A Witch’s Inconvenient Crush

Prologue

Twelve Years Ago

Elliot Croft only had one thing he wanted to do during recess. He hated kickball, tag, and had no interest in sitting in the tunnels, gossiping with the girls.

Stone Ridge Elementary’s playground had eight swings. Seven, if you considered that the one on the far right made a terrible creaking noise that made Elliot jump out of his skin if he used it.

He would, if he really had to, but it was not preferred.

Given there were at least eighty kids on the playground, Elliot had to be at the front of the line when they headed out to recess.

To ensure his spot, he would save his dessert from lunch and offer it to the kids in the front of the line to switch spots with him when he wasn’t quick enough finishing his spelling work.

His mom understood Elliot’s obsession—she was good like that, understanding all of Elliot’s eccentricities—and made sure to pack him individually wrapped cookies or brownies. Pre-packaged junk food was currency in the first grade.

Except today, his mom announced they were out of brownies. Elliot tried to speed through his spelling but was still stuck in the back of the line with no bargaining chips. He promised double desserts the next day, but first graders sucked at understanding delayed gratification.

So Elliot was bouncing a basketball, hovering near the swings, his focus zeroed in, waiting for the moment one would open up.

The teachers didn’t allow kids to stand in front of the swings, so he had to pretend to be busy with “playing.” No one understood that Elliot didn’t know how to play.

He only knew how to swing. Only felt the freedom from the stress of other kids not understanding him, of his teacher’s disappointment that he didn’t fit in, when he was in the beautiful ritual of leaning back, legs out; leaning forward, legs in; leaning back, legs out; leaning forward, legs in.

The basketball made its heavy thud, thud, thud on the asphalt as Elliot paced back and forth. He watched for even a micromovement from his classmates that would precede them getting off their swings.

His close attention was the only reason that he was already sprinting toward Damon as he launched himself into the air with a loud yippee. The excited yell was cut off by a pained scream as Damon landed hard, tumbling into the wood chips.

Elliot skidded to a stop in front of him, crouching down. His heart raced, and a tingling heat prickled along his arms.

“Ouch,” Damon said, wincing as he cradled his arm. “That hurt.”

“That was stupid,” Elliot said.

“Yeah, but it was fun,” Damon said, his eyes filling with tears.

Elliot didn’t know why he did it, what part of his inner psyche woke up and raged at seeing someone hurt.

No, not just someone, but this boy. He placed both of his hands on Damon’s upper arm.

There was a heavy energy, dense and cracked, but Elliot sensed he could massage it away.

Not with his fingers, which rested gently on Damon’s arm, but with the weird tingling heat that had flooded his limbs and seemed to originate from his core.

“What are you…” Damon stared at his arm.

Elliot focused his attention, his energy, and he imagined white light surrounding Damon’s cracked arm bone.

Damon gasped.

Elliot removed his hand when the energy shifted. He blew out a breath and sat back on his feet.

Damon’s warm brown skin was slightly damp from sweat that had gathered along the hairline of his short, tight curls. His dark eyes searched Elliot’s face and then glanced at his arm in wonder. He twisted his shoulder, his wrist, and shook out his arm.

“What happened? Damon, I’ve told you repeatedly not to jump off the swings,” Ms. Garlande said as she and the other teachers circled the boys.

“Sorry, Ms. G,” Damon said, his eyes still locked on Elliot.

“Elliot, can you take Damon to the nurse?” Ms. Garlande asked.

Elliot nodded and stood, offering his hand to Damon.

Damon took Elliot’s hand with his “bad” arm. The teachers returned to their posts once it was clear there wasn’t a serious injury.

Elliot braced himself for Damon’s questioning. What had he done to him? Why didn’t his arm hurt anymore?

But Damon didn’t grill him. He only smiled.

“You’re a mess,” Elliot said. He reached up and pulled a wood chip from Damon’s shirt. He didn’t know why he was blushing as he did it.

Damon shook like a dog to get the rest of the wood chips off. Elliot laughed as Damon grinned. “But my jump was pretty epic, right?”

Elliot shook his head, unable to contain the weird, fizzy lightness spreading through his chest. “Yeah, Damon. It was epic.”

The boys walked off the playground. All eight swings occupied by their classmates. It was the first day Elliot could remember that he didn’t care he wasn’t one of them.