Page 21 of Enchanted to Meet You

But it was exactly what any good cottage witch would do . . . and what I needed if I was going to save West Harbor . . .

... and get rid of Derrick Winters and his distracting silver eyes.

“Now, I’m not sure exactly what period Esther has next.” Dr. Garcia turned toward her desktop.

“Lunch, I think?” I feigned ignorance. “It’s noon, so...”

The student success coach seemed surprised when her computer monitor confirmed the news. “Oh, yes. Well, look at that. You’re right! Esther has lunch now. Although I don’t know how you’re going to find her—”

“Oh,” I said, rising confidently from my chair. “I’ll manage. I used to go here, after all.”

Dr. Garcia smiled. “That’s right! Well, don’t forget to wear your—”

I waved the security badge that hung from a lanyard around my neck as I backed out of her office. “Got it.”

“Oh.” The phone on Dr. Garcia’s desk began to ring. She glanced at it distractedly. “Oh, dear. The senior parents this year—they’re so demanding.”

I waved as she picked up her phone, and mouthed, pointing at her cardigan, which I’d ordered just for her,It looks good!

Thank you!she mouthed back.

Then I shouldered my tote bag and set off.

One thing I’d forgotten in the years since I’d graduated from high school was just howyoungteenagers were. Had I really ever been this small, this fresh-faced, this awkward, and thisanxious? Since I couldn’t bring myself to look at my diaries from when I was in high school, that probably answered the question. That and the way my palms got clammy just reaching to pull open the door of the cafeteria.

The kids who came into my shop to try on my clothes were often giggly and occasionally even shrill in their excitement when I helped them find the perfect gift or accessory.

But the wall of sound that hit me as I entered the cafeteria of West Harbor High was a thousand times louder than that because it was joined by the clank of silverware hitting plastic meal trays, the thunder and squeak of rubber-soled athletic shoes against tile flooring, as well as the cacophony of teenaged voices, all trying to be heard over the sound of the video games they were playing on their cell phones. That, plus the sight of the hokey Halloween decorations on the walls and the overwhelming smell of industrial strength cleaner and burnt pizza brought me right back to the mid-2000s.

Thank God I’d had Dina and Mark and, yes, even Goody Fletcher’s book to help me through my teenaged years. Otherwise, I might have ended up like the small, forlorn figure I immediately spotted sitting all by herself beneath the Emo Dome.

Esther.

I’d have known her anywhere, and not just because Derrick had given me her photo and she was the only African American girl in glasses under the Dome. But also because she was wearing a black zippered sweatshirt over her school sweater vest, black Converse high-tops beneath her uniform khakis, and was intently reading an actual book with what looked like a homemade black knitted book cover over it. The jury was still out over whether she was a witch, but she certainly had the look down.

“Esther?”

With all the anarchy around us, the girl hadn’t noticed me approach. She glanced up from her book at the sound of her name, her dark eyes wide. “Yes?”

“Hi. I’m Jessica Gold.” I slid onto the bench across from her.The tables in the cafeteria must have gotten a lot smaller than they used to be, because it seemed like a tighter fit than the last time I’d eaten there. “Your new mentor. From Reach for the Sky—locals helping locals reach their goals? I own Enchantments, the clothing boutique over on the Post Road.”

The girl continued to stare at me unsmilingly. All around us, chaos reigned. Down the table, a group of boys were screaming in excitement as one of them won a game he was playing on his cell phone. The number of four-letter words the boys used to celebrate this victory was astonishing even to me, and I enjoyed a good swear word.

Esther seemed oblivious to the din. “Right,” she said finally, and gave one of the protective braids into which she’d twisted her long, dark hair a flick, so it settled behind her shoulder with the others. “Dr. Garcia said you’d be coming by.”

“Yes!” I gave her my biggest smile. She was prettier in person than she’d been in her picture, with strikingly large eyes and a pouty mouth. She was so slim, a good breeze off the Sound might have blown her away—probably, I noted, because she wasn’t eating properly.

“Did you not get lunch?” I asked, realizing there was nothing in front of her—no tray, no sandwich container, not even a bag of chips, only a refillable metal water bottle. “Aren’t you hungry? You weren’t waiting to eat until I got here, were you?”

She gave me a tiny, polite smile. “No. I normally don’t eat lunch.”

“Oh, you have to eat lunch! It’s the second most important meal of the day, after breakfast.”

“Is it?” Her eyebrows were raised skeptically.

“It absolutely is.” I tried not to allow myself to be distracted by the fact that the gamers down the table were now sitting onthe actual tabletop, and thumping their feet excitedly against the bench I was sitting on every time they scored. “Your brain can’t retain everything it’s learning in school if you’re not eating enough. Did you know you burn more carbs thinking than you do working out?”

“You do?”