Chapter 3
I climbed into the blue Honda Element we borrowed from Mom. Our car options were limited. Most of the cars we owned were older and nondescript, so they wouldn’t be noticed during surveillance, and the Element was the best-looking available vehicle we had.
“What’s going on?” Arabella asked.
“Mrs. Rogan wants my help with a theft.”
Arabella’s eyes lit up. “What got stolen?”
“A wedding tiara.”
“Does Nevada know?”
“No. And we are going to keep it that way. We have to stop by Rogan’s.”
“What am I, a chauffeur?”
“I drove here, you drive back.”
The trip between our house and Mrs. Rogan’s mansion ran about three or three and a half hours, depending on traffic. Normally, we could do a lot of things remotely, but as the wedding drew closer, we ended up making the drive more and more often. And because we were a new House and our sister was marrying Mad Rogan, both of them insisted that we never take the trip alone.
Arabella wrinkled her nose. “Yes, but Rogan’s is half an hour out of the way.”
I pulled out twenty bucks. “Fine, you’ve been formally retained.” I would expense the agency for it.
Arabella snatched the money out of my hands. “Mine.”
“Let’s go.”
My sister’s eyes narrowed. “In a minute.”
I looked in the direction of her stare. A young guy was walking toward us. He was lean, with a dark wavy haircut long on top. He had a handsome face with chocolate-brown eyes, wide eyebrows, and full lips. His jaw was clean shaven. He had to be at least my age, but there was something slightly teen idol about him, something deliberately messy but at the same time polished, as if he got out of bed, tousled his hair, accidentally rolled into designer clothes, and now he was just wandering around, not sure what to do with himself and being slightly apologetic for being so handsome.
“He is walking this way,” Arabella said.
“If you drive off now, we won’t have to talk to him.”
“I want to talk to him. He’s cute.”
Ugh. “Drive.”
“No. You’re like an old lady sometimes.”
Ugh.
The guy reached us. For a moment I thought he would go on Arabella’s side, but he changed his course and knocked on my window. Oh great. Just great. I wished I could melt into the car seat.
My window slid down. I would kill my sister.
He leaned on the roof of our car, so he could look into the window, and smiled. He had such a nice smile. It lit his face.
No. No, you can’t like his smile. You know what happens when you like people. Stop it.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” Arabella said.
He was looking at me. “Hello,” I said.
“I keep seeing you around,” he told me. “And keep trying to say hi. You’re always so busy.”
You said it, now go.
“I’m Xavier,” he said.
I waited for Arabella to jump in, but for once in her life she suddenly decided to keep her mouth shut. Traitor.
“I’m Catalina,” I said.
He smiled again. “I know.”
This was a stupid conversation.
“Do you like tennis?” he asked.
Who what? Say something . . .
“She loves it,” Arabella piped up.
“Maybe we could play sometime.” He shrugged. “Sorry, I know it’s lame, but the nearest town is an hour away and they won’t let me drive. There isn’t much to do here. So, what do you say?”
“Sure.” This was the quickest way to get rid of him.
“Great. See you around.”
He stepped away, gave me another dazzling smile, and walked away. I raised my window. Arabella drove out of the courtyard.
“She loves it? I don’t even know how to play!”
“He doesn’t care about tennis. He knows your name.”
“I know that,” I growled. “You know I can’t.”
“No, you won’t. You’ve been controlling your magic much better.”
“I can’t take the risk.”
“No, you won’t even try.” Arabella shook her head.
“It’s irresponsible!”
“Hanging out with a cute guy is irresponsible. Listen to yourself. You’re eighteen, not thirty.”
“I can’t treat people like toys. I might start liking him. I might want to hang out with him.”
“And?”
“And sometimes that’s how little it takes.”
“Why don’t you give up and be a nun, then!”
“Maybe I will!”
We rode in silence.
“I’m not saying you should fall in love or make out with him or chase him around screaming, ‘wife me now!’” Arabella said.
“I know.”
“All I’m saying is that you could give him a chance. A tiny chance. A sliver of a chance. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“My control might slip a hair. My magic might leak. He’ll become besotted because of my magic and follow me around with a slack look on his face listening to my every word and doing creepy things like stealing hair from my brush so he can hide it under his pillow and sniff it at night when he gets lonely.”
Arabella looked at me. “That was oddly specific.”
“Michael Sanchez in my freshman year. Eyes on the road.”
“Suppose this happens.” My sister merged into the middle lane. “Let’s say he becomes ‘besotted.’ So what? He is leaving in a week. Your magic wears off with time and distance. Even if the worst happens, in a month he will be fine. People take that long to get over normal summer flings.”
“It still isn’t right.” I had no right to manipulate other people’s feelings. It didn’t matter that I wouldn’t have meant to do it. The possibility existed.
“Do you remember the ranch?”
The ranch was owned by one of Mom’s friends, two hundred acres of scrub and rocks in the middle of nowhere. We would take Arabella there, so she could metamorphose without anyone freaking out.
“We went to the ranch, so I could practice. And I went every time and I did my best. Even when I was twelve and a crazy ball of rage, because I knew that if I wanted to have any kind of life, I had to learn my magic. I had to figure out what I could do, how long I could do it, what I couldn’t do. It’s like driving and learning where the car ends and how quickly it can stop. You don’t practice.”
I glared at her. “I practice all the time.”
“Yes, you practice not using it. You’re excellent at not using your power. You’ve got that part down.”
“I am excellent at not using it. I have to be.”
Arabella’s eyes narrowed. “Then Xavier is in no danger, is he?”
She got me. “I hate you sometimes.”
“You hate that I’m right. Seriously, what’s the harm in talking to Xavier? You’re going to college in the fall. There’s going to be all kinds of people there. Guys, Catalina. There will be cute college guys.”
“Maybe I won’t go to college.”
“Sure,” Arabella said.
I didn’t say anything.
“Wait, are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Why was complicated. There were many reasons. It was expensive. I didn’t know what I wanted to major in and I didn’t want to waste my time and the family’s money. But most of all, I had spent the last four years racing to the graduation finish line trying to get the highest score in everything. I had existed in a state of constant pressure, where something was always due and once I finished it, I was already behind on the next paper, the next exam, or the next project. When they finally ran out of courses to give me and I finished this Christmas, I felt like I had breathed fresh air for the first time since I started high school. They were still making me come back for the graduation and walk across the stage. I would graduate this May. I would finally be free.
And when I told Mom and Grandma Frida that, there would be hell to pay. I had scored 1580 on the SAT out of a possible 1600. I was in the top 1 percent nationwide. I had my pick of schools. I could get a scholarship almost anywhere. They would tell me I was throwing away my future.