resurrecting Aidan the Charmer. "I'm fine. Just thinking about the assignment."
"Did you decide to go with your dream or your nightmare?"
"Dream." As soon as I can conjure up one. Gotta please the clients. " How about you?" I glanced at the clay figure Salem held in one hand. "Is she your dream, or your nightmare?"
Salem's thin shoulders rose, then fell. "Kind of both, at the moment. I don't think I made her strong enough to carry the stone sphere above her head."
"So make the sphere out of something lighter, like balsa wood."
Salem leaned down and extracted something from her backpack. "But I love this stone." She placed it on the table and it rolled toward me.
"Chrysocolla." I hefted the polished blue-green stone. Dense energy weighed it down, as if it embodied Salem's deepest secrets. I dropped it in her outstretched hand.
"What do you think?" she asked.
"It's beautiful."
"But will it work?"
I frowned at the fragile-looking statue. "Did you reinforce the arms with anything?"
"Just heavy gage wire."
"Then no way. Sorry." I could tell she didn't like my answer. Her shoulders heaved with a soundless sigh.
"You'll think of something." I pulled a pencil from my pack. Papo was at the house, but I could feel his presence like a hornets' nest, ready to rupture and wound. You're not here to make friends or solve other people's problems, Nico. You're here to produce little magical boxes and portable altars to sell. Period. If I didn 't, Papo would make sure I never saw the inside of another classroom.
I gathered up my pine plank. A quick glance at the wall clock warned I had twenty minutes left to cut and piece together the box. Clamps and assorted hand tools littered a high, scuffed table in the corner. I hung tools I didn't need on the magnetic strip along the wall. Then, using a ruler and pencil, I drew a dovetail template on the wood. No nails. Iron weakens magic.
I clamped the board to the table and pulled on the safety goggles. The handsaw wasn't as sharp as I'd have liked. I leaned into it. Muscles burning, my world telescoped down to the plank and the ragged screech of the blade. Back and forth. Back and forth. Sawdust itched my forearms. Salem, the tick of the wall clock, and the students' carefree chatter faded away.
The plank yielded six pieces. I switched the handsaw for a lightweight coping saw and thumbed the narrow blade. Sharp. Good. A quick glance at the clock warned me five minutes remained. Maybe Mr. Castellano will let me stay late.
I attacked the first piece, cutting away small rectangles, creating jutting teeth until the edge resembled a crenellated castle wall. The bell blared. My body jerked, startled.
"Nice work." Mr. Castellano eyed my craftsmanship. "You've done this before."
"A few times." I lowered my gaze.
"It shows. Too bad budget cuts killed Wood Shop. You'd be a natural."
"Thanks."
Students zipped up their backpacks and headed out the door. Salem moved in slow motion, her delicate features scrunched with worry. Mr. Castellano scanned the dirty paintbrushes piled in the sink. "Amigos! Clean your brushes! "
"Gotta catch the bus!" a boy yelled. The rest of the students ignored Mr. Castellano and hurried outside.
"Mind if I work for a few more minutes?" I asked.
The teacher sighed. "Sweep up the sawdust when you're through, and I'll give you ten more minutes."
"Deal."
Salem's head jerked up at the word "deal." She locked me in her sights, and my stomach did an anxious roll as her expression morphed from alert to hurt. Stiff-shouldered, she pivoted away from me and stashed her statue in her cubby. Then she strode to the door, chin raised, her expression closed as if we hadn't exchanged secrets and clasped hands. Maybe she thought I made deals with everyone. She probably thought they meant nothing to me. Until now, she might have been right.
A familiar ache slid into place over my heart. I wanted to chase after her and explain, but my feet remained rooted as if Papo had shackled
"Did you decide to go with your dream or your nightmare?"
"Dream." As soon as I can conjure up one. Gotta please the clients. " How about you?" I glanced at the clay figure Salem held in one hand. "Is she your dream, or your nightmare?"
Salem's thin shoulders rose, then fell. "Kind of both, at the moment. I don't think I made her strong enough to carry the stone sphere above her head."
"So make the sphere out of something lighter, like balsa wood."
Salem leaned down and extracted something from her backpack. "But I love this stone." She placed it on the table and it rolled toward me.
"Chrysocolla." I hefted the polished blue-green stone. Dense energy weighed it down, as if it embodied Salem's deepest secrets. I dropped it in her outstretched hand.
"What do you think?" she asked.
"It's beautiful."
"But will it work?"
I frowned at the fragile-looking statue. "Did you reinforce the arms with anything?"
"Just heavy gage wire."
"Then no way. Sorry." I could tell she didn't like my answer. Her shoulders heaved with a soundless sigh.
"You'll think of something." I pulled a pencil from my pack. Papo was at the house, but I could feel his presence like a hornets' nest, ready to rupture and wound. You're not here to make friends or solve other people's problems, Nico. You're here to produce little magical boxes and portable altars to sell. Period. If I didn 't, Papo would make sure I never saw the inside of another classroom.
I gathered up my pine plank. A quick glance at the wall clock warned I had twenty minutes left to cut and piece together the box. Clamps and assorted hand tools littered a high, scuffed table in the corner. I hung tools I didn't need on the magnetic strip along the wall. Then, using a ruler and pencil, I drew a dovetail template on the wood. No nails. Iron weakens magic.
I clamped the board to the table and pulled on the safety goggles. The handsaw wasn't as sharp as I'd have liked. I leaned into it. Muscles burning, my world telescoped down to the plank and the ragged screech of the blade. Back and forth. Back and forth. Sawdust itched my forearms. Salem, the tick of the wall clock, and the students' carefree chatter faded away.
The plank yielded six pieces. I switched the handsaw for a lightweight coping saw and thumbed the narrow blade. Sharp. Good. A quick glance at the clock warned me five minutes remained. Maybe Mr. Castellano will let me stay late.
I attacked the first piece, cutting away small rectangles, creating jutting teeth until the edge resembled a crenellated castle wall. The bell blared. My body jerked, startled.
"Nice work." Mr. Castellano eyed my craftsmanship. "You've done this before."
"A few times." I lowered my gaze.
"It shows. Too bad budget cuts killed Wood Shop. You'd be a natural."
"Thanks."
Students zipped up their backpacks and headed out the door. Salem moved in slow motion, her delicate features scrunched with worry. Mr. Castellano scanned the dirty paintbrushes piled in the sink. "Amigos! Clean your brushes! "
"Gotta catch the bus!" a boy yelled. The rest of the students ignored Mr. Castellano and hurried outside.
"Mind if I work for a few more minutes?" I asked.
The teacher sighed. "Sweep up the sawdust when you're through, and I'll give you ten more minutes."
"Deal."
Salem's head jerked up at the word "deal." She locked me in her sights, and my stomach did an anxious roll as her expression morphed from alert to hurt. Stiff-shouldered, she pivoted away from me and stashed her statue in her cubby. Then she strode to the door, chin raised, her expression closed as if we hadn't exchanged secrets and clasped hands. Maybe she thought I made deals with everyone. She probably thought they meant nothing to me. Until now, she might have been right.
A familiar ache slid into place over my heart. I wanted to chase after her and explain, but my feet remained rooted as if Papo had shackled
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