Page 20 of Enchanted to Meet You

I rose cautiously from beneath the sinks. The floor and stalls were soaked. So was I. “Where did you learn to do that?” I asked in wonder.

“From my grandmother,” Rosalie said, patting her perfectly straight hair. “Now, when can you drop off the book? I need it soon. I want Billy to take me out for Valentine’s Day.”

Of course she did.

“About that... I can’t give you the whole book—but I can give you the spell I used on Billy,” I added quickly, when I saw the rage rush back into her pretty face.

“What?”

“You don’t have to pay me for it. You can have it for free. And then you can use it on Billy, and he’ll be yours.” It went against everything I thought was right, but it was the only way I could think of to get Rosalie—and Billy—out of my life, and also not get drowned in my own school. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

But before Rosalie could reply, the door to the girls’ room opened and Dr. Fields, our guidance counselor, poked her head in, looking around in surprise. “What on earth is all the commotion going on in here? Why is it so... wet?”

“I don’t know, Dr. Fields.” Rosalie’s cold blue eyes were like twin icicles. “I just walked in. I thought I smelled smoke, though.”

Dr. Fields frowned. “Jessica Gold, were you smoking in the girls’ room?”

“What? No!”

“Well, that’s the only reason the sprinklers would have gone off. Come with me to my office, please.”

“Your office?” I couldn’t believe this was happening. Up until a few months ago, I’d been a good girl. I’d never done anything wrong in my life. And now look what was happening to me. “Yes, Dr. Fields.”

I could feel Rosalie’s icicle-blue gaze stabbing holes in my back as I left.

But I didn’t care anymore what happened between her and Billy. I’d keep my word and get her that spell. What she did with it was her problem.

Jessica

Into a carafe, mix chocolate and snow with salt. Stir together for some time. When mixed, eat with spoons. Lasting friendship soon will follow.

Goody Fletcher,Book of Useful Household Tips

By noon on Monday, I was sitting in the same high school guidance counselor’s office I’d sat in more than a decade earlier.

At least the new guidance counselor (whose title was now apparently “student success coach”) was thankingmefor showing up, instead of me thanking her for taking the time out of her busy day to help keep me from getting drowned by Rosalie Hopkins.

“You don’t have any idea how hard it’s been to get volunteers for this new mentoring program,” Dr. Garcia was gushing. “We’ve been trying to get the word out, but people simply don’t seem to be responding.”

“Well.” I couldn’t help staring at the poster hanging behind her head. With all the technological advancements in the past decade and a half, could they not have come up with some new motivational posters for counseling offices? This one was of a daffodil sprouting from the earth, and urged me toBloom where you’re planted. It was almost identical to the poster Dr. Fields had had up in her office! Ugh.

Except wasn’t this exactly what I had done, by returning to my hometown after college and buying a home and business here? Could it be that the inspirational messages on the posters in the guidance office at my high schoolhad actually worked?

“Everyone is so busy these days, I guess,” I said, dragging my gaze from the poster. “Especially with the tricentennial coming up.”

“You’re right.” Dr. Garcia shook her head, then brightened. “But anyway, I think you and Esther are going to be a great match. I’m so glad Dr. DiAngelo thought of pairing up the two of you!”

“Me, too.”

Ha! Like any of this had been Sal’s idea. In fact, when he’d seen me enter the administrative offices, he’d hurried away in the opposite direction—not running, exactly, but moving as quickly as a man his size could without breaking into a sprint.

But the paperwork for my mentorship with Esther had been approved and was waiting at the front desk, so I couldn’t be mad at him.

“Now, don’t be discouraged if Esther seems a little on the shy side,” Dr. Garcia warned me. “She’s not exactly an extrovert, like you, Jessica. But I think once you break the ice, you’ll find that she’s a deeply intelligent, intellectually curious girl. Not exactly a joiner, but very willing to learn, if you can just get her to open up.”

“Great.” I clutched my bag—the largest tote I owned—into which I’d stuffed my secret weapon: a plastic container full of the sweet baked goods that Dina had spent Sunday afternoon whipping up for the occasion.

It was devious. It was underhanded.