The hands on the clock moved with all the urgency of molasses, each tick louder than the last. I glanced up at it again, silently willing the minute hand to jump forward, to give me mercy—release. Free period used to be my favorite part of the day, a little sanctuary carved between the chaos of high school. A time to read, to disappear into some other world with dragons and queens, warlocks and long-lost heirs. But lately, it had lost its magic. Watching other students flirt, gossip, and couple off like characters in a badly written teen drama only reminded me of the lonely bench Miranda and I occupied near the back wall—our little island of invisibility.
My fingers turned a page in the book I wasn't really reading. My eyes followed the words, but my mind was already drifting elsewhere.
Then I saw them.
Hayden and Chris were walking toward us, laughter on their lips, the ease of popularity wrapped around them like perfectly worn leather jackets. I straightened instinctively, spine pulled tight, posture prim and practiced. It was a trick I'd learned in seventh grade—straight back, shoulders down, chest forward, stomach in. The illusion of confidence. The illusion of beauty.
They stopped.
Right. In. Front. Of. Us.
I swallowed hard, heart pounding in a way that made my ribcage feel too small. I had been holding my breath trying to maintain my posture. I was too afraid to let it out by that point however. They settled on the bench below ours, so close I could see the slight sheen of sweat on the back of Hayden's neck, the curve of his shoulders under the pale blue of his rolled-up sleeves. Did they see us? Did they know we were watching?
I tried not to breathe too loudly, too visibly. Tried not to exist too loudly.
Miranda must've noticed too. I heard the soft hitch in her breath beside me, barely a gasp, more a shared signal: Act normal. Don't look. Don't die.
I stared hard at my book, the words melting into a meaningless blur. Hayden's cologne drifted toward us, rich and earthy with some musky undertone that made my stomach twist into nervous knots. I was dizzy. Absolutely dizzy. With nerves. With excitement. With something unnamable that lived somewhere between fear and yearning.
I let my gaze shift—just slightly—tracing the tousled curls at the nape of his neck. His chestnut hair always looked effortlessly perfect, as if styled by forest sprites in the morning. My eyes wandered down, over the slope of his shoulder to the strong line of his forearm. The veins there stood prominent, like rivers under moonlight, beneath his warm skin. His fingers, long and elegant, moved in quiet concentration over a page on top of his folder.
He was drawing.
Not some careless doodle, but a five-pointed star—braided, intricate—encircled. A pentagram. Or was it something else?
Before I realized it, I was leaning forward, mesmerized, barely breathing. Then—his eyes.
Grey. Dark. Bottomless. They met mine, sharp and arresting, and for a moment I forgot how to exist.
"Oh gosh," I stammered, recoiling. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to stare. I was just… I saw the star and—oh, I'm sorry."
The heat rose fast and hard in my cheeks, a violent blush crawling up my neck like fire. Miranda's eyes were wide beside me, frozen mid-word, and Chris—of course—was grinning, biting back laughter. Oh god, what had Hayden said? My mind scrambled to replay it.
"Could you loan me an eraser? Mine's gone," he'd said, pointing to the chewed-up stub at the end of his pencil.
I blinked, dumbfounded, fingers fumbling through the mess in my bag. Before I could find it, Hayden reached down and picked the eraser up off the seat beside me.
"Oh. There it is," I murmured, mentally smacking myself.
He smiled—a genuine, crooked smile—and took it gently. "Thanks."
He looked at me like I wasn't a walking disaster. Like I was… just a girl. A normal one. And then, as though nothing had happened, he turned back to his drawing and began erasing lines, refining the edges.
I spent the remainder of the period hiding in the bathroom, burying my shame in toilet paper and silent self-scolding. Miranda convinced me that disappearing for the rest of the day would result in a truancy mark—and that would be much worse than mortification. Barely.
