Page 20 of Practically Magic

Aunt Viv finds my eyes in the rearview. “Right. Peter.”

“If only we could meet him,” Aunt Diane says. She rubs at her knee—that’s where she generally feels her magic. Which is the last thing I need.

A knock on the car window makes me jump, but the aunts only smile. I turn to see Zach, as the aunts sweep out of their seats. Zach opens the door for me, his brow furrowed.

“Kat? Are you okay? Why haven’t you been texting me back?” Zach asks, gently shutting the car door behind me.

Aunt Diane smiles like the Cheshire cat. “We were just talking about you.”

No, we weren’t.

Wait. My aunts think that Zach is “Peter”?

“You definitely are the perfect partner for our Kat,” Aunt Viv says before I can deny it. “I can feel the chemistry!”

Zach smiles, scuffing a hand through his curls. “Thank you. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her.”

I bite my lip, curling fingers into fists to hide the nervous tingles. While it’s gross to think of Zach as my boyfriend, as long as he thinks we’re talking lab partners, I just might be able to pull this off.

“Speaking of, um, chemistry,” I say, reaching for Zach’s elbow. Somehow he reaches for me at the same time and our hands meet instead, and the aunts all but aww aloud. When I take his hand, I feel a shock rip through my hand, like static after taking a sweater out of the dryer. My body tingles seem to ripple like waves. If Zach notices he doesn’t say, but his cheeks do go a little pink. I only grip his hand harder. Who cares. I’ll hold hands with Zach Powell if it means I can convince the aunts to leave me—and Colton—alone together. “We do need to talk. Maybe, um, alone.” I turn to my aunts, who are all starry-eyed. “Can you two get a table? We’ll be right in.”

“Take your time!” Aunt Diane says with a grin as I pull Zach a ways down the block, hiding us behind a giant cornstalk display in front of Mystic Hollow Bakery. His hand is warm against mine, and maybe I’m not in a hurry to let go. At least this way he can’t escape and tell my aunts the truth. The scent of butter and fresh bread is in the air. In the window are beautifully iced tiny witch hats, ghosts, and pumpkins. In the distance, a line wends its way out of Witches Brew and a carnival ride truck goes whirling by, headed for the school parking lot.

“Where are we going, Hadley?” Zach asks, squeezing my hand. I ignore the rush of warmth. “I’ve got to get to work.”

“What are you doing skipping eighth period?” I ask.

“I had a dentist appointment,” he says. “What are you doing?”

“I just got out of my meeting,” I admit. “Like I texted. Everything is fine. The chem lab is actually . . . fine.” I try to sound chipper.

Zach’s right eyebrow shoots up behind the chunky black frame of his glasses. “Fine?”

“Yep. All fine. Plus, my aunts got this generous science donation so Principal Aceste is happy, and Mr. Ruth will be happy, and detention is over so we’re back to our regularly scheduled bickering. I even brought you a peace offering. Candy corn?” I hold up the bag, not expecting him to take one. No one likes candy corn but me. I once read it’s in the top five of least liked Halloween candies.

“Oh wow, you got the pumpkins too,” Zach says, opening the bag. “Sweet! These are my favorite.”

I’m sort of mad. I had been expecting him to reject my gracious gift—then I’d get to eat all of them. “So, truce?” I ask. We’re already holding hands, so I offer my other hand to shake.

Zach glances down at it, lips twitching up in a smile. “Truce.”

Now we’re standing under the green’s largest sycamore tree. Fall has burnished it gold. And I’m clasping both hands with Zach Powell, like some sort of handfasting ritual.

I quickly let go. “Cool. Thanks. See you in chem, I guess.” I turn to go meet my aunts.

“Oh, before I forget,” he says, and I swivel back. “My brothers and I are coming to your party. Does this count as an official RSVP?”

“A text would have been nice,” I say, and he gives me a look. “See you tomorrow, Powell.”

“See you tomorrow, Hadley,” he says, and for some reason, my eyes are glued to his back as he walks across the green. It takes me a moment to snap out of it, and I wander back down the street to the bistro. My aunts are perched in a front window table, slurping on tea with their pinkie fingers out.

“We saw that,” Aunt Diane says like a song, looking smug as she stares at me over her reading glasses. “The energy between you two . . . it’s divine.”

“Electric is what it is,” Aunt Viv. “You and Peter are a wonderful match.”

“Yes, well, thanks,” I say, feeling my cheeks redden as I sit down and pull my menu in front of me. My aunt takes it out of my hands and puts a book in its place. It’s brown leather, the size of a journal. I stare at the gold lettering. A Guide to Your Magic. The subtitle: You’re Changing and Your Magic Is Too! I blink hard. It feels like one of the health class manuals they handed out in fifth grade when they wanted us to learn about good hygiene and our ever-changing bodies. Both of my aunts stare at me expectantly. “Ummm . . . thanks?” I thumb through it and stare at the short spells with names like “Curse Me Nots,” “How to Hex Someone,’ ” and something called “Finding Your Spiritual Pet.” Whatever that is. While a spell only requires an object to sacrifice and intention to manifest, generations of witches have found particularly powerful combinations—a doll to represent a loved one; particular words that help guide the magic.

I’ve studied spell books before, but never one that felt like it was made specifically for a teenage girl.