Wellington Academy

Kat~ There were two things my mother had taught me about magic. The first was never to use it when you were angry. The second was never to let anyone know you had it. I have spent the last eighteen years trying to follow the second rule. I wasn't always successful. I sat cross-legged on my bedroom floor, surrounded by college brochures, half-filled applications, and a laptop that had been threatening to die for the past twenty minutes. Outside my window, the first hints of fall had begun to settle over the neighborhood. The leaves were turning at the edges, the mornings were colder, and the air had that damp, earthy smell that meant summer was finally giving up. I liked fall, it was probably the only season that understood me. Everything looked like it was changing while pretending it wasn't. I reached up and twisted a strand of burgundy hair around my finger, studying the college application glowing on my screen. Why do you believe our university is a good fit for you? I stared at the question. Then I laughed. "Because you're far enough away that nobody knows me?" I typed it, then deleted it and then typed something else and deleted that too. My reflection stared back at me from the black edge of the screen. Green eyes. Pale skin. A few freckles scattered across my nose. Hair that had started out brown when I was a kid but somehow decided sometime around sixteen that it wanted to be the color of spilled wine. I wasn't tall, maybe five-three on a good day. Five-two-and-a-half according to my mother, who seemed personally offended by the idea that I had gained the extra half inch. I had never been the girl who walked into a room and immediately owned it. I was the girl who found the quietest chair, sat in it, and watched everyone else. Which was probably why nobody ever noticed when things happened around me. A glass would slide across the counter. A candle would light itself. The wind would slam a door shut even when every window in the house was closed. Little things. Things I could pretend weren't happening. Things my mother had learned to ignore. My grandmother had never ignored them. She had called them gifts. My mother called them problems. I called them inconvenient. I clicked onto another college application. Normal. That was what I wanted. Not extraordinary. Not powerful. Not special. Normal. I wanted a dorm room with terrible plumbing and a roommate who stole my clothes. I wanted late-night pizza runs and stupid parties and professors who didn't know my name. I wanted to fall in love with someone who didn't know the difference between a spell and a superstition. I wanted to be eighteen. I wanted to be Kat. Not Katherine Kyler, descendant of a witch who had apparently been practicing magic before my family even knew what the word normal meant. Just Kat. I graduated from high school almost a year ago. And then I'd done something that had apparently confused everyone around me. Nothing. I took a year off. My guidance counselor had called it a "gap year." My mother called it "taking time to figure things out." I called it hiding. I wasn't ready for college. Not because I didn't want to go. Because I was terrified that wherever I went, eventually someone would notice. My magic had gotten stronger after Grandma died. That was the part nobody talked about. Grandma had always been the one who knew what to do. When I was little and accidentally made the lights flicker, she'd laugh. When I was thirteen and made every flower in her garden bloom overnight, she'd tell me I had a good heart. When I was sixteen and scared myself badly enough to shatter every lightbulb in the kitchen, she'd held my face between her hands and told me I wasn't dangerous. Then she died. And suddenly, I was alone with something I didn't understand. A knock sounded against my bedroom door. I quickly minimized the application. "Come in." Mom pushed the door open with her hip, carrying a laundry basket. She was still wearing her work clothes. Black pants, a navy blouse, her hair pulled into the messy bun she wore when she was too tired to care what it looked like. She stopped when she saw the papers covering my floor. "You're applying?" She said with a slight smile. Almost like she was afraid she was going to scare me off. "Trying to," I said, sounding defeated. "Trying?" she questioned. I shrugged. "How many?" She asked again as she sat on the edge of my bed. "Three," I replied without turning from my desk. "That's good." She spoke, excitement in her tone. "It's not." I turned my chair around slowly to meet her gaze. She smiled. "There she is." I looked at her. "What?" "That attitude. I was wondering when you'd bring it back." I rolled my eyes, but I smiled at myself. For a moment, neither of us said anything. Then she looked at my laptop. "Are you ready?" I knew exactly what she meant. "No," I replied honestly. "Kat." She groaned. "I