The nurse comes in and gives us each some topical cream for our burns, but there’s nothing more to do. It was a minor incident; the electricity never touched her body and barely skimmed my own. We got lucky. But seeing her shake on the ground reminded me how little control I have over my own power, and it fills my stomach with a sick, twisted feeling.
“Don’t do that,” Paige says. Even in that narrow bed with grass stuck in her hair, she looks strong.
“Do what?”
“Spiral into self-pity like that.”
Defensiveness rises in my chest, and I force it back down. Even after so long, Paige still knows me. It’s comforting in a way, realizing there’s a part of myself that isn’t just a curiosity kept hidden in a tiny cabin beneath the trees. That part of me survived Nikki’s death and continues on. But it’s also painfully sad.
“You have no idea what it’s like being so out of control.”
“Yes, I do.” Her voice is strained, and I know she isn’t talking about magic. She keeps her eyes fixed on the wall in front of her. “And your ‘woe is me, I’m so powerful’ garbage is getting old.”
I shake my head and look at the ceiling, the wall, anywhere but her face. “So is your insistence that you know how I’m feeling better than I do. You don’t have a clue.” My voice rises, and my skin gets hot.
“And whose fault is that?” She sits up in bed and glares at me. Her voice is loud and laced with anger. I don’t say anything, and she lies back down.
We used to be everything to each other, and now we can barely be in the same room. It takes my breath away, the loss of it all.
I avoid her eyes, and she avoids mine. A silence louder than our worst yelling match takes over the room, and I jump when the door opens.
Ms. Suntile walks in, followed by Mr. Donovan and Mr. Burrows.
“Girls,” she says, looking at us over her glasses, “I trust you’re feeling better?”
“Yes, thank you,” Paige says.
“Yes,” I echo.
Mr. Donovan pulls up three chairs, and they all sit. I press my palms into my knees, trying to stay calm. I have no idea what kind of trouble I’ll get in for this.
Mr. Donovan has a clipboard and a pen, ready to take notes.
Ms. Suntile looks from me to Paige and back again. “I don’t have all day.”
“It wasn’t Clara’s fault,” Paige says. I stare at her. “Something didn’t feel right as soon as we started, and Clara tried to pull away, but I wouldn’t let go of her. I didn’t want to fail the assignment.”
“That was incredibly reckless of you, Ms. Lexington.”
“I know,” Paige says. She doesn’t sound sorry or defeated, and her tone never falters. She is even, always.
“You should never have been paired together, given your history,” Ms. Suntile says, more to Mr. Donovan than to us. He shifts in his seat. My cheeks flame, and I look down.
Mr. Burrows looks at me. “Until you gain more control over your magic, we’ll be removing you from group classes again and focusing on your one-on-one sessions instead.”
I sit up straighter and look at Ms. Suntile and Mr. Donovan for help. “I’d rather pull back on the private sessions and do more group work. I’ll never be comfortable in groups if I don’t practice with them.”
Mr. Burrows shakes his head. “Today is a clear indicator that you shouldn’t be training in normal classes, especially given how long you’ve been in school with these people. There’s too much history. You’ll continue to train with Sang, and we’ll reevaluate as the year goes on. As soon as you develop enough command over your magic, we’ll get you training with other witches again. But for now, your focus must remain on learning to control your own power.”
Neither Ms. Suntile nor Mr. Donovan argues, and I slump back in my chair. I know why the school favors private training, private housing, private everything for me. And I appreciate it most of the time; these measures help ensure that the people around me stay safe. But I can’t shake the feeling that sometimes Ms. Suntile keeps me isolated just because she can.
“I want you both to take the rest of the day off and see how you’re feeling in the morning. If you need another day to rest, you may have it.” Ms. Suntile turns to look at me. “I’ll let Mr. Park know you won’t be training with him today.” She stands. “Get some rest tonight, both of you.”
Ms. Suntile pushes through the door, leaving a gust of cold air in her wake. Mr. Burrows follows without another word, but Mr. Donovan hesitates.
“I owe you both an apology. Ms. Suntile is right—I should have put more care into who I paired you with. This falls on me, not you.” He stands. “Get some rest.”
We both nod, and Mr. Donovan leaves. Paige clears her throat. “I’m tired.”
“I’ll go,” I say. “Do you want me to wait outside and help you back to Winter House?”
“No.”
I slowly ease out of my chair and head to the door. “Paige,” I start, but then I pause, my courage faltering. There is a chasm between us, so deep and so wide that whatever I say will tumble into the depths, never making it to the other side. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
She doesn’t say anything, instead staring off to a place I can’t see. I leave and shut the door behind me.
***
After a fitful night of tossing and turning, dreaming of Nikki and Paige and lightning, I’m even more thankful Ms. Suntile gave me the option to take another day off. I’m in my cabin reading Alice’s memoir when there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I say over my shoulder. I’m curled up on my bed with Nox, and I pull my sweater tighter around my body. The cabin windows are thin and old, and cold air seeps through
