“Great. When do we start?”
Using a knuckle to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose, she says, “I have a free block on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. Would that work?”
“I’ve got runeball practice on Thursday afternoons. What about Saturday mornings?”
Poppy tips her head, and the sunlight catches on the thin silver hoops hanging from her ears. “Tuesday afternoons and Saturday mornings? I can do that.” Then she smiles at me, and I wonder again why I’ve not paid more attention to her in our cooking class. She’s so quiet, never calling attention to herself. But I’ll definitely notice her now. I’m sure of it.
“Great. Where should I meet you on Tuesday?”
“Um... how about the astronomy tower? I like studying there. It’s... peaceful. And pretty quiet in the afternoons.”
Dread washes over me.
Of all the places on campus, shehadto pick the astronomy tower. I’ve been up there once, and I immediately dropped that class and never went up there again.
But she’s staring up at me, her cheeks round and pink, and for some reason, I find myself saying, “Sure. It’s a date.”
Now her cheeks are red. Bright red.
“Okay, um, well...” She pushes her glasses up again. Why are they so loose? “I’ll, uh, see you then.”
Before I can say anything else, she turns and leaves—well, more likeflees—sending a whoosh of peppermint dancing in the air behind her.
I watch her until she disappears in the mist curling between two outbuildings, then resume my stretching.
But for some reason, the little lavender-haired witch is the only thing on my mind.
Chapter 6
Poppy
THE AFTERNOON IS WARM, WITH the sun perched high in the cloudless blue sky. Today, summer is winning the fight against the coming autumn, and the heat draws students outside, inviting them to peel off their boots and walk in the grass or lounge in the sun.
I sit on an ivy-clad stone bench, my robe discarded and draped over the bench beside me. The heat from the sun tickles my bare arms and keeps me warm despite the light breeze twirling through the Maze of Whimsy, known lovingly amongst the student body as the Whim.
The Whim is a hedge maze—a shifting, semisentient one. The layout often changes between my visits, so finding my bench—the one I’ve been sitting on and studying at since my first year at the academy—sometimes serves as a challenge. But that’s part of what I love about the maze. I’m usually afraid of new things, of anything I can’t control and understand, so the changing nature of the hedge maze gives me the opportunity toface the unexpected in a way that still feels safe and secure.
Open in my lap, pages fluttering in the breeze, is my journal. I keep it held open with one hand while using my quill—Mama got it for me in Wysteria, and it’s charmed to always have ink—to jot my thoughts onto the page. And today, my thoughts are on my first tutoring session with Aric Vandermere. We’re meeting up tomorrow afternoon, and I need to be fully prepared. Which means establishing guidelines for how these sessions need to go.
Tutoring Guidelines and Rules
Meet twice a week: Tuesday afternoons and Saturday mornings
No off-topic discussions—classwork and party planning only
I stare down at my notes, my two measly bullet points, and as I read the words over again, my stomach starts to tighten up.
Why did I ever agree to this? I’m not a teacher!
Gripping my quill tighter, I position it over the page, ready to write more rules down. But I’m interrupted by the sound of wheels rolling over grass, and I glance up just before Beckett rolls into my little nook from one of the hedge maze’s paths.
