Twisted Sister of Mine

"I don't know, but I'm sure my advisor had a good reason." If he didn't, I was going to kill him.



Zagg looked at the desks around the room, took one look at how tall I was, and shook his head. "There's an empty classroom just down the hall with adult desks."



I thanked him and went down the hall to grab one, moving an empty midget desk in the back row to make room. By the time I returned, my classmates filled the room, buzzing with chatter. I saw Morgana sitting in her usual back corner. She seemed to be the only person not talking.



The bell rang, and Zagg closed the classroom door. "Who's the founder?" he said in a loud, exuberant voice.



"Ezzek Moore!" everyone shouted.



"What was his favorite color?"



Shouts ranging from gray to pink went up from the kids.



Zagg laughed. "Did he like chocolate?"



Kids giggled and looked around at each other, obviously unsure of the answer.



Zagg regarded them with an amused look for a moment and then said, "Of course he loved chocolate. Who doesn't?"



What did chocolate have to do with anything? Screw this elementary education. What was next on the menu—hand puppets?



Zagg leapt atop his desk, a staff gripped in his hand. "Today you're going to hear about Ezzek's fight with Giuseppe Garibaldi. Can anyone tell me who Giuseppe was?"



A boy in front shot his hand up ahead of several other classmates and answered when Zagg nodded. "He was a bad man who didn't want Ezzek to make a united council of Arcanes."



Zagg's staff bloomed into light. "That's right!"



The next thing I knew, Zagg was playing both sides of an epic battle between Moore and Garibaldi, harmless lights zapping back and forth while students watched in rapt attention. Before I knew it, class was over, and Zagg left us hanging on the outcome of the fight. I wasn't the only one saying, "Aww," when he told us we'd find out what happened next tomorrow.



After the students filed out, I told Zagg that Michael was looking into Kayla's case.



Relief swept into his eyes, and he gripped my hand with both of his, shaking it vigorously. "Thank you so much."



"He isn't promising a happy outcome," I warned him.



"I know. I know." He released my hand. "But it's better than her rotting away in prison with no hope at all." Zagg dropped onto a stool and wiped sweat from his forehead. Apparently, his teaching method took quite a bit of energy. "Sometimes, hope is all we have, you know?"



His little truth hit close to home. I nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes it is."



Lunch came next, according to my schedule. I left the classroom and followed the path the university app gave me to the cafeteria. The delicious odor of roasted chicken drifted into my nose, and I dared dream the food here might be better than the slop served at my former high school.



The cafeteria looked more like a grand dining hall with rows of wooden tables lining the room and giant candelabras hanging overhead. Students of all ages occupied the tables, though I noticed the age groups didn't seem to mingle. I looked around the room and failed to find a serving line staffed by uncaring lunchroom ladies. I glanced at a nearby table and noticed everyone had a plate with fresh veggies and a juicy chicken leg. My mouth watered.



As I cast about the room for the elusive lunch line, I spotted Ivy sitting alone at one of the tables. In fact, even the tables near her were empty. I noticed other students looking at her, some of them with what looked like fear.



"Ivy?"



"Justin!" she said, eyes lighting up.



"I didn't know we had lunch at the same time."



She gave me a conspiratorial grin. "They don't usually let me eat lunch in here."



"Who, your grandparents?"



"Bigmomma makes my lunches, but today I sneaked in here." She sighed. "I don't like being alone."



I took a seat. A golem appeared a moment later, a covered plate in hand. The creator had painted a face and clothes onto the server, giving it an almost surreal appearance, as though it had leapt from the pages of a fairy tale and ended up with a rather mundane job in a school cafeteria. With a flourish, it set the plate on the table, uncovered it, and departed.



"It's good," Ivy said, picking at her food.



I resisted the urge to pepper her with questions about the Conroys, Daelissa, or the impending end of the world, and opted to keep things away from business. If I can become her friend, maybe I can win her trust. Although that wasn't my only motivation. "Don't you have friends you could sit with?" I asked, digging into the roasted chicken.



Her eyes looked sad. "I don't make a lot of friends. I think they're jealous of how strong I am."



I could see that. "Have you tried talking to anyone?"



She took a carving knife and jabbed it into the chicken, as if killing it. "I tried. But they call me names." Her eyes went hard and cold. "It makes me really angry when they do that." She stared intently at the chicken, lips pursed, eyebrows pinched.



