“She should be worried. You should be worried!” He spoke in a clipped manner.
“Brody, if you’re going to start this argument again, then I’ll find somewhere else to sit.” Mina turned to get up.
“No, wait. I won’t bring it up again.” Brody reached out and grabbed her arm. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”
She licked her lips nervously. “Thanks to you. I’m sorry for the way that I acted.”
“No.” Brody interrupted her. “I shouldn’t have pressured you into going to the police. I’m just glad you’re okay. I’ve been worried sick since I had no way to call you and you didn’t come to school.”
Mina could feel Jared’s eyes studying her from across the lunchroom, so she continued to talk to Brody. For some reason this seemed to upset him, and she could tell even from a distance, that he glowered. It was funny to see her and Nan’s usually empty table now filled with girls vying for the Jared’s attention and boys trying to assess their competition. But he still managed to shoot her dark looks that made her skin crawl.
>“Way cool. Am I in there?”
“Nan, you know what this means?” Mina said, ignoring her. “I solved one of the tales. It’s officially begun.”
“Great! Now how many more until you’re done?”
“Um, I don’t actually know.”
“Mina?” Nan asked. “What if there is no end?”
Chapter 12
The next day Mina went through the motions of paying attention in class, but her mind was a million miles elsewhere, Nan’s words still ringing in her head. “What if there is no end?” She kept checking the Grimoire to make sure the story was still there. It wasn’t until advanced art that Mina felt another trickle of dread. Something was wrong. People were whispering and pointing.
Looking up Mina was surprised to see a set of familiar grey eyes staring at her from across the room. It was the same boy who saved her in the alley, here in their classroom and addressing their art teacher. Mr. Ames gestured for the boy to take up an empty seat.
“Class this is Jared, he’s one of our newest students. Please make him feel at home.”
Mina saw the girls and boys in her class whispering among themselves. It so happened that one of the only empty seats was next to her desk, so she tried to compose herself as Jared sat down, knowing all eyes were pointed their way.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed when no was looking.
“Free country. Isn’t it?” Jared said.
Mina fumed. Why was he torturing her? Lucky for her, advanced art class was less lecture and more practical study, so she had time to sort through her thoughts.
When Mr. Ames announced the first assignment, she ignored Jared, stood up and walked across the room to sit by one of the potter’s wheels. Mina loved how a pile of clay could be manipulated and formed on a wheel into something useful and pretty. She tore off a hunk of wet clay and dropped it onto the center of the wheel, reaching down to turn the power on. Getting her hands wet, she felt the pull of the clay and centered it on the wheel, so it could begin to take shape.
“What are you making?” Jared asked, taking a seat at the next empty potter’s wheel. He too, picked up a lump of red clay and began the process of centering it.
“Are you here to harass me?” she asked.
“No. I’m here to make a vase,” he replied tartly.
Mina snuck a glance, and was actually surprised at how deftly his hands moved over the clay. But still irritated from the other night, she ignored him.
“You know you can’t ignore me forever,” he said. His hands moved as if they were in tune with the clay.
“Watch me,” Mina answered between clenched teeth.
“It wasn’t an impolite question. I’m trying to carry on a civil conversation with you.”
“There’s nothing civil about you, and I would prefer to not carry this conversation any further.” Mina grunted in protest as she took her eyes off the wheel to confront Jared. Her mound of clay became unbalanced and flopped over to the side.
“That’s too bad,” he replied. “You should never let distractions get in the way of your goals. It always leads to misfortune.”
“You want to know what I’m making?” Mina asked. “Here.” She stopped the wheel and hit the lopsided clump with her fist. “It’s an ashtray.” She scooped the piece up, threw it back into the clay bucket and walked out of the classroom, stopping at the nearest bathroom to wash the red clay from her hands and nails.