A Lion in a Flower Field

A midnight blanket in the sky was still present to greet her. Though the sky still held the early makings of dawn, soft yellow spikes radiating from behind the horizon to meet the stars, clouds blushing a soft, sweet pink, the blazing giant was perfectly content to slumber peacefully below and leave Mira to contend with the bitter chill.

Normally, she enjoyed the walk from Northern to Southern Chrome. It was a chance for her to be alone with her thoughts in a way that was appreciated and welcomed. This morning felt like a premonition with its hellish temperatures and nipping frost. Whistling wind whipped at her cheeks, small lashes in the form of an irritable gale.

It was probably a useless hope to pray that Mabel would grace them both with her presence from whatever hole she crawled into at night. Knowing how well she kept Magic’s anxiety at bay, it would make for a welcome start to the school day. Mira laughed a little at the thought. Considering the weather, she wouldn’t be shocked if Mabel kept to herself this morning, though the cat’s absence would disappoint her immensely.

Her fingers were numb by the time she crossed the border into Southern Chrome. Mira marveled at how different it looked in the early morning hours than it did at night. She was used to the ramshackle houses, the way their porches moaned under even the slightest weight, the gaps in stairs that could engulf your ankles if you missed a step. The way the roofs drooped down like a drunkard slumped over a bed after a night of indulgence. But in the shade of twilight, it looked like something out of a horror story with gaping shadows, long, limber, like the naked branches of winter trees. Lifeless.

Downtown was the home of all the mining families—or at least, a majority of them. Mira could count on one hand the number of miners who lived in Northern Chrome, but most of them were stuck here in the south. They took up residency in these buildings, tried to flower them up with peonies, aerityne, kestrians and other flowers to freshen up the look of the sidings.

Especially since all of the houses were black.

Not out of a desire to be gothic or a particular love of grotesque looking aesthetics, but because of soot.

The so-called “duster” houses were filthy with coal remnants and ash that fluttered south from the northern processing factories and there wasn’t enough money circulating in the mining district to warrant the buildings to be cleaned. It simply wasn’t worth the funds since money was already hard to come by, so the grime sat and festered on the porches and walls of the houses, a permanent, sad tattoo.

Mira dragged a finger along the railings of each house she passed, scooping acidic soot from the wood to find the dull oak beneath. Sometimes she wondered what life would be like if the coal mines didn’t exist. What jobs people would take up if they didn’t have to rely on shitty income that didn’t nearly cover the cost of risking one’s life in the underground passageways.

But like she did every time that thought resurfaced, Mira pushed it aside.

There was no point in imagining that reality because it would never come to pass. And that was the problem with her imagination; it allowed her thoughts to run wild and unrestrained and give her stupid, useless hope.

Always the hopeless optimist as her father would call her.

She wiped the soot and dirt off on her jacket front. What Mira needed was focus. The closer she got to her brother’s house, the easier that became.

Candlelight flickered in two of the windows and relief flooded through her in a wave. Good. He did remember. Rickety steps acknowledged her with their usual whine and moan, creaking beneath from the wind chill—at least, that’s what Benji had said once. That the colder the weather, the more easily broken the houses became, which she didn’t quite believe until one of the railings on her own porch snapped messily in half from frost not more than a day or two later.

Mira knocked with her usual signal, then drew back, waiting in silence. Distant stomping clattered through the house, faint chatter murmuring through its wooden walls. The sound of footfalls grew louder, closing in on her and pausing when it reached the door which whined as it was cracked open.

She blinked and leaned to poke her head inside the house.

No one was there.

“Magic?” Mira whispered, speaking into the void.

Silence.

“Mags?” she said again, tentatively grabbing the door handle to widen the space of the entrance. “We need to go, bud. We have to get there early, remember?”

“Yes,” came a gravelly rasp.

Mira peered around the corner. In the shadows of the house, she spotted the glare on Magic’s glasses from the faint candlelight emanating in the kitchen. The rising sun, creeping through the spaces between the door hinges, revealed the dark green jacket that swallowed him whole and baggy denim jeans that engulfed his feet. Shiny, metallic blue gleaned from around his neck covered only by his raven’s tail hairdo, the strands gently pulled back out of his face, a few looser ones framing his face, covering his ears.

There’s the beauty, she thought, admiring the sky blue headphones. The necessary evil.

Seeing Magic this way gave Mira an odd sense of deja vu, like she’d seen this before. And of course she had. When they made the very first visit to the school before it officially opened for the year, he’d been the same cowering mess, but he looked a little less jumpy now and she didn’t think she’d have to run in and help him calm down. The vice grip he had on the bridge of his glasses started to loosen and he wiggled his fingers, his toes, and shuffled about in place.

