Mark Lansing never wanted to stand out. He was perfectly happy disappearing into a football huddle with the rest of the team until one play made him the talk of the town. Thrust into a spotlight he never wanted, every choice can reshape his future, and every decision could transform him in ways he never believed possible. Mark’s destiny will be determined on the field … assuming he can figure out how to dress the part.

Chapter 36

A look at Gina showed a side Mark never expected. Tears. Streaks of mascara stained her face while three red scratches marked her cheek where he’d struck her.

Mark stared at the scratches as Coach Denny’s voice boomed in his head, “Never apologize. An apology is a sign of weakness.”

A thousand different emotions filled Mark, with guilt being the strongest. "I'm so sorry, Gina. I shouldn’t have done that."

Gina didn't look at him. She didn't even blink. She just stared straight ahead, her expression a mask of cold, calculated stone.

Vice Principal Ryan stood in the doorway of her office pointing to the chairs, waiting until both girls had entered before slamming the door behind them.

"Fighting in the hall…” Miss Ryan spoke with anger in her voice before her eyes locked onto the scratches staining Gina’s face. "Good God, Gina. Are you okay?"

Gina didn't hesitate, pointing a manicured finger directly at Mark. “Marcy did this to me.”

Miss Ryan waved her hand dismissively, as her gaze swept over Gina’s outfit. “You had the entire cheerleader squad ambush Marcella in the hallway while wearing the school’s colors. How do you think that’s going to play on social media? The optics are disastrous.”

Gina shrugged, her voice regaining its entitled edge. “Assault is a crime, Miss Ryan. I want you to call the police.”

Miss Ryan's eyes drifted toward the ceiling. "If I do that, the police will file a report. That report will go to the district, and the district will require an immediate suspension for all students involved. That's a week out of school, Gina, minimum. No Senior Night. No cheering at tonight's game. No recognition for all those years of sacrifice. And no pictures with your parents on the field."

Gina held up a small mirror. “Look at my face! Why would I want to take a picture when I look like this!”

Miss Ryan didn’t blink. “I suspect your parents might feel differently, Miss Young. Go see the nurse and see what she can do to get those scratches cleaned.” Gina stood to protest, but the Vice Principal cut her off with a sharp tone. “As for punishment, I’ll be investigating this matter until Monday and that’s when I will make my decision.” She pointed at the door. “Now, go.”

Gina paused, her eyes narrowing as she turned toward Mark. “Marcy’s a menace,” she said, spitting out Mark’s name as if it tasted like poison. “If you don’t call the police, my parents will.” She gave Mark a lingering stare before turning toward the door. The loud, rhythmic click of her heels announced her departure, punctuated by the door slamming shut.

Mark didn’t dare move, he barely dared to breathe as Miss Ryan fixed her stare on him, pressing Mark further into his chair. She didn't speak for a full minute, and when she finally leaned forward, she didn’t shout but instead used a tone of bitter disappointment.

"I'm fairly certain you've set a record for visits to my office," Miss Ryan said, drumming her fingers against the mahogany desk. "So much chaos from one person." She sighed. "I know you're going through a difficult time. I've watched a thousand girls go through the same changes, and I know where it can lead. I have done my best to support you this year and you repay me by storming down my hallway like it’s a Parisian runway, then strike another student."

“Uhhh…” Mark opened his mouth to try to explain, but words like magic, curse, and witch stuck in his throat. He knew anything he said would sound crazy, but doubted it would have mattered as Miss Ryan didn’t appear to be in a mood to listen. Her gaze had dropped, now scanning the short hemline of Mark’s outfit.

"Have you read the student handbook's section on the dress code?" Miss Ryan asked. "Skirts are to fall no more than six inches above the knee." Her gaze settled on Mark, steady and unblinking. "I don't need a ruler to know you're well past that line." She exhaled slowly, the sigh of a woman who had survived far too many teenagers and far too many crises.

“Gina’s outfit is shorter than mine,” Mark countered.

Miss Ryan didn’t blink. “An outdated practice from a different time that is only allowed because of tradition,” her voice devoid of sympathy.

“That’s not fair.”

