Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

GWEN

F or eighteen years, I stayed invisible. I told myself things were better that way; I thought I understood the universe and my position in it. Then a bunch of candles in my bedroom ignited by themselves, all the trees in the forest died, and I asked Luke Nichols to homecoming.

As I entered the busy gym, searching for Luke, I wasn't sure what was craziest—the candles, trees, or my current situation. Perhaps the candles had been the first sign of a psychotic break and now I was experiencing a full-blown hallucination. A few days earlier, that would have seemed like the most plausible explanation to me. But ever since I'd dreamed of that meteor, my existence had felt inexplicably and strikingly different. It was like an alien force had taken hold inside me.

No, it was more like something strange and powerful had come home to me at long last. Something I'd been missing all my life.

I spent a full day mourning the forest. I sat at the river's edge, staring at the dead trees on the other side, tears streaming down my cheeks. But even as I cried, I felt an unfamiliar strength inside me, making me bold, restless. I asked Luke to the dance the next day.

I found him outside the English building between classes, his hands in his pockets and a far-off look on his face. Before I could think, I heard myself speak.

"Hey, there's a dance on Saturday. I've never been to one of those, and I'd like to go with you."

His eyes went wide with surprise, but a hesitant, almost shy smile crept across his face.

"You know what? I'd be honored," he said.

"You would?"

"Yeah." He seemed amused by my disbelief, but his eyes grew distant. "You couldn't have asked at a better time. I've…had a really weird week."

I was silent a moment.

"Me too," I replied.

And that was that. Now here I was, walking across the dance floor toward Luke Nichols, my homecoming date.

Normally, crowds and loud music filled me with the kind of anxiety that made me want to retreat somewhere quiet with a well-loved book. But tonight, the pulsating bass and buzz of activity didn't bother me. In fact, it was kind of exciting. The gym looked beautiful at night, a dark sea of lights and moving bodies. I weaved between groups of dancing kids, Luke holding me in his gaze all the while.

As I drew closer, I noticed the other kids watching me, too, hundreds of eyes taking in my new look, scrutinizing me down to the freckles on my bare limbs. I wasn't afraid. Why wasn't I afraid? I lifted my face to the disco ball, imagining it as a twirling moon in a dark, peaceful sky. Then Luke was right in front of me.

He embraced me. I breathed in the scent of pine and leather.

"You look beautiful," he said.

Beautiful. The word echoed in my head in Luke's deep voice. Beauty was a prize other girls competed to claim, vying against each other like players on some vast, uneven field. I'd decided long ago I wouldn't even join the game. As a child, I'd never cared about those things, but as I grew older, I became aware of the flatness of my chest, the boney, inward turn of my knees, the way my hair refused to tame. And I became aware that those features were bad. They drew snide whispers from the other girls, jeers from boys on the playground. My solution had been to disappear, to shrink into nothing until I could be alone again at the end of the day.

Luke stepped away and held me at arm's length. "Great dress!"

A hint of shame tugged at my insides. After I had asked him to the dance, as the rush of adrenaline faded, I'd realized with a little jolt of panic that I didn't own any clothes appropriate for a night like this.

"Hope you're cool with me showing up in jeans and a T-shirt," I'd told him, throwing in an unconvincing laugh, like it was no big deal.

He hadn't laughed with me. Instead, his expression had grown serious. The next day, I'd found an envelope in my locker—it was gold, made of heavy paper. Inside was a money clip holding five crisp hundred-dollar bills. Luke's surprisingly neat penmanship decorated the card. It read: In case jeans and a T-shirt weren't your first choice.

I'd taken the money. If this had happened a week ago, I probably would have given it back to him, pressing it wordlessly into his palm. Then I would have slunk away, my cheeks burning in humiliation, and avoided him for the rest of my life. But whatever had awoken inside me didn't want to do any of that .

A little bell had jingled as I entered Larkspur Couture on Main Street. I'd killed time in there before on one of the lonely evenings when my dad's poker game had driven me from the house with clouds of smoke and drunken laughter. Only this time, I hadn't come here to escape. I was here to shop.