By the time I made it to my next class, my thoughts had tangled into knots I couldn't unpick. I couldn't stop thinking about the way Hayden's voice had sounded—soft, low, like a song you only half remember but hum anyway. I couldn't stop wondering who he might have kissed with those lips, and whether they'd known how lucky they were.
I nearly missed the tap on my shoulder.
I turned—and there he was. Hayden. Right beside me. Again.
"Here's your eraser," he said, smiling like we were old friends.
My fingers brushed his as I took it, and then—
Lightning.
It wasn't static. It wasn't imagined. Something moved through me, a sudden shock that zipped from my fingertips to my spine and spread outward like ripples in a pond. My breath caught. His eyes widened just slightly, enough to know he felt it too.
But neither of us said anything. The moment passed.
"Thanks," I managed to say.
"That star you were drawing," I added, fumbling to keep the conversation going, "I've seen it before. In a movie maybe?"
He chuckled, low and amused. "It's a pentacle," he said. "It's the symbol of my faith."
I blinked. "Your faith?"
He nodded, smile fading to something more thoughtful. "Yeah. Wicca."
The word was unfamiliar in my mouth, ancient and strange. "Like… witchcraft?"
"It's not like in movies," he said quickly, eyes steady. "It's older. Deeper. It's about nature. Energy. Balance."
I searched his face for a lie, a trick, but found none. Only truth. Quiet. Simple.
I felt the stares of other girls around us—sharp, jealous, calculating. I could practically hear the mental math they were doing. Why was he talking to her?
He was about to turn away, but then he paused, gaze locking with mine again.
"By the way," he said, soft as a breeze, "I didn't mean to embarrass you earlier. You have… beautiful eyes."
And then he walked away.
I stood there, stunned, pulse racing, the eraser still clutched in my palm like it was a holy relic. Had he really said that? About me?
By the time I reunited with Miranda in the library, I was already bursting to tell her. We slid into our usual seats in the corner, pretending to read, barely containing our excitement.
"You won't believe what just happened," I whispered. She raised an eyebrow. I told her everything—every glance, every word, every static-sparked second.
She blinked. "Wicca?"
I nodded, and together we scurried toward the library computers, seating ourselves side by side. I typed in the word pentacle. Thousands of results appeared.
The first page defined it clearly:
A five-pointed star, often held to have magical or mystical significance, formed by five straight lines connecting the vertices of a pentagon and enclosed within a circle… a symbol of protection. Also called pentagram. See also: Wicca.
Miranda made a face. "Did that say witch?"
"It did," I murmured.
She laughed—a stifled, scandalous sound—and shot a nervous glance at Linda the Librarian, who narrowed her eyes like a dragon watching over hoarded silence.
Miranda returned to the table, snickering. I stayed. I couldn't stop reading.
Wicca. Witchcraft. Nature. Energy. Power. Pages and pages, each more intriguing than the last. I scribbled notes furiously, my fingers aching from the pace. Symbols, rituals, deities, moon phases, herbs. So much history, so much hidden in plain sight. How had I never known?
By the time the bell rang, I had five pages of notes and a hunger that no school lunch could satisfy. I raced home, lunged for my computer and plunged into the rabbit hole all over again.
Everyone has the ability to channel energy, one page read. We all have the inherent power to change our reality. Over time, society has taught us to suppress it. But it's still there.
I sat back, stunned.
I thought about luck, fate, wishing on stars. The whispered prayers people utter in dark rooms, the way we knock on wood or avoid ladders, all the tiny rituals we perform to feel some sense of control over the chaos.
Maybe this wasn't so strange after all.
Maybe the world was full of unseen threads, and some people—people like Hayden—just knew how to feel them.
And maybe, just maybe, I could learn too.
I didn't know what any of it meant yet. I didn't know if Hayden's compliment had been part of something bigger or just a fleeting kindness. But one thing I did know?
The world was wider, deeper, and far more magical than I had ever imagined.
And for the first time in a long time, I couldn't wait to see what came next.