Chapter 4: Honey

Going home is a reward after a long day, pretending to be someone I’m not, hiding for the safety of my kind. Home, home is where I can be myself, alive like the vine I grew this morning. I wonder if my parents feel the same way when they come home from work. I wonder if all Mystics feel this way. Of course, that’s impossible to know, but assumptions can be made.

I approach the threshold where I can take off my hat that keeps me safe and close the door behind me. Both of my parents are sitting at the island, as if they never left, enjoying each other’s company.

I set my bag down on the floor, letting it lean up against the wall. “Hello? Why are you guys home?” I ask, walking into the kitchen to grab a snack from the pantry. I’m thinking some nice pretzels, the honey flavored ones. According to my parents, Druids love honey, like excessively.

“There was a power outage in our building,” Mom says, taking a sip from her mug. “They excused us for the rest of the day.”

Dad nods. “We can’t work without any power.”

“Right…” I pull a pretzel out of the bag and bite with a hum, a honey burst in my mouth, blessing my taste buds with its sweetness. Well, they’re not wrong about the honey thing.

Bringing the bag of pretzels with me, I sit next to my Dad at the island. I hoist the bag on to the countertop, and Dad doesn’t hesitate to take a pretzel and break it before popping it into his mouth.

“So, how was school, Michaela? Did you do anything fun in your classes?” Mom reaches over to grab a pretzel of her own, or a few.

“School was school. As school-y as school can get, I guess.” I sigh. “Eight odd hours of information intake. Super fun, really.”

Glares poke into me, putting holes in the knitted sweater that already has holes in it. Counter-productive if you ask me. But Dad can’t hold his own glare, a laugh climbing out of his throat that he kept down for too long. I laugh along, as does Mom.

Once we calm down after some time, the room goes silent, until I speak again. I scratch away the sarcasm of my last comment. I tell them about the project for Literature Studies, how I can’t do mine on ‘Moby Dick’ because my partner didn’t read it.

“You love that book,” Mom says. “What do you call the whale again?”

“Mr. Whale Boy. Miss Hendricks was so confused when I said it in class the one time during discussion. I got stares from the entire class, and some laughter. Anyway, I don’t mind not being able to do ‘Moby Dick’ for the project. We agreed on a book that we both like, so it all worked out.” I shrug.

Dad grabs a few more pretzels. “Who’s your partner?”

“Hopefully someone that doesn’t make you do all the work,” Mom adds. “Don’t you remember that one kid she was paired with for a project? No one should have to do twice the workload because their partner isn't cooperative.”

“Oh my gosh. No. No. Nothing like that at all. I would throw myself at a wall if I had to work with someone like Andrew again.” Can’t avoid people like that forever.

A year after working with Andrew on that project—I believe it was in Biology, I was paired with someone for an assignment in European Literature who was Andrew 2.0. I never told my parents about her though, I think for their own sanity. I wish mine was spared.

“Her name is Iris, and she’s a great partner.” I roll up the bag of pretzels and hop off the stool to put it back in the pantry. “I did run into this other girl today. I mean, I literally ran into her. Papers went flying and everything.” I close the pantry and walk back to the island across from my parents. “I helped her pick them up, but she just zoned out, acted as if I wasn’t even in front of her. I’m still a little weirded out by it.”

“Did you get her name?” Dad asks.

I shake my head. “Maybe she was just out of it from being run into. I don’t know.” I tap the counter a few times with my fingers before leaving it, picking up my bag by the door. “I have homework to do. Text me when dinner’s ready?”

Mom waves to me as I head upstairs to my bedroom. “All right. Have fun with homework.”

“You know I won’t!”

I settle into my bedroom with a sigh, tossing my backpack on to my bed.

That girl… Something doesn’t feel right. I don’t quite know what it is, but just not knowing is hollowing out the gooey contents of my brain, tearing apart my skull until I do know. No. I shouldn’t worry about this now. I have homework to do and magic to practice. Yet, I wander, and end up right back where I started.

Who is she?