Family Magic, Chloe Price [christmas read aloud .txt] 📗

wretched mess coming home from school, she was an expert at hiding it. I snuffled and wiped at my nose with the back of my sleeve. Her fingers twitched. A tissue manifested in her hand. I took it and blew my nose hard, a little dizzy from the heavy crying. When I lowered it, she disposed of it with another twitch of her fingers. I managed a little humor through my misery.

“You could make a fortune in the sanitation business, Mom,” I said. “No more landfills.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shook my head, but not in denial. In amazement. “Would you mind telling me who you are and what you did with Miriam Hayle?”

She smiled. So not like her. Where were the grilling questions, the third degree? Was she going to respect my privacy and let me go to my room without unearthing why I was such a pile of quivering goo?

Unless she already knew. But how?

“Who have you been talking to?” I asked, suspicious. Old habits and all that.

Mom looked hurt. I regretted doubting this new Mom, clearly trying her hardest even if I refused to meet her half way.

“No one, honey. I just... you can tell me when you’re ready.” She started to stand, but I grabbed her arm. She held my hands and waited, open. I could feel it in her power, in the way she looked at me.

Anything else and I would have run. But if she was willing to change, so was I. Besides, who else was I going to confide in?

I told her everything, not just about that day but about every new school I went to, how it always started out the same and ended in disaster. I poured out all of my hurt and fear and pain and she listened to it without a word or complaint, her strength never wavering, never judging me as I always feared to be judged, because I constantly judged myself. By the time I explained what happened with Alison and Brad, I felt a lot better. I’m not sure if it was the fact she simply sat and listened or if the telling helped me heal. Maybe a bit of both.

She stayed silent for a few minutes after I finished. Finally, she went for the tray of cookies, bringing them back to the table and setting them in front of me. I helped myself to one, watching as she struggled over what to say.

“Syd, honey, I know how hard this is for you and Meira,” she said. “Your sister may appear to have it easier, but the strain of maintaining her illusion all day gets to her after a while, not to mention the damage being done to her self-esteem knowing she can’t be who she is and has to hide it all the time.”

I knew I was being selfish. She didn’t need to point it out. Still, I also knew she understood I was screwed up over this whole thing, so I stayed quiet.

“I’m sorry this isn’t the life you would have chosen for yourself. Believe me, Syd, if being a normal was what you really wanted, I would move the Earth to give it to you. But honey, I don’t think it is.”

Great. The lecture. And to think I started to trust her.

The lecture never came. Surprise, surprise.

“I don’t think you realize we’ve all gone through it to one degree or another. I’m not making what you’ve experienced any less,” she assured me, “but it seems to me you’ve been trying so hard to belong you’re making it impossible for yourself to fit in. Syd,” she took my hands in hers, “I know you don’t think you want to be like us, but you do belong. And maybe if you stopped wanting to be someone you aren’t, things would change. If you accepted Syd for Syd, you wouldn’t spend so much time making yourself in their image. In fact, I’m pretty sure the real Syd wouldn’t put up with their crap for even an instant.”

The words coming out of her mouth were so close to the thoughts I’d been thinking I wondered if she tried to influence me or poke around in my mind. But as I stared into her eyes, I saw she actually gave a voice to what I already knew was true. The question remained, was I willing to do anything about it?

The first thing I did was hug my mother. Despite my instinct to storm from the room and act like I usually did, rail against her, tell her she would never understand, I embraced her and used my power to squeeze her too.

“I love you, Mom,” I said.

“I love you too,” she whispered, voice thick. When I leaned back, she wiped at one cheek. I knew I finally made Mom cry for a good reason.

“I need a shower,” I said, picking up the remains of my purse. I wanted to scrape the rest of that hideous day from me as completely as possible.

“I guess so,” she said. “And Syd,” she wrinkled her nose as I left the kitchen, “you can throw out that bag, okay?”

I scrubbed so hard in the shower my whole body turned red and my hair squeaked, but when I toweled off and dressed, I felt a hundred times better. I looked in the foggy mirror at myself. My reflection stared back, as determined as I was.

That was it. Mom was right. I was done being the new kid, the torture victim. If Alison thought she could use her little tactics against me, she had another thing coming.

I was so wrapped up in what was going on, I almost forgot about soccer practice.

I loved the outdoors, way more than a normal kid, I guess because witches were so attached to the earth. It was one of the only things about being a witch I didn’t mind. Given the choice between watching movies in my room and messing around in the back yard, I’d choose outside, hands down. One of the reasons I loved soccer so much.

