I rolled my eyes at the list Celia sent me five minutes ago about what fancy appetizers and drinks she wanted me to buy after school, along with picking up Ruby and Emily's dresses at Kimberly Boutique.

Doing some research on Google, I found out Kimberly Boutique was in West Hartford, Connecticut, four hours and thirty minutes away from Danbury by bus. I felt exhausted thinking about how much time I'd be wasting on silly Spring Formal dresses my cousins were only going to wear once in their whole lives.

"May I use the bathroom again?" Miranda Jennings asked, raising her hand. The blue nail polish she wore was so bright, her nails resembled neon-blue highlighter tips.

In French. Please. "En français. S'il vous plaît," Madame Clément announced in beautifully polished French.

Madame Clément was born and raised right here in the States but she loved the French language, so while getting her Bachelor's degree in French, she also earned her Master's degree in Teaching so one day, she could teach students the language and educate them about French culture.

Miranda sighed and repeated her question, but in French. "Puis-je utiliser la salle de bain, encore une fois?"

Yes, but quickly. "Oui, mais vite," Madame Clément spoke, and Miranda ran out of the classroom.

The main reason why Miranda Jennings always had to use the bathroom multiple times during classes was due to her overactive bladder condition. I asked Miranda about it the first time in freshman year, and I never told anyone about it; she didn't want any rumors to spread about her and her condition. I didn't blame her; kids could be bullies.

Hearing another ding come from my cell phone, I expected the notification to be a new text from Celia, or Ruby and Emily. I raised an eyebrow in confusion at the new text message.

I know the secret you're hiding.
- Unknown.

My heart quickened and I glanced around the room but saw multiple students secretly tapping away on their phones. No telling who sent me the anonymous message.

"Andrea, you know cell phones aren't allowed in class. If I see your phone out again, I'm going to confiscate it," Madame Clément said before I had a chance to delete the mysterious unknown message.

Okay, I understand. "D'accord,  je comprends, Madame Clément." I nodded and slipped my phone into the front pocket of my gray sweatpants.

"Remember on Friday, we're going to have our exam over chapters thirteen through seventeen. Make sure all of you study; that goes for you too, Andrea," Madame Clément called me out, making my cheeks turn scarlet-red with embarrassment. Sometimes, I truly despised being Madame Clément's étudiant préféré, favorite student.

"Have an excellent rest of your day!" Madame Clément announced the minute the bell rang, dismissing us.

I stood up with the rest of my classmates and grabbed my belongings, ready to hightail it to my next class, which was Art History, when Madame Clément called out to me, "Oh, Andrea, can I speak with you for a moment?"

"Um . . . sure. What's up?" I asked, stopping in front of her desk.

"I have a particular student in this class right before lunch, and well, he's . . . failing, and I was hoping that since you're–"

"You were hoping I'd be able to tutor him? Since I'm so excellent at French?" I questioned, tilting my head to the side.

"Would you?" She pleaded, putting her hands together in prayer. "I'd appreciate it."

"Of course. I'd be happy to help out a fellow student."

"Great, you'll meet him in the library in the west wing when your fourth period class ends." She scribbled something down on a pink-neon post-it note and handed it to me.

Looking down, I saw it was the time I was scheduled to meet with him: 2:30 p.m.

"Who will I be tutoring?" I asked, before turning away from her and stepping out of the classroom.

"Graham Shaw," Madame Clément replied, smiling.

I fought the sudden strong urge to groan in despair. "But–"

"Life is going to throw you a series of curveballs, Andrea, and sometimes they work in your favor–other times, well . . . . they don't. We have to learn how to deal with it." Madame Clément eyed me up and down. "Do you understand what I'm saying, child?"

I nodded. "Oui, Madame. Je comprends."

Good. "Bien." She clapped her hands together. "Now get outta here, or you'll be late for your next class." She shooed me away and propped her feet on her desk, completely ignoring my existence.

• • • •

"Remind me again, why you're wearing this plastic, jeweled tiara?" I asked my best friend, Cassie López de Lacalle, and clutched the ends of my purple sweatshirt, pulling them over my fingers.

"When people see me, they'll see this glamorous tiara instead of my muddy-brown eyes. I bought it because it reminded me of the one Barbie wore in Rapunzel," she replied with a grin.

I rolled my eyes in response as Cassie moved her tray down the lunch line; the smell of hot dogs and baked beans made my mouth water.

"But enough about me," she continued, grabbing two ketchup packets and one relish for her hot dog. "You're getting to tutor Graham Shaw, the most hunkalicious guy at Greenbay. Oh, Andi, you're so lucky."

Cassie took her first breath since I gave her the rundown on agreeing with Madame Clément to help tutor Graham in AP French.

"You're tutoring the principal's son?" asked a squeaky voice.

Cassie and I turned our heads to see Katani Fitzgerald, one of the student council members. I believe she was the Student Body Treasurer, but I wasn't entirely sure. Katani cut the line by sliding her tray next to mine.

A group of guys behind us started telling her to go to the back of the line, but she ignored them and continued talking, "Graham Shaw is beyond gorgeous. You're lucky. Any girl would kill to be you right now."

"That's what I told her after she broke the news to me," Cassie chimed in, nudging me with her elbow. She pulled her sleek chocolate-brown hair into a ponytail before giving the cashier her student ID to scan.

"Tutoring Graham in French isn't a big deal, so can you two please stop talking about it?" I asked, grabbing a juice box.

I followed Cassie to our usual table on the other side of the cafeteria near a large window overlooking the football and track field. Katani trailed behind us like a helpless puppy.

Keeping my fingers gripped around my lunch tray, I forced myself not to zap Katani into thin air, because that would be wrong and the first rule when dealing with witchcraft is everything comes from something. I didn't want to accidentally send her to Antarctica and have her replaced with a penguin or leopard seal.

Cassie—being my best friend since preschool, was the only person besides Uncle David—who knew about my powers but sometimes being a witch wasn't all fun and magical.

"Stop following me, Katani, plea–"

Mass cheering and whistling erupted around the whole cafeteria, abruptly drowning out my voice as Graham Shaw, along with the rest of the star players on the basketball team: Tony Block, Quentin Lewis, Carlos Sánchez, and Mark Miller. All five of them strolled into the cafeteria, wearing their signature letterman jackets with supermodel smiles plastered on each of their acne-free faces.

Everyone, including the lunch ladies, started stomping their feet and chanting, "Go, Dragons, go! Go, Dragons, go! Go, Dragons, go!"

"Look at 'em–they're all so gorgeous. I could die!" Katani squealed. She jumped up and down, making the lunch tray wobble, along with all of her food piled on.

"Katani, stop before you–"

But it was too late; the food slid off her tray and landed all over me in a flash before I could even react.

Cassie rushed over to me. "Oh no, Andi!" She grabbed my tray and set it on the table.

"Are you okay?" asked a familiar male voice.

Cassie and I both turned to witness the devil himself, Graham Shaw, standing in front of me, clutching a fist full of paper napkins.

"Here, let me help you, Andrea."

Graham reached out to touch my forehead with one of the napkins, but I stepped back and grasped Cassie's hand, pulling her away from the table and fleeing the scene.

With my head bent and tears falling down my cheeks, I pulled the medicine bottle from my pocket and popped another white pill into my mouth.

Oh, just the glorious cherry on top I needed for the most God-awful day.