Page 7 of Hex Appeal
Find the real Nate.
Avoid the fake Nate.
I was failing at both.
Etan, which Mirror Nate had called himself—because of course he’d just flip his name backwards like a villain in a superhero movie—had settled into Nate’s life like it was his own custom-fitted hoodie and wore it better.
He was leaning against a locker when I walked in, hair perfect, silver glint in his eyes catching the light just enough to look deliberate. A group of girls stood around him, hanging on his every word.
Even Mr. Lotan, our usually cranky math teacher, stopped to smile at something Etan said. Mr. Beecham strolled by with a stack of science quizzes, and the top sheet fluttered off the pile, then floated back into place like an invisible hand had caught it. Beecham didn’t even blink, just gave Etan a smile I’d never seen him give anyone in my life.
At first break, half the school had decided Nate’s sudden glow-up was just ‘new year, new me’ energy. The rest figured he’d finally stopped sulking over his parents’ divorce. Only took him, what, three years?
At lunch, the cafeteria line suddenly sped up when Etan joined it. Trays slid smoother down the counter, fries landed perfectly golden instead of their usual limp sadness, and even the mystery meatloaf looked edible.
A girl ahead of him in line laughed at something he said, cheeks flushed, but by the time she reached the register her smile had gone soft and distant, like she’d just woken from a nap she didn’t mean to take. She blinked hard, as if trying to remember where she was, then shuffled away without her change.
I ducked my head and tried to slink past the table he was sat at with the popular kids.
“Jessica,” he called, his voice warm and smooth as caramel. “Got a second?”
Every head turned toward me. Great. Just what I needed.
I forced a smile. “Busy. Homework. Mysterious rash. Bye.”
He chuckled, and somehow it didn’t sound evil, which was infuriating. “We should talk.”
We should not, I thought, speeding up. My pulse was doing cartwheels. He wasn’t even pretending to be shy like the real Nate. Etan was all confidence, leaning in when he spoke, laughing easily, making people feel like they were the most interesting thing in the room.
Maybe I was imagining it, but every time I glanced at a shiny surface, a trophy case, a phone screen, even the glass cover on a fire extinguisher, the reflection wavered for just a second.
The bell had just rung, and the hallway was a slow-moving river of backpacks and gossip. I kept my head down, pretending to scroll on my phone while weaving toward the art wing. It was the long way to my next class, but blessedly quieter.
The chatter thinned until all I could hear was my own boots on the scuffed linoleum. I rounded the corner toward the old trophy case and stopped.
Etan stepped out from the alcove like he’d been waiting there the whole time.
“Hey, Jess.”
I shifted to pass him, but he moved with me, not blocking, exactly, just there. When I tried the other side, his arm lifted, bracing against the lockers beside my head. Not trapping me, but close enough that I could see the faint silver ring around his pupils.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said. His voice was low, pitched like it was meant for just the two of us.
“Maybe you’re bad at taking hints.”
His mouth curved, not Nate’s shy half-smile, but something practiced and deliberate. “I’m very good at taking hints. Like how you only twist your necklace when you’re nervous, or when you’re trying not to say what you’re really thinking.”
My hand stilled on the crow pendant before I realized I’d been touching it.
The hallway felt smaller, warmer. His scent, clean soap and something sharp underneath, was the same as Nate’s, and made my chest ache in a way I didn’t want to name.
His gaze dipped to my mouth before coming back up. “You want me, Jess. And I want you.”
The words hit harder than they should have, stealing my breath for half a second. I managed a scoff. “Seems like you have enough female attention.”
Over his shoulder, two cheerleaders were lingering by the water fountain, pretending not to watch us while absolutely watching us.
“I don’t want them,” he said without looking away from me. Then he turned his head slightly, giving the cheerleaders a slow, dismissive glance before meeting my eyes again. “You’re the only one.”