“We need to get going,” Mira repeated.

“I know,” he said between receding gasps. “I know, I just … I’m waiting.”

“For … ?”

“I don’t know. I wanted to get myself together. Before we left.”

“And you thought you would do that … behind the door?”

Magic paused, stammering and stumbling over his words before settling for a meek sounding, “Yes.”

“Is Amelia asleep?”

“Why?”

“Just wondering. I thought I heard her talking upstairs before you opened the door.”

He gave a curt nod of his head. “Yeah. Helped me pack. Got stuff together. Helped my hair. Wished me luck. Went to bed.”

It made her stomach fuzzy knowing that Amelia’s excitement—or her nervous energy—played some kind of role in Magic’s outfit and hair even if he was far too anxious to entertain that kind of banter. “Good for her. She won’t get any work done if she’s up at six in the morning.”

Magic freed captive loose strands from beneath his headphones. “Remind me again why—why we’re leaving this early?”

“Remember what I said about the crowd of kids in the morning?”

He nodded.

“If we get there early,” she went on, “then we don’t have to worry about getting stuck in the mob before classes start. Plus, maybe we can drag your support cat from whatever hole she crawls into at night for warmth.”

She spotted the pout before he turned to look at her, green and hazel eyes narrowed. In a single statement, his personality returned. “She’s not my support cat.”

“That’s a funny way of saying ‘She helps me stay calm.’ Look, I may have my moments, but I’m not stupid, Mags. Denying that Mabel helps you is just wrong and I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you that calm in public since you were seven.”

“Different times, Mira,” Magic muttered. “Easier back then, too.”

“Which I will spare the trouble of talking about. But we should get a move on. We’ve lost a good amount of time as it is.” She held the door open for her brother, allowing him the space to skitter out of the house, leaving her to close it behind them. As Magic fidgeted with the headphones around his neck, adjusting them onto his head with one driver covering his right ear, Mira approached him on the left. “Did Amelia tell the school about your headphones?”

Magic nodded, reaching into his jacket pocket to take out a small roll. “Yeah. She called yesterday to double check. She gave them the clippable microphones that feed directly into the headset. They’re designed with voice isolation, so it blocks out background noise. They activate when the mics are close by, but the mics and the headphones can be turned off or on manually. Which reminds me.”

Mira watched from the corner of her eye as Magic dug into his other pocket, rummaging around until he unearthed a small clip, a tiny black bulb attached to it. He dropped it casually into her expectantly cupped palms and she stared at it as if he’d gifted her gold.

Magic didn’t do gifts. Ever. Magic hadn’t given her a single gift in the seven years she’d known him because he’d never had the money to do so. It worked well because Mira never expected anything from him, only his company and support, though he always offered to repair old clothes and plushies as a gesture of his appreciation instead.

And she would have been perfectly fine being left to announce her presence to him while he had the headphones on, but this …

“Clip that to your shirt,” Magic said. “We ran out of microphones in the original set, so Mom dipped into the spare’s so I could …” He paused, eyes narrowed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re letting flies into your mouth.”

Mira pouted. “I’m not letting flies into my mouth. And that’s called being surprised.”

“Be less surprised,” he said, “or you’ll invite bugs to sit on your tongue.”

She rolled her eyes and did as he asked, unzipping her jacket partially to do so. A spark of curiosity went through her as she attached it to her shirt and, as Magic adjusted the headphones to sit on both of his ears, she rubbed her thumb against the mic.

Magic yelped, leaping a little off the ground before sending a glare that read You suck, shoving the bottom half of his face inside the collar of his jacket. The headphones fell away from his head, ringing around his neck. She snickered. “Do that again,” he muttered, “and I’ll take it from you.”

“I just wanted to know how sensitive it was,” Mira replied. It wasn’t a lie—she wanted to know just how much sound they’d pick up and how loud they truly were. It was good to know that information before they got inside the building.

“You could’ve just asked me, y’know.”

“Yeah, but that wouldn’t have been as—”

“Fun? Annoying? Absolutely unnecessary?”

“Alright. You’ve made your point. That was rude of me; I should’ve asked.”

“That’s what I thought. And since we’re on the topic of testing my headphones’ wonderful sensitivity, don’t breathe so heavily. I’d like to walk in the morning without listening to you puff obnoxiously into my eardrums.”

“Jeez, what crawled up your shirt and died this morning?” she muttered.

