“Did he say that’s what was going to happen?”
“Well, not in so many words, but it’s on the list of things he has to do at some point.”
“Then keep the faith, Parker. I’m not denying he’s got issues about being a wolf, but he’s good people. He wouldn’t string you along. He’s not that kind of guy.”
“I just don’t want my heart to get broken, you know?”
“You’d rather bail out now than risk it, you mean? That’s not exactly the brave Adept I know and love.”
“Maybe my courage is in the same place as my magic.” I flicked my fingers into the air. “Poofed right into the ether.”
“I’ll poof you right into the ether. Now, go take a shower. You’re kind of stinking up my room with Adept funk.”
“I do not have any Adept funk.” I delicately sniffed my tank top. It smelled like laundry detergent, but I wouldn’t mind brushing my teeth. “Fine,” I said, turning my back on her and heading for the door. “I’m going. But I’m not happy about it.”
“By the time you come back,” she said, “you better have a fantastic smile on your face.”
I hoped I would.
After a trip down the hall to the shower, I climbed into my St. Sophia’s uniform. The plaid skirt was mandatory. We had some choices for shirts—button-down, hoodie, long-sleeved T-shirt, cardigan. It was chilly in my room, so I assumed it would be even colder outside. I opted for the button-down and a cardigan on top. It wasn’t exactly high fashion, but it would keep me warm in the usually freezing-cold halls of St. Sophia’s.
Thankfully, the shoes were entirely up to us. I loved shoes—especially if they came from vintage stores or thrift shops. The hunt was really the best part. The floor of my small closet was full of them—the ones I’d hauled to Chicago from New York and a few I’d found with Scout in stores in the Loop.
When my messenger bag was packed with books and my key was around my neck, I met Scout in the hallway, and we joined the horde of girls in plaid headed down to the classroom building.
The caffeine had definitely helped, but I couldn’t stifle a yawn. It should be mandatory, some kind of national health rule, that teenagers didn’t have to go to class until noon. We needed our rest—especially after spending our nights saving lives!
Unfortunately, the junior class at St. Sophia’s was small, so we had every class with the brat pack, including art history. Over the past couple of months, I’d realized that each class had a different brat pack theme:
1. Art history: Art history was brat pack wake-up time. It usually involved putting on whatever expensive makeup they hadn’t had time to apply in their rooms and drinking coffee from the expensive Italian machine in M.K.’s room. Sometimes they also made snarky remarks about naked male statues.
2. Trigonometry: The brat packers were usually awake by now, so this was when the text messaging began. We weren’t supposed to have phones in class, but everyone did. The brat packers usually kept theirs hidden in pencil bags they kept on their desks. Dorsey, our trig teacher, probably just thought they were really picky about their pencils.
3. Civics: The brat pack decided Mr. Forrest, our civics teacher, was a catch—probably because he was the son of a senator from Vermont. He’d come to St. Sophia’s after working on an unsuccessful election campaign, and the brat packers seemed to think he was their ticket to a fancy life as a senator’s wife. Even Amie was totally smitten, and she was usually the rational one. Forrest wasn’t bad to look at, but he was a believer. He worked on political stuff because he had real conviction, and there was just no way he was falling for brat pack flirting, no matter how much M.K. batted her eyelashes at him. (Seriously. He was, like, forty. It was gross.)
4. British literature: Brit lit was our first class after lunch, so the brat packers were finally wide-awake. Amie and Veronica actually seemed to like reading Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice. I guess the romance got to them. Mary Katherine just whined that “nobody actually did anything” in the books. There was really no hope for her.
5. Chemistry: This was brat pack sleepy time. I don’t know if they had an official rotation, but it seemed like they took turns taking naps in class. One day M.K. got a snooze while Amie kept watch, and then it was Veronica’s turn, et cetera. If they were in danger of getting caught, the lookout would cough really loudly. Our chem teacher probably thought we were the least healthy group of St. Sophia’s girls he’d ever seen.
6. European history: This class was boring for everyone, but the brat pack made the best of it. This was when they started prepping for another fun-filled day at the convent. Nails were buffed. Jewelry and shoe combinations for the next day’s uniform were arranged. On more exciting days, M.K. would arrange an evening meet-up with a boy who was probably too old for her.
Somehow, even though they rarely paid attention in class, they still managed to get pretty good grades. Either they were crazy smart—and hiding it really well—or they’d made some kind of deal with the teachers. Or maybe they just all copied off one another.
Probably it was that.
Today’s art history was pretty typical.
M.K. sat with her chin in her hand, looking bored and half-asleep. Amie scribbled notes furiously while Mr. Hollis, our teacher, talked about the Renaissance. Every few seconds, she’d take a sip from a paper cup that I assume held really strong coffee, because with every drink her handwriting got a little bit faster.
