Beautiful Chaos (Caster Chronicles 3)

“According to Lilian, the Eighteenth Moon could be viewed as a powerful historical motif. The phases of the moon could coordinate with—”

“Nice to see you, ma’am.” I couldn’t stand to hear my dad’s theories on the Eighteenth Moon, or listen to him share them with my English teacher. I walked past them, toward the archive. “Be home by dinner, Dad. Amma’s making pot roast.” I had no idea what Amma was cooking, but pot roast was his favorite. And I wanted him home for dinner.

I wanted him to exist away from my English teacher.

She must have understood what my dad didn’t, that I really didn’t want to see her as anything but my teacher, because as soon as I tried to go, Lilian English disappeared and Mrs. English took her place. “Ethan, don’t forget I need the outline for your essay on The Crucible. On my desk by the end of class tomorrow, please. You, too, Miss Duchannes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I expect you have a thesis already?”

I nodded, but I had completely forgotten an essay was due, let alone an outline. English wasn’t high on my list of priorities lately.

“And?” Mrs. English looked at me expectantly.

You gonna help me out here, L?

Don’t look at me. I haven’t thought about it.

Thanks.

I’ll be hiding in the mess in the reference section until they leave.

Traitor.

“Ethan?” She was waiting for an answer.

I stared at her, and my father stared at me. Everyone was watching me. I felt like a goldfish trapped in a bowl.

What was the life span of a goldfish? It was one of the Sisters’ Jeopardy! questions a few nights ago. I tried to think.

“Goldfish.” I didn’t know why I said it. But lately I was blurting out things without even thinking.

“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. English looked confused. My dad scratched his head, trying not to act embarrassed.

“I mean, what it’s like living in a goldfish bowl—with other goldfish. It’s complicated.”

Mrs. English wasn’t impressed. “Enlighten me, Mr. Wate.”

“Judgment and free will. I think I’m going to write about judgment. Who has the power to decide what’s good and what’s evil, you know? Sin and all that. I mean, does it come from some kind of higher order, or does it come from the people you live with? Or your town?”

It was my dream talking, or my mom.

“And? Who has that power, Mr. Wate? Who is the ultimate judge?”

“I guess I don’t know. Haven’t written the paper yet, ma’am. But I’m not sure us goldfish have the right to judge each other. Look where it got those girls in The Crucible.”

“Would someone outside the community have done a better job?”

A cold feeling crept over me, as if there actually was a right or wrong answer to the question. In English class, there were no right or wrong answers as long as you could find evidence to back up your opinion. But it didn’t feel like we were talking about an English assignment anymore.

“Guess I’ll be answering that in my paper.” I looked away, feeling stupid. In class, it would’ve been a good answer, but standing in front of her now, it was something else.

“Am I interrupting?” It was Marian to the rescue. “I’m sorry, Mitchell, but I have to lock the library up early today. What’s left of it. I’m afraid I’ve got some—official library business to attend to.”

She looked at Mrs. English with a smile. “Please do come back. With any luck, we’ll be back on our feet and open by the summer. We love having educators use our resources.”

Mrs. English started collecting her papers. “Of course.”