“My patience,” he replied.

“I don’t know what you want me to do about my breathing, Magic.” Even the idea of it was preposterous. What did he want her to do? Hold her breath? Knowing him, he’d probably tell her to go right ahead and attempt. “It’s not like the walk from my house to yours and to the school is a friendly one. My lungs hurt.”

Magic shrugged. “Do what I do and pick out a scarf for the winter time. That’s what I did when I was younger and it seemed to help.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re a little different from each other.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ve noticed.”

“In more important school news,” she went on, pantomiming ahead of her, “the school doors will be open by the time we get there at around six-thirty, but the other kids won’t be there until seven. That way, the staff can get there before the students and then the first warning … noise is at seven-ten.”

The roll Magic carried in his hand, which was still untouched aside from the tiniest little nibble that could’ve been made by a squirrel or a rat, dribbled between his palms. “That’s a lot of time.”

“It sounds like it is, but it really isn’t. Especially if we can find Mabel in the alley because then it’ll fly by real quick.”

“You don’t have to bother her, Mira. We can leave her alone in the alley. I’m fine. It’s stupid to drag her out just for me.”

“Who said I was dragging Mabel out of the depths of hell just for you? I want to feed her breakfast. Besides, she likes you, Mags, and it isn’t bad to have a little extra support, even if it is from a grumpy cat.”

Sunlight peered from over the horizon, a nervous child poking its head around the corner to light the sky a shimmering gold. The rays cast a glare in Magic’s glasses as he threw up his hands, shaking his head. “What do we do if she’s not there? Sit around in the alley by ourselves?”

“That is an excellent question, Mags,” Mira said, delicately bopping the top of his headphones with her nails. He groaned and raised the biscuit as though he were about to launch it from his hand, directly at her face. “I can bribe her with my lunch. Dad packs me something every day, but I thought it would be easier if I just ate the school lunch with you. While I give her my stuff, you can also give her that biscuit of yours since all you’ve done is peck at it.”

“I did eat it, just … not a lot. I don’t feel that hungry.”

“Even if you don’t feel like eating, you should have something. An empty stomach doesn’t do your nerves any favors.”

“What, because a full stomach does?”

Mira waved Magic into the alleyway, following behind him. To her relief, none of the other kids seemed to share her desire of being at the school building. Better it deter them. She leaned against the wall, hissing at the frigid kiss of the bricks and concrete along her exposed skin. Shaking her head, Mira adjusted her curls to cover her neck, finally answering her brother with a shrug. “I imagine that having a somewhat filled stomach is better than either of them. Don’t gorge but don’t eat nothing, either. Just have something in your system. Whatever you don’t want, Mabel will take.”

Gravity brought her to the floor; she rummaged around for the container she’d packed the night before as Magic knelt beside her, considering the roll of bread in his hands. From the pressure he was applying to it and the crackling of its crust, Mira couldn’t imagine that it was new bread. Freshly baked loaves didn’t have that stiffness she considered as she poured the contents of her lunch, oven baked quail and beans, onto the ground. Magic pressed his own food to his lips, bestowing some silent blessing onto it before tossing it into the pile as Mira called for the cat.

He sat beside her on his heels, bouncing on them. “How long will it take her?”

“Depends on the day,” said Mira, shoving her hands into her pockets. “It’s outrageously cold out, so it could take her five to ten minutes. More, maybe, if we’re unlucky.”

“You never told me how you found her.”

“It wasn’t Mabel I found. It was her mom.” Her lips softened into a smile at the memory. She remembered the day clearly. It was the end of the school year and Mira had left the building as she always did: on her own. Her friends lived in the opposite direction, and she anticipated making the journey all the way back to Northern Chrome on her own. What she hadn’t expected was an older, plump looking cat in the alleyway by the bookstore creeping in the shadows, dogging her steps. At the time, it baffled her that such a large cat could keep up with her stride, let alone the distance. It had taken nearly two and a half blocks of the cat’s incessant meowing and calling before Mira realized that the cat wasn’t just large, she was pregnant.

She didn’t know how far along Mabel’s mother—who she took to just simply calling “Momma”—was or when the kittens were supposed to be born, but it didn’t sit right with her that people were leaving Momma to waste away. So she sought the feline out both before school and after school with meals from her house meant for lunch, and cookies she’d tricked Janie or Thalia into handing over.

And two months later, she’d walked past the alleyway near school, confused and concerned by the metallic and coppery scent of blood in the air.