“Take it up with the school board,” Miss Ryan said. She leaned in, looking Mark directly in the eye and sent a chill down his spine. “The world isn't fair, Marcella.”

“I didn't choose the length,” Mark whispered. “I’m not practiced at buying clothes like this. Someone else picked it out.”

“You’re the one who chose to wear it,” Miss Ryan countered. “I’ve watched you hiding in the shadows for years and hoped you might break out of your shell. But this…” She pointed at Mark from head to toe. “You’re going to extremes, in hopes of climbing the social ladder. I’ve seen your story a thousand times and it doesn’t take a genius to know a boy at the root of all of this.”

“A boy?” Mark felt a strange jolt in his chest. For a second, he wondered if she actually saw him, not the clothing or the makeup, but the person underneath.

Miss Ryan's face softened. "I'm not completely oblivious, Miss Lansing. I know what goes on in this building."

Mark shook his head. "It's not what you think."

"Your skirmish with Miss Young this morning wasn't about a boy?"

"It was..." Heat crawled up the back of Mark’s neck. "...but it's not what you think."

Miss Ryan glanced at the clock, then at the door as her softness vanished. "Go to class, Miss Lansing. Go to the restroom. Go anywhere but my office. I'm done covering for you this week."

Mark stood on shaky legs as the last of the morning’s adrenaline drained out of him. The office door shut behind him with the finality of a gavel. He made it about ten feet before leaning against the wall, then slid to the floor, and dropped his head to his knees.

"Are you okay?"

Mark knew the voice without looking. It was both soft and cutting, and made his heart jump. He looked at Emily through tear-filled eyes.

“Yeah...” The word came out in a whisper.

Emily’s eyes drifted to Mark’s skirt. “You might want to put your knees together.”

Mark looked down, suddenly aware of the draft and the probability that any passerby could get a free show. He sighed, crossed his legs and smoothed out the fabric of his skirt.

“Did you come here to make fun of me?”

“No idiot. I came here because I care about you.” Emily’s expression shifted, the sharpness of her wit replaced by a softness Mark missed. "My feelings for you didn’t change because we had a fight."

Mark struggled to his feet. “I know you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself.” Emily answered.

Mark nodded, as if Emily’s words made sense to him. But she was talking to him, and that was all that mattered. "I've missed you."

“You mean you missed my car?”

"That's not fair." Mark laughed.

"I know." Emily stepped toward him with her arms open.

Mark met her halfway, both collapsing into a tight hug that felt like the first solid thing he'd touched in days. As he leaned towards her, Mark felt a jarring shift in perspective. He no longer loomed over Emily, and as he pulled back, he realized he was barely an inch taller than her now.

“I’ve gotten so small.”

Emily pulled him tight. "I barely recognized you in the hall. You look different, and it's not just the clothes.”

Mark nodded. “I had more changes when I visited Caitlyn’s store last night. And some more this morning with Tina.”

“Tina?” Emily’s gaze swept over him, then glanced around the hallway, where hushed whispers and small crowds of students had begun to stare. “We should find someplace private to talk.”

Mark nodded, happy to continue their conversation. “I know a place.” He took her hand, his smaller fingers fitting neatly in hers. “We can use the gender-neutral bathroom on the third floor behind the science lab. Not even the teachers go in there.”

The pair climbed the stairs in silence with hands interlocked. For Mark, holding on to Emily was like a balm, counteracting the absurdity of this day. The hallways that had once hid him, now felt like a gauntlet, but with Emily beside him every worry faded into a distant hum.

Neither of them said a word until they were inside the bathroom, a narrow room with a single toilet and a flickering light overhead.

"I missed you," Mark said.

"You already said that." But Emily put her arm around his shoulders anyway.

"I mean it." He leaned his head against hers.

"I missed you too... idiot."

In the mirror, two girls smiled back at him, one of them with mascara smeared into a raccoon mask. "I look like a mess."

"If it's any consolation, Gina looked worse."

Mark winced. "I still can't believe I hit her."

"For the record, I'm a little impressed." Emily squeezed his shoulder.

