It was not like Hecate Hardbroom to get distracted. Her ability to sit through a three-hour lecture without once halting her rapid note-taking—even when said lecture was on the complex geopolitical details of Renaissance-era witch hunts and the intersectional nature of the danger to hunted witches—was legendary among those competing for the university's highest honors. Furthermore, if the class was not a lecture but a discussion seminar to which participation was essential, Hecate, though uncomfortable with speaking in front of or interacting with her peers, forced herself to always be prepared to contribute to the conversation. It wasn't that she didn't have anything to say, after all; merely a paralyzing fear of saying it. But such fears were silly. She took herself firmly in hand, and trained her eyes on the front. She listened. She focused. She did not allow herself to get distracted.

And yet.

Pippa Pentangle was sitting one row in front of her, two seats to the left, and Hecate couldn't stop staring at her.

Today her blonde hair was in a high ponytail, which swayed back and forth when she moved her head. Some strands had escaped from the hairband and framed her face. Every few minutes she tucked them behind her ears, but they were too short to stay properly, so all the motion really served to do was emphasize the loveliness of her face, her eyes, her hands, her neck. Her hair looked so soft.

It wasn't like she'd never had class with Pippa before. Quite the opposite: Hecate distinctly recalled seeing Pippa's trademark pink, as bright and electrifying as her smile, in quite a few lectures and labs; and recalled, also, deliberately not looking at her for too long. Pippa was, in Hecate's opinion, probably the most beautiful girl in their year, if not the whole university. But this was the first time she'd ever had a chance to observe Pippa closely—her movements, her expressions. The way she crinkled her nose. The way she crossed her legs at the ankle under her chair. The curve of her shoulders, and hips, and breasts…

Hecate jerked her eyes forward, hastily focusing on the professor, who was in the middle of devising a scenario in attempt to get the one slow wizard in their gender studies class ("The Liberated Witch: Femininity, Tradition and Equality in the Age of Empowerment") to understand, well, the basic concept of institutional sexism. But he was asking stupid questions, and they were getting away from the material at hand, and she had a 99.8 percent in the class anyway. After a minute or two, leaning her chin on her hand, Hecate let her thoughts—and gaze—drift back to Pippa.

She was also clearly bored, watching the guy with narrowed eyes as he attempted to defend his position. Her arms were crossed across her chest, and she was nibbling on her lip in what Hecate recognized as frustration, her way of suppressing the urge to join the argument. Her cheeks were somewhat flushed, and her eyes were dark, and Hecate needed to stop looking at her mouth. Immediately.

Hecate looked down at her notebook and began writing, notes flowing automatically from the professor's mouth through her pen, letting the information processing block her thoughts, at least for the moment. She reminded herself of Rule Number Three of Surviving This Class: "You May Only Look at Pippa When She is Speaking, and Then Only For a Normal Amount of Time. No Staring. For Goddess' Sake, Hecate, Eyes on the Board."

Her ears perked up. She resisted the urge to swivel immediately in her seat. Better to casually turn her head, as if her stomach didn't flip when she set eyes on Pippa. Pippa, who had apparently won the battle with her self-restraint, and was proceeding to decimate the guy's argument so steadily that Hecate could see him shrinking in his seat. Whose eyes were lit up as she spoke, whose hands flew about as she looked around, whose ponytail flipped determinedly. One sleeve of her pink dress had slipped just slightly off her shoulder, letting her delicate collarbone peek out.

It was going to be a very long term.

At the end of class, Hecate packed her books hurriedly, as always, and began thinking about the essays she had due the upcoming week, and month. True, her witching history paper wasn't due for five weeks, but it was fifteen pages and it didn't hurt to get started early; perhaps she could do some research before going to the gym?

There was a loud bang as a number of books and notebooks, balanced too precariously on her desk, hit the ground. Hecate flinched—more at the faces now turned to her than at the noise—and immediately dropped to the ground, gathering the impudent materials. It was possible she was carrying too much around. But she so often went to the library between classes, it was worth it to have everything she might need with her. Usually. Well, sometimes.

"Here," said a voice. Hecate stopped breathing for a moment. Then she looked up.

Pippa was on her knees beside her, holding out two books to her. She was looking directly into Hecate's eyes, closer than arms' length, and she was smiling. At Hecate. With that perfect mouth.

Hecate took in a breath, and felt her face flood with color.

"Um," Hecate said.

"You dropped something." Pippa's voice was amused, teasing in a friendly way, and sweet.

