“Damn,” she says, turning her attention to the worksheet. I glance at the paper, and my brow knits together in confusion.

“Is that the potions homework?” I ask.

She writes an answer down. “Yup.”

“That’s due next period.”

“Yup,” she says, not looking up from the paper. “I’m busy and I like sleeping. So here we are.”

I can’t imagine doing that or being so calm about it. I’m getting secondhand stress just watching Ana right now. I lean over to see how far she’s gotten, and one of the answers she’s written down sticks out to me. “That’s not right,” I say, reaching over to point at it. “The magic in the system isn’t balanced. You have to write out the full state change before you can do the secondary reaction.”

“Oh.” She taps her pencil thoughtfully to her lips, then erases the incorrect answer. “Thanks.”

“No prob.”

The bell rings. Ana slides her math notebook to cover the worksheet and continues working on her homework covertly. “Can you help me with this question really quick after class?” she says quietly. “Since you’re a potions genius.”

“I’m not a genius,” I say, feeling like she’s making fun of me. Some people call me that, but I think it’s an exaggeration. I just started earlier than most people.

“Don’t be modest. I know how good you are. You always have, like, four potions you’re testing out in your backpack.”

Oh, that was a real compliment. I’m going to need to adjust to this whole friends thing. “Um, thanks,” I say. “Yeah, I’ll help you later.”

“Cool.”

Overall, my first official day of friendship with Ana goes okay. Neither of us bites the other person’s head off. We chat more than we did before because I’m not trying to find an excuse to end every conversation we have. It all feels familiar, like we’ve been friends for much longer. I guess I really was wrong about the whole mortal-enemies thing.

After school we head over to rehearsal together because we’re working on a scene and song we’re both in. It’s just us, Brittany, and two other people in this part of the show, so the auditorium is quiet when we walk in. All I hear is the soft sound of Brittany’s voice, though I can’t make out what she’s saying. She stands on the stage with Mr. B, smiling and gesticulating wildly in his direction. He has this oddly pained expression on his face, which reminds me of the time I walked in on him talking to his dad.