He bent over the sink and splashed water on his face, watching a river of beige and brown wash down the drain. But the mascara clung stubbornly to his lashes, and clumps had fixed themselves to his skin. Scrubbing harder only turned the area red, so Mark reached for the soap dispenser.

Emily caught his hand. "Don't … not unless you want chemical burns." She dug into her purse and pulled out a couple of makeup wipes. "Use these."

Mark took a couple of wipes. "Why does mascara run when I cry but not when I wash it?"

"One of the mysteries of the world," Emily said. "The trick is not to dab at your eyes when you cry, or you'll end up..." She glanced at the mirror and gestured at his face. "Like that."

“Shut up.” Mark said, smiling while he used a makeup wipe to remove the remnants of Tina’s makeover. The transformation from posh to unpolished had been fast.

“Make me.” Emily said.

Mark smiled. It was a nice feeling to fight with Emily like they did when they were kids. “Can you do my makeup?

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t need it.”

Mark looked in the mirror. Without makeup, he could see flashes of his old self trapped in the feminine contours of this new face. “Everyone expects me to wear it.”

“Why do you care about what everyone thinks?”

“I don’t.”

“Then don’t wear it.”

Mark stared at himself and felt the pull. To do what he needed to do, no part of Mark’s old image could remain. “I want to wear it.”

Cold entered Mark’s body the moment he said the words. Instead of fighting it or letting it wash over him, Mark reached out with his mind and trapped it, easily storing the spell for later use.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Mark nodded. “I need you to make me look like a rally girl.”

Emily’s eyes grew cold, matching the feeling in Mark’s chest. “I see.”

“It’s not what you think.” Mark countered, sensing the shift in Emily’s mood.

Emily shook her head. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

“I’m not doing it for Jeffrey. I’m doing it for Tim Miller.”

“That’s even worse.” Emily said, confused. “Explain.”

Mark took a deep breath, and told Emily everything - the call from Tina the night before, her promise to break the curse, and the crushing realization that he had been played. He described the "boon spell," the artificial surge of confidence that had swam in his veins, and described how it felt the moment Tina had yanked it away leaving him vulnerable. He told her he only slapped Gina out of desperation, and the look in Tina’s eyes when she revealed that Mark was nothing more than a pawn.

“Have you told Bridget any of this?”

Mark shook his head. “I’m not sure if I can trust her.”

Emily “Why do you think you can’t trust Bridget?”

Mark shrugged, “Tina told me some things about her.”

“Seriously? You trust Tina after everything that happened this morning.” Emily gave Mark a look of sheer incredulity.

Mark let out a short laugh. “That does sound dumb now that I’ve said it out loud.”

“Tell you what.” Emily said, picking up her purse. “I’ll help with your makeup. You call Bridget. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Mark tapped Bridget's name on his phone and slid his earbuds into place. Beside him, Emily's lips moved, but he shook his head and pointed to his ears. She rolled her eyes and went back to work, the makeup brush gliding along his cheek.

The phone rang twice.

"Hello?"

Mark didn't give her a chance to say more. "Bridget, it's Mark. Tina's making me wear a dress, so I can become a rally girl and give him my catching ability so her brother can catch passes from Jeffrey and Stanton will win the championship."

There was a long pause. He braced for confusion, or a laugh.

"Take a breath, Mark," Bridget said calmly. "I need you to slow down."

Mark took a deep breath. "I took a breath."

“Do you feel better?” Bridget asked.

Mark shook his head. “Not really.”

“It was worth a shot.” Bridget laughed then her tone shifted to something more businesslike. “So Tina admitted to the spell?”

"Not exactly," Mark said. "She denied casting the spell, but she insists I have to help her."

"That sounds like the Millers." Bridget exhaled into the phone. "Be careful. The Millers don't give gifts. They make investments. And the boon Tina wants you to transfer with Maiden's Delight doesn't just help Tim. It will strip it from you."

Mark glanced at Emily, who was leaning in close with the eyeliner, tracing the edge of his lid. Her hand didn't waver. He tried very hard not to blink.

“I figured as much,” Mark said, his voice sounding distant even to himself.

“You can’t trust Tina,” Bridget warned, her tone sharpening.