“She ended up giving birth to Mabel and her two brothers right here in this alleyway before school started,” Mira said, pointing to somewhere off in the distance with her hand. Magic’s attention briefly followed. “I found her here in the middle of pushing out the third kitten. Momma trusted me enough to sit there and feed her while she fed the babies and cleaned them up. She even let me handle them after she was done, so all three of the kittens got used to me immediately.”

She could see the gears turning in Magic’s head as he processed the information. “You never mentioned her brothers. What did you name them?”

“Crest and Maver. Crest was a gray-striped cat with angry looking eyebrows. Maver was solid black.”

“What happened to them?”

“Not sure. The last I saw Crest and Maver was the previous July. Haven’t seen them since.”

“Someone picked them up?” offered her brother.

“Or they got killed by something,” suggested Mira. “We’ve had a lot of foxes come in from the forest recently. Not as bad as Grimmshollow, but still.”

Magic shuddered. “What about Mabel’s mom?”

“Died last year from some kind of infection. I think she knew she wasn’t gonna make it, though, because she wasn’t eating the food I gave her and pawned it off to her kittens instead. I buried her near the bookstore. It felt right.”

The sound of something walking echoed along the brick walls of the alley, a gradual crescendo of a high pitched whine that made Mira bounce on the balls of her feet, hands outstretched. Speak of the devil, she thought, watching the brown tabby’s face emerge from the edge of the corner, meowing. “Mabel!” she squealed. “We have food for you! Come say hi!”

The tiny figure prowled in their direction, hissing a little with her hackles raised.

“Hi Mabel,” murmured Magic, now sitting on the floor with his legs crossed. He gave the dirt a gentler pat, a calmer imitation of Mira’s enthusiastic beckoning. “Morning.”

The cat looked between them, as though bemused by her surroundings, but her tail was up swaying lazily from side to side. Mabel gave a final glance at the humans in her line of sight before settling by the food, curling around it with a defensive hiss.

Magic scrambled back as Mira gently stroked the tabby’s fur, running it through her fingers. A satisfied rumble went through the animal, accompanied by tiny little trills. Mira waited to see if Magic would join her in admiring their newfound company; he was staring at Mabel, his eyes wide enough to engulf the sun. He looked like he was weighing his options to figure out what he hated more: stewing in his own anxiety or accepting relief in the form of a cat. Distress lay heavy in his features and he gnawed on his bottom lip, specks of blood already dotting parts of his teeth and mouth.

A cackle rang out into the air, accompanied by howls of laughter. Magic started with a yelp and, with one hand messily adjusting his headphones, he scooted closer and ran one shaky hand along Mabel’s back. Mira finished readjusting the headphones for him as he prematurely separated the cat from her meal, pressing her against his chest. His arms vibrated from the sheer force of it and she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He flinched, eyes squeezed shut, guarding himself. Mabel nestled her head beneath Magic’s chin.

With a raised brow, Mira made a small noise in her throat, impressed. “I think she knows you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” he whispered, his voice shaky and hesitant, betraying him.

“Being a little afraid is okay, Mags. You’re the new kid. That attracts attention whether you want it to or not.”

Magic nuzzled his face against the cat’s, unwilling or unable to answer her.

She went on. “There’s still time, y’know. You don’t have to walk into the building.”

“I thought that was what we spent the last few weeks training for.”

Training. Like it was a test he had to pass. Something he needed to succeed in. As if this wasn’t something he would’ve thought to do willingly. Shame and guilt gnawed at her chest, making air difficult to get, a tumbling wave inside her stomach that made her acutely sick. “I … it kinda was. But I don’t want my enthusiasm to get you hurt.”

He lifted his head and stared at her. What looked like the budding emergence of determination shone in his eyes—or maybe it was just the early sun primed against his glasses. Even still, it was intimidating to be subjected to and she fought the urge to look away. “Stop being selfish, would you?” Magic said. “I’m not doing it because you asked me to. Not anymore, anyway.”

She felt the slightest bit of relief, but it quickly dissipated. “What are you talking about?”

“Obviously I want to do this because you asked. Because I promised you I would. But it’s not just you I promised to do this for. There’s you and Benji … my mom.” He paused, his hold on Mabel tightening a little, eliciting a small meow of shock from the cat. “Dad,” he added quietly, breaking eye contact.

Of course. Ever the pleaser he was, even if it meant harming himself in the process. Mira wasn’t sure if she should commend him for his determination or yell at him for being stubborn. In the end, she settled for calm neutrality. “I imagine you’ve thought hard about this, then? ‘Cause you’ve certainly gone a long way from the florist’s rooftop.”