By the time I changed into my jersey and made it back downstairs, Mom wasn’t there. A quick glance at the driveway told me she was gone. Her pristine blue and white ’66 Mustang coupe was missing from the front of the house. She probably had it at the car wash. Mom wasn’t what you’d call a materialistic person by any means, but she loved that car more than she loved us.

I almost made it out the door when it swung open. Erica and Jared let themselves in. Yet another thing that bugged me about the coven. No one knocked. They waltzed into each other’s houses like it was home and put their feet up. One more thing for the list. I vowed to keep my door locked when I was older and on my own.

Erica tried a smile, but it was weak and I knew she was still mad at me for Mom’s sake. Being my mom’s best friend meant she heard all the gory details about us, including, I’m sure, stuff I don’t want to know about Dad. I shuddered thinking about it. But, it also meant she would take Mom’s side as usual and give me a hard time.

Her boyfriend Jared, on the other hand, would play good cop and try to be the diplomat. I hated being tag teamed and wondered if it was a setup.

Erica tossed back her blonde bob, her soft blue eyes pinning me so I couldn’t escape. She always dressed neat and tidy, makeup flawless, matching outfit adorable on her slim figure. She tried another smile and this one stuck.

“Syd, I’m glad I ran into you.”

Now I knew it was a setup. “You’re in my house.”

She frowned, the line between her brows deeper than I remembered the last time we had ‘the talk.’

“Syd, seriously, we need to discuss this thing about your mom.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I don’t suppose it would help to tell you to mind your own business, would it?”

I’ve never seen Erica turn that particular shade before. I clamped my lips together, knowing laughing in her face would make it worse.

Jared coughed, near laughter himself. He winked at me from behind her, sharing the joke. I tried not to grin back, but lost. There was something about the tall, dark and handsome Jared Runnel that made you want to trust him with your deepest, darkest secrets, the kind of person who would be great to share a practical joke with. Didn’t hurt he was yummy, either. Strong jaw, warm brown eyes, great muscles. Still there was a secret behind those eyes, as if he privately laughed at all of us. I wondered sometimes if I was in on the joke or part of it.

“Erica,” Jared said, “I think Syd is right.”

Erica turned on him, fists on hips, doing her best angry society girl. Pathetic.

And they said I was a normal conformist.

“Jared.” She gave him the dirty eyeball. “Stay out of this.” She turned back to me, all business down to her fake French manicure.

I pulled myself up on the kitchen counter. “Fine. Go ahead. But I already know everything you’re going to say.”

“Then why do I have to keep saying it?” Erica’s stern expression softened. She leaned on the counter, dropping the act. I liked Erica much better this way. “Syd, why do you have to be so hard on your mother?”

“I’m working on it,” I said.

She looked startled. “Sorry?”

“I know this isn’t doing it for either of us, okay? I need everyone to back off and let me handle it for once. Can you do that?”

She couldn’t speak for several seconds.

Jared’s whole being shone with laughter. “Wow. Erica speechless.”

I shot him a don’t-mess-this-up glare, biting my lip to keep from smiling.

He winked back.

“Okay.” She looked at me like I sprouted something unusual and she wasn’t sure if it suited me or not. I hopped off of the counter, keeping my eyes firmly away from Jared’s teasing.

“Thanks for the concern. I have to go to soccer.”

I left the kitchen and a silent Erica, leveling a mock punch at Jared’s shoulder on my way out. I almost missed the speculation in his eyes behind his dazzling white flash of teeth, and wondered what it meant.

I glanced at my oversized sport watch as I let the door slam shut behind me. I had about a half an hour to cover the five minutes it took to get to the field before practice. I was always early and I didn’t want to break my perfect record as the first one there.

I was lacing up my cleats when the first of my teammates started to arrive.

I didn’t really have any friends on the team, not because I wasn’t nice to the girls, but because I ‘felt’ different. To normals, the witch in me came across as some sort of weird aura marking me from ordinary as much as a banner across my forehead. So as much as I was a great soccer player and an asset to the team, it meant even though I was welcome on the field, I wasn’t invited into their lives outside of the game.

Story of my life.

Coach Matters pulled up in his beat-up truck, followed closely by the rest of the team. No more feeling sorry for myself. At least, not about my lack of friends. I had tougher things to worry about. Like handling the ball, running until I couldn’t feel my legs and loving every second of it so much I never wanted it to end.

I adored my coach, as much as I could adore a man who worked us so hard I wanted to throw up on a regular basis. Andrew Matters was the perfect trainer, compact himself with a bit of a limp from years and years playing the game he now taught. I loved how tough he could be on us and ignored the complaints of the other players. The harder I worked