“Well, not in so many words, but it’s on the list of things he has to do at some point.”
“Then keep the faith, Parker. I’m not denying he’s got issues about being a wolf, but he’s good people. He wouldn’t string you along. He’s not that kind of guy.”
“I just don’t want my heart to get broken, you know?”
“You’d rather bail out now than risk it, you mean? That’s not exactly the brave Adept I know and love.”
“Maybe my courage is in the same place as my magic.” I flicked my fingers into the air. “Poofed right into the ether.”
“I’ll poof you right into the ether. Now, go take a shower. You’re kind of stinking up my room with Adept funk.”
“I do not have any Adept funk.” I delicately sniffed my tank top. It smelled like laundry detergent, but I wouldn’t mind brushing my teeth. “Fine,” I said, turning my back on her and heading for the door. “I’m going. But I’m not happy about it.”
“By the time you come back,” she said, “you better have a fantastic smile on your face.”
I hoped I would.
After a trip down the hall to the shower, I climbed into my St. Sophia’s uniform. The plaid skirt was mandatory. We had some choices for shirts—button-down, hoodie, long-sleeved T-shirt, cardigan. It was chilly in my room, so I assumed it would be even colder outside. I opted for the button-down and a cardigan on top. It wasn’t exactly high fashion, but it would keep me warm in the usually freezing-cold halls of St. Sophia’s.
Thankfully, the shoes were entirely up to us. I loved shoes—especially if they came from vintage stores or thrift shops. The hunt was really the best part. The floor of my small closet was full of them—the ones I’d hauled to Chicago from New York and a few I’d found with Scout in stores in the Loop.
When my messenger bag was packed with books and my key was around my neck, I met Scout in the hallway, and we joined the horde of girls in plaid headed down to the classroom building.
The caffeine had definitely helped, but I couldn’t stifle a yawn. It should be mandatory, some kind of national health rule, that teenagers didn’t have to go to class until noon. We needed our rest—especially after spending our nights saving lives!
Unfortunately, the junior class at St. Sophia’s was small, so we had every class with the brat pack, including art history. Over the past couple of months, I’d realized that each class had a different brat pack theme:
1. Art history: Art history was brat pack wake-up time. It usually involved putting on whatever expensive makeup they hadn’t had time to apply in their rooms and drinking coffee from the expensive Italian machine in M.K.’s room. Sometimes they also made snarky remarks about naked male statues.
2. Trigonometry: The brat packers were usually awake by now, so this was when the text messaging began. We weren’t supposed to have phones in class, but everyone did. The brat packers usually kept theirs hidden in pencil bags they kept on their desks. Dorsey, our trig teacher, probably just thought they were really picky about their pencils.
3. Civics: The brat pack decided Mr. Forrest, our civics teacher, was a catch—probably because he was the son of a senator from Vermont. He’d come to St. Sophia’s after working on an unsuccessful election campaign, and the brat packers seemed to think he was their ticket to a fancy life as a senator’s wife. Even Amie was totally smitten, and she was usually the rational one. Forrest wasn’t bad to look at, but he was a believer. He worked on political stuff because he had real conviction, and there was just no way he was falling for brat pack flirting, no matter how much M.K. batted her eyelashes at him. (Seriously. He was, like, forty. It was gross.)
4. British literature: Brit lit was our first class after lunch, so the brat packers were finally wide-awake. Amie and Veronica actually seemed to like reading Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice. I guess the romance got to them. Mary Katherine just whined that “nobody actually did anything” in the books. There was really no hope for her.
5. Chemistry: This was brat pack sleepy time. I don’t know if they had an official rotation, but it seemed like they took turns taking naps in class. One day M.K. got a snooze while Amie kept watch, and then it was Veronica’s turn, et cetera. If they were in danger of getting caught, the lookout would cough really loudly. Our chem teacher probably thought we were the least healthy group of St. Sophia’s girls he’d ever seen.
6. European history: This class was boring for everyone, but the brat pack made the best of it. This was when they started prepping for another fun-filled day at the convent. Nails were buffed. Jewelry and shoe combinations for the next day’s uniform were arranged. On more exciting days, M.K. would arrange an evening meet-up with a boy who was probably too old for her.
Somehow, even though they rarely paid attention in class, they still managed to get pretty good grades. Either they were crazy smart—and hiding it really well—or they’d made some kind of deal with the teachers. Or maybe they just all copied off one another.
Probably it was that.
Today’s art history was pretty typical.
M.K. sat with her chin in her hand, looking bored and half-asleep. Amie scribbled notes furiously while Mr. Hollis, our teacher, talked about the Renaissance. Every few seconds, she’d take a sip from a paper cup that I assume held really strong coffee, because with every drink her handwriting got a little bit faster.
