“I canceled your volunteer shift tomorrow,” Mom says as the car flies bumpily out of our parking lot.

A rush of relief hits me. Maybe I can finish my homework before work tomorrow, and then I can go to cultural-dinner night at Lex’s house. Or I could watch an episode of Potion Wars. Or I could pretend I’m going to do one of those things, and then go to sleep early instead. The possibilities are endless!

“Wait, why did you cancel?” I ask, because I need to look this gift horse in the mouth. Maybe Mom has some other chore she needs me to do, and I won’t have extra free time.

“A bag of potionworking supplies came in the mail for you. I thought you’d want to use them right away.”

I gasp with excitement. “My new crystals! Yes yes yes yes!” Mom’s face crinkles into a smile as I pump my fists in the air and dance in my seat. Her own happiness filters toward me through our magical connection, adding to the joy I feel. “I found this new bulk discount store online. They sell crystals that have the highest magical content you can get for personal use, and they were on sale. Oh my god, I totally forgot I ordered those.”

“You forgot?” Mom says, giving me a skeptical look out of the corner of her eye.

“Well, they took a long time to ship,” I say, shrugging. And I’ve been busy with a million other things, so it was the last thing on my mind.

“You haven’t been making any potions the past few weeks.”

“I do my AP Potions homework,” I say. “And I make lots of stuff at Pilar’s.”

“I meant for fun,” Mom says, shaking her head. “You still know what fun is, right? It’s when you do something you can’t put on your resume.”

I snort. “Savage, Mom.”

“I have eyes, Shayna.” I tense when she says my full first name. A spike of her frustration jars me. “You’re pushing yourself too hard,” she continues. “If you burn yourself out, you won’t be able to finish what you started, and then all that hard work you’ve put in goes to waste.”

“I’m doing fine,” I say, my voice unintentionally taking on a slight whine. It annoys me when she tells me off for working too hard, like she didn’t push me to be like this.

“Honey, look at yourself,” Mom says, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as she makes a turn. The car shakes for a moment, since its magic is overdue for a tune-up. “You’re not even dressed—”

“How is that related—”