High School Magical

Chapter 11

During the second week, my parents send a care package filled with snacks and treats, the spa kit Chelsea gave me for my birthday, my favorite fuzzy socks, and a pack of colorful pens and paper.

Homework and assignments consume me, leaving little time to think about how much I miss my family and to wonder what junior year would have been like at Hamilton High. That is until Friday when, once more, I make my way to Nightingale Hall. The shadows of twilight stretch long and fog rolls in from the mountains. The lanterns come on, casting halos of light along the path.

While waiting outside Professor Arrowsmith's classroom door for the tenth time in a row, ruminating on how she should have at least let us know if she was cancelling the class, footsteps echo from the stairwell.

"Finally," I mutter. I linger in the alcove next to the doorway, preparing a polite, but meaningful statement about communicating the schedule better. I could have been spending this valuable time in the library. However, instead of a stout teacher wearing a shawl and beads like Yassi and Dewey described, a familiar, dark figure fills the doorway. He's wearing a top hat.

JJ strides toward me, but his face is set like stone as though he's deep in thought. He reaches the door and turns the handle before startling.

"What are you doing lurking in the shadows?" he asks in an accusatory tone.

"I'm not lurking," I reply. "I'm waiting."

"For who?"

"Professor Arrowsmith. Seminal seminar. I'd argue she doesn't exist and that this class is a joke, but other people claim to have seen her. It says on my schedule that I'm supposed to be here."

He grunts. "So here we are." He pushes the door open and enters a dim, dusty classroom.

"I never thought to go right in," I say, following him. The door closes behind me and at the bang, this time, I startle.

The air feels cooler, almost like we're outside. JJ turns on a low lamp. It illuminates the angular planes of his face. I imagine he spends more time in the moonlight than in the sun. In fact, being in this classroom, I almost feel like we're on the moon.

The space is sparse with several tables on the side near the door. On the opposite wall, shelves contain numerous instruments, mostly made of glinting metal and glass. In the center of the room are cushions set up haphazardly atop crushed rock adhered to the floor.

I lean against a table, clutching my textbook to my chest. He's staring up at the ceiling. When I look up, puffy clouds float above us. Instead of plaster or tin, like most of the other ceilings in these old buildings, this one is made of glass.

"Wow," I whisper. When I glance back down, JJ stares at me. The memory of meeting him at the bonfire, and how he knew my name, flares in my memory.

"I was going to say the same thing," he says in a voice so low and thin I'm afraid I imagined it.

"That night when we met at the bonfire, how'd you know my name?" I ask.

He eyes the door, but doesn't answer. Instead, he looks up at the ceiling again. I'm surprised at his profile. He'd be more handsome if he smiled. He swallows hard when I repeat the question.

"I don't think she's going to show up," he says, evading my question again.

I step closer to him. "Did you hear me?"

After a long pause, he says, "Yes."

"How'd you know my name?"

"I told you, it was written in the sky."