admitted.
“Broken mirror,” he said. “If that’s not an obvious sign, then I don’t know what is.”
“It’s not like I need these signs.” I pulled my legs up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, like a barrier to the bad luck surrounding me. “We already know about the death omens. There’s no need to keep being reminded about it. It’s like whatever’s trying to get me is torturing me first. I hate it.”
He put his arms around me and pulled me closer, so my cheek rested on his chest. I listened to the steady sound of his heartbeat and considered his suggestion. It wasn’t like I questioned if Chelsea was responsible or not. It had to be her—it was the only possibility that made sense. And while I hated the idea of sneaking through Chelsea’s room, wasn’t it worth it if I found something that forced her to admit what she did? Then we could figure out how to fix this mess she’d created.
What was a little privacy intrusion compared to putting a curse on me that resulted in omens of death teasing me until they could do their dirty work a month from now?
Which led to the issue bothering me most: I understood that Chelsea was angry with me, and that she might never want to be friends with me again. Maybe I didn’t deserve her friendship after not being honest with her about my feelings for Drew. But to hate me so much that she wanted me dead ?
Chelsea wasn’t the sweetest person in the world, but I never thought she could be that … evil.
“Are you okay?” Drew asked, bringing me out of my thoughts.
I realized a tear had slipped out, and I tried to wipe it away before he saw it.
“Hey,” he said, cupping my cheeks his hands. “We’re not going to let anything bad happen to you, okay?”
Looking into his brown, gold-flecked eyes, full of emotion for every word he was saying, I knew he meant it. Together we would do everything possible to stop this spell from taking effect.
And if we were truly going to do everything possible, it meant doing things I wouldn’t do in normal circumstances—like raiding my former best friend’s room when I was over her house for Thanksgiving dinner.
“I don’t like thinking that Chelsea could hate me enough to do this.” I sniffed. “But I do see why your idea might work.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“I’ll do it,” I confirmed. “We just have to figure out how I can avoid getting caught. At least not until I find something useful.”
With that, we formulated a plan.
CHAPTER 10
Every Thanksgiving up to this one, I’d woken up relaxed, knowing I didn’t have to worry about homework since our teachers never assigned it over break. The scent of pancakes would filter through my room—my mom cooked them every Thanksgiving morning—and I would have a bunch of texts from friends, mostly mass text messages wishing me a Happy Thanksgiving.
All of that was the same today, minus the feeling relaxed part.
This morning, I was so worried about what was going to happen at dinner that not even the delicious smell of pancakes was making me hungry.
I rolled over and clutched my comforter tighter around me, not wanting to wake up. Why was it that when you were looking forward to a specific day, it took forever to arrive, but when you were dreading a day, it was there immediately?
I wanted to close my eyes and sleep more, so I wouldn’t have to think about the upcoming task tonight. The idea of being in confined quarters with Chelsea was making me nauseated.
“Elizabeth!” my mom called from downstairs. “Time for breakfast!”
I managed to get out of bed, trudge to the bathroom, and freshen up before heading downstairs. I looked awful—the huge circles under my eyes were a giveaway to how long it had taken me to fall asleep last night.
“You look exhausted,” my mom said when I stepped into the kitchen. “Trouble sleeping?”
“I haven’t talked to Chelsea since trying to
“Broken mirror,” he said. “If that’s not an obvious sign, then I don’t know what is.”
“It’s not like I need these signs.” I pulled my legs up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, like a barrier to the bad luck surrounding me. “We already know about the death omens. There’s no need to keep being reminded about it. It’s like whatever’s trying to get me is torturing me first. I hate it.”
He put his arms around me and pulled me closer, so my cheek rested on his chest. I listened to the steady sound of his heartbeat and considered his suggestion. It wasn’t like I questioned if Chelsea was responsible or not. It had to be her—it was the only possibility that made sense. And while I hated the idea of sneaking through Chelsea’s room, wasn’t it worth it if I found something that forced her to admit what she did? Then we could figure out how to fix this mess she’d created.
What was a little privacy intrusion compared to putting a curse on me that resulted in omens of death teasing me until they could do their dirty work a month from now?
Which led to the issue bothering me most: I understood that Chelsea was angry with me, and that she might never want to be friends with me again. Maybe I didn’t deserve her friendship after not being honest with her about my feelings for Drew. But to hate me so much that she wanted me dead ?
Chelsea wasn’t the sweetest person in the world, but I never thought she could be that … evil.
“Are you okay?” Drew asked, bringing me out of my thoughts.
I realized a tear had slipped out, and I tried to wipe it away before he saw it.
“Hey,” he said, cupping my cheeks his hands. “We’re not going to let anything bad happen to you, okay?”
Looking into his brown, gold-flecked eyes, full of emotion for every word he was saying, I knew he meant it. Together we would do everything possible to stop this spell from taking effect.
And if we were truly going to do everything possible, it meant doing things I wouldn’t do in normal circumstances—like raiding my former best friend’s room when I was over her house for Thanksgiving dinner.
“I don’t like thinking that Chelsea could hate me enough to do this.” I sniffed. “But I do see why your idea might work.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“I’ll do it,” I confirmed. “We just have to figure out how I can avoid getting caught. At least not until I find something useful.”
With that, we formulated a plan.
CHAPTER 10
Every Thanksgiving up to this one, I’d woken up relaxed, knowing I didn’t have to worry about homework since our teachers never assigned it over break. The scent of pancakes would filter through my room—my mom cooked them every Thanksgiving morning—and I would have a bunch of texts from friends, mostly mass text messages wishing me a Happy Thanksgiving.
All of that was the same today, minus the feeling relaxed part.
This morning, I was so worried about what was going to happen at dinner that not even the delicious smell of pancakes was making me hungry.
I rolled over and clutched my comforter tighter around me, not wanting to wake up. Why was it that when you were looking forward to a specific day, it took forever to arrive, but when you were dreading a day, it was there immediately?
I wanted to close my eyes and sleep more, so I wouldn’t have to think about the upcoming task tonight. The idea of being in confined quarters with Chelsea was making me nauseated.
“Elizabeth!” my mom called from downstairs. “Time for breakfast!”
I managed to get out of bed, trudge to the bathroom, and freshen up before heading downstairs. I looked awful—the huge circles under my eyes were a giveaway to how long it had taken me to fall asleep last night.
“You look exhausted,” my mom said when I stepped into the kitchen. “Trouble sleeping?”
“I haven’t talked to Chelsea since trying to
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