Chapter 51
Aric
THE KITCHEN CLASSROOM SMELLS LIKE cinnamon and flour, and the air is filled with the sounds of dicing, stirring, and whispered spells.
Around me, the other students work at their individual cooking stations, preparing their final meals for our Kitchen Spellwork exam.
This is my last exam of the semester. Then I’ll be done.
But I can’t focus. Because three stations down and one row over, Poppy is working.
I can see her from where I stand, her head bent over her cutting board, her hands moving with practiced confidence as she dices root vegetables into perfect cubes.
She’s wearing her hair in a neat braid today, and even from here, I can see the small furrow of concentration between her brows, her glasses glinting in the late-afternoon sunlight coming through the window.
She’s completely absorbed in her work, the way she always is when she’s doing something that matters.
And despite my staring, she hasn’t looked at me once.
“Mr. Vandermere.” Professor Sage’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Your reduction sauce is about to burn.”
Shit.
I jerk my attention back to my own station, quickly adjusting the temperature charm on my pan. The sauce—meant to complement the roasted winter squash—has gone from a simmer to an angry boil. I manage to save it, but barely.
Focus. I need to focus. Of all my exams, this should not be the one that results in a failing grade.
At the front of the classroom, Headmistress Moonhart sits at a long table with three other professors, who chat casually while waiting to be served their meals.
This isn’t just our final exam—it’s a demonstration of everything we’ve learned this semester.
And I’m already behind.
I force myself to look at my recipe card, which has the list of dishes I’m supposed to prepare: sautéed root vegetables with herb butter, winter squash with a red wine reduction, fresh biscuits that should be both crumbly and pillowy, and spiced apple tart for dessert.
A proper Yule feast, all requiring precise timing and careful spellwork.
I should be able to do this. But last time I used the leavening charm, when Poppy and I were making honey cakes, I got some of the words wrong, and our cakes deflated because of it.
Just another example of me letting her down, being a burden.
My hands shake as I measure out the flour. I’m really trying to focus, but I can’t stop thinking about how Poppy’s the one who worked with me all semester, how we whisked and diced and smiled our way through meal after meal together.
I miss that smile. I miss her.
Against my better judgment, I glance over at her station again. She’s already moved on to prepping her apple tart, her movements efficient and sure. Of course she’s ahead. She’s Poppy.
She’s going to ace this exam, and I’ll be lucky if I don’t burn something.
As if sensing my attention, Poppy straightens, reaching for a spice jar. And for one brief, painful moment, our eyes meet across the classroom.
My heart lurches. I want to do something, to mouth an apology or smile or something.
Anything to bridge the awful distance between us.
Especially after that awkward encounter in the courtyard, when she saw me walking with Morgan, when I fucked up yet again and didn’t say anything, didn’t even raise a hand to wave.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to her. I did. I just didn’t know what to say.
But Poppy’s expression doesn’t change. She looks away, returning to her work as if I’m not even there.
It feels like someone just punched me in the gut.
“Fifteen minutes remaining for your main courses,” Professor Sage announces. “Desserts should be in progress.”
Fifteen minutes. I look down at my station and realize with a sinking feeling that I’m nowhere near ready. My vegetables are only half roasted, my red wine sauce isn’t ready yet, and I haven’t even started on my apple tart.
I’m going to fail this. After everything—after all of Poppy’s tutoring, all those hours of study, all the work I put in—I’m going to fail because I can’t stop thinking about her, the girl I pushed away.
No. No, I’m not going to let that happen. I can’t. Too much is riding on this.
I take a deep breath and force myself to focus, to shut out everything except the food in front of me, the spells I need to cast, and the steps I need to complete.
Poppy helped me so much this semester, trying to ensure I passed my classes and held on to my spot on the runeball team.
The least I can do is not waste everything she taught me.
I throw myself into the work. I cast a temperature boost on my vegetables, using a little bit of fire and carefully monitoring them to make sure they don’t burn. I mix my biscuit dough with shaking hands, whispering the leavening spell as I fold in the butter.
“Levamentum dulcis, rise and breathe, by patient hands that mix and knead. Lightness shaped by craft and care, lift now and fill the air.”
The magic takes. I feel it catch, feel the dough begin to respond, air pockets forming in the mixture just like they’re supposed to. Relief floods through me.
I can do this. I’m going to do this.
By the time Professor Sage calls for main courses to be plated, I’ve managed to pull everything together. It’s not perfect—my vegetables are a little too dark on the edges, and my sauce is thinner than I’d like—but it’s done. It’s edible. It’s hopefully good enough to pass.
The professors move through the classroom, tasting each student’s meal and making notes on their clipboards. When they reach my station, Headmistress Moonhart takes a bite of my roasted winter squash, then breaks open one of my biscuits, the steam curling up around her face.
“The leavening spell was well executed,” she says, her tone neutral, her silver-blue hair catching the light from the sun sinking outside. “Though your timing could use work. The vegetables are overcooked.”