I'd circled the store, feeling the different materials between my fingers—smooth satin, heavy velvets, beaded lace. Lost in a sea of possibilities, I'd pulled something with blue sequins off the rack.

"Hey, can I try this on?" I'd asked the shop clerk.

She'd approached me cautiously, her rigid bun drawing her features tight. Her eyes had traveled down to my dirty sneakers, the frayed hem of my jeans.

"I'm sorry, um, miss," she'd said with forced congeniality. "I've seen you in here before. Our fitting rooms are for paying customers only. I'm sure you understand."

I understood perfectly. I could afford a dress now, and I had a date to homecoming, but for a moment, none of that mattered. This woman had seen who I really was, and it was her duty to remind me. I knew this could be my Pretty Woman moment. I could have waved Luke's money in her face as I walked out of her store, declaring, "Big mistake. Big. Huge!" but I didn't. I'd simply shuffled away, eager to put the whole exchange out of my mind.

At the next dress shop, I'd grabbed the first black dress I could find and marched into the dressing room. It was perfect. I loved the delicate pattern of the lace—the long, slender silhouette. I didn't look like a little girl trying on dress-up clothes. Instead, gazing in the mirror, I felt this was how I was supposed to look: serene and strong, wrapped in the color of the night sky.

I'd heard a knock on the dressing room door.

"I'll take it!" I'd cried before the woman on the other side had a chance to speak.

Now I watched as Luke admired the slender straps on my shoulders, the thin satin trim at my waist.

"You know"—he smiled—"I never got the chance to tell you I loved your poem. I only have one critique."

My heart threatened to beat out of my chest. The bass pounded and he leaned closer, putting one hand on my arm.

"Who says the moon is the sun's lesser sister? Some of us like the night."

The people and lights seemed to blur in my periphery until my whole world was his eyes, his touch on my bare arm.

"You wanna dance?" I asked.

He offered me his hand, and we began to step into the throng of gyrating bodies. For a terrifying moment, my breath caught in my throat. What did I think I was doing?

"Wait." I tugged at his arm. "I forgot. I don't know how to dance."

"So?"

"So people are gonna do that thing where they point at me and laugh. It's kind of the story of my life, in case you haven't noticed."

"Screw ‘em," he replied, and his smile was contagious.

As he led me onto the floor, I scanned the rafters for the inevitable bucket of pigs' blood. But I found only streamers, suspended like vines in a disco jungle. Screw ‘em.

I let the music fill my body. I felt it beat out of my pores, my skin vibrating in time with the speakers. And then I started to move. Luke fell in sync with me immediately, as if he knew how to anticipate my every step and shift. We danced closer.

It was amazing not to think. To be free of the relentless stream of worries that play in my mind like a grim news ticker—my dad passed out in front of the TV, the bills on the kitchen table, the empty feeling that tugged at me in the middle of the night, keeping me from sleep. All gone. Nothing was left but the music and darkness and flashes of Luke's blue eyes. Was it possible, I wondered, to live without those burdens? As the lights twirled around me, I had the sense that as long as I was with him, perhaps it was.

As if he'd read my mind, Luke pulled me to him, and his lips met mine.

In the middle of a crowded dance floor, Luke Nichols was kissing me. The music had been blaring, but I swear it went silent. All I heard was the rush of blood in my ears, the beating of my heart. Luke brought one hand to the back of my neck, his fingers entangled in my hair. My eyes were shut, but in the blackness, I saw the white-hot glow of a meteor burning in the distance—the image from my dream. There it was, behind my eyelids, that bright orb of destruction. Maybe I was having a mental breakdown after all. I didn't care. I didn't want it to end.

The song faded out, and somehow, we drew away from each other. That's when I realized everyone was staring at us. I tried to regain that I-don't-give-a-damn attitude I'd begun to master these past few days, but after such an intense moment, it was beyond my reach. A wave of embarrassment washed over me, and I wondered if they were asking themselves how much I'd paid Luke to go to this dance with me. Then I spotted Valeria Garcia.

I'd never seen a look of pure rage come to rest on such a pretty face. The result was frightening. Before I knew what was happening, she was marching over to us, her dress shimmering with every angry step she took. Her date—a tall, dumb guy from my physics class—stood motionless, unable to look away. In fact, it seemed everyone at the dance had become the audience to our little drama.

