Accidentally Evil by Lara Chapman Page B

headed to the next.
    â€œWonder what kind of booth we’re going to have,” Ivy says. “I hope it isn’t something lame like a dunking booth.”
    â€œMaybe we could have a kissing booth,” Dru says with a wink. “Put Hallie in that baby and Cody will never leave.”
    â€œAnd Dowling would get rich!” Jo is the last to join in, and when she does, we all laugh. But my heart isn’t totally in it. I need to read Cody’s e-mail, but I can’t with my friends sitting right here. And I definitely don’t want them to know about it.
    I take one last look at my laptop before leaving the room.

    The Crafter Chamber is nicer than the Seeker Sanctum. It has plush seats and sofas instead of folding chairs, and the room is lit by candles hanging from the ceiling. It’s the perfect temperature. Perfect everything. Instead of being in rows, the chairs and sofas are arranged in a circle.
    â€œVery cool,” Ivy says.
    â€œAnd I’m very glad we got here first,” I add.
    Seating is first-come, first-serve, and where you sit in the first meeting is where you wind up sitting all year. It’s not a rule; it’s just the way it is.
    â€œWhere do we want to sit?” Dru asks.
    We look around the room, and all our eyes settle on the same little nook close to the left of Miss A’s podium. Two chairs and a love seat. It even has a table in the center.
    â€œThat’s where,” I say. We make quick work of picking out our places—Jo and Dru on the love seat, Ivy and me in chairs.
    As girls arrive, they move furniture around to fit their groups, and everyone seems excited about the new room.
    Miss A rings the chimes sitting on her podium. The room is silent almost instantly. Miss A may not be as harsh and refined as the other dorm moms, but she is every bit as strict.
    â€œAdvancing at Dowling has its perks, does it not?” she asks.
    Excited voices and a few claps answer.
    â€œIt’s time to begin. Crafters, prepare your minds.”
    As we close our eyes in anticipation of Miss A’s blessing, the door opens and hits the wall with a loud thud .
    Everyone’s head shoots up to see Kendall and Zena entering. According to the clock over the door, they’re exactly four minutes late.
    Miss A snaps her fingers at them. “Sit right here. In front of me,” she orders.
    I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing, as do most of the other girls in the room.
    Zena doesn’t move, challenging Miss A. “Crafters get to choose where they sit.”
    Her know-it-all voice makes me angry. I can hardly stand to hear it.
    Miss A snaps her fingers again, willing the girls forward. “You lost that right when you chose to be late. Now sit down. We don’t have time to waste.”

Ten
    S amhain is going to be a stellar event, girls. We are so fortunate to host it. Our contribution has to be wicked good.” Miss A laughs at her clever wording. “We have a few choices that we need to discuss, then vote on. The celebration is on Halloween, of course, as all Third Harvest celebrations are.”
    â€œWhat kind of things can we do?” A girl in the back of the room named Missy asks the question. We have all the same classes but don’t really know each other. Miss A claps her hands in front of her chest. “Well, it’s been a while since we’ve had one of these. I was just a teenager at the last celebration Dowling hosted. It was a joint party celebrating the Third Harvest and the ‘retirement’ of a former headmistress, Janice Seaver. She wasthe headmistress before Fallon and McCarty. Each head­mistress brings their own . . . style.”
    I can hardly imagine Dowling without Headmistress Fallon at the helm. I wonder if things were a lot different without her around.
    â€œThings were different back then,” Miss A says, with a wink to me. “Not better or worse, just . . . different.” A look