Adjusting his headwear—there was no need for him to; Mira had set the drivers directly on his ears, but she supposed he needed something to do aside from squeezing Mabel to death—Magic shrugged. “I thought about it. Cried about it. Talked with my mom about it. Eventually, between her crying and me crying, we sat down and discussed it. And I’ll be honest, I wasn’t a fan of it at first, but then everything started coming together and I … I’m okay. With it.”

“You’re ‘okay’ with it?”

“Well, I won’t be if you keep asking me questions and letting me second guess myself. Are we gonna go? People sounded close by when I put these on.”

Mira nodded and waved towards Mabel. Magic released her and together they rounded the corner and trotted up the marble steps. Endless chatter and laughter from the kids in the distance radiated from behind her, as did the cries and screams of younger children who wished to remain with their parents. She turned her microphone off to spare her brother the trouble and pushed the doors open, walking in ahead of him.

Magic stiffened in the doorway like he’d been strapped to a board, waddling beside her on the left until she could no longer see him. When she double checked on him, Magic was standing just in front of the main doorway, wide-eyed and panicked. Reality had set in.

She snagged him by the sleeve. As terrified as he was, he couldn’t just sit and block the door. The other kids would trample him before he could so much as raise a finger against it. Magic’s shoes squeaked as he stumbled and bumped into her, clumsily navigating the lobby clutching onto Mira’s arm. She fumbled with the microphone until it was on. “Mags, you gotta keep moving. I can go with you as far as that front desk over there, but that’s it. I have to wait for my friends.”

“Mira—” he started, a hoarse whisper.

“The teachers should be able to let you into class early if there’s no one there—which, there shouldn’t be. That’ll give you time to calm down. Just walk up the steps to the fourth floor like we practiced. You’ll be okay.”

His lips pursed in an uneasily tight line, white at the edges. He took a breath as though to speak, paused, and closed his mouth again. Magic settled for a curt nod and turned to go.

“Wait!” Her hands landed hard on his shoulders and spun him towards her. He stiffened, a whine trapped behind his mouth and Mira actively resisted the urge to hug him. “I’ll see you for lunch. Grab me a seat and a lunch bag before I get there. You can hang out on the side of the cafeteria and secure a table for us.”

“Any table?” he mumbled.

“Any table,” she echoed. “Closer to the doors, maybe. It’ll make life easier for you—”

“Mirabel!”

Mira whipped around reflexively before returning to her brother. Panic manifested alongside the fear in his face. The sound cut through her microphone.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I know her. That’s one of my friends. Turn your headphones off and get going. I’ll see you for lunch.”

He gave only a curt nod and left, approaching the steps with a rigid, stiff gait like he was keeping a pole between his legs. It was all she could do not to laugh, but at least he wasn’t cowering.

“Mirabellis!”

Arms wrapped around her neck from behind; Mira gasped, shock quickly falling away to laughter as she swayed back and forth with the girl behind her. Long, wavy blonde hair swept in front of her field of vision, dancing strands of gold. She reached up to gently hold Janie by the elbows, the two of them waddling around in one small circle. “Hi, Jane!”

“Good to see you, Mirabel!” Janie pressed her temple against Mira’s, pulling away but keeping her hands on Mira’s shoulders. “Excited for the last year we have in this rotten hell hole?”

“Considering all the good this building’s done you, I wouldn’t have thought you’d call it ‘rotten,’ of all things.”

Janie tilted her head, hair swaying with it, a hint of challenge in her playful blue and green eyes. “Give me one good thing the school has done for me, ever.”

“Well, you met me, didn’t you?” Mira cocked her head, a sly grin tugging at her lips. She matched her friend’s energy. “Now, personally, I think I’m far worth the praise, but if you insist that I’m rotten, then …”

Janie rolled her eyes, shortly heaving an exasperated sigh. She slid her hands from Mira’s shoulders, delicately holding onto her fingers, arms bent at the elbow. Feeling a little bit like a princess in a fairytale, Mira curtsied, happy to play the part. “Fine,” Janie said, “if you insist, then I shall profess my undying friendship to you, Mirabellis Arbesque, under the watchful eyes of the school board so that they may hear my vow. Would you rather a thought out ballad or a heartfelt letter?”

Mira raised a hand, motioning for Janie to twirl. She did so willingly, pleated skirt flaring as she spun on the toes of her baby blue mary janes. “Why not both?” she offered. “I quite like being sung to, but I’d love it more if I can follow along.”

“Deal.”