Her beauty was more intimidating than usual tonight. Looking at her was like undergoing a strange hypnosis, one that caused me to doubt myself. How silly I must've appeared next to her. I imagined she could hold a hand out to Luke right now, and he'd take it and follow her anywhere. I took a deep breath and tried to stand up a little straighter.

She didn't falter for a second. She raised one finger at me, and I wasn't sure if she was about to gesticulate or poke my eye out with her long red fingernail.

"You and I need to talk. In private," she said, her voice calm, barely above a whisper.

Of course. She wouldn't want there to be any witnesses to my murder. As scary as Valeria Garcia was, the new strength inside of me made me reckless.

"Okay," I replied with a halfway-convincing shrug. "Sure."

She seemed surprised at how easily I'd agreed. But she replied gruffly, "Come with me."

"Wait," Luke called to me. "You don't have to do this."

I turned to him. The flashing lights silhouetted his face, and suddenly, I didn't care about Valeria or the throngs of staring kids. I wanted to take him away from this place, deep into the forest as it used to be, and live with him there, alone and wild among the trees. I exhaled.

"It's all right," I told him over the sound of my pounding heart. "I'll be right back."

Why did those sound like famous last words? I followed Valeria out the gym's back exit and onto the quad. She led me over the path and up the steps to the old science building.

A brilliant waxing moon hung above our heads. Insects chirped and hummed, the sound bringing a peaceful rhythm back to my anxious breaths. Whenever things were at their worst, I'd tell myself, I'll always have the night. No matter what else comes and goes in my chaotic life. No matter what gets taken away from me . I thought of Luke, of his worried expression as I'd glanced at him over my shoulder. I didn't want him to be one of the things that came and went, that got taken away.

We stopped beneath a pair of palm trees at the top of the steps. Drops of dew clung to my ankles. My high heels squished into the damp earth.

"You and Luke broke up," I said to her. "It's all over school. So it's not like I?—"

"Why him, Gwen?" Valeria said without looking at me. "You could have gone with anybody. Okay, maybe you couldn't have gone with anybody, but you probably could have found some weirdo who was willing to date you. So—why Luke? Is this your idea of revenge for all the times I picked on you when we were kids?"

"You picked on me last week," I corrected, "but no. For one second, consider the possibility that not everything's about you."

"Oh!" she cried, like she'd just solved a puzzle. Laughter escaped her lips. "That poem was about him, wasn't it? You've been harboring some secret crush on him!"

I didn't answer. I didn't need to.

She laughed some more, wiping at the corners of her eyes. "Wow," she said. "I've had a really weird week."

"Me too," I replied.

We stood in silence a minute, and I wondered if our talk was over, but of course it wasn't. Only a fool would believe Valeria Garcia could give up that easily.

In the distance, I made out figures moving across the quad toward us—Luke, followed by Celeste, Max, and Jayden. I supposed Luke had decided to make sure I was still alive, and the others had come to see the show. Valeria saw them, too, but she didn't seem to care. She smiled that terrifying smile at me. Now there was a fire behind her eyes that hadn't been there before. I took a step back without meaning to.

"Let me explain this to you," she said in a harsh whisper. "There are things you do not understand. You couldn't possibly. Just believe me when I say he will never love you. You're not his…type. Sooner or later, he will see that, and he will leave you ."

I thought I heard her voice waver on those last words, and I realized how much pain she still held in her heart for him.

"So," she went on, the control returning to her tone, "do yourself a favor and forget about this strange little romance."

Her eyes burned with self-righteous anger. I'd come out here convinced I was through being afraid of her. Now I wasn't so sure. The old me would have run all the way home by now. What would this new version do? I stared back at her defiantly, anger pulsing through my veins. I felt something else rise inside me, too—a cold heat from deep within. It seemed to hum through my limbs, pricking at my fingertips.

"And what happens if I don't?" I asked. "What happens if, for once in your life, Valeria, you don't get what you want?"

