10. Heartbroken Witches

Heartbroken Witches

T he next morning, I head to the hub, hoping to find Sam. After everything with Derek last night, I know I need to check in on her. Even if she's not the heartbroken type, I'm sure she's feeling... something. It doesn't take long to spot her, sitting alone at a corner table, sipping coffee and reading. Her posture is a little more rigid than usual, and the set of her jaw tells me she's more pissed than sad.

I make my way over, plastering on a sympathetic smile as I drop my bag on the chair beside her. "Sam," I say softly, "I heard about you and Derek. I'm so, so sorry." She looks up from her book, her eyes narrowing slightly before she lets out a sharp sigh. I lean down and give her a big hug, trying to pour as much comfort into it as I can. She doesn't exactly hug back with much enthusiasm, but she doesn't push me away either.

"Yeah, well," she mutters, pulling back and taking a sip of her coffee. "You can save the sympathy. I'm not heartbroken. I'm pissed."

I sit down across from her, watching as she sets her book aside. "Pissed?"

She rolls her eyes, her frustration evident. "I spent a year with that guy, Zaria. A whole year. And then, out of nowhere, he decides to suddenly tell me he's not in love with me? Like it took him this long to figure that out? What the hell is that?"

I nod, trying to find the right words. "I get it, Sam. It sucks. But… you know how shifters are. They're always looking for their destined mate. Maybe Derek just didn't want to string you along anymore. Maybe he felt like he needed to be honest with you, so you could both move on and find who you're really supposed to be with."

Sam groans loudly, slumping back in her chair. "Destined mate, my ass. You know how rare it is for a shifter to actually find their mate? It could be anyone or anything , anywhere in the world! And I'm supposed to just sit around, waiting for him to find his? That's such bullshit. He could've at least stayed with me until that moment happened for him. But no. He decides to dump me now."

I wince, nodding along. "I know it's messed up. And you have every right to be upset. You didn't deserve to be blindsided like that."

"Damn right I didn't," Sam snaps, taking another angry sip of coffee. "It's like the whole relationship was just… pointless. A waste of my time."

I reach across the table, squeezing her hand. "It wasn't pointless. You still had good times, right? But now, you don't have to waste any more time on someone who isn't right for you."

She scowls, though I can see a flicker of something softer behind her frustration. "Yeah, well, it still sucks."

"Of course it does," I say gently. "And it's okay to be pissed. It's okay to feel like this."

Sam sets her coffee down with a thud, her gaze hardening again. "Well, there's one thing I know for sure. I don't want you talking to Derek anymore. I mean it, Zaria. I don't care if you see him in class or around campus. I don't want you anywhere near him."

I nod, fully understanding why she'd say that. She's hurt, and Derek's part of that. "I won't talk to him, Sam." In public…

For now, though, Sam needs me. And I'm going to be here for her, no matter what.

Fridays are always a special kind of torture—a perfect cocktail of hope and despair. On the one hand, the weekend is right there, so close I can practically smell the sweet scent of freedom. On the other hand, Fridays mean gym class, which, in case it wasn't clear, is an abomination of sweat, misery, and public humiliation. And to top it off, it's a class the entire grade is forced into. Apparently, it's not enough that we suffer in math or history—we also have to prove we can fail at physical activity together.

No one really cares if we can run a mile or dribble a basketball without tripping over our own feet. Nope, this is all about keeping the "special ones"—the shifters, vampires, and other brooding, supernatural hotties—in tip-top shape. Because heaven forbid the fantasy of the dark, brooding shifter gets ruined by a little muffin top. That'd be a disaster. Can't have any flabby vampires or out-of-shape werewolves, or else who will fuel the rest of us mortals' daydreams? Meanwhile, the rest of us, the normal people, get to suffer through it too, because why not? It's like they're doing us a favor by making us watch them run around all sweaty and perfect.

I spot Derek across the gym, doing his best to at least pretend he's interested in the whole ordeal. He catches my eye, and I give him a subtle nod, our little secret acknowledgment. We've got a plan in place, and this whole ridiculous game is just a cover for something much more important than whatever half-hearted sport we're playing today.

The basketball game kicks off, and it's exactly as chaotic as you'd expect. The ball flies across the court like it's possessed, people are screaming and running into each other, and the sound of squeaky sneakers is the gym's unofficial soundtrack. It's all nonsense—except for the part where I need this distraction.

Derek, ever the actor, waits for the perfect moment to pull off what can only be described as the most dramatic fumble in the history of sports. One minute, he's running like a pro, and the next, he's hitting the ground hard, clutching his arm with a pained expression that almost convinces me.

Almost.

If I didn't know any better, I'd think he actually broke something with the way he's writhing on the floor. Hell, half the class probably thinks they just witnessed some kind of career-ending injury.

