I had hoped the incident at the Fireball tryouts would fade into another bad memory, one that I would probably laugh about someday. Maybe.
I should've known not to hope. I arrived on time for my first class, making my way to my usual seat, front and center. This was my favorite class: Introduction to Curses and Prophecies.
"Mira." Professor Fenton greeted me with her usual smile, but her eyes were full of sympathy. "Principal Rivers told me to send you to see her right away, about the incident last night."
"Great," I muttered, slinging my bag back over my shoulder. I smiled at her before turning to leave; I didn't want her thinking I was the "shoot the messenger" type. She was a great teacher, and I knew she considered me one of her best students.
"Triple Trouble, Triple C!" A smart-assed loudmouth named Chris taunted as I walked past his desk. I glared at him, wishing I had a rubber chicken to smack him in the face with. Or a frozen fish.
"Very funny," I said, lacing my voice with sarcasm, "aren't you afraid I might accidentally turn you into a warthog?" I saw the flash of fear flickering across his obnoxious face, but it was short-lived.
"I dare you to try," he challenged, his smirk so irritating that I actually considered it for half a second.
"I don't have time for this nonsense," I snapped, pushing past him and out the door.
"Are you CHICKEN?" I heard him cackling, halfway down the hall. I stopped. I turned around.
Walk away, Mira, I told myself, but apparently, I wasn't listening.
I paused outside the classroom door, quickly performed the fireball spell, actually smiling when I saw the rubber chicken in my hand.
I leaned in the door and threw it at the back of his head, as hard as I could. "Ouch! What the—"
He turned around, rubbing his head, anger flashing in his eyes.
"I'm no chicken. I'm the Chicken Chuckin' Champion. You have felt my wrath. Tell the others," my voice was low, a warning within a thin layer of a joke.
I turned and walked out, feeling satisfied. I had no patience for jerks like him, who argued over everything and didn't know how to be wrong.
I arrived at the office and pushed the outer door open. "Mira Marrenno, here to see Principal Rivers." The secretary, a pretty brunette whose businesslike attire clashed with the twinkle in her eyes, quickly closed her browser window and turned her attention to me.
"Ah, you must be Mira," she said cheerfully. "Go on in, she's waiting for you."
"Thank you," I replied, smiling politely.
"You're welcome, dear," she replied in that same cheerful tone, and I wondered if the rumors about her were true.
Gossip alluded to the existence of a "sex tape," filmed during last year's staff office party, where our secretary and several professors allegedly had an "alcohol and cocaine fueled orgy." If it was true, whoever had that tape wielded some serious power at the academy.
"Come in," Principal Rivers' voice, muffled by the door, still carried a commanding tone, a stark contrast to Miss Cheerful in the front office.
I opened the door and stepped inside. "You wanted to see me?" I asked, and she motioned to the chair in front of the massive oak desk. I sat down, my foot tapping a nervous beat on the floor.
"Mira, yes. Relax, you're not in trouble," she began, taking off her cat-eye glasses and looking me over. In my mind, she was sizing me up. "I heard there was another spell malfunction last night."
I shifted in the chair, staring at my hands. "Yes, there was. My fireball spell stopped producing fireballs, and I wound up taking down Duncan DeWitt with a rapid-fire burst of rubber chickens."
The corners of her mouth twitched, but she maintained her composure. "Mira, what concerns me has nothing to do with your intentions, nor am I judging you. Your magic is unusual, and unfortunately, dangerous."
"Nothing bad ever happens," I protested. "Not really. I mean, I get it. Because it's not intentional or predictable, there is a lot of risk involved."
"Exactly. What if it had been knives instead? That could have been a terrible, devastating tragedy." She tapped a pen against her desk, deep in thought, and my heart sank.
"Are you going to kick me out of the academy?" My voice shook despite my best efforts to keep it steady.
She sat back, brows furrowed, crossing her arms in front of her. "Of course not," she said, "you are one of our most promising students. We've never seen anything like this before. Chaos Magic is so rare that nobody understands much about it at all." She set the pen down and began rummaging through the top drawer of her desk.
"It feels like a curse. Like a disease," I blurted out, blinking back tears. "And I do worry about the danger. I mean, the idea of throwing knives at Duncan DeWitt is appealing in theory, but if it really happened, I would never be able to forgive myself."
She handed me a piece of paper, her demeanor softening as she noticed the sadness seeping out of the cracks in my facade. "You are going to see a counselor," she told me. "This is your schedule. As you can see, you will see him on Wednesdays at 3 p.m. The sessions should last an hour."
"Okay," I agreed, "but why? Do you think he can help me fix my magic?"
"Mira, I don't know. But if anyone in the world can help you, he can. Thom Becker is an expert on magical types, and a very good listener."
"Okay," I agreed. It was far from a bad idea, and if there was a cure for this, I was determined to find it.
"Mira, I know you see it as a curse." She sat back, studying my face again. She raised her eyebrow. "What if you're not broken?"
I laughed. "Clearly I am," I said, but something about the way she said it resonated with a part of me that I didn't know was there until the moment she said it. "I'm dangerous. That's why I am not going to join the Fireball Squad."
She nodded. "That might be for the best, for now, but only because I have to put the safety and well-being of all students first."
"Thank you for understanding," I said. I had left out the other reason I decided to opt out—Duncan would be there, every day, at practice. He was probably plotting against me as we spoke, and he was a popular guy. He would try to turn my life into a nightmare, but if I avoided him, there was a chance he might forget about me.
"It's settled then," she said, as she rose and walked around her desk to let me out the door. As I walked into the main office, I heard her voice behind me. "Mira, think about what I said. Don't try so hard to fix yourself. What if you are exactly as you should be?"
I knew she was trying to make me feel better, which was kind of her. But really? I was a broken spellcaster; my magic was cursed. There was no other way to see it. "I'll consider it," I promised, and as I headed out the door I felt a tiny seed of hope trying to grow in my mind.
I headed back towards my first class, hoping to catch the second half. Just as I reached the turn, someone came barreling around the corner and ran right into me. I hit the floor hard, landing right on my tailbone.
Several students nearby snickered, but a commanding male voice silenced them quickly. "Shut up," the voice snapped. A hand appeared in front of me, and I took it, allowing the guy to help me to my feet.
"Thank…" the words died in my mouth, and I pulled my hand away at the same time as he did. We both wore expressions of disgust, and I wiped my hand on my jeans for good measure.
"Watch where you're going," snapped none other than Duncan.
"Whatever, DeWitt. You ran into me." I shot back. "I have a suggestion for you. Go fuck yourself."
I spun on my heel and stomped off in the opposite direction, heading away from my class, but I couldn't stop now. I walked fast, trying to get as far away as I could.
Footsteps behind me echoed off the walls of the nearly empty hallway. Oh, hell no! He was following me! I panicked, chanting a spell as I whirled around, pushing my palm outward. My intention was to knock him down with a concentrated burst of air. A simple spell. Easy as pie. He was supposed to fall down, allowing me to escape.
But instead of Duncan sprawled out on the ground, I found myself staring at a very confused-looking piglet. A piglet with blue eyes, and a voice that sounded just like Duncan's came from the piglet's mouth. "What the fuck did you do to me?" He demanded.
Oops. Mira strikes again.