Hecate finally managed to break eye contact. Shutting her eyes against the magnetic pull of Pippa's beauty, ducking her head against the embarrassment, she took the books from Pippa and stood.

"Yes. I—yes." She replaced the last books in her bag and slung it over her shoulders, willing her face to cool down.

"Do you always carry that many books?" Pippa was close to her again, standing next to Hecate's desk. "That looks heavy."

Hecate's feet were screaming at her to run. Every atom in her body was alight with panic. Pippa smelled like clean laundry and lavender, an intoxicating combination that was almost as paralyzing as her gaze. If Hecate could reach out and touch her—see if her hair was as soft as it looked—

"Mhm," Hecate managed. Then she turned on her heel and walked out.

When Pippa got home, she dumped her bag unceremoniously on her bed. She ate an apple, then a doughnut, standing at the kitchen counter flipping through Witch Weekly. And then she drew herself a bath.

Baths were something of a ritual for Pippa. If she had the time, she liked to bathe every day, either at night or whenever she returned home. It soothed her, centered her, inspired her—and ensured that she always looked her best. Glowing smooth skin and a refreshing scent weren't something one was born with, after all.

She filled the tub up without checking the water's temperature; the spells for ensuring the perfect bath had long been in place. Opening her cabinet, she surveyed her bubble options. Today she was in the mood for a cool, earthy smell, so she lifted out a small bottle with Petrichor Essence and poured a spoonful into the tub. Immediately, the small bathroom filled with the scent of rain.

Pippa lit candles, and carefully placed them around the edge of the tub. She made sure her novel, journal and vibrator were all within reach. Finally, she turned off the faucet, stripped, folded her clothes neatly on the counter, and stepped into the tub. Feeling the warmth seep into her, she settled back, head leaning against the porcelain edge, and sighed.

She had really thought Hecate might be interested in her.

Truthfully, it had been a long shot from the beginning. She'd had a crush on Hecate since freshman year—since the first time she'd seen her, really. Then, it had just been about her sheer loveliness: the long dark French braid falling down her back, the strong jaw and quick hands, the slight jump of muscles Pippa was positive she could detect beneath Hecate's perpetual long sleeves. Goddess, what she wouldn't have done to see her in a tank top—one of those bro tanks with slits down the sides to show off her abs…

But the real kicker had come when she'd first heard Hecate speak. It didn't happen often—Pippa thought maybe she was shy—and then whenever the professors spoke to her in a lab, Hecate's voice was always too quiet for Pippa to make out.

On the first day of their gender studies seminar this year, however, when it came time for Hecate to introduce herself and say a little about why she was in the class, she had spoken at some length. She talked about her traditional upbringing and the transition to a more modern university setting, her concerns about performing femininity while maintaining a healthy body image, her uncertainty, in short, about what kind of witch or woman she wanted to be.

When Hecate finished, having spoken longer than even she had expected herself to, she immediately ducked her head and flushed a deep crimson that spread from her cheekbones down into her turtleneck—and, just like that, Pippa was smitten.

Not being the shy and retiring type, Pippa resolved to approach her. But Hecate proved elusive in the extreme. As soon as class ended, she disappeared; where to, Pippa couldn't figure out. She had even walked around the library once, pretending she was looking for a book, just to see if Hecate was there studying; but to no avail. And Hecate wasn't on any social media, either—or so Pippa had thought.

She'd been shocked, then delighted, when Hecate had popped up on her Tinder feed. She hadn't even known if Hecate liked girls, and yet here she was: "Hecate, 21. Potions / History / Spell Theory. All I care about is coffee and my cat." The first photo was of her looking directly out at the camera, long hair falling in waves around her face, dark eyes—dare Pippa say it?—smoldering.

She'd flipped through the photos first quickly, then slowly, then obsessively. There was one of Hecate lying on her back with her cat on her chest, nose to nose and staring into each other's eyes. Pippa could almost detect a smile tugging at the corner of Hecate's mouth. In the next one, clearly a candid, that same half-smile danced on Hecate's face as she glared playfully at someone out of the frame.

But it was the last photo that compelled Pippa to abandon her pride and super-like Hecate's profile on the spot. The exact image she'd spent months—no, years—picturing: another candid, taken from behind, of Hecate doing a pull-up in a tank top. Pippa could actually see the muscles in her back, shoulders and arms rippling, and they kind of made her want to cry. Or grab her vibrator.

A door slammed. "Pippa?" called a voice. "Are you home?"