don't know." I gave in. She sighed. "College isn't going to magically become less scary because you wait another year." "I know." I groan again. "And you can't stay here forever." "I know." I emphasize a little louder. "And" "I know, Mom!" My attitude flying. She stopped. I looked down at my hands. "I'm just scared." Her expression softened. "Of college?" I shook my head. "Of me." The room went quiet. Mom knew what I meant. She always did. She leaned forward, resting her elbows against her knees. "Your grandmother was a witch." "I know." I softened my tone. "She was also stubborn, dramatic, and terrible at keeping secrets." A small laugh escaped me. "She told me that." "She told everyone that." I smiled. Mom reached for my hand. "But you're not your grandmother." I looked at her. "Sometimes I think I am." "No." She squeezed my fingers." You're my daughter." Something about the way she said it made my throat tighten. Mom had never been magical. At least, as far as I knew. Whatever had been passed down in our family had skipped her entirely. She had spent my entire life working, paying bills, making sure there was food in the refrigerator and gas in the car. She had raised me alone and somehow managed to make our little house feel like the safest place in the world. She didn't need magic. She had done everything without it. "I don't want to be different," I whispered. Mom looked at me for a long moment. "Then don't be." I frowned. "It's not that easy." "No," she said. "It isn't." Her eyes moved toward the college brochures. "But being afraid of something doesn't mean you let it decide your life." I swallowed. "What if I can't control it?" "Then you learn." "What if someone finds out?" I shoot back. "Then we'll figure it out." She speaks confidently. "What if—" I asked before she cut me off. "Kat." She smiled. "One problem at a time." I nodded. Then she glanced at the stack of applications. "Which one do you actually want?" I hesitated. "The one in Massachusetts." "Why?" She asked with a confused look. "It's far." I managed to mumble out. "That's your reason?" She says, c*****g her eyebrows up. "It's a good reason." I shrugged. Mom laughed. Then she stood and picked up the laundry basket. "Well, Massachusetts isn't cheap." There it was. The thing we had both been avoiding. Money. I looked at the floor. "I can get a job." "You'll have a job." She nodded. "I can apply for scholarships." "You will," as she stands and grabs the laundry basket. "I can take out loans." She gave me a look. "No." "Mom—" "No." "I can't stay here just because we can't afford it—" "I didn't say you were staying." Her voice was firm now. "We'll figure out the money." "But—" "We'll figure it out." I knew that tone. Conversation over. She walked toward the door. Then she stopped. "Your grandmother would've wanted you to go." I looked up. Mom's hand rested against the door frame. "She would've wanted you to see what you could do." Then she left. I sat there for several seconds. My eyes burned. I hated when Mom brought Grandma into things. Because she knew exactly how much it hurt. I turned back toward my laptop. The screen had gone dark. I pressed a key and the application appeared again. I stared at the blinking cursor. Then I began to type. Name. Katherine Kyler. Date of birth. Address. Education. I filled in each box until I reached the final question. Have you ever demonstrated unusual abilities that may require specialized academic accommodations? My fingers froze. "What the hell?" I leaned closer. I hadn't seen that question on the other applications. I reread it. Once. Twice. Then the screen flickered. I sat back. "No." I typed. The lights above me blinked. I stared at them. "Absolutely not." The lights steadied. I exhaled. My laptop chimed. An email. I almost ignored it. Almost. Then I saw the subject line. Wellington Academy — Application Invitation I frowned. I had never applied to Wellington Academy. I clicked it and the screen loaded. For a moment, there was nothing but a white page. Then black letters slowly appeared. Katherine Kyler, We believe Wellington Academy may be the place you have been searching for. My heart began to beat faster as I kept reading. Your enrollment packet is attached. Your tuition has been fully covered. I stopped breathing. Fully covered? I scrolled. There was one final sentence. You have been expected. The lights in my bedroom went out. Every single one. I stared at the screen. Then, somewhere downstairs, I heard a door slam. I stood. "Mom?" No answer. I took one step toward my bedroom door. The laptop screen flickered again. A new line appeared beneath the email. One I knew hadn't been there before. Welcome to the Hollow, Katherine. I stared at it like the screen was about to come alive and suck me into a vortex. And for the first time in my life, I wondered if maybe magic hadn't been something I was trying to escape.