Buried Secrets

Chapter 5: Fun with Chemistry

Chapter 5: Fun with Chemistry

There’s this new girl at school who came from some place in Florida. She sat at my table in Chemistry the other day along with Charity Bloom and introduced herself as Emelia. She’s tall and slim, with this crazy hair the color of a pumpkin pie. And she’s pretty good company, too. Kind of funny, but in a quiet way. When I took down my hair at the end of class, she said it was pretty, but that’s all—nothing too personal. I like that. Admittedly, I don’t have many (any) friends at Butler. Maybe I’ll give this Emelia a chance…

“So, what torture’s in store for us today, I wonder?”

She doesn’t answer, but gives me an eye-roll and a wry grin.

“Chemistry is so lame,” I venture. “Although, I do have a fondness for formulas and spells.”

This time, Emelia smooths back her pumpkin pie hair and looks at me curiously.

I take another chance. “Don’t say anything, but I’m going to be a witch soon. It runs in my family.”

“Yeah, okay. Whatever…” And another eye-roll.

I laugh it off, since she seems a bit freaked in spite of the casual response. “Just kidding. Have to do something to lighten up this fifty minutes of chemicals and numbers. Ya know?”

Charity has now joined us at the “Losers in Chemistry” table. Charity is what I call a situational friend. We aren’t friends really, except we hang together for Chemistry. And now, Emelia. I have a weird feeling this girl has a secret behind her, but I put that thought to the back of my mind for now.

Today turns out to be a film day, which is awesome—I can read my book in peace if there’s enough light. Plus, there’s no chance we’ll blow up our table. The lights go out, and the stupid film about homogeneous mixtures starts—blessedly, there’s enough pale yellow glow to read in. As I read, I can feel Emelia looking sideways at The Book. Wonder what she thinks? Can’t tell.

When the lights come on forty minutes later, Charity is asleep with her head on the table. Also, there’s a fourth person there: a rail thin guy with pink cheeks and spiky blonde hair. He grins at me and says, “Hey—how did you like the movie?” Emelia turns to stare at him, flipping her ponytail back over one shoulder.

I try to imitate the Caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland and look down my nose at him, imagining I have a hookah in my hand and smoke wafting out of my mouth.

“Who. Are. You?” Followed by a disdainful scowl.

“Dax,” he says. “Dax Neville. You know my sister—and me, I think. And why are you pretending to be the Caterpillar? I’m definitely not Alice…”

Emelia gives a choking sort of laugh and looks at me, just as the bell rings for class change. Leaving Dax in the dust of literary references, we walk out, followed by Charity.

Threading our way through the maze of students, I’m pleased to see that Emelia is keeping up with me. “What about that skinny kid, Dax? Where’d he come from? I mean, I don’t think I’ve seen him in Chemistry until today.”

“Not sure,” I answer, “but I think he got promoted a grade after school started. His sister Kylee is a junior like us, and Dax is her younger brother.”

“Kylee Neville. She’s in the new Creative Writing group with me. She seems okay, but kind of in the popular crowd, right?”

The ins and outs of the cool kids do not interest me. But the fact that we now have a Creative Writing group at Butler might.

“What’s the deal with the writing thing? Who sponsors it?”

Emelia grins and flips her ponytail again. “That’s one of the best parts. Ms. Schell is the sponsor, and she’s awesome. So open to whatever we want to work on, and treats us like we have actual ideas, ya know? Do you write…Hillary?”

Hah—she remembers my name. “A bit. I don’t have that much free time because I’m usually studying The Craft. But spells and charms are kind of like poems, aren’t they? Maybe I’ll think about it—the group, I mean.” Emelia says nothing, but gives just a hint of a smile. We’re now at the stairs that lead up to my history class, and I start to climb. Emelia goes the other way, down to gym class. I can tell by the look on her face that gym isn’t her favorite.

“I feel for you.”

“Thanks.” Another of the now-familiar eye rolls. “See ya.” And she turns her back and is swallowed up by the crowd.

I hope history’s a review so I can make some notes—I’m almost ready to officially Call Down the Moon.