A Familiar's Guide to Magic

blind mice

I tapped the toe of my sneaker against the metal leg of my chair. My eyes shifted from the chips I'd created in my nail polish to the clock on the wall behind Miss Goldenrod. It wasn't a good sign that my mother was still talking to Mr. Shipley. That man had it out for me, even before this particular incident, which was an accident of sorts. Not that anyone believed me.

The large windows opposite the secretary's desk gave me a good view of the destruction of Career Day. Discarded flyers and pamphlets, paper cups, spoiled food, and trampled booths lined the walkways of the central quad. The students from the leadership class were already beginning to clean-up, standing out in their matching blue shirts and sour expressions.

Who knew it was that easy to cause a stampede? I'd only intended to save the poor mice, Mr. Hanson, the biology teacher, kept feeding the class python. It's not like I planned for the mice to escape from my backpack and terrorize the crowd of students, teachers, parents, and local business owners. A laugh tickled the back of my throat as I recalled the event; maybe it was a little funny.

I cleared my throat at the small glare Miss Goldenrod sent my way. The heavy creak of the principal's door called our attention, and I was more than grateful for the interruption. My mother stepped out, shoulders hunched forward and the corners of her mouth turned down to match. Everything about her was watered down and listless.

I attempted to catch her dull gaze, but she looked right past me. She was definitely upset. A twinge of guilt settled behind my heart, above my stomach. It was a sticky, warm, and acidic sensation. She was one of the only people I hated to disappoint.

Mr. Shipley followed close on my mother's heels. It was impossible to ignore the self-satisfied grin settled between his round cheeks, beneath his hawkish nose. His dark eyes narrowed when they fell on me. I fought back the urge to sneer. This man was the epitome of a scrooge. He loved his punishments, handed out detentions and demerits like candy on halloween. And we mixed together as good as oil and water.

I wouldn't deny that my propensity for troublemaking might be the cause of our ill-fated relationship. That was something my mother said that I got from my father. According to her, he enjoyed a good deal of mischief making. Not that I'd ever experienced that first hand, I never got the chance to meet the man—but I took her word for it.

My mother never lied. But she was a woman with a deep and secretive gaze. It was hard to ever know what she might be thinking.

"Miss Goldenrod, please call campus security to escort Miss Cadieux to gather her things from her locker."

"Of course, sir." Miss Goldenrod picked up the phone at her desk.

I scoffed and mumbled out the side of my mouth, "I don't need an escort."

"Charlotte—"

"It's a preventive measure. I think you've caused enough damage for one day, don't you, Miss Caideaux?"

My mother was staring at me, a mixture of disappointment and exhaustion dripping from her eyes. I bit the inside of my cheek, tasting metal. Mr. Shipley took a step in my direction, tucking his hands into the pockets of his brown, neatly pressed slacks.

"I warned you what would happen if you didn't reign in your childish pranks. You've completely crossed the line." He stared down at me, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "And this time I promise you won't be able to weasel your way out what's coming."

I held his gaze, eyes narrowing—tongue pressing hard against the roof of my mouth. He wasn't saying it out loud but his thoughts were written in his eyes. I win, you lose–they shouted at me. It made my skin itch.