“Can I trust you?” Mark asked, feeling the cold weight of the spell in his gut. “Tina says you’re a fixer for something called the Order.”

Bridget laughed. "A fixer? That's not my official title, but it's one way to put it. Most days I feel like a glorified babysitter."

"Are you saying I'm a baby in this instance?"

"Sure." Bridget let the word hang for a second. "And if we're sticking with that analogy, you'd be a baby witch."

Her voice lost its smile. "Coming into power is always dangerous. Some people in our world look at a young witch's inexperience and don't see it as a beginning. They see an opportunity to exploit."

"Should I be worried?"

"A little," Bridget said. "But that's why I'm here. Witches don't come into power every day, and there's a lot you need to learn. But for now, we need to get you through the day without becoming a pawn for the Millers."

Mark started to open his mouth to respond, but Emily’s hand clamped over his chin, tilting his head back with a decisive pull as she wagged an eyeliner pen at him like a weapon. He could see her lips moving, but with the earbuds in place he couldn’t hear a word. Still, he didn't need to hear Emily to understand the threat. Stay perfectly still, or he’d receive a black stripe from one ear to the other.

Mark did his best to speak without moving his jaw. "I don't have a choice, Bridget. If I don't play along, Stanton loses, and the guys on the team have worked hard all year. I have to give everything too."

"Do what you think is best." Bridget sighed. "But sometimes there's no going back. You've spent years honing your football abilities. Don't give them away for false hope."

"I won’t.” Mark said.

"If you're sure."

Mark looked at Emily. “I’m sure.”

If Bridget was upset, she didn't sound it. "I have people watching in case anything gets out of hand, and I'll be there before the game myself, so don't react if you see me. The Millers will be escorting Tina onto the field for Senior Day so if they're planning anything, it'll happen when they’re together."

Mark nodded. “Thanks for the info.”

Bridget’s phone clicked off a few seconds later. Mark took another deep breath, and pulled out his earbuds. Emily was still hard at work, but her face held a tension that hadn't been there before.

“You’re too quiet,” Mark said.

Emily didn’t look up. She was blending eyeshadow on Mark’s lids with small careful strokes. “I’m concentrating. You’re the one who wants me to turn you into a rally girl.”

Mark said, “I know what you think. You think I’m really doing this for Jeffrey, but it’s not true.”

The brush paused. "You crossed a line with Jeffrey this morning. You can't get into a fight with his girlfriend in front of the whole school and go back to a casual relationship with him tomorrow. He saw how you dressed. He saw how you acted. He saw a different side of you."

Mark said, “Things got out of hand.”

"You and Jeffrey have been friends a long time." Emily's voice thinned. "But it’s hard for guys and girls to stay friends once they reach a certain age. If you want him in your life…” She paused, her lips quivering. “…really have him in your life … you’re going to have to risk getting hurt.”

Realization dawned on Mark. “You aren’t talking about me and Jeffrey, are you?.

Emily shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

"It does." Mark held her stare. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry."

"I know." She nodded, blinking quickly, then pointing toward the mirror with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "It doesn't matter. I'm not attracted to girls."

“What are you trying to say?”

Emily kept her voice flat, “You don’t do it for me anymore, Marcy.”

Mark looked at his image and then back to Emily. He understood what she was doing and appreciated the gesture. “I’m so confused right now.”

"Me too." Emily said, her eyes warming. "But I'm stronger than you think, Mark. And so are you."

“You think so?”

“I know so.” Emily finished off Mark’s eyeshadow, “When you talk to Jeffrey, tell him you’re a mess, admit to him you’re confused, but tell him you’re still you and you’ll still be friends no matter what happens.”

Mark smiled, appreciating the gesture. “Thanks, Emily.”

Emily didn’t respond, instead stepping back. “I’m all done.”

Mark looked in the mirror and, once again, didn't recognize himself. The makeup didn't just hide his splotchy, tear-stained face, it transformed it. But where Tina's makeup looked overwrought and plastic, Emily had blended the edges for a more natural look.

"You're a fantastic makeup artist."

"I've had a lot of practice."

Mark glanced at Emily. She was wearing her normal outfit of jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. "But you hardly ever wear makeup."

