Page 3 of Practically Magic

Still, the figure lurches forward. Toward me.

It’s a familiar shape that I’ve seen at our football games and emblazoned on Colton’s jersey. But just because our mascot is the Headless Horseman doesn’t mean I was prepared to see the actual Headless Horseman during third-period chemistry.

“Kat!” Laney says. “Do something!”

He’s wearing all black with a long jacket and tails, and riding boots. The real clue we’re in trouble is the fact the figure has no head. Just a collar with a severed neck peeking out of his shirt. Slowly the Horseman walks through the crowd that parts for him like the sea. Mr. Ruth steps forward, leveling his jaw.

“That is enough,” he says. “Halloween costumes are only allowed on Halloween. And even then, only when you pay the five-dollar donation to the Horseman Scholarship Fund for seniors. Unmask yourself!”

A low moan issues from the headless figure, and he steps forward, hands shaking as they near Mr. Ruth’s forehead, knocking glasses from his nose.

“I mean it!” I hear Mr. Ruth try once more, but his voice cracks as the Horseman lets out another ghostly moan.

“This is a job for Kat Hadley,” Laney whispers. “Do something!”

I don’t hesitate. I have to try. I look around wildly for an object I can imbue with my intention then destroy. What represents the Headless Horseman? A . . . head? Something with a face?

There’s another scream. The Horseman has his arms around Zara. She swings her arms wildly to get away.

“Help me!” Zara cries. “Someone help me!”

“Do something!” Laney hisses again. “Before he drags all our spirits down to the underworld!”

Zara used to call me “Carrot Top” in elementary school, but I still don’t want to see her join Hades before her time. But then it all clicks. Something orange that has a face. Or at least, can have a face—if you carve it. “Trying! I need a pumpkin.” I lunge toward the front table, where Mr. Ruth laid out all the supplies for our Halloween displays. My hands are tingling again, like I’ve hit both funny bones at the same time.

My aunts are always telling me that I have the magic inside me—that I’m a Hadley, that it doesn’t matter if Harry cast her first spell at three to call the biggest snowstorm Connecticut’s ever seen and I still can’t even conjure a single raindrop on purpose. But whenever I try to cast a spell, all I feel is panic. Empty, helpless panic.

Because I’m not Harry Hadley, and I’m not even sure if I deserve to be a Hadley.

“Pumpkin!” Laney says, chucking one at me.

I fumble for the gourd. I don’t have time to write anything, so I’ll have to just think extra hard. It’s risky—Harry still writes most of her spells—but if I can pull this off, I’ll be a hero. Destroy the Horseman, I tell it. And then I put it back down on the linoleum and attempt to smash the small pumpkin with my foot.

Instead, my ankle rolls, the pumpkin shooting out as if I’ve booted it for a corner kick.

“Uh-oh,” Laney and I whisper as the pumpkin slams directly into Zach’s foam-covered shin.

“Oww!” he cries.

That’s when I hear someone laughing.

“Everyone chill!” Colton’s voice comes from inside the Horseman, and I watch as he unzips the collar and reveals his own head. “It’s just me.” He shrugs out of his costume and shows off his sweaty self. The boy even looks good glistening. “Scared you good, didn’t I?” he asks.

And then he turns directly at me and winks.

At me.

Slowly, the classroom quiets. Zach looks like he lost a fight with a giant toothpaste tube. The lab has fared far worse; I’ve seen less disastrous photos from the aftermath of earthquakes. Stools are scattered. Someone shattered an Erlenmeyer flask in their haste to escape. And everything is coated in foam.

Mr. Ruth is glaring from the charred remains of Zara’s notebook to the lone Bunsen burner in the entire room that’s lit. That’s when the sprinklers kick in overhead, the fire alarm blaring.

Oh boy.

“What just happened?” Mr. Ruth demands, his face is beet red, glasses still askew. No one is pointing fingers at the mayor’s son.

“Kat and Zach lit a piece of paper on fire,” I hear someone say.

And before Zach or I can even begin to protest, Mr. Ruth turns to me and Zach and angrily says words I never thought I’d hear in my high school career: “Detention! For both of you!”