Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Iris
Swing yer partner, do-si-do . . .
I’m still humming as I walk into the teacher’s lounge. It’s lunchtime, and I find Brooke making copies of a coloring page with a big letter M on it. I’ve managed to focus on the kids for the last three hours, but now, all I can think of is Winnie.
Which makes me think of Italian food.
Which makes me think of Matteo.
Which makes me think of magic.
I walk over to a table and sit down, silently opening my lunch box and pulling out my sandwich. It’s not homemade pasta, but at least it’ll calm the grumble in my stomach.
Brooke turns and looks at me. “You good?”
She and Liz are the only people besides Matteo who know about the newspapers. And since Matteo hasn’t helped me yet, maybe Brooke can. I’m not feeling very patient.
Maybe I just want to talk about it again. To give her the update, which I only now realize I expected her to ask for.
She frowns. “What’s wrong?”
I pause for a long moment, then stand and move closer because Joyce and Mr. Truitt are eating lunch over a very quiet game of checkers, their daily ritual.
Brooke turns a coloring sheet over on the copier and starts it going again. “Are you okay?”
I press my lips together, then take a deep breath. “So . . . I went home last night, and there was a cat in my parking spot. Just sitting there. Staring at me.” I watch her, waiting for her to make the connection.
She doesn’t.
“A kitten , Brooke.”
She cocks her head, studying me. “Did you . . . rescue it?”
“Yes,” I say. “Of course I did. I took it to my neighbor, which is obviously what I was supposed to do.”
Her eyebrows furrow, and she almost looks worried. “Okay . . .”
The door opens, and I freeze, feeling fidgety and rigid at the same time. When Liz walks in, I relax a little, pacing away from the two of them, wishing I hadn’t had that third cup of coffee this morning.
I turn back in time to see them share a knowing, concerned, glance.
“What’s wrong with you?” Liz asks.
“There was a cat in my parking spot, you guys.” I look at them again, waiting for the lightbulb. Waiting for them to remember that they were the ones who told me to adopt a cat for Winnie earlier this week . Do they really not see the connection here?
They both just stare.
“Did you find its owner?” Liz asks. “Or are you a crazy cat lady now?”
What is happening right now? Do they not remember our conversation?
“I’m not crazy,” I say, a little louder than I mean to because I’m not .
At my reaction, they both shift.
“Sorry, it’s just . . .” I pause. My hands move with my words. “A kitten , you guys. It was the perfect color and everything. Black with white booties.”
Brooke looks at Liz, then at me. “Is there some significance to the kitten?”
“Is there some . . .” I start repeating her question and then stop, now getting frustrated from the confusion. It’s like I’m in The Truman Show and everyone is in on the social experiment but me.
I try again. Slower. “Remember, I told you about my neighbor . . . the one in the building . . . the one I read about in the newspaper . . .” Do they really not remember this? I look at Brooke. “You told me to get a cat for the lonely old lady in my building.”
Brooke’s eyebrows pull downward in a frown. “Uh . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“My magic building ,” I hiss. “I got my hot neighbor’s newspaper, and I kept trying to get rid of it and . . .”
But her face is blank. Like she doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
“Ooh! I want to hear the story,” Liz gushes, moving closer. “Just tell us what’s happening. Is it the hot chef? Did you run into him again?” She looks at me, deadpan. “Is that the kind of magic we’re talking about here?”
I freeze. A weird feeling of déjà vu passes over me.
That’s exactly what Liz said when I told her and Brooke about the magic in the first place.
Word for word.
I stare at them both. They honestly don’t remember.
Maybe this is how The Serendipity keeps its secrets.
I switch gears and fake-laugh. “Oh, gosh, I thought . . . I thought I told you.” My laugh turns into a cackle because they don’t remember , and I’m spinning out over here. “I met one of my neighbors, and it was like this really great coincidence because she’d just lost her cat, and I don’t want a cat, so, you know . . . magic.” I do soft jazz hands on that last word, like it’s a perfect explanation for my strange behavior, something I think might be best to keep to myself after all.
I think about Matteo’s question and wonder if I’m really not supposed to discuss the magic. Is that why he won’t talk to me about it? Are there consequences if you do?
“So, this is about a cat. Not about the hot guy?” Liz looks disappointed. “Because if you were mysteriously brought together with someone, you should pay attention. That place is magic. Everyone says so.”
I stare at her again, the memory of her saying that exact thing to me two days ago echoing in my mind.
“Well, I don’t believe in magic,” I say, almost robotically. “And I’m really not in the market for romance.”
She shakes her head. “Famous last words.”
I nod, watching them as they watch me back, and then finally, I grab my lunch, excuse myself from the lounge, and rush down the hall toward my classroom, inhaling a very slow, very deep breath because that’s a tactic used to help people deal with anxiety.
And right now, my body is flooded with anxious thoughts.
How can they not remember? How far does this building’s influence go? Am I being watched by the magic right now?
Will I forget?
And one last question that just pops in there without permission— How long before I see Matteo again?