She took a step toward me. For a second, I thought she was going to hit me. Instead, she just stood there, but her eyes changed somehow. I could have sworn I saw a flame flicker behind them as the blackness of her pupils grew.

"Valeria!" I heard Luke call.

He and the others stood at the top of the stairs, watching us. She ignored them. Power radiated off her like heat from a bonfire. She didn't seem to realize I could sense it. Her eyes stayed locked on me in her best intimidating stare, but suddenly, I knew it was the same invisible heat that had wrapped itself around my ankle that day in the quad. With perfect clarity, I understood Valeria was doing this somehow.

No. Whatever this was, she would not use it against me again. The crackling sensation at my fingertips was stronger now, buzzing like a live wire. Her eyes bore into mine with pleasure.

"Get back!" I cried, and as I did, something impossible happened.

I felt the power that had been building inside me crash forward into the night. A silvery light exploded from my fingers, striking Valeria, knocking her to the ground. It glowed in the darkness, as pale and brilliant as the moon, before fading into black. I stood over her, my breaths ragged, my knees weak.

"What—the actual—" Jayden began.

"She's a witch!" Celeste cried.

"She's one of us," Max breathed in disbelief.

"Gwen?" Luke took a step toward me, then stopped as if at a loss for what to do next.

"She can't be!" Valeria's voice was hoarse as she struggled to her feet, grass clinging to the beads of her evening gown. "I would have known! She would have told me back when we?—"

She didn't finish, but I knew what she was going to say. Back when we were friends.

"What? No! I didn't used to be able to do—whatever that was," I cried, my head spinning. I added, "I mean, I can't do whatever that was."

Luke withdrew a match from his pocket and handed it to me. Numbly, I took it. His eyes were wide. I noticed he stood at arm's length as he handed me the match, keeping a safe distance between us as if I were a coiled rattlesnake .

"Light it," he said.

I looked around for something to strike it on.

"No. Tell it to light."

I stared at the head of the match in my hand. The burst of light I'd created before had been involuntary, born out of some primal combination of fear and anger. This new task seemed impossible.

"I can't," I said, holding the match helplessly.

Luke raised an eyebrow. "You said you couldn't dance either."

My heart raced. My limbs felt alive with electricity. That white heat passed through me, less intense now. The tip of the match between my fingers ignited in a phosphorescent burst. The fire wasn't orange the way it usually appeared on the head of a match; instead, it burned silver. I stared into it, and it felt like a part of me, something I'd created. I heard the others talking, some shouting, but their chatter was background noise, like when you fall asleep with the TV on. The only thing that mattered was that silver flame.

For the first time, I understood the mysterious feeling that had been with me ever since I had that dream. It was as if something had come home to me. A strength. A power I had been missing before.

Celeste's declaration rang in my ears. She's a witch! It sounded truer by the second.

I pulled my gaze away from the match and looked at them. They were all staring, utter disbelief on their faces. Suddenly, I recalled Max's words. She's one of us!

I thought of the fiery strength that had pushed against me and the way it radiated with Valeria's anger. She was a witch too. They all were. Even Luke.

"Ow!"

The flame had burnt down the matchstick to my fingertips. I dropped it into the damp grass. There were too many eyes on me, eyes of people I did not trust. Luke looked from me to the others helplessly, but I backed away. I put one foot behind the other until, at last, I turned and ran.

I left them all behind me, my legs pumping, my high heels abandoned in the grass. I'd never run so far in my life, but I barely felt the pain. I didn't stop until I was halfway down the dirt road, my modest house silhouetted in the distance.

I stumbled into my kitchen exhausted but mercifully alone. I dug in the counter drawers until I found what I was looking for: a crumpled book of matches my dad had grabbed from the local dive bar.

I went to my bedroom and opened the window, inviting in the moonlight and the cool breeze. Not bothering to turn on the light, I sat on the edge of my bed and pulled a match from the book. Pressing its paper stem between my fingers, I willed it to light. For a moment, nothing happened. Then?—

Whoosh. A silvery flame shot up into existence.

That night, I sat in the dark, lighting match after match, letting each one burn down to my fingertips until the book was empty and a smoldering pile of ashes lay at my feet.