Lovestuck

Chapter 1

“I know you don’t want to use your peri magic,” whined Melanie, her round eyes gleaming, “but can’t you do the teensiest little love spell for me?

ME? Your best friend in the entire world?”

Riya yanked her Astronomy textbook from her locker and slammed the door shut, the metallic clang echoing through the hallway.

She was running on five hours of sleep and too much caffeine, and her to-do list seemed to multiply every time she blinked,

even without Mel’s ridiculous requests.

“Exceptions,” she said, adjusting her glasses, “are exactly how rule systems collapse.”

She hoisted her backpack and started down the hall. Mel trailed behind her, cradling her mousetrap car for Physics like it

was a newborn.

“But, RiRi—”

“No.” Riya shot her a look. “And could you please keep your voice down? I don’t need my secret being broadcast to the entire

school.”

Mel puffed her cheeks.

Riya sighed. Mel was impossible, to be sure, but her loyalty was just as stubborn.

She’d been like that since they met in eighth grade, when Mel had plopped herself across from Riya at lunch—impressively oblivious to the fact that Riya might’ve wanted to sit alone—and launched into a one-sided conversation about Geology class like they’d known each other forever.

On most days, Riya admired Mel’s ability to be so unrestrained with her feelings. Even if right now, she was strongly considering

drop-kicking her into orbit.

“I just don’t get it, RiRi,” Mel continued, a little quieter now. “You’re wasting your gift! If I had magic like that, I’d make the entire school fall in love with me.”

“That sounds like a nightmare.”

People like Mel assumed magic was something effortless, something inherently beautiful. And sometimes, Riya supposed, it could

be—like when her khala had used love magic to guide two grieving strangers into each other’s arms, all through a chance encounter

on the bus. Magic was easy to romanticize, seeing only the moments when it worked.

But for Riya, such magic was more like wandering a dangerous labyrinth, one where the walls shifted the moment you looked away. And, of course, it wasn’t like there were any maps, no formulas, no neat and tidy instructions. To cast

magic, one had to rely solely on gut feelings, which, to Riya, was about as unreliable as weather or horoscopes.

So while Mel’s pleas for Riya to magically nudge Andrew Murphy—Mel’s hopeless crush and soccer team midfielder—seemed harmless, all Riya could think about were the hundred ways casting a spell on Andrew could backfire.

What if she miscalculated? What if Andrew didn’t fall for Mel, but for someone else?

What if he fell in love with a soccer ball? Not to mention the ethics of it all.

In short, if Riya wanted that kind of control over people, she’d start a cult.

“It’s not like I’m asking you to force Andrew to love me,” Mel whined softly. “I’m just asking for a teensy little push. One tiny little adjustment to his love prescription

so he can finally see the perfection in front of him!”

Riya exhaled slowly. “Look, it doesn’t matter whether it’s just a nudge, or full-on mind control. Any love magic is the issue.” Maybe if she’d continued training under her khala, she’d know how to make it work safely. But that

ship had sailed years ago.

She shook her head. “On the bright side—”

“Don’t you dare—”

“—Telling Andrew how you feel is still an option. No peri abilities required.”

Mel groaned. “But even the thought of it makes me want to puke! I know it’d be easier to just tell him. I know I’m running out of time,” she said, hugging her

mousetrap car to her chest. “We’re already seniors! But it’s just—love is scary, RiRi. It makes you feel so . . . so vulnerable!”

Riya hesitated, then gave Mel’s shoulder a stiff pat.

“And yet, life always finds a way. So will you.”

They walked through the halls the way they always did: Riya, tall and sharp-shouldered, slightly ahead, carving a path like a scythe through the Wednesday afternoon crowd of other students.

The PA system crackled to life, summoning someone to the principal’s office, the sound swallowed by the cacophony.

All the while, Mel drifted behind Riya like a tiny storm cloud.

Riya sympathized, even felt a little twinge of guilt, though she couldn’t fully understand Mel’s pain: the way she’d pine

for Andrew whenever she caught a glimpse of him in the halls, or the way she’d doodle Andrew’s name over and over (and over) in her Statistics notebook in class. At the time, Riya had asked if she was having a stroke, but Mel had only laughed in

a way that sounded dangerously close to a sob.

Riya herself had never experienced anything like that. She had far too much on her plate for relationships: like finishing

her early-action application to Caltech, her first choice—her dream choice—for college. Or her Student Council duties, including wrangling their president, Quin, into actually showing up to their meetings.

“Anyway, I’m far more interested in your mousetrap car.” She stared at the garish contraption in Mel’s arms. “I see you . . .

went the extra mile.”

Mel patted it with pride. “Right? I hand-painted it and everything! Isn’t she beautiful?”

The mousetrap car was a rite of passage for all Physics students.

Riya’s own had hit a record time last year, its design optimized to the point of near perfection.

Mel’s, however, had been . . . Mel-ified: garish green flames and neon-pink flowers swirled across its surface, like she’d handed the car and a can of paint to Lisa Frank and Guy Fieri and said, “Go nuts!”

“It’s . . . certainly unique.”

“I know.” Mel beamed. “I stayed up all night, channeled all my frustrations about Andrew into it. Plus, I figured I should make my baby stand out, you know? It’s important

to be noticed.”

“Is it?”

Mel clicked her tongue. “You wouldn’t get it. You naturally have presence.” Except there wasn’t a trace of bitterness in her voice. If anything, she sounded proud.

Riya blinked, puzzled. In her experience, the only reason why people paid her any attention was because of her formidable

height, or her ability to scare people into submission with a well-timed glare. Just last week, she’d scolded a freshman for

running in the halls, and he’d blanched like he was about to faint. Her practical choice of attire—polos and button-down shirts,

paired with her glasses—probably didn’t hurt, either.

Even if her sisters said, in a way that felt suspiciously derogatory, that she dressed like a child prodigy.

A tiny smile tugged at Riya’s mouth. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to get your love prescription checked.”

Mel opened her mouth to reply—but someone bumped into her from behind, sending her stumbling forward.

The mousetrap car sailed out of her hands.

Riya watched, frozen, as it turned in midair—painted flames flashing, neon flowers blurring into pink streaks.

For a split second, it almost looked alive.

She’d once read that sometimes, in moments of disaster, the brain could distort a person’s sense of time—a neurological coping

mechanism to help absorb shock more effectively.

She hadn’t believed it.

But now, watching the car float, weightless and undeniably doomed—

she felt it.

And it was very, very real.