"I like how I look." Emily said.

“I like how you look, too.” Mark replied, looking at his phone. Forty minutes. Emily had spent forty minutes fixing the disaster he'd created, and held out an olive branch when he didn’t deserve one. He had to repay that somehow.

He glanced down at his hands. They were already tingling.

"Do you want me to give you bigger boobs?"

"What???" Emily's eyes nearly popped out of her skull. "Where did that come from?"

"I can do it!" Mark waved at his own chest like a game show host presenting a prize. "I'm holding on to a Maiden’s Delight spell and I don’t think I can hold it all day. It'd be easy. Free of charge."

Emily didn’t appear amused. "What part of 'I like how I look' didn't you understand?"

"I don't know." Mark shrugged. "I was trying to be nice."

Emily glanced at herself in the mirror, and straightened her sweatshirt. "Come on. Let's get back to class before you say something else that makes me want to slap you."

They left the bathroom and Mark felt his body wobble with every step. But his hips swayed without thought, like they'd been doing it for years, and when two boys by the lockers glanced at his skirt, he waited for embarrassment that never came.

Emily was right. Mark had crossed a line today, and even though he no longer had a boon, he could feel the storm inside pushing him towards a destiny he couldn’t avoid.

Chapter 37

Mark had learned one thing in the last few days: getting out of class was easier as a girl. All it took was saying he didn't feel well, and the next thing he knew, he was roaming the halls, hunting for an empty classroom where he could gather his thoughts.

"Mar-celllll-aaaa!"

The voice caught him off guard. Kaya hit him like a linebacker, wrapping both arms around his waist, and squeezing until his feet nearly left the floor.

"You actually did it," she said, grinning up at him. "You slapped the bitch. My God, Marcella, the look on Gina's face was priceless."

Mark glanced up and down the hallway. "Where did you come from?"

"Got kicked out of AP History. Went to crash your class, and saw you weren't there, so I've been sneaking through the halls ever since." She poked his skirt. "I knew I'd find you eventually. You're hard to miss in that outfit."

“I could say the same of you.” Mark let out a shaky laugh, and for a moment, this girl didn’t seem so scary.

He took a long look at the diminutive girl, wondering if he saw what the rest of the world missed. Underneath the pitch black lines of eyeliner, dark clothing, and threats of rebellion, Kaya was just like everybody else, searching for a place where people didn't judge her for being different.

Kaya let go of his arm. "Do you know what people are saying about you? This school has been waiting for a revolution. You just started one."

"That's a bit of a stretch, don't you think?"

A locker slammed shut at the far end of the corridor. A girl Mark recognized from his chemistry lab looked over, smiled, and raised her hand in a tiny wave. Mark waved back on instinct.

"You don't hear what I hear." Kaya continued, “You’re Marcy Lansing, the girl who dared to strike a queen.”

A voice sounded over the intercom, "Kaya Williams, come to the principal’s office please. Kaya Williams, come to the office."

Kaya didn’t flinch at the announcement. Instead, she lit up. "It was only a matter of time before the Federales came looking for me," she said, sweeping back into a theatrical bow. She marched off toward her fate with one fist raised high into the air. "Viva la revolución!”

"Viva la revolución!” Mark called after her, grinning in spite of himself.

The atmosphere in the cafeteria shifted the moment Mark stepped through the double doors. It was as if a silent alarm had gone off, announcing the school's newest curiosity, and every head turned. To the room, the Marcy who walked in was a revelation. The lesbian wallflower was gone, replaced by a girl whose outfit could hold its own against anyone in the building.

"When did Marcy get hot?"

Mark recognized Vince's voice and gripped his tray a little tighter, not daring to look. The guys on the team had no idea about the supernatural tug-of-war he'd been through all week. All they saw was a girl with a sudden transformation, straight out of a cheesy glow-up movie.

Across the room, the cheerleaders sat in their fortress of synchronized judgment. Gina, at the center, didn't scream or shout. She offered a dismissive look and a turn of her shoulder, a calculated snub meant to show who was still in charge. But Mark saw the three faint lines where his hand had landed hadn't faded.

