my turtleneck sweater was not a good one.
“My name is Soph—Miss—Ms. Lawson. I’m going to be substituting here for a little while. Are you waiting for someone?”
The girl’s eyes swept over the ring of empty seats. “No.” She went back to reading.
“Mind if I sit?”
“It’s social suicide.”
I batted the air. “Been there, done that. So . . .”
“So.”
“You are?”
The girl sucked in a deep breath and laid her book down flat. She narrowed her eyes at me and shrunk her hands into the sleeves of her sweater. “Are you really a teacher?”
My heart started to thud and I surreptitiously looked around for Will, then attempted to send him a telepathic Abort! Abort! message. I had been undercover all of two hours and was already found out.
“Look, I’m not on drugs, all right? If you’re the sober companion or whatever, you’re at the wrong table.”
Relief crashed over me. “Sober companion? Me? No. No, I really am a—a teacher. Substitute. Totally. Here to teach. Things.”
The girl blinked at me, her dark eyes sizing me up, taking me in, and finally spitting me out. “Miranda.”
I blinked back. “Miranda?”
“I’m Miranda. Why are you sitting here?”
“Oh, well, I—” I picked at a dried lump of something with my thumbnail. “I just saw you sitting here and—”
“No,” Miranda groaned. “Why are you here in the cafeteria? Most teachers don’t interact with us unless it’s on the lesson plan.”
“Oh.” I straightened. “I guess I don’t really have anything in common with most of the other teachers.”
Miranda looked at me and nodded, her expression blank. She went back to her book.
“So, other than reading, what else is there to do around here?”
She lowered her book a few inches and cocked a brow, not quite understanding. “The usual, I guess. Basketball, soccer, clubs.”
I pounced. “Clubs! What about the clubs?”
Miranda slid a bookmark into her book and eyed me. “Regular clubs. French club, Spanish club.”
“Oh,” I said, nodding. Miranda rattled off a few more of the basics—astronomy club, a branch of Amnesty International, Lock and Key Club.
“Are there any others?” I asked. “Like, maybe not sanctioned by the school?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
I thought fast. “When I was in school, there were all the regular ones, too, but then sometimes some girls would start their own clubs—like stoners or—” I licked my lips, pausing. “Band.”
Miranda sat back, a reproachful look on her face. “You read the paper, huh? You want to know if there’s a coven here—if we’re all a bunch of crazy-assed teenage witches, killing the prom queen.”
I was taken aback by the cutting judgment in Miranda’s reply, but did my best to chuckle it off nonchalantly. “Well, no. I wouldn’t think that you’d kill—I mean, no, but yeah, of course I read the paper. But the coven? I don’t believe that. Not for a second. There were always girls in my grade who wore torn black fishnets and Doc Martens with their uniforms. A little black eyeliner and everyone thought they were witches.”
Miranda didn’t say anything and I felt pinned under her gaze. Finally, I relented and dropped my voice. “Do you know anything about any covens on campus?”
“No. I’m pretty sure you’re safe—no one’s going to turn you into a goat.” She stacked her books and slid a hand under them, then stood up. “I’ve got to get to class.”
Miranda left me sitting alone at the lunch table, feeling just as stupid as ever.
“Well, love, ready for this?” Will sunk into Miranda’s abandoned seat.
“Ready for what? We’ve checked out half the school and asked around and”—I made an O with my fingers and eyed Will through it—“zero.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“You found something?”