I took a deep, bracing breath and turned away from the window. I stared defiantly into Miss Tameka’s beady eyes as she told us to put away our wands and get out pens. “This will be a test of your spell writing speed and accuracy,” she stated, “but we don’t want any accidents as this is a level six spell.”
“Level six? I thought only level eight through ten were used at the Pinnacle,” some nerd with five spell writing scars dotting his cheek asked.
I’d put money on the fact that he’d tried to magically get rid of his acne and failed—multiple times.
Ms. Tameka replied, “Level ten is only for professionals. No intern will be expected to do a level ten spell. Six is quite hard enough. So, this will be a theoretical, not practical test. No wand-writing, pens only.”
Wands were the only way we could do magic that we weren’t born with; we could write spells and create all kinds of fantastic things. But wands were dangerous. One wrong wave of the wand, one wrong symbol, and everything could go poof. I rolled my eyes, doubting that the test was dangerous in any form whatsoever, but put my wand away. I didn’t pull out a pen like everyone else. Instead, I folded my hands calmly on my desk and faced forward. I started playing Rage Against the Machine songs in my head. They’d been my brother’s favorite and they were a good distraction from the temptation of that little blue packet.
I tried to watch impassively as the sub, aka government test administrator, started to hand out examination papers. “Everyone who takes this examination must be a minimum of seventeen years old in order to qualify for the internship.” Seventeen was younger than the Pinnacle normally allowed—typically their internships started at age eighteen. Mother definitely had a hand in this, since I didn’t turn eighteen for another couple months.
A super-nerd second year at the back of the room groaned and pulled out a book to read, since he didn’t qualify; he was only sixteen. “Fucking bullshit,” he muttered, but not loud enough to get in trouble.
Miss Tameka slid the booklet underneath my folded hands, the crisp paper rustling as it rubbed against my skin. She stood right next to me as she said, “Inside this test, you will read a scenario. It’s not a real-life scenario but theoretical. You will have to use an illusion spell to disguise a person as an object. You will have exactly thirty minutes to create an original spell to counter the issue presented here. Those who succeed will get to move forward to an interview. Those who complete the interview will be subjected to a magical probe—”
A few grumbles arose at that, because a lot of my classmates were into taking illegal potions. Bubblehead was incredibly popular in the girls’ locker room. I usually had to shove aside pedicured feet to get to my gym locker, because those idiots would be floating with their heads bouncing along the ceiling. When magicals got high on Bubble, they did it literally.
I openly grinned at the mention of the magical probe and shot a look at Terra Lysour. Terra had big Pinnacle ambitions. But she was a total Bubblehead. In every way.
I wondered briefly if she’d ever written a spell to flush out her system and erase traces of illegal Bubble magic. If she hadn’t already, I was pretty certain she’d try if she made it to the magical probe round—legality be damned. Because this opportunity was a rarity, the Pinnacle typically only took magicals who’d become Unnaturals.
My mother’s voice popped into my head, cutting off the music. “Only the most advanced magic workers of their generation get to work there, Hayley. I know you’re one of them. Your natural gifts plus your spell writing…”
I cut off the memory of her lecture by searching my bag for gum. I shoved a stick in my mouth and leaned back in my seat, letting the taste of mint distract me as I glanced at the clock. Nineteen minutes.
Leave it to my mother to think that I’d earn an internship as only a third year when most of this class was filled with fourth and fifth years. I looked down briefly at the Pinnacle symbol on top of the test packet, a tower much like a chess rook, with a diamond above it, radiating light. I kept my hands off it, though Miss Tameka had set it down crooked on my desk and I kind of wanted to straighten it. But if I opened the test, I’d be too tempted to solve the problem. Years of racing my brother had ingrained me with a competitiveness that was hard to let go. Not to mention that tiny, niggling feeling in the back of my mind that wasn’t so certain about what I was doing.
I let the test sit crooked and turned to look at clock on the wall. I didn’t want to be part of the magical machine anyway. I had better things to do. Like disrupt the fuck out of it.
But then Miss Tameka dealt me a death blow. “This internship will be in the science and research division.”
Quick as a flash, I bent over and grabbed a pen. I flipped open the pages. The scenario was deceptively simple. I read it over twice before everything clicked. My pen raced across the paper. I might not get the fucking internship. But I wanted the damn interview. I had to rush because I was already on a countdown clock here. Fuck. I glanced at the clock. Only seventeen minutes until everything would blow up. I willed my hand to go faster, pretending Matthew was sitting next to me, racing me. As I wrote, I didn’t have grand ideas about internships leading to cubicles and cubicles to offices and offices to jet-setting airplanes and tropical meetings. I thought about maps and codes. I thought about verifying locks and guard patterns. I thought about learning employee habits.
Fifteen minutes later, I finished the final symbol with a bit of flourish and set my pencil down. My eyes met Ms. Tameka’s and her brows rose as she approached. I shut my test packet and handed it over to her, unable to stop the arrogant smirk on my face.
She walked back to the desk; nose buried in my test as she scanned my spell writing. When she met my eyes, I knew exactly what she was thinking.
‘It’s perfect,’ her expression said.
I know, I thought as I folded my fingers on my desk like a good little girl.
A loud shoe squeak sounded in the hall and then the classroom door was yanked open.
Every eye in the room turned to look as my worst nightmare walked through the door.
Tall, stacked, with a jaw that could cut glass, my nightmare brushed his black bangs up and yanked off his leather jacket, revealing chiseled arms under a short sleeve uniform shirt better suited for spring than mid-winter. When he slung his jacket over his shoulder like a douche, his untucked white shirt pulled tight against his abs, which were perfectly formed. Behind me, a girl audibly gasped at the sight of him.
“Sorry. New transfer.” His deep blue gaze traveled around the room until he saw me. He knew better than to smile, but his lips curled up just a little, like he couldn’t help it. And damn him for having the world’s hottest fucking smirk. That asshole.
Another girl sighed. Stupid Terra Lysour pushed out her fake tits. He might be built like a quarterback, but it was all a facade. Before he’d become an Unnatural, he’d been a skinny, dweeby nerd who liked to read comics and fuck around with cameras like a norm. My lips naturally curled into a snarl at the sight of him. Fucking Evan Weston was a stalker.
This was the third school he’d suddenly transferred to, shortly after me. It must have been harder for him to transfer this time around. He was a few months behind.
Evan winked at me before I turned away, clenching my fists. He was an asshole. And—as far as I was concerned—a murderer. Rage heated my spine and crawled up my neck like a little red devil. It whispered in my ear. “Fuck him.” I was not going to sit through class with Evan Weston. I could not—would not—do it. I stood up as he made his way to a free seat in the back of the advanced class.