I was wrong. I wasn’t okay. I could barely contain my anger in history as we waited for class to start. A group of girls sat behind me and didn’t even bother to lower their voices as they talked about me.
“She conjured lightning then stood in the middle of the damn pool, and it didn’t hit her once,” a girl said, and the memories of that horrifying event came rushing back. I cringed, wishing I could tell them to shut up.
Why didn’t anyone remember I’d warned Doc, our coach, and begged him to clear the pool? Where was the gratitude for those I’d saved?
“They said she started talking to herself,” another girl whispered.
“No, she was chanting an incantation,” the first one who spoke cut in.
I slid lower on my chair, trying hard to tune them out. I never wondered how I must have appeared to everyone when I’d talked to the three Norns or my mother by the pool. They’d been covered in runes and completely invisible to Mortal eyes. No wonder everyone thought I was a witch.
“They said she levitated out of the room then disappeared.”
This was worse than I’d thought. Mom must have carried me and taken me through a portal on the wall. Since she’d been invisible, I must have appeared to float. I had to say something in my defense. But what? Would anyone believe me?
I turned to say something, and my eyes met Torin’s. He shook his head as though warning me. When did he get here? Was he creating portals through walls again? Maybe stalking me? I hope so. It meant he was intrigued by what I’d said this morning. On the other hand, this was our debate-loving Mr. Finney’s history class, and from what I recalled, Torin had enjoyed sparring with him. Having lived through every world event in the last eight centuries, he knew history first-hand.
Ignoring him, I focused on the girls gossiping about me and opened my mouth to blast them, but Mr. Finney spoke. “Lorraine Cooper.”
I turned. “Yes?”
“See me after class.”
For the rest of the morning, I overheard crazy theories about what I was. To some, I’d gone crazy and had spent the last two weeks in a psych ward. I wasn’t sure which one I preferred. A witch, I guess. It came with a fear factor. As for the teachers, they didn’t say anything, although I saw curiosity in their eyes.
“She knew her father hadn’t died in the plane crash,” a girl whispered behind me before last period, bringing back a rush of painful memories from last summer, the endless months of waiting for news from the airline and worrying about Dad.
“But the airline didn’t declare him dead,” one of her friends said.
“Not officially. They couldn’t find his body. I went to their website and read how they stopped searching for survivors after twenty-four hours.”
Cora was right. If the students wanted to make me a witch, I might as well be a badass one. I turned, and five pairs of eyes turned to watch me warily.
“Don’t you guys know it’s rude to talk about a witch when she can hear you? I might get angry, and you don’t want me angry.” I narrowed my eyes. “Bad things happen when I’m angry.”
No one spoke. They slid behind their desks.
“Okay, what do you want to know? Hmm, yeah my father. I didn’t just know he was alive. I had a vision of his exact location. Before that, I knew his plane was going to go down before it happened, but I couldn’t stop it. Just like I couldn’t stop the deaths of my team-mates. I tried though.”
More silence.
I studied their faces. “What else do you guys want to know? Do I fly on a broom? Use potions?”
They shook their heads. Olivia Dunn, cheerleader and overall annoying bitch, gave me a daring glance. “How far ahead can you see?”
“How far do you want me to go?” I gave her a saucy smile while hoping she wouldn’t ask me to foretell her future.
“A year from now.”
I closed my eyes, my mind racing. This was the problem with not thinking things through. I lifted my eyelids and said calmly, “What do you want to know?”
“Will I get into my mother’s alma mater? Cheer in college? Marry uh…?”
“Jake,” one of her friends whispered. Jake Guthrie, two-time sectional wrestling champion, was her boyfriend.
Olivia made a face. “Will I marry a rich, dreamy guy?”
Inspiration hit while they giggled. “Five-hundred dollars. Bring it tomorrow or no deal.”
Olivia’s jaw dropped. “Five hundred?”
“Not enough? How about eight? Yep, eight is a good number. My head hurts when I search through all the possible futures.”
The girls scooted closer.
“What do you mean by possible futures?” one of them asked.
“You know, the choices you make now or tomorrow change the future,” I said.
They looked at each other. Olivia studied me as though she could tell I was a fake. Grinning, I turned and found Mr. Quibble, my AP English teacher, studying me with disapproval.