“You guys,” said another voice off to the side, “are unbelievable.” Mira watched as Thalia kicked herself off the wall and approached. She didn’t know how long her other friend had been standing there, waiting and watching for the teasing to stop, but Mira found herself glad that she’d waited as long as she did. It would’ve ruined the moment otherwise.

“What’d we do now, Thalia?” Janie huffed.

“Aside from being your annoying flirtatious selves, nothing. You should be glad I’m used to your shit, otherwise I would’ve assumed you two were a couple in the honeymoon phase.”

“Janie doesn’t go for girls like me, anyway,” Mira said. “I’m not her type, but I am her friend. And I do love a little bit of attention.” Thalia rolled her eyes and pulled Mira for a hug. She accepted it and hugged back tight. “Good to see you’re still just as prickly as always. I missed my reality checks in the summer.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’re stuck with your mom one town over for the season. I’m with my dad now, so you’ll see me around, but I still follow my mom’s schedule on the weekends.”

“Tammi doesn’t rest, does she?”

Thalia shook her head. “Nope. Not often. Anyway, where’s your brother? I thought you said we were keeping an eye on him this year.”

“We are, but he’s not exactly a ‘large crowd’ person, so he went to his class early.”

Janie’s brows shot up, but it was Thalia who did the talking. “Mira, he’s got maybe ten full minutes until the first bell rings! And that’s only the warning bell! He still has fifteen minutes before school actually starts.”

“I know. But the people coming in now are the reason I told him it was fine. Look.”

Her friends turned.

The hollering that followed Mira and Magic on the street had bottlenecked its way through the school’s front doors. The other seniors had arrived in full force, oblivious to the barked directions of the monitors to keep them contained. But containing the restless students of Chrome had the same results as closing the cap on a shaken, carbonated drink. Once it was released, containing it again was difficult. As the jocks, drama kids, outcasts and nerds stampeded into the building like a pack of guffawing hyenas, teachers and staff were herding them up the stairs like shepherds to make way for the smaller kids who were screaming at their parents’ side, begging to go home.

A Squiggle bounded off an empty bulletin board. Mira crouched at the sound of ringing rubber, arms protectively over her head. In the distance a posse of senior boys cackled, circled by juniors who laughed alongside them.

Shortly after came the Peppers. These girls walked in a pack and cared little for academics and more for social highs. It was the kind of group you wanted to weasel your way into if you wanted to survive a town ripe and blossoming with gossip and chatter. Thalia and Janie had given this particular group of uptown girls a nickname, a designation for a particular sliver of their hatred that sat uneasily in Mira’s chest.

She used to be a part of them, back in Grade 9. Back when she’d grown tired of being the last to find out about rumors before they came to her door, before she’d lost the ability to care.

It was how she knew Callie, and when Mira spotted her in the crowd of white shirts and red leggings, her heart stuttered. Picture perfect Callie with her long blonde hair and pale skin that screamed northern beauty, her blue eyes with a brown rim around her right pupil. Callie who had once been her friend. Who had once been a trusted vessel for Mira to pour her secrets to. Who had acted like she didn’t exist once Mira worked up the nerve to walk her own path.

Thalia made a gagging motion with her fingers as the Peppers strode past and Mira rubbed her shoulders hoping to extract the heat from her skin.

Janie let out a nervous laugh. “What a welcome crowd. Anyone else interested in a lunch serving of red rubber?”

Mira rolled her eyes as another Squiggle bounded off a display cabinet. Somewhere in the distance, a security guard was blowing a whistle to get the attention of rambunctious students.

“Ignore them, Jane,” Thalia said. “All they want is the reaction. It’s not worth it.”

Leaning against the lobby wall, Mira scanned the growing crowd on the main floor. It was interesting, people watching from this angle. The younger kids pleading for their parents not to leave them sent an uncomfortable twinge through Mira’s chest. It felt wrong to be envious of something like that. She shouldn’t have been. She should’ve pitied them, and yet the jealousy remained, hot and burning, sad and hollow.

The only thing that kept her emotions at bay was the sight of Hershel in the crowd of mingling juniors and seniors. He must have remembered their scuffle at the fence weeks ago—the thought of it sent the left side of her face throbbing, despite the healed wound that now almost passed for a mole—because he glared at her with two middle fingers pointed upwards in her direction.

Bitch, he mouthed.

“Bastard,” she muttered under her breath.

“Something up, Mira?” Janie asked, the question snagging Mira back to the present.

