France, or whatever other dumb-ass class you're skipping."
I crossed my arms, both because I was getting a little pissed and also because the breeze across the lake was turning chilly. "Actually, I got kicked out of Ms. East's class. Magical Evolution."
He snorted. "Man. Cellar duty for a semester, kicked out of class . . ."
"Tell me about it," I replied. "Apparently there's something about me that pisses off every teacher in this school."
To my surprise, Cal shook his head. "I don't think that's it."
Dimly in the distance, I heard the clanging bell that signaled class changes. I knew I should hurry back for Byron's class, but I wanted to hear what Cal had to say.
"What do you mean?"
"Look at it from their point of view, Sophie. Your dad is head of the
Council. Everybody at Hecate is bending over backward to not show favoritism to you. So maybe they're going a little overboard in the opposite direction, you know?"
I just nodded. Why wasn't I surprised to find out that yet another thing was my dad's fault?
"You okay?" Cal asked, his head tilted a little.
"Yeah," I answered way too brightly. I sounded like a cheerleader on a Kool-Aid high. "Yeah," I repeated, much more normally this time. "I gotta go. Don't wanna be late!"
I rushed past him, nearly colliding with one of his shoulders.
God, the guy's built like a freaking oak tree, I thought as I picked up my pace.
In the end, I was still late for Byron's class. Which meant that not only did I get yelled at--in iambic pentameter no less--but I also had to write a five-page essay on my "chronic and egregious tardiness."
"I think I need to find a homework spell," I whispered to Jenna as I slid into my seat.
She just gave a halfhearted shrug and went back to drawing faces in her notebook.
Faces, I couldn't help but notice, that looked a lot like Holly and
Chaston.
Later that night I worked on Ms. East's essay while Archer catalogued; I'd already written Byron's in my last class of the day, Classifications of Shapeshifters. Our teacher, Mr. Ferguson, was in love with the sound of his own voice, so he rarely paid attention to what we were doing at our desks. Jenna and I used to pass notes the whole time, but these days she usually spent the period doodling in her notebook and trying to shrink inside herself.
Archer and I had gotten to the point where we both barely catalogued more than ten things during our hour in the cellar. The Vandy hadn't said anything, which only confirmed my suspicion that the real point of cellar duty was being trapped down there for an hour three nights a week. After all, doing the work was pointless since everything we catalogued was in a different place the next time we arrived. We spent most of our time talking.
Since Jenna had started swimming in the deep end of the pity pool, Archer was pretty much the only friend I had. Elodie and Anna had completely given up on my joining their coven, and from what I'd heard, they were looking for white witches now, a sure sign that I had fallen below contempt with them. I tried to tell myself that it didn't matter, but the truth was, life at
Hecate had gotten pretty lonely.
"Do you think the teachers are hard on me because of my dad?" I asked Archer, looking up from the textbook spread across my lap.
"Probably." He hoisted himself onto an empty shelf. "Prodigium have pretty big egos. Not all of them are your dad's biggest fan, and Casnoff wouldn't want the other parents to think you're getting special treatment just because your dad is practically their king."
He raised an eyebrow. "Which makes you Crown Princess."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh yeah. Just let me polish my tiara and I'm set."
"Oh, come on, Mercer. I think you'd make a good queen. You've definitely got the snotty part down."
"I am not snotty!" I nearly yelped.
He leaned back on his elbows, a wicked smile on his face. "Please.
The first day I met you, you practically had a layer of permafrost covering you."
"Only because you were a jerk," I retorted. "You told me I sucked at being a witch."
"You did suck," he said with a laugh.
And then, in what was becoming a running joke, we said in unison, "Bad dog!" and smiled at each other.
"You're just not used to meeting women who don't fall all over your ass like you're in a boy band or something," I said when our laughter had subsided a little.
I'd turned back to my essay, so I had to look up when I realized he hadn't answered me.
He was looking at me with a small smile, a strange glint in his eye.
"So why didn't you?"
"Excuse me?"
"Well, according to you, women are always falling over me. So why didn't you? Not your type?"
I took a deep breath and hoped he didn't notice. Weird little moments like this one were getting too common with Archer and me. Maybe it was all the time we spent together alone in the cellar, or how familiar we'd gotten with each other's bodies while kicking the crap out of each other in Defense, but I was beginning to notice a subtle shift in our relationship. I wasn't delusional enough to believe that he actually liked me or anything, but flirting had definitely entered the picture. It left me feeling strange and totally unsure of myself in moments like these.
"Nope," I finally said, striving for a light tone. "I've always had a thing for the nerdy type. Arrogant pretty boys don't really ring my bell."
"So you think I'm pretty?"
"Shut up."
I needed to change the subject. "What about your family?" I asked.
He looked up, startled. "What?"
"Your family. Do they like my dad?"
He looked away quickly and gave a half shrug, but I could see something was wrong. "My family pretty much stays out of politics," he said. Then he held up his list. "Have you seen Vampire Fang: D. Frocelli?"
I shook my head.