Fangirl

she’d fall asleep as soon as she climbed into bed.
     
    “Words are very powerful,” Miss Possibelf said, stepping lightly between the rows of desks. “And they take on more power the more that they’re spoken.…
    “The more that they’re said and read and written, in specific, consistent combinations.” She stopped in front of Simon’s desk and tapped it with a short, jeweled staff. “Up, up and away,” she said clearly.
    Simon watched the floor move away from his feet. He grabbed at the edges of his desk, knocking over a pile of books and loose papers. Across the room, Basilton laughed.
    Miss Possibelf nudged Simon’s trainer with her staff— “Hold your horses” —and his desk hovered three feet in the air.
    “The key to casting a spell,” she said, “is tapping into that power. Not just saying the words, but summoning their meaning.…
    “Now,” she said, “open your Magic Words books to page four. And Settle down there, Simon. Please. ”

    —from chapter 5, Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, copyright © 2001 by Gemma T. Leslie

 
    SEVEN
    When Cath saw Abel’s name pop up on her phone, she thought at first that it was a text, even though the phone was obviously ringing.
    Abel never called her.
    They e-mailed. They texted—they’d texted just last night. But they never actually talked unless it was in person.
    “Hello?” she answered. She was waiting in her spot outside Andrews Hall, the English building. It was really too cold to be standing outside, but sometimes Nick would show up here before class, and they’d look over each other’s assignments or talk about the story they were writing together. (It was turning into another love story; Nick was the one turning it that way.)
    “Cath?” Abel’s voice was gravelly and familiar.
    “Hey,” she said, feeling warm suddenly. Surprisingly. Maybe she had missed Abel. She was still avoiding Wren—Cath hadn’t even eaten lunch at Selleck since Wren drunked at her. Maybe Cath just missed home. “Hey. How are you?”
    “I’m fine,” he said. “I just told you last night that I was fine.”
    “Well. Yeah. I know. But it’s different on the phone.”
    He sounded startled. “That’s exactly what Katie said.”
    “Who’s Katie?”
    “Katie is the reason I’m calling you. She’s, like, every reason I’m calling you.”
    Cath cocked her head. “What?”
    “Cath, I’ve met someone,” he said. Just like that. Like he was in some telenovela.
    “Katie?”
    “Yeah. And it’s, um, she made me realize that … well, that what you and I have isn’t real.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean our relationship, Cath—it isn’t real.” Why did he keep saying her name like that?
    “Of course it’s real. Abel. We’ve been together for three years.”
    “Well, sort of.”
    “Not sort of,” Cath said.
    “Well … at any rate”—his voice sounded firm—“I met somebody else.”
    Cath turned to face the building and rested the top of her head against the bricks. “Katie.”
    “And it’s more real,” he said. “We’re just … right together, you know? We can talk about everything—she’s a coder, too. And she got a thirty-four on the ACT.”
    Cath got a thirty-two.
    “You’re breaking up with me because I’m not smart enough?”
    “This isn’t a breakup. It’s not like we’re really together.”
    “Is that what you told Katie?”
    “I told her we’d drifted apart.”
    “Yes,” Cath spat out. “Because the only time you ever call is to break up with me.” She kicked the bricks, then instantly regretted it.
    “Right. Like you call me all the time.”
    “I would if you wanted me to,” she said.
    “Would you?”
    Cath kicked the wall again. “Maybe.”
    Abel sighed. He sounded more exasperated than anything else—more than sad or sorry. “We haven’t really been together since junior year.”
    Cath wanted to argue with him, but she couldn’t think of anything convincing. But you took me to the military ball, she thought. But you taught me how to drive. “But your grandma always makes tres leches cake for my birthday.”
    “She makes it anyway for the bakery.”
    “Fine.” Cath turned and leaned back against the wall. She wished she could cry—just so that he’d have to deal with it. “So noted. Everything is noted. We’re not broken up, but we’re over.”
    “We’re not over,” Abel said. “We can still be friends. I’ll still read your fic—Katie reads it, too. I mean, she