Spell Fire (5 page)

"That's personal."

"How so?"

"Promise you won't say anything?"

"Of course not!"

"My best friend in elementary and middle school was a foster kid."

Jazmin threw me a sideways look.
"Was
a foster kid? Did she get adopted?"

I swallowed back the hurt rising like bile in my throat. "No. Sophia disappeared."

"Crap, Ains. I'm so sorry. Was she found? Is she okay?"

I shrugged, unable to speak. My fingers trembled as I lined up my fries like pickets in a fence. "I keep hoping I'll find her."

"Would you still recognize her?"

"Absolutely." I stared down at the fries.
One, two, three, four, five, six—

"How can you be so sure?"

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the horror Sophia had described. She had sounded so detached, like it had happened to some other little girl whose parents were meth addicts. "She has a huge skin graft on her neck and the inside of her right arm from third-degree burns."

Jazmin's eyes widened. "How awful. Was she in an accident?"

I shook my head.

Jazmin stared at me as if she were viewing me in a new light. "Word."

****

I didn't see Jazmin again until after school, when she insisted on walking me to the bus before she headed for the Performing Arts building for show band rehearsal. As we strode to the parking lot beyond the Founder's Oak, Jazmin asked, "Are your aunt and uncle actual shamans?"

"I guess so. My parents never talk about them."

"Wouldn't it be cool if they taught you magic? You could use it to find a boyfriend."

"Yeah, right. The boys in Palm Springs aren't going to be attracted to a girl with OCD any more than the guys here."

"Maybe you could hide it?"

"You mean I'm not?" I bugged my eyes so she'd know I was kidding. Then I said in all seriousness, "Face it. I'm doomed, on so many levels."

"No you're not. You know what they say. Love turns up in the most unexpected places."

"Says the girl who dates the drummer in her band."

"Okay. So maybe I didn't have to look too far." Jazmin linked her arm through mine. "Let's think best-case scenario instead of worst-case, okay?"

"Whatever."

Jazmin pulled on my arm. "The self-help book my sister is reading says you should envision what you want. Then while you work toward making it happen, the universe will support you."

"As a future astrophysicist, I'm not sure I envision the universe in the same way her book does."

Jazmin batted her eyelashes at me. "You could try."

I rolled my eyes.

Jazmin brought me to a halt. "Come on. Envision Mr. Perfect. He is handsome and smart and sweet and he helps your OCD go away."

"I have more important things to do than 'work toward' getting a boyfriend."

"I know it's low on your priority list right now, but indulge me. Please?"

"You'll make me miss the bus."

Jazmin snapped her fingers. "Then you better work it, girl. Envision!"

Since it would shred Mom's last nerve if I missed the bus, I closed my eyes and pictured the guy Jazmin had described. Handsome. Smart. Sweet. I envisioned a guy who diminished my OCD and liked me despite my psychiatric shortcomings. "Hmm."

"What?" Jazmin said.

"Nothing." Oddly, I could almost see the guy. Not his face or hair color, but I felt his vibe.
Don't be stupid.
I stepped forward and my heel sank into something soft. Cold water seeped into my blue stilettos. My eyes flew open, and I quick-stepped off the rain-soaked grass and back onto the concrete path. "Jaz!"

She hopped sideways to get out of my way. "Sorry! I had closed my eyes, too!"

"Why? You were supposed to be guiding me."

"I was envisioning for you." She glanced from the wet stain spreading on the blue suede of my shoe to the parking lot. "The bus!"

We sprinted — not easy for me, in spike heels while weighed down by a heavy backpack. Jazmin, wearing low-heeled boots, broke ahead and leaped for the bus step as the driver was closing the door. "Wait!" She blocked the entrance until I caught up, then clasped my hand and pulled me onto the bus. The driver frowned at me.

"Thanks," I said, between gasps.

Jazmin jumped off the bus and waved. "Good luck!"

"You, too!"

The driver pulled on a lever. The door clapped shut. Air hissed from the brakes or something. I fell into the nearest seat, and the bus started to roll.

Jazmin cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Your parents would never send you into a dangerous situation!"