“Nothing important,” she replied, which was true. Hershel hadn’t come over to make a scene, hadn’t tried to make her pay publicly for her stunt at the fence. All things considered it could have been far worse. “But what I’m about to say is. It’s crucial that we keep an eye out for every high schooler possible on the floor. Especially considering that Magic’s blue headphones will make him stand out.”

“You say that like him even being here doesn’t do that as it is,” Thalia said, nervously running her finger around a tightly coiled strand of hair. “The whole grade has been talking. And I spotted Bentley and Jules while I was doing errands for my father the other day. They already have it out for him.”

Mira wanted to bash her head into the wall behind her multiple times. Of course. Bentley and Julia Harsyle. The twins had made Mira’s life hell for as long as she could remember and were friends with her original bully, Killian, back when they were all in school together. Killian may have graduated, but Mira had no doubt that Bentley and Jules still had their own idea of hell for her and her friends.

A rageful bubble filled her chest, threatening to burst. Something savage in her wanted to start swinging, but she held her tongue. “I had a feeling they’d be some of the first to worry about,” Mira replied, teeth gritted. “They’ve had me and Magic in their sights well before the collapse. Their whole goal was to put him back inside where they thought he belonged and I cannot count how many times I had to hide with him until they walked past just to buy fucking meat for dinner. Which only makes our goal this year far more crucial.”

Thalia and Janie gave one quick nod.

“Magic skates by this year,” Mira went on. “We don’t have other options.”

“We can try and do what we can,” said Janie, “but what do we do about rumors? There’s already a few spreading and you can’t punch rumors.”

“No, but I can punch the person who started them.”

“Mirabel—”

“If they wanna pull this shit, they take it up with me first.” The words came out more venomous than she intended and Mira felt a little bit of guilt watching the fear in Janie’s face. No, not fear. It was the face of someone who wasn’t scared for their own wellbeing, but someone else’s. Concern. She rolled her shoulders, hoping to ease her nerves. “Magic made me a promise. I made him one in return. One that I intend to keep. When do you guys have lunch?”

“Fourth,” mumbled Janie.

“Seventh,” replied Thalia.

“Perfect,” said Mira. “I have fifth.”

Janie looked at her sideways, like she was staring at something just off to the left of Mira’s head. “Remind me again why having separate lunches is a good thing? I thought it would be better for us to have the same lunch.”

“It’s good,” Thalia said, “because it spreads us out during the day. We can listen in on other conversations to see if anyone’s got Magic in their sights. That sound about right, Mira?”

Mira didn’t know how to reply. It was shocking enough that someone had referred to her brother by name rather than by his embarrassing moniker—not that she thought her friends would. But hearing Magic’s name come out of other people’s mouths with such … amiability was more reassuring than she expected. Without thinking, Mira wrapped her arms around Thalia in a second hug. “Two things. One, yes, you’re right. And two, thank you. For using his name.”

The embrace tightened for a fleeting moment. Thalia stepped away, patting Mira on the shoulders. “I don’t really know the twerp,” she said, “but it doesn’t take much to treat him like a human being.”

“He’s hardly a twerp. He’s, like, my height.”

“Still an underclassman. Still a twerp.”

The five minute bell shrilled.

Mira made her way up the stairs with Janie, the two of them saluting Thalia as she made her way down the steps for her Primary Observation class to help the other teachers with the younger kids. The steps were relentless as always, but Mira had too much on her mind to pay attention to the burning numbness in her calves and thighs, one arm gripping the handrail to hoist herself up the last flight. She would start her day with Math, which wasn’t her preferred starting class, but maybe it was better for her this way. At least then she could get it over with.

“What are you going to do about Callie, Mirabel?”

Her foot stubbed against the landing of the steps and she stumbled, leaning on Janie for support. Mira felt hands supporting her beneath her arms, lightly nudging her up to the floor. Tremors wracked her legs out of fear and a rush of heat met her cheeks. She couldn’t look Janie in the eye. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, I was thinking about it while you were too busy making heart eyes at her, but—”

“They weren’t heart eyes.”

“—in case you haven’t noticed through those rose-tinted glasses of yours, Callie isn’t exactly your biggest fan. I don’t think she’s going to help us, unless you have some kind of plan.”

Mira gripped the railing overlooking the long, descending stairwell.

What makes you think she’ll do anything to help us? Janie had asked over the phone. It was the same day Mira had taken Magic for the first run through the school. She isn’t the same person you knew.

Callie told me she’d think about it, Mira had replied.

So, Pepper code for ‘Not gonna happen,’ then?

Janie, it’s about strategy. All she needs to share is info. She doesn’t need to be my friend. She’s just a means to an end.