Friendlier invitations came from the corners of the room. Bella waved at him in slow, lazy arcs, while Emily and a cluster of field hockey girls gestured wildly. Being wanted was a strange feeling, and so was the thought of sitting somewhere he didn't have to hide.

Mark felt pulled in three directions: back toward the safety of the shadows, over toward the adrenaline of those who wanted him, and toward something else he couldn't name yet.

That's when he saw Jeffrey.

Jeffrey wasn't laughing with the football team, and he wasn't pretending Mark didn't exist, either. He cut straight through the crowd and stopped inches away but didn't look Mark in the eye. His stare traveled from Mark’s skirt to Mark’s makeup and back again, with the dazed look of someone who’d just been punched.

"We need to talk," Jeffrey said. He kept his voice low, and there was no grin, no shoulder punch, nothing playful about him at all.

"Now?" Mark said, his voice coming out higher than he'd intended.

"Now."

Across the cafeteria, conversations stopped. Nobody had heard a word, but nobody needed to. Jeffrey's jaw was set like a man heading to a fight. Over at the cheerleaders' table, Gina's glare changed from indifference to alarm when she saw her boyfriend speaking to her attacker.

"Not here," Mark whispered, gesturing vaguely toward the exit. "Everyone's staring."

"You didn't have a problem with people staring this morning." Jeffrey paused, then glanced around the room, and saw all conversation had come to a standstill. "Follow me."

Mark felt the weight of the stares on his back as the two of them crossed the cafeteria. Titters of laughter followed them out the double doors.

Jeffrey pulled Mark into a narrow storage closet and shut the door. The silence was somehow louder than the noise they'd left behind.

"What the hell was that this morning?" Jeffrey kept his voice low. "The slap? The comment about the blowjobs? Who are you, and what have you done with my friend Marcy?"

Mark felt a phantom itch where his old skin used to be. In Jeffrey's mind, Marcy had always been a girl, a tomboy who never got the memo.

"I just..." Mark's voice came out unfamiliar even to himself. "I snapped. Gina's been pushing the whole school around for years."

"That doesn't give you the right to broadcast our private business to everyone." Jeffrey rubbed his temples. "And it's not just the slap, or the clothes. You're acting like someone else, and I don't understand what's happening to you."

Mark shrugged. "Anything I say will only confuse you."

"Try me."

Mark shifted his weight, and the storage closet suddenly felt a lot smaller. He wanted to tell Jeffrey the truth: that he was Mark, his best friend, and that a spell had rewritten his body and everyone's memories of him. But how do you say that without sounding crazy?

"The blowjob comment was a joke between friends," Jeffrey said. "I trusted you."

"I know."

"Do you? I spent half the morning answering Gina's texts. She thinks I’m cheating on her."

Mark winced. "I'm sorry. This year has been a lot. I'm going through some changes, and I'm trying to work through them, but I don't even know who I am half the time."

Jeffrey looked Mark straight in the eye. "You've always been different from other girls, Marcy. It’s one of the reasons I like you, but this is next level. It's like you're a different person this week."

Jeffrey sighed, and some of the tension drained from his shoulders. "You know I don't have time for this. I'm playing in the championship game tonight, and my best friend suddenly decides to pick a fight with my girlfriend. What are you playing at?"

Mark felt the pull again, the same one half the girls in school had whenever Jeffrey walked by. It had always worked on him too. "I wish I could tell you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But everything is just... different. I'm going through some things, and I don't know how to say it without sounding insane."

Jeffrey leaned back. "Whatever it is, get it under control, Lansing. Tonight is the biggest night of my life."

"I know." A feeling of loss tugged at Mark's chest. "I know the game is tonight."

Silence settled over the closet. Mark looked down at his manicured nails, then back up at Jeffrey. For a second, he wanted to scream the truth. Instead, he asked a question. "Do you remember playing football when we were kids? Before everything got so complicated?"

Jeffrey's face softened. "The flag football leagues?"

Mark nodded, certain his memories didn't match Jeffrey's. "We destroyed everyone."

"Undefeated in fourth grade." Jeffrey grinned. "The other boys turned red every time that ‘damned skinny girl’ caught a pass from me then outran them to the endzone. Their dads were so pissed."