I shrugged.
We'll see. Parents don't always act in their child's best interest. Just ask Sophia.

The bus made a sharp left turn and eased down the incline to the lower parking lot before turning again as it headed for the main road. I deposited my backpack on the empty seat beside me.

What would Gong Li and Maggie Q do?
Inside my skinny half-Scot, half-Norwegian body lurked the soul of an Asian martial arts star-slash-astrophysicist. Which would totally work out if not for my OCD. "Gong Li and Maggie Q would quit the pity party and kick butt," I muttered under my breath.

So on Friday, I burned my lunch hour taking my AP French final. By the time school ended, it felt as if aliens were gnawing at my empty stomach. Mom was a strict advocate of healthy eating, but she caved and picked up a burger for me on the way home. She even let me eat it in the car. So much for the new car smell.

"How did your French final go?"

I downed more chocolate malt before answering. "Taking it early cost me at least half a grade. So much for my perfect grade point average and chance to get into Columbia University."

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too."

Mom responded with silence, which lasted until we pulled into our driveway. "We need to be at San Francisco International Airport by six. So we have to leave by five."

"So basically, I have less than an hour to pack."

"I can help."

"No, thanks."
You've done enough.
I stalked up the stairs and threw my stilettos on my bedroom floor. Before I forgot, I plugged my two lifelines — my cell phone and laptop — into their chargers, then shoved random outfits into my suitcase.

"Don't forget your meds," Mom said as she wheeled her suitcase past my door. She and Dad were meeting in San Francisco for dinner before taking the red-eye to Rio de Janeiro, where they'd catch their ship.

I detoured into the bathroom.

"You won't need any rain gear," Mom reminded me.

I tossed my meds in my purse, then plucked my rubber boots and collapsible umbrella from my suitcase and dropped them onto my silk carpet. I filled the void with my leather jacket, ballet flats, and flip-flops.

"Pack your hiking boots and some socks!"

"Agghh!" Mom's interruptions were making me lose track of what I had already packed. A headache loomed behind my forehead. I needed a checklist, but thanks to my early French final and the showcase, there had been no time to make one or pack ahead. Feeling a panic attack gathering like a tornado inside me, I grabbed the brass handles of my bedroom's double doors and firmly closed them.

Seemingly within nanoseconds, Mom knocked. "Time to leave."

"I'm not finished."

Mom opened the doors and entered. "Sorry, sweetie." She crossed to my suitcase, zipped it closed, and hauled it off my bed.

"Wait! I need to check what I've packed." My jaw ached from grinding my teeth. My head pounded. "I'm sure I forgot a bunch of stuff."

Mom extended the handle on my suitcase then handed me a prepaid credit card. "This is for emergencies and taking Terra and Esmun out to dinner. It has three hundred and fifty dollars on it."

"Thanks." I stuffed the plastic card into my pocket.

Mom shouldered my backpack, hurried down the stairs, and opened the front door. Cold air stole in. She had left the car in the motor court, so I dragged my bulging bag down the grand staircase.
Left, right, left, right, left, landing.
The wheels squeaked as I made the turn.
Left, right, left, floor.
The wheels thumped onto the polished wood floor, then up onto the area rug.

"I forgot about rush hour traffic and people heading into the city for Friday night dates," Mom said. "Hope we make it."

I pivoted toward the stairs. "I better check and make sure I didn't forget anything."

Mom clasped my arm. "No. We don't have time."

Anxiety crawled my skin. "But—"

"Get in the car. Whatever you've forgotten, you can do without for a few weeks or buy down there."

Stunned by her unyielding attitude, I allowed her to propel me, and the wheelie, out the door.

Chapter Six

Thanks to a backup on the Bay Bridge, I only had thirty minutes to get through airport security and locate my gate. As I inched through the security line, my anxiety rose in direct correlation to the diminishing number of minutes left until takeoff. By the time I reached the TSA agent, jitters wracked my body. If one more person coughed on me or held up the line, I fully intended to scream.

Since I didn't have a driver's license yet, I handed the uniformed agent my passport and Athenian Academy student ID card, along with my boarding pass. The sunken-eyed passport photo had been taken when I'd been in eighth grade. The agent studied it for what seemed like five minutes before he handed back my documents and said, "Have a nice trip."