"Are you okay?" I asked.



Ivy jerked as if woken from a dream. "Yeah." She took a bite of the chicken, but it didn't look like she was enjoying it.



I spotted a flash of bright silver hair and saw Morgana sitting alone at a table. "I'll be right back," I said, and walked over to the other girl. She looked up at me, eyes worried, her face set in something resembling resignation. "Would you like to join me and my sister for lunch?" I asked, nodding my head toward Ivy.



"Really?" she asked, her face masked with disbelief. "That's your sister?"



I smiled. "Yes, really."



"And you want me to sit with you?"



"I sure do."



She bit her lower lip. Nodded. "Okay."



I helped her with her tray, and we joined Ivy. I introduced them to each other.



"Hello, Ivy," Morgana said. "You have a pretty dress."



Ivy stared at the young girl for a long moment, her eyes flicking back and forth between me and her. A smile quirked her lip. "What happened to your hair?"



Morgana looked down at her plate. "It—it's always been like that."



Ivy chewed on a piece of chicken. "Looks weird."



"Ivy!" I said. "That's not nice."



"Well, it does," she said, wrinkling her forehead.



"I think her hair is pretty," I said. "It's unique. Do you see anyone else with silver hair in here?"



Ivy scanned the room. "No, but that doesn't mean—"



"You said you don't like it when people call you names. Telling someone their hair is weird is not nice." I looked and saw a big tear rolling down Morgana's cheek as she stared disconsolately at her food. I felt absolutely horrible. This had been a mistake. I'd thought Ivy was somewhat normal, but instead, she was just cruel.



"I'm sorry," Ivy said, surprising me and reaching her hand across to touch Morgana's. "I didn't mean to make you cry."



Morgana wiped away tears. "It's okay. The others do it all the time."



Ivy's face went hard. "They do it to me, too."



"They do? But you're Ivy Conroy." A look of reverence overcame Morgana's face. "You're the smartest girl here."



My sister's face brightened. "You really think so?"



Morgana nodded. "I wish I was strong like you."



Ivy looked at Morgana's shimmering locks of silver hair. "Justin, you're right. Her hair is very pretty."



A wave of relief spread through me at Ivy's shift from cruel to nice. Maybe she just didn't know any better. Miraculously, we managed to carry on a somewhat normal conversation about hair colors for several minutes before a bell clanged in the distance.



Ivy's face fell. "Well, I guess lunch is over."



"Will you be here tomorrow?" I asked.



She shrugged. "Maybe. Sometimes I can't sneak away." She pushed away from the table and stood, leaned over and gave me a hug. "I'm glad we got to see each other," she whispered.



"Me too," I said. Before I could rise and give her a proper hug, she vanished into the crowd.



"I wish I was like your sister," Morgana said.



A part of me realized she already was. Neither of them seemed to have any friends, and they both seemed too sad to be so young. "Why do you sit alone?" I asked.



She nibbled on a cookie as a sea of students flowed past, leaving for the exits, some laughing, others carrying on serious conversations, and most of them regarding Morgana with strange looks. I wondered if it was because of her hair, or if there might be more.



But the young girl never answered my question.



When I looked past the silver hair, I noticed dark circles under her eyes and the pale cast of her skin. Whatever problems she had were probably affecting her sleep. I decided not to pry. Sometimes there were things I just couldn't fix no matter how much I wanted to. I had to hope my sister wasn't one of those things.



After lunch, I had two more classes. The first was Reading and Writing Cyrinthian with Miss Quinn, a prim and proper older woman who seemed the exact opposite of Belinda. Magical Safety came next, taught by Mr. Rivers, a grumpy old man with a huge, bald head and wide, horn-rimmed glasses. If anything, it reminded me of shop class. The day's lesson consisted of holding a wand by the correct end and how to stop, drop, and roll should someone catch on fire when holding the business end of the wand toward their body when they cast a spell. I nearly fell asleep.



In both classes, Morgana and I sat in our usual spots in the back corner of the room. I took notice of other students as they kept wary eyes on the girl, and curiosity urged me to ask her more questions. But after class, she vanished into the crowd. Before I could track her down, a stick figure golem with round, articulated joints and a basketball-shaped head walked up to me and handed me a folded bit of parchment with a wax seal on it. A stamp beneath the seal said, "University Mail System". I broke the seal and opened the letter to find a brief note in neatly penned ink.