“Colter, these are my new friends. Like, brand-new friends,” Penelope was telling him. “This is Ridley and Greta and Iris and Binx… and this is Div and Aysha and Mira. Did I get all your names right? Or maybe you guys already know each other?”
There was a chorus of Hi’s.
“Oh, hey, we met yesterday,” Colter said to Iris. “How are you liking your new classes?”
“Hey! They’re good, thanks for asking. Well, maybe good isn’t the right word. They’re not not-good, if that makes any sense. Which it probably doesn’t. Sorry.” Iris dropped her gaze and nibbled on her granola bar.
Seriously, this girl, Div thought. She glanced at Mira, who was sipping at her smoothie and not saying anything. That showed great restraint; she normally would have seized the opportunity to make an ex-boyfriend and/or his new girlfriend really uncomfortable. Miserable, even. Like last year at the spring dance when she’d used a nausea spell to make Allison Hofstadt throw up all over Jeremy Cho just as they were being crowned queen and king up on the stage. Div appreciated the fact that Mira was holding back for the sake of their coven.
“Colter and I met at tennis camp this summer,” Penelope was explaining.
“She’s a way better tennis player than I am,” Colter said, grinning down at her. “There was a big tournament on the last day of camp, and she and her doubles partner beat me and my partner in straight sets. Pen has a terrifying backhand.”
While the tennis conversation continued, Div picked at her lunch—some unrecognizable casserole from the school kitchen (should she use a spell to make it taste better?)—and tried to mentally recalibrate. Her gaze bounced between Greta, Iris, Penelope, and Ridley. So Greta was likely working on Iris… and Penelope, too, through Ridley. Did Iris already know that Greta, Ridley, and Binx were witches? Did Penelope? Had Greta already extended invitations to join her coven? Div’s instincts said no on all counts, although even if the answers were yes, it wasn’t too late for Div to try to steal the two girls away.
Binx, who had remained standing, was scrolling through her phone, which had a case featuring a demented-looking purple cartoon creature with huge red eyes. Every once in a while, she slanted a sideways look at Greta, clenched her jaw, and resumed scrolling.
Trouble in paradise? Div wondered, pleasantly surprised. Maybe this was a good time to try recruiting Binx again. And if she could get Binx, then Ridley would likely follow. Then finally, Greta—left all alone—would have to come back to her with her tail between her legs. To the coven where she belonged.
Greta was watching her watch the other girls.
That’s right, I’m two steps ahead of you, Div thought.
She picked up her phone and composed a quick text to Greta:
Do you play chess?
She hit send. A second later, Greta’s phone trilled. She stared in confusion at it, and then up at Div.
No. Why?
Div replied:
No reason. Love your blouse, is it new?
Greta frowned at her. Div picked up her iced tea and lifted it in a toast. She loved loved loved messing with Greta’s head.
A moment later, Greta wrote:
You can’t have them.
Div raised an eyebrow. So Greta was after the new witches. It was good to know for sure. And Greta knew Div was after the witches, too.
She replied:
Whatever you say, Gretabelle.
Greta looked away, her cheeks flaming. Satisfied, Div turned her attention back to Binx and began to formulate a plan. Maybe a pool party at her house this weekend with her girls and Iris and Penelope?
Binx didn’t seem like the pool party type, though.
Div would have to think of a different strategy for her.
17 REVOLUTION
Death is the beginning of all transformations.
(FROM THE GOOD BOOK OF MAGIC AND MENTALISM BY CALLIXTA CROWE)
Binx hopscotched up the granite paver driveway, drinking ginger ale and listening to her new Icona Pop album. Icona Pop was Swedish. Swedish people were cool; Sweden seemed cool, too. Sometimes she wished she lived there, like maybe in Stockholm, which had to be way more interesting than the super-small town of Sorrow Point, Washington (population 24,538, home of the Fightin’ Buccaneers, the city that invented the sushi doughnut… blurg).
Still, okay… she had to admit that her house was in a pretty sweet location. On a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, killer sunsets, lots of privacy (the closest neighbors, whoever they were, lived way down the hill—the closest living ones, anyway, since there was the cemetery). Her house also had an infinity pool, two Jacuzzis, a tennis court, and a Japanese Zen garden with a meditation hut. Guess it didn’t hurt to have a crazy-rich tech-legend dad, as annoying as he might be. It helped that he now lived full-time in Palo Alto and she rarely saw him; these days, he was even more absentee than usual, with the new trophy wife and new spawn and all. (The wife, Sloane, was a game designer and coder, which sort of redeemed her for having had that affair with Binx’s dad. The spawn, Lucas, age eight months, was mostly just loud and wriggly and smelled like applesauce and diaper.)
Of course, Binx wasn’t really the outdoorsy type, so the pool and tennis court, as well as the hiking trail