"I'm taking a bath," Pippa called back.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah, just take off your shoes first." Pippa had a strict no-dirt policy in her bathroom, and her roommate Julie's shoes, by virtue of her working part-time in the greenhouses, were constantly covered in mud. It was the only source of contention in their otherwise peaceful apartment.

There were two thuds from the hallway, then the door opened. Julie came in carrying her purse and a sandwich, and shut the door with her hip. She sat down on the closed toilet seat and took a bite of her sandwich.

"So," she said around the mouthful. "Updates?"

Pippa sighed deeply and sank down in the bath till her chin was just above the water.

"I don't think she's interested," Pippa said to the suds.

"What?" Julie sat up straighter. "Impossible."

"One might think. But no."

"Why do you think she isn't interested? Of course she's interested."

"Because—at the end of class, when we were starting to leave, she dropped some books and I picked them up for her. And I kind of tried to make conversation, but she just stared at me like I was an alien or something. And then she literally ran away."

Pippa could feel Julie staring at her, but refused to make eye contact. It was a little embarrassing, how sad she felt.

"When you say literally…" Julie started.

"I mean, I said something to her, and she literally turned around and, like, speed-walked away."

"Maybe she had to be somewhere?" Julie tried.

Pippa didn't respond.

Julie sighed, and scooted forward so that she was sitting on the edge of the seat. "Listen. She liked you back on Tinder. That's not nothing. Maybe she's just shy?"

"She hasn't texted me back, either. And it's been like a whole day." Pippa was aware that her voice had taken on a whining edge, but she didn't care. This was her bath time, damn it.

"What did you send her?"

Pippa nodded to her phone, which was on top of her clothes on the counter. Julie quickly tapped in the password and opened the app.

hi! Pippa had written. you're in my gender studies class, right? you have the most beautiful hair (not to sound creepy or anything, just sometimes i sit behind you and I can't stop staring lol)

She'd been going for casual. Breezy. Familiar but not presumptive. Complimentary but not stalkerish. Like it didn't matter too much, she was just saying hi.

"It's a good message," Julie said.

"I know."

They sat in what Pippa considered a mournful silence for a few moments.

"I just," Pippa said. She swallowed. "It's not just that she's pretty, you know? She's, like…really smart. She's as smart as I am—maybe smarter, who knows."

"I doubt that."

Pippa smiled. "Thanks. But—whatever, I was just…really excited about the idea of dating someone who could actually keep up with me. Normally people either can't follow what I'm talking about, or they're scared or, like, sort of threatened by me being ambitious."

She had known from quite a young age that she wanted to have her own school, and the dream only strengthened as she grew up and gained confidence. She was one of the brightest witches of her age. She got along with everyone. She knew she could be an excellent headmistress—and if she started off just good, she would only get better.

But whenever she brought this up with boyfriends or girlfriends, they'd say things like, Are you sure? Or, Doesn't that sound hard? Or, How do you know you can do it?

The last one was her least favorite. Constructive criticism she could take. But Pippa believed in herself as much as she believed in the Witches' Code, as much as she believed in magic itself; and she needed someone who would do the same.

"I could see myself telling her about it," Pippa said. "About Pentangle's Academy, I mean. And I felt like—I could see her asking all the right questions. Asking what my ideas are for curriculum, for example. And what kind of garden I'd cultivate. She's smart enough to be able to challenge me, and I think—"

Pippa swallowed again. "I think she would've been good. For me."

"Oh, Pip."

"Yeah."

There was another mournful silence.

"Hey," Julie said gently. "I'm going to heat up some soup. When you're done with your bath, do you want some? We can watch something trashy."

Pippa considered. "Can we have wine with our soup?"

"Absolutely."

"Then yes."

It was dark when Hecate finally left the gym. She'd been there longer than usual, which wasn't necessarily healthy, but she couldn't help it. How could she have acted so stupidly in front of Pippa? Why couldn't she carry on a simple conversation like a normal person? Every time she remembered her final response to Pippa—not even a word, just a sound—she was mortified. This was why she didn't talk to people other than Ada. She was just not made for human interaction.

So Hecate ran on the treadmill until she was sore and panting, the memory of Pippa's amused face (Goddess, she must think I'm an idiot, why did it have to be Pippa) following behind her. She did pushups and pullups and crunches until she was sweaty and red (why are you like this, why do you react like this, why can't you control your feelings?) She worked out, revisiting exercises and machines and weights, until she was exhausted. It was the only way to release the nervous tension in her body, to get rid of the panic that threatened to overwhelm her when she thought of Pippa, of Pippa thinking of her, thinking her ridiculous. Goddess. She couldn't bear it.

