Page 132 of Fractured Fates
“Yep.”
Winnie twists a braid around her finger, thinking. “I know another spellwecould use. I use it to keep my little sister out of my room. I’ve never used it here because I didn’t think I needed to,” she sweeps her hand around our shabby room, “it’s not like I have anything to steal.”
“Do you think it would work?”
Winnie grins. “My sister has invested a lot of time trying to break that spell, even roped my Grandma into helping her, and they’ve never gotten in.”
“And it would keep Pip safe?”
“Yes,” Winnie says, “I think it would.”
I grin at my friend and then wrap her in a tight hug. “Thank you,” I say, “for everything.”
“That’s what friends are for, Rhi. Now, tell me, what’s Venus’ theme for Founders’ Night?”
* * *
I wait for the taunts.I wait for the posts on social media. I wait for whoever pinned that pig’s trotter to my bed to capitalize on their sick trick. But like the ham, there’s only silence. Maybe they’re all laughing at me behind my back. But I doubt it. This feels personal.
Tristan. Spencer. Summer. Even Stone. They all hate me. They’ve all tried their best to make my life miserable.
I eye them from the back of the classroom. I watch them. But for once they pay me no attention. For once there isn’t a single dirty look, nor one taunting word.
I don’t understand. I thought they’d bask in the pleasure of watching me squirm. Of making me uncomfortable. And yet they don’t seem to care.
At the end of lessons, Winnie jabs me in the ribs.
“Are you done staring?”
I spin my pencil around my fingers. “I’m trying to work out which one it was.”
Winnie drops her books into her bags. “Maybe they feel guilty, ashamed. Maybe they don’t want anyone to know.”
I lift an eyebrow. That doesn’t sound like Tristan, Spencer or Summer. I doubt any of them have ever felt a miniscule of remorse in their entire lives.
I’m still stewing about it as I shovel food into my mouth as quickly as I can at dinner time. Despite Winnie’s spell, I’m nervous about leaving Pip on his own for too long and I want to get back to him. In fact, I’m so busy side-eyeing the bouncing bunnies’ table in the Great Hall, I totally miss Trent approaching our end of the table and only realize he’s hovering next to Winnie when he says, “hi”.
Winnie instantly morphs into the color of the tomatoes on her salad but despite her glowing color, she manages to squeak out a “Hi” of her own.
“Is this seat free?”
Winnie gapes at him and I force down my mouthful and nod. “Yes, it’s free.”
He drops his tray to the table and climbs onto the bench beside Winnie.
“How’s the phone?” he asks me, his hair falling over his face as he leans over to poke at his noodles.
“Working really well. Thank you again,” I say as Winnie stares into her salad.
I kick her under the table and she yelps.
Trent glances towards her and then continues: “If you have any trouble with it, then just bring it round to my room. I can fix most things.”
“Thank you,” I say again, venturing a glare at Winnie. She stares at me bewildered and I mouth ‘talk to him’ at her.
“Erm … how are the noodles?” she says after several long minutes of silence.
Trent pokes at them with his fork. “Better than the porridge.”