“Yes, Headmistress,” I say, trying not to wince.
She makes a note and moves on. I watch as she reaches Poppy’s station. Even from here, I can see how beautiful Poppy’s meal looks—perfectly golden biscuits, vegetables that are caramelized but not burnt, a red wine sauce that has the perfect consistency.
Headmistress Moonhart takes a bite and smiles. “Excellent work, Miss Waverly. I’d serve this to my own mother—and she’s notoriously difficult to please.”
Pride swells in my chest, even through my own disappointment. Of course Poppy did well. She’s brilliant. She’s talented. She’s—
Leaving.
I blink, suddenly realizing that Poppy is cleaning up her station, packing away her supplies.
She’s already done with her meal, her apple tart steaming on her workstation, which means she’s allowed to leave early.
She’s gathering her bag, slipping her cloak over her shoulders, moving toward the door.
I need to talk to her. I need to—
“Mr. Vandermere, your dessert?” Professor Sage prompts, stepping into my line of sight.
Right. I still have to finish the exam.
I watch over our professor’s shoulder as Poppy slips out of the classroom, the door closing quietly behind her. I want to follow, want to abandon my half-finished tart and chase after her, but I can’t. Not without failing the exam entirely.
So I stay. My mind races as I finish my tart and plate it with trembling hands.
It didn’t hold together quite as well as I’d have liked—some of the apples slip out on one side—but I think I did a somewhat decent job.
I present it to the professors, accept their lukewarm praise, and clean up my station with focused efficiency, as if hurrying now will help me catch up to Poppy. But that’s a ridiculous thought.
Because by the time I’m allowed to leave, the winter sun has set, and Poppy is long gone.
I MAKE IT BACK TO my dorm in a fog. Students fill the hallways, celebrating the end of our exams, but I can’t find it within myself to celebrate along with them.
The room is empty—Felex is off at one of his own exams, then will be gone tomorrow night, meeting with his great-uncle while he’s in town—and I’m grateful for the solitude.
I drop my bookbag with a thump, then sink onto my bed and flop back on the mattress, my stare fixed on the ceiling as I replay the exam over and over in my mind.
The moment when Poppy looked at me. The blankness in her lavender eyes, like I was a stranger. Like I didn’t matter.
Like I’d already lost her.
“You’re an idiot,” I say out loud to the empty room. I cover my face with a hand and groan.
Finals are over. I should feel relieved. I should feel free. Instead, all I feel is the hollow ache in my chest where Poppy used to be.
I think about when she agreed to tutor me. How nervous she was, clutching that notebook with all her ridiculous rules. How she looked at me like I was a problem to solve, a puzzle she could figure out if she just tried hard enough.
And she did figure me out. She made me feel smart. She made me want to be better.
And how did I repay her? By pushing her away. By telling her I needed a break right before finals, making her think she wasn’t important, that our relationship was just another stress I couldn’t handle.
By being a coward.
The realization hits me like a physical blow. I was so afraid of failing—at exams, at runeball, at being a good boyfriend—that I sabotaged the one thing that actually mattered, the one person who made everything else bearable.
With a huff, I surge to my feet, then begin pacing the small room. I need to fix this. I need to apologize, to tell her I was wrong. I need to fight for us.
But how? She won’t even look at me. She left the classroom without a backward glance. Why would she want to hear anything I have to say?
The ball.
The Blue Moon Ball is tomorrow night. I was looking forward to surprising her with my secret dance lessons and having an excuse to see her in a formal gown and hold her in my arms all night.
Is she still planning on going now, after everything that happened between us?
Of course she is. She planned the ball all semester. Do I really think she’d throw all of that away because of me?
Maybe it’ll give me an opportunity to show her that I’m not giving up—if she’ll let me.
I need a plan. I need something more than just words, something that’ll show her how much she means to me.
And then I remember that afternoon we spent walking through Wysteria, waiting for Pepper to be finished at the groomer.
I remember the jewelry shop—the silver hairpin, shaped like a crescent moon, sitting on that little pillow, waiting for someone to walk in and buy it.
Poppy pressed close to the window to admire it, and I saw the longing in her expression before she shook her head and pulled away, saying it was pretty but that she’d never wear it.
But I know her well enough to know she was lying.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll go to Wysteria and buy that hairpin. I’ll have to move fast, but I should be able to get there and back and still have time to get ready for the ball. And then tomorrow night, at the castle, I’ll give it to her.
I’m going to fight for her. Because I—
I stop pacing and catch my reflection in the frosty dorm room window.
Because I love her. This isn’t just affection or attraction or convenience.
I love Poppy Waverly. I love her laugh and her nervous smiles and her brilliant mind.
I love the way she looks at me like I matter, like I’m more than just a jock who got lucky when he landed one of the smartest witches at our school.
I love her, and I let her go.
But I’m not going to let her go again.
Tomorrow night, I’m going to tell her how I feel.
I just hope it’s not too late.