Yeah, right.

I used the strategy I employed at theme parks and strode to the line farthest to the left. It had the fewest families with small children or people who appeared clueless. A seasoned traveler, I pulled a gray plastic tub from the stack and placed it on the metal table. Off came my heavy backpack, handbag, scarf, Athenian Academy hoodie, and high heels. I reached into my backpack to remove my laptop and found only textbooks and notebooks.
What—?
I searched it again, ignoring the business traveler behind me who bumped her tub into mine. With mounting horror, I tried to remember packing the laptop.

"Move along," a TSA agent behind me instructed.

Near tears, I zipped my backpack closed and pushed my stuff onto the conveyor belt. As my tub disappeared into the screening tunnel, another agent motioned for me to step into the body screener and raise my arms. I hoped,
prayed,
the TSA agent would flag me over and say, "Miss, you failed to pull out your laptop." But she didn't, because it hadn't miraculously appeared. Acid burned my stomach.
I must call Mom. Wait. If the laptop is still at home plugged into the charger, then where is my phone?

I scoured my knuckles against my palm. Thoughts shattered through my brain like colliding meteors. I needed to search for my phone
.
But if I stopped to look for it, I'd never make it to the gate in time. Missing my flight was not an option. I scrunched into my zebra-print stilettos, shouldered my backpack and handbag, threw my cashmere scarf around my neck, grabbed my hoodie, and ran for the gate. As I arrived, the premier passengers were already boarding.

Panic, fury, and a choking sense of abandonment raged through me as I stepped inside the plane. Close to tears, I avoided making eye contact with anyone. As I clumped down the narrow aisle, my face heated from the sting of curious stares. Finally, I reached my row.
Great. A middle seat in coach.
There were two inches between my knees and the guy in front of me. If he hit the recline button, it would be like an Indian commuter train, with me wedged in the mushed section.

I stuffed my backpack and hoodie under the seat in front of me, sat down, and searched my handbag. I shoved aside eye makeup, my turquoise wallet, my designer sunglasses case, pens, and keys. My meds rattled inside their plastic orange bottles.
Where's my phone?
This was Mom's fault. If she hadn't rushed me, if she had allowed me to go back upstairs, I wouldn't have left behind my lifelines.

"You'll need to stow your purse for takeoff," a flight attendant warned.

This cannot be happening.
Blinking back tears, I zipped my handbag closed and stashed it next to my backpack, leaving about three inches for my feet.

The elderly lady seated next to the window lowered the shade, and then fell asleep so quickly she must have been drugged. The embroidered Christmas trees on her sweater rose and fell in time with her blinking MERRY CHRISTMAS brooch. The college-aged chick in the aisle seat glanced at her before returning to her romance novel.

I clawed at the pouch on the seatback in front of me. There had to be an airsickness bag. Finding none, I cupped my hands over my mouth and hyperventilated.
In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.
The plane zoomed down the runway, angled upwards, and we were off.

Think about something other than your phone and laptop and how you are cut off from Jazmin, your parents, and your homework hotline. Focus on something positive…
Ninety minutes of uninterrupted study time. Excellent. Studying will knock another entry off my to-do list
.

Calmed, I decided to tackle U.S. Literature.

Thunk.

I held my breath. Had the person seated behind me hit my seat by accident, or was there going to be a problem?

Thunk. Thunk. Thunkthunkthunkthunkthunk
.

The captain had illuminated the Fasten Seat Belt light. I was trapped, pain exploding like a cluster bomb in my lower back. I twisted as much as the belt allowed and glared at the people in the row behind me. Well, person. All I could see was the forty-something woman seated next to the window. She held an entertainment magazine in her press-on claws. The heat of my glare finally got her attention and she lowered the magazine, revealing a gold lamé halter beneath a faux leopard-print jacket. Her cleavage had the wrinkly, deep tan look signaling way too much time spent by the pool.

Her Cleopatra eyes rolled toward the middle seat and my unseen assailant. "Isis, Mommy told you to stop kicking the seat."