Mark looked away, a hollow ache settling in his chest for a version of himself the world had rewritten. "Then the other guys got bigger, and I turned into..." Mark gestured at himself. "... this."

"You're not so bad. You've still got the best hands in this school."

Mark's smile slipped for half a second. Then he held up his painted fingernails. "I don't think I can catch much with these."

"They caught Gina by surprise." Jeffrey winced, as if he hadn't meant to say it out loud. "Don't tell her I said that."

"I'm sorry about that. I lost it for a second."

"I know."

Mark felt his eyes sting. "Dammit. Not again."

Jeffrey pulled back to look at him. "What's wrong?"

"Emily spent forty minutes on this makeup. I can't do it again."

Jeffrey wiped a tear from Mark’s cheek with his thumb, careful not to smear anything. "You know I would never do anything to make you cry."

Mark found it hard to speak and the two friends stared at each other without speaking. Then the school bell blared, ending the moment.

"I've got to go." Jeffrey said, his eyes lingered on Mark a second longer than usual. "We'll talk later."

The door opened as Jeffrey exited and a wave of hallway noise rushed in. Quiet returned when it shut again and Mark thought about following, but walking out right behind Jeffrey would only start nasty rumors. So he stayed among the mops considering if it might be best if he hid there all day.

Jeffrey remembered a skinny girl who outran everyone. Mark remembered being the boy who followed a similar path. But somewhere between those two memories, Mark had lost himself and it was time to make things right.

When he finally slipped into the hallway, whispers of his new name followed him everywhere. Marcella.

Mark found Tina waiting on the third floor near the science wing. She didn't wave. She just tilted her head, a silent reminder that she expected a boon. Mark walked towards her with shoulders back, and hips swaying, realizing he was playing the role Tina wanted from him without being asked. But his parents had raised him to always repay his debts.

"Don't look so miserable," Tina said as he approached.

"I need your help," Mark said.

Her eyes brightened. "Of course you do."

Chapter 38

”I need to talk to Gina," Mark said, his voice sounding steady for the first time all day. "No crowds, no cheerleaders. Just the two of us."

Tina arched an eyebrow. "A little one-on-one time with Queen Gee? Bold, after this morning."

"That's why I need you to keep her from running off."

Tina smiled. "You want me to tie her up? Kinky."

"No! I don’t want to hurt her." Mark winced. "I doubt she’ll do what I want willingly. I need to touch her but she can’t see me."

"Hmm… so you need her unconscious." Tina grinned. “Consider it done.”

Mark's stomach twisted at the ease of Tina’s decision. "You're not going to ask why? Gina is supposed to be your friend."

"You're finally doing something interesting, Marcella. I'm not going to ruin it with questions."

Mark shook his head. "I was thinking we could use the gender-neutral bathroom on the third floor."

"No." Tina said, tapping her chin as a plan formed in her brain. "I'll lure her into the old gym. We practice there when it rains, and the privacy is excellent."

Ten minutes later, Mark crouched in the shadows as Tina entered the old gym. Gina's loud voice echoed off the rafters.

"What's so important it couldn't wait until after school?"

"I need to show you something," Tina said. "It won't take long. Have a seat on the bleachers."

Tina’s voice lost its playful edge as soon as Gina sat down.

"I don't have all day," Gina said. Seconds later her posture slackened, her head rolled to one side, and her eyes glazed over.

Tina turned toward the shadows and gave Mark a satisfied smirk. "She's under."

"That was fast," Mark said.

"Whatever you're planning, do it quickly. The spell won't last forever, and it would be a real pain if someone walks in and sees the two of us standing over Gina in this state."

Mark stepped out, his flats making a tap-tap-tap sound as he made his way across the hardwood floor. Without her sneer and fury, Gina looked almost ordinary as she slept on the bench. Mark had hated her long before she started dating Jeffrey, but seeing her in this state, he didn't feel near the satisfaction he'd expected. He winced when he saw the three faint lines still marking her cheek.

"She doesn't look so scary when she's out cold," he said.

"I told you." Tina said, sounding almost bored. "Gina relies on her looks and arrogance, but both are fleeting."

