First Magic by Raven Steele (classic fiction .TXT) 📕

The room fell silent. I could practically here the grinding sounds of a faulty engine as their brains searched for an answer. Finally, the silence broke when another guy I didn’t recognize raised his hand.

“I think her answer is real and happens all too often. Though a person’s intentions seem good in the beginning, if they allow themselves to be a part of an environment that obviously ruins lives, they will first endure it, then pity the people involved, and eventually embrace the lifestyle themselves.”

“Exactly. Thank you, Matt,” Mrs. Simmons said. “I see you know Alexander Pope’s work. I agree entirely.”

Matt bowed his head as if a subject to a King in an English court. His long fingers swept sandy blond hair behind his ears. He looked to be a little taller than me and skinny, but the good kind. Lean and muscular—the body of a runner.

After the bell rang, I gathered my stuff and moved to stand. I practically ran into Matt, who was suddenly standing directly in front of me. My pulse raced as an intense feeling of being trapped washed over me.

“I like what you said about Shakespeare,” he said. “Not many people understand what he’s all about.”

I swallowed a growing thickness in my throat. “I’m not sure I do either. He’s the master of cryptic.”

Matt laughed, a very non-threatening sound. “Very true.”

Throwing my backpack over my shoulder, I tried to relax my tense muscles and stepped to the side of him, but he blocked me again. What the hell?

“Listen,” he said, “I’m trying to get a group together to study the writings of the great ones, sort of like a book club. You interested?”

I shuddered and searched his eyes for any deceit. I hated that I couldn't trust people, but I had to be careful. Things like this, being social, connecting with strangers, is what got our kind killed.

Matt noticed my hesitation. “It’s okay if you can’t. I was just asking.” He turned around and walked away, his mouth tight.

The Light within me sparked, wanting to go after him. It was not in Light’s nature to make others feel bad, and it coursed through me now, anxious to relieve any sadness I may have caused him.

But I kept my feet firmly planted and closed my eyes. Survival first. It was my mother who would’ve gone after him. She loved being with others in any setting and they loved her in return. Then she was murdered.

“Do you need something?” Mrs. Simmons asked me.

I blinked. “No, sorry. I’m good.”

I bolted out of there and headed to my locker where I replaced my English book with my Trig book, then zipped up my backpack. Most students didn’t take their bags to every class, but there was something comforting about having it on my back. Without it, I felt naked.

The bell rang just as I closed my locker. Freak me.

I hurried down the almost empty hallway to my math class. We were getting a new teacher today. My old one officially went on maternity leave yesterday. I didn’t know why she even bothered starting the new school year.

After a couple of left turns, I found the classroom at the end of the hall. Before I turned the door’s handle, I sucked a deep breath. I hoped whoever this new teacher was wouldn't be upset I was late. I pulled open the door, and like I expected, heads turned my direction. I hurried to the nearest vacant desk at the back of the room and dived into it.

I casually glanced to the side. Matt sat next to me, grinning. I wrinkled my nose. What was he doing here? Granted, it was only the first week of school, but he hadn’t been in here the few days previous.

“Do try to be on time, please,” the teacher said to me in a familiar English accent. I glanced up and met the gentle eyes of the same teacher who had escorted me from the gym.

All thoughts of Matt left me.

My new teacher was the most gorgeous, perfect man I’d ever seen. His thick, short hair was blacker than a moonless night, and his full, arched eyebrows hung above deep-set green eyes, shading them as if they were treasured emeralds. He was tall, almost towering, or maybe it was his overpowering presence that made him seem so. He wore a black silk shirt tucked into grey trousers and whenever he moved, disrupting the air around him, the thin material pressed against his stomach, revealing a tight six-pack of bulging muscles.

“As I was saying . . .” he said.

The string of words that followed were like one giant, single word. I should be paying attention, but my thoughts were too busy tripping over itself.

As far as I was concerned, this man had only one flaw: he was my math teacher and by the looks of him, at least four years older. I glanced at the chalkboard to read where he’d written his name. Mr. Steele. His name couldn’t have been more perfect, like a shiny metal gun sculpted just right for my hand. I shivered.

Sighing, I continued to watch his mouth open and close as he explained some complex math problem. Occasionally his eyes met mine and when they did, my cheeks grew hot and my breathing quickened. I swallowed hard. This must be love at first sight. I always thought it would happen when I was older and with a guy more my age, but I guess love has no age restrictions. Too bad my infatuation is for an off-limits man. Didn’t matter that I was turning eighteen soon. I sighed again.

Mr. Steele walked by me, and the faint smell of his cologne sent my head spinning. My knees weakened, but gratefully I was sitting down so I did nothing but slump further into my seat.

I removed a pen from my backpack and attempted to write, but when I looked down there was nothing on the paper. I shook the pen hard and began to write again, but still nothing came out. I stared at it for what seemed like an eternity, until I realized I hadn’t been writing with a pen at all. In my hand, I gripped my mascara.

I looked up hoping no one noticed, but I wasn't that lucky. Mike Miller was staring at me as if I’d just shaved my head. He rolled his eyes and looked back toward Mr. Steele, who had returned to the chalkboard to continue his math dance with a piece of chalk. I quickly shoved the mascara back in my bag and felt around for a real pen.

My fingers grazed something soft, yet stiff. Wondering what it could be, I took hold of its small form and pulled it out. It fit in my palm like a lucky rabbit’s foot, but there was nothing fortunate about it.

My teeth clamped down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. It was the only way I could keep from screaming.