I woke to the sound of my beeping alarm. Squinting in the darkness, I waited for my eyes to adjust. The glowing digits read 5:30, like they did every morning. Okay Es, you can do it, three, two one. My hands stayed behind my head, but I felt the soft material of my covers and pushed them back. Exercise 1: Telekinesis, Complete. After quickly getting changed into a t-shirt, jeans and leather jacket, I strolled down the winding stairs of her attic room, entered into the kitchen and, picking an apple up from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table, I watched as I unpacked the dishwasher, packed my school bag and made coffee for Gwen, at the same time. Exercise 2: Cloning, Complete. Tossing my bag at myself and grabbing a flask of coffee, I felt the rush of energy I always got from becoming one again. It was weird, I normally didn't realise how weak cloning made me until at I had at least four clones, but I suddenly felt like twice the person when I became whole again.
My hand had barely gripped the front door handle when a voice rang from the other end of the house. "Exercise three, remember?" Ugh, she must have super hearing. I searched around me for something to use for the last test. Seeing a wilting vase of roses, something that had probably been put there by Gwen especially, I spoke a single word command, visualizing the molecules of the flowers changing morphing. "Alive" I whispered. As slow as the hour hand the petals began to recolour, pulling themselves into tight buds of fresh pink roses. After about three minutes the flowers were fully back in the world of the living. Exercise 3: Spell casting, Complete. "Happy now?" I yelled to the roof. "Very." Replied my angel from what was probably her bed. I mumbled curses at her and her lucky sleep ins as I began the walk to school. Today was probably not going to be any harder than any other day, but that wasn't saying much. I was portrayed as shy, even though I really was probably too loud. But when your whole life is magic and you can't talk about magic, what is there left to talk about?
I slipped into my chemistry classroom twenty minutes after the second bell had rung. Creating a quick note from the nurse and handing it to my professor I went to sit at my usual seat in the middle of the room. Whoever said that sitting at the back was the way to blend in was an attention-seeker by all definitions. You sat in the middle, you put yourself in the middle of the social ladder, you sticked out of trouble, but you weren't preachy about it, you had to be neutral. And at my school, I was neutral. And like any neutral student, I had tuned out ten minutes into the lesson, only coming out of my daze at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. As a witch my senses were heightened, so I knew each voice of each class I took so well I would notice if they hadn't had their favourite cereal in the morning just by how they said hello. "That's right Mr…"
"Worthington, Stanley Worthington." The voice came from the front of the classroom. "I'm new." I craned my neck to get a look at the new face. Unfortunately, like the rest of the class, he was facing the front, and the only visual I got was the back of his shaggy, black-haired head. She caught a vague reflection in a test tube sitting on Mr. Emerson's desk. His face wasn't anything completely amazing, he had good cheek bones, but his lips were thin and in an annoying smirk.
As my eyes flitted to the reflection of his I realised why he was smirking. He had caught me looking. His sea green eyes glinted with arrogance. Oh, dear God, now he thinks I find him attractive, brilliant. I dreaded that he might come up to me after class; he might be intrigued by the innocent look I had given him and the last thing I needed was some douche bag thinking I was interested in anything more than three words in the halls, which I wasn't. I never was, for anyone of the male species who looked at me like that. Any interaction with this Stanley guy meant the possibility of him wanting to visit my house, to meet my "mum", none of which would ever work. I was a witch. I lived in a wiccan house of special stones and weapons. Anything of which seen by a mortal would have us, Gwen and I, arrested for cult activities.
My tangent of wild thoughts carried on so long that I was abruptly cut off from my internal monologue by the annoying drum of the bell, signalling the end of last period, which meant only home room left. Home room, thank god, didn't include the company of Stanley Worthington. I slung my small black bag over my shoulder and shot out of the room before Mr. Emerson could even stop me. The sooner Worthington realised I wasn't interested, the better.
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