Mark frowned. "Aren't you supposed to be her best friend? I'd never say something like that about Jeffrey."

Tina laughed, sharp enough to echo off the rafters. "Best friend? Everyone treats Gina and Jeffrey like they are the sun, and the rest of us are supposed to orbit around them, hoping for a little warmth."

"You sound jealous. Is that why you were so quick to put her under?"

Tina didn't answer, instead pulling a loose strand of hair from Gina's forehead. "Let's get this over with."

Mark reached into his purse which hung against his hip from a strap on his right shoulder. He didn't remember grabbing the purse that morning, or the moment it had stopped feeling like a strange accessory. He found the notecard in the purse’s special compartment, and placed it on the bleacher beside Gina's hand.

The gym vanished when he closed his eyes and placed a hand against Gina’s cheek. In its place Mark found a constant ache for validation that plagued Gina’s every thought.

Mark pushed the power towards his fingertips and felt for the scratches on Gina’s face, pulling at injury before moving it into himself. As he removed each one, Mark felt a sting flash across his own cheek, which vanished as soon as it arrived.

As Mark pulled away, a wave from the notecard washed over the school scrubbing every memory. The image of Gina’s scratched face was erased, replaced with her usual perfection. The world had been reset and her humiliation gone, not because it had been forgiven, but because no one remembered the slap had ever happened.

Mark watched the last sparks of energy spiral into the rafters.

“Well played,” Tina said, her voice sounding almost impressed. “With Gina’s scratches gone, you can’t be suspended.”

“That’s not why I did it.” Mark said, struggling for breath after the difficult cast. “Now Gina can take Senior Night pictures with her Mom and Dad.”

"Sure." Tina smirked. "Soothe your conscience. You're such a sap."

Mark shrugged. "Maybe a little of both."

“Did you forget about social media?” Tina asked, “There are thousands of pictures floating around of you slapping her.”

"I'll call Bridget. She's a fixer. She can do that data thing again."

"That data thing isn't cheap, and the Order isn't fond of unsanctioned operations." Tina tilted her head, and her smile sharpened. "When you think about it, what you just did isn't so different from whoever cursed you."

"That's ridiculous. I did this to help her."

"You cast a spell on her without asking. Help is a matter of perspective." She shrugged. "Somewhere, some poor guy with dinner plans is about to work overtime cleaning up after you. I doubt he'll be thrilled."

Mark's stomach dropped. "Maybe. I'm new at this."

"Don't lose sleep over it." Tina patted his arm. "Every spell annoys somebody. That's why it helps to have a powerful family looking out for your interests."

Bridget's warning resurfaced: The Millers don't give gifts. They make investments. Mark kept his face neutral. "Is that an offer?"

"Perhaps." Tina's smile widened. "We'll talk more after the game. How are your preparations coming?"

“I’m working on it.”

"You're running out of time." Tina checked her phone. "The pep rally starts in half an hour."

“I know.”

On the bleacher, Gina's eyelids fluttered. "Whhhaaa..." They drifted closed again.

"You'd better go," Tina said. "It wouldn't be good if you're still here when she wakes up."

Mark didn't need to be told twice. He hurried out of the gym and into the sunlight, where a cluster of football players in game-day jerseys milled around the new gymnasium, waiting for the pep rally to start. A week ago, Mark stood with them, getting mentally ready for the game. Now, he'd just spent the last ten minutes playing supernatural nurse to his worst enemy.

"Heya, Marcella!" a girl called, waving.

He waved back.

Another girl waved. Then another. Then Mark smiled at a boy he caught staring who blushed and hid behind his friend. Mark tried to return all of the attention but it was too much. Their support was its own sort of boon and completely intoxicating. As Mark entered the hall, he realized he wasn’t pretending to be confident, he was wearing confidence like a garment that fit surprisingly well.

Mark pulled a card from his purse and dialed a number.

“Hey … it’s Marcella.” He moved the phone from his ear as squeals of delight sounded on the other end of the phone. Mark waited until Caitlyn stopped screaming before continuing,

“I’m going to need that dress. Do you still have it in stock?”

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