Janie hadn’t said anything after that, aside from a mildly disapproving sigh. Which would have been all well and good, if Mira didn’t have the sneaking suspicion that Janie knew her last sentence was a bluff.

Mira felt Janie beside her, her nails clicking against the metal. “The Peppers haven’t so much as looked in your direction—or mine and Thalia’s—since you walked out on them.”

“Is it really too much for you to trust my judgment on this?” Mira asked. “It’s strategic. She’s in a popular crowd—the same crowd that would rather see my brother stuck inside of his house so they can throw rocks at his window to scare him into never coming back out. If anyone’s gonna know about the stuff they’re planning, it’ll be her.”

“Look, all I’m going to ask is that you promise not to overlook anything because you like her, Mirabel.”

It took her a minute to process the words. Her first instinct was to deny. That it wasn’t out of affection or infatuation, but just out of a need to keep an eye out on one of the more popular groups of students. What better person to ask than a girl she’d known for nearly a year and a half? Mira found herself speechless and when Janie held onto one of her hands, clasped in both of hers as though she were pleading, she realized there was no point in denying anything.

“Mirabellis,” Janie said, “I love you. With every bone in my body. But you are dreadful when it comes to being discreet about anything Callie related. We all had English together last year and you couldn’t keep your eyes off her.”

Still, the stubborn thing in her fought. “It has nothing to do with me liking her, Jane.”

“Sure? I seem to recall you stumbling up the stairs when I mentioned her.”

“You caught me by surprise. That’s all there is to it.”

“I caught you by surprise talking about Callie?”

“No! By talking in general. Stop.”

“You’re blushing, Mira. And if that doesn’t scream ‘hopeless romantic,’ then I don’t know what does. Admit it to yourself that you have a hopeless crush on a girl who can see right through you.”

Mira puffed her cheeks. The thrumming in her chest was unbearable against her ribs, throbbing at the base of her throat like a bird fretfully batting its wings, trapped, unable to find freedom. She took a wobbly step away from the banister, rage and annoyance boiling inside her. “Fine. I like her. Is that what you’d like to hear, Janie? I still like her, even after all these years of being downright invisible to her. She’s gorgeous, she holds a note like a mockingbird and her right eye is a beautiful bull’s eye of blue and brown! There! I said it. But my … me liking her has nothing to do with my judgment or execution of this plan.”

“Mira, when pretty boys or pretty girls are part of the equation, it always affects your judgment. Like, all the time. Ninety percent.”

Mira groaned. She started off in the direction of their Math class, leaving Janie to keep up on her own. “Regardless,” she said, “that still doesn’t change the fact that she said she’d try and help when I asked her to in August. But if it’ll help settle your pretty little head, I can ask her in Geography.”

Janie’s footsteps quickened until she was in front of Mira, walking haphazardly backwards, glancing over her shoulder to watch for incoming human traffic. “Mirabel, I’ll be honest, I don’t care much for whether Callie helps or not. But I do care about the plan being jeopardized because she—”

“It’ll work!”

The declaration didn’t feel like her voice. It was too rough, too jagged; really, it reminded her of her father when he got particularly annoyed with a customer at the front door. He’d used that voice with her, too, sober and drunk, though Mira didn’t think he’d meant to do so while he was inebriated. But it held an edge like the sharp blade of a knife and she stared at her friend who had stopped walking. “It has to work. I was the one who suggested he board this ship and I will be damned if I let it sink with him on it!”

Mira realized she was panting. Her gasps were coming far too quick, far too short. She couldn’t breathe and her throat felt swollen, closed.

She searched Janie’s bicolored eyes, a calm sea foam ocean of blue and green. There was no resentment or fear now. Some unspoken, mutual agreement passed between them instead.

That oath solidified when Janie hugged her, three doors down from their classroom. “Then we won’t let it sink,” she said. “And if it starts to, we’ll patch up those holes together. You, me, and Thalia. Callie, too, if she feels inclined enough to ditch those preppy assholes and maybe come back to her senses.”

Mira chuckled, burying her face against her friend’s shoulder. Her skin was wet and hot with tears she hadn’t realized she’d been crying. “I was a preppy asshole, too, y’know. Just as airheaded as the rest of them.”

“Airheaded? Yeah. Preppy? Not really. You were just way too hyper for your own good.”

With a step back, Mira dragged her sleeve over her nose, rubbing at her eyes with her other hand. “Glad I’m the exception to the rule. Let’s keep the ship afloat, then.”

Janie’s smile was dazzling. “Aye-aye, Captain.”