After a few hours, her anxiety had dissipated enough for her to go home. The cool air felt good on her skin as she biked, and by the time she reached her apartment, she was almost calm. Her feelings for Pippa were a problem, yes, and humiliating herself like that in front of Pippa was the stuff of her nightmares. But on the other hand, Pippa would likely never speak to her again; and while a small part of her was devastated at the idea, the rest of her knew it was for the best. Perhaps now that she officially had no chance with Pippa, she would finally be able to get over her.

Unlikely. But possible.

Hecate had showered, dressed and begun making dinner by the time her roommate came home. Shrugging her backpack off, Ada put the stack of folders she was holding down on the table and came over to give Hecate a side-hug by the stove.

"Hey," Ada said, smiling up at her. "How was your day?"

Hecate cleared her throat. "Fine. You?"

"Fine. Dimity's organizing a potluck for Saturday. You wanna come?"

"Not particularly."

"It's a small thing. No one you don't know."

"I don't like most of the people I know."

"Dimity said there would be board games. You could probably convince me to play Scrabble."

Hecate raised her eyebrows. "You never need to be convinced to play Scrabble. And you beat me half the time, anyway. What do you really want?"

Ada did her best puppy-dog eyes. "I may have promised Dimity that you'd make something."

"Come on."

"You're the best cook out of all of us, it's hardly fair if you don't."

Hecate rolled her eyes. "Fine. But you have to buy me more vodka. You 'may have' finished my bottle."

"Deal."

Shaking her head, Hecate returned to her stir fry. Ada watched her for a few moments. Then she took a deep breath.

"Hecate?"

"What."

"I need to tell you something."

Hecate looked at her, still stirring. "What's up?"

Ada took another breath. "I made you a Tinder."

"You…" Hecate was motionless, mouth slightly open, staring wide-eyed at Ada.

"And someone messaged you—a girl. She thinks you have pretty hair. Which you do, so."

Hecate was still staring at her. Ada couldn't identify all the emotions flickering in her eyes, but she was pretty sure the dominant one was panic.

"Please say something," Ada said quietly, stepping closer to her. "Are you mad?"

"I—you—" But Hecate couldn't say anything else. Ada could hear her struggling to control her breathing. She took the spoon out of Hecate's hand, and turned the stove off. She scooped the vegetables onto the waiting plate, grabbed a fork and offered it to Hecate, who took it mutely. Then Ada guided Hecate to the table, and sat across from her.

"I can't," Hecate said, after a few minutes.

"You can't what?" Ada asked.

"I can't—talk to this girl. Whoever she is," Hecate said, eyes on her plate.

"I'm not asking you to talk to her," Ada said gently. "I just wanted to give you the option."

Hecate looked at her, mouth set. As usual, only her eyes betrayed that she was anything other than calm.

Ada sighed. "I'm sorry if I overstepped," she said. "I didn't mean to—I wasn't trying to push you, or anything. I was just thinking of…do you remember that Saturday like three weeks ago? When we got drunk on tequila and went to the roof to look at the stars?"

"Yeah."

"Do you remember what we talked about?"

A pause. "Not…particularly, no."

"You were talking about girls," Ada said. "About—wanting girls. Liking girls, and wanting to date them, but not knowing how. And about," she pushed on, even as Hecate's lips trembled, "being angry at yourself for wanting that, and being angry at yourself for being angry, and how you were worried that you'd never be able to have that. Love, I mean."

Hecate stared down at her plate. Ada pulled her chair around so that she was sitting next to Hecate, so that she could wrap an arm around her shoulders. Hecate sniffed once, twice, and Ada knew she was crying.

"You don't have to talk to this girl. You don't have to do anything you don't want to, or aren't comfortable with. I'll delete the account, if you like," Ada said quietly. "But I want you to know that—it's okay for you to like girls, and it's okay for you to want to date them. And you can date them, if you want. They're there." She wasn't sure if it would be helpful or frightening, but she couldn't help adding, "And they like you. A lot of girls have liked your profile. Like…a lot."

Hecate leaned into her shoulder.

"Just think about it," Ada said. "Okay?"

Ada heard Hecate swallow. Then she nodded, and Ada couldn't help smiling.

"Okay," Ada said. "Do you want to watch 'The Great British Baking Show'?"

Hecate nodded again. The she scrubbed quickly at her eyes with her hands, sat up straight, and started eating.

Overall, Ada thought, she would consider it a victory.