But Derek's a shifter, so he probably did break something—and it'll be healed by lunchtime. It's the kind of thing that would make anyone else panic, but for him? It's just another Friday.

Everyone rushes to Derek's side, and in the confusion, I slip away, heading straight for the girls' locker room. My heart is racing as I push open the door, the cool air hitting me like a slap. I glance around, making sure no one's around before moving to Kyla's locker.

Her bag is right there, just where I knew it would be. I hesitate for a second, my hand hovering over the zipper. Do I really want to do this? It's one thing to plot revenge, but actually going through with it…

I close my eyes, remembering a moment from a year ago. Kyla thought it would be hilarious to release a dozen spiders into my room. And not the harmless kind, either. No, these were the venomous, bite-you-in-your-sleep kind. I spent hours trying to get rid of them, and I didn't sleep for days after. I wasn't sure I'd ever feel safe in my room again.

That memory is all I need. My hesitation vanishes, and I unzip Kyla's bag. Inside, I find what I'm looking for—a spray bottle. I've seen her use it on her hair a million times. She probably thinks it's the best thing ever, keeping her precious blonde locks perfect. I smirk, wondering if it's some potion to stop her dark roots from showing or if it's just her own vanity in a bottle.

I pull out the small vial of potion I've prepared. The one with Skylar's mermaid hair. A potion that, once it takes effect, will leave Kyla's hair permanently… altered. I unscrew the cap on the spray bottle, carefully pouring the potion inside before sealing it up again. There's no turning back now.

I shove the bottle back into Kyla's bag, making sure everything looks exactly the way it was before. No one will be any the wiser.

With a quick glance around to make sure I'm still alone, I slip out of the locker room and back into the gym. The chaos surrounding Derek is still going strong, everyone fawning over him like he's a fragile little flower.

Mission accomplished.

As Sam and I make our way down the hallway toward the cafeteria, I notice Kyla by her locker, surrounded by her ever-peppy cheer squad. They're laughing and chatting like they have no cares in the world, which is infuriating because, well, they probably don't. Kyla's perfectly blonde, perfectly composed—always the center of attention, always at the top. Sebastian is there too, leaning against the locker beside hers, completely disengaged from the conversation as he scrolls through his phone.

I slow my pace just a little, enough for Sam to notice. My eyes are locked on Kyla, watching as she digs through her bag and pulls out a familiar-looking spray bottle.

Oh, this is going to be good.

I didn't expect to be here when it happened, but the universe seems to be smiling on me today. I try to hide the growing smirk on my face as I turn to Sam. "Hey, I'm just gonna stop by the windows for a second. These boots need retying."

Sam shrugs, not questioning me, and heads toward the cafeteria. I move closer to the windows, pretending to fuss with my boots but really keeping my eyes locked on Kyla. She's chatting away, oblivious, as she sprays the contents of the bottle all over her hair, clearly expecting the usual touch-up to her blonde locks.

Except… that's not what's about to happen.

I almost can't contain my excitement as I watch the subtle changes begin. It starts slow—her bright blonde hair begins to fade, losing its luster and turning a dull, washed-out grey. Then, her once perfectly smooth locks start to curl—tightly, into something that can only be described as a bad perm gone wrong. But it doesn't stop there. Her hair begins to fray at the edges, strands breaking off and sticking out like she's been hit by a lightning bolt.

It's a spectacle, and I couldn't be more pleased.

The cheer squad's laughter dies out, and their jaws drop one by one as they stare at Kyla's rapidly changing appearance. She doesn't notice right away, still too busy talking and adjusting her jacket. But then she catches on that something's wrong when the girls around her go completely silent.

"What?" she snaps, frowning at them. "What are you staring at?"

Sebastian finally looks up from his phone, takes one glance at her, and bursts out laughing. "Oh man, you must have seriously messed up your ingredients, Kylie. You look like an old homeless woman with that hair."

She rolls her eyes in his direction, "My name is fucking Kyla , and you know it." Kyla's eyes suddenly widen, her hands flying up to her head. "Wait. What? What do you mean? What happened to my hair?" Without another word, she spins around and bolts for the nearest bathroom, her cheer squad trailing after her in a flurry of confused gasps and concerned looks.

I straighten up from my pretend boot-tying, doing everything in my power to keep my expression neutral. But inside? Oh, I'm positively beaming . If I could grin any wider, the Cheshire Cat would be shaking in his boots.

I can feel Sebastian's eyes on me from across the hallway, but I refuse to look in his direction. I won't give anything away. Not yet.

Still, I know. I know he's watching me, and he knows something's up. But as far as I'm concerned, this is just the beginning.