As I cross the street and approach him, he flashes me that warm Mr. B grin—the one that lets him get away with making mean jokes and touching students too much and being racist.

“Shay—” He pushes himself off the hood of his car, taking a step out into the street to meet me.

“Shut up,” I say coldly. I cross my arms and square my shoulders, ready for war. “I’m going to report you. I don’t know what kind of twisted satisfaction you get out of manipulating teenage witches, but it’s fucked up.” I advance toward him. He takes a half step back, off the road and onto the grass. I’m riding high on my burst of rage. He looks about two inches tall to me right now. “Just stay away from Brittany.”

“Shay, be reasonable. I came all the way here—just talk to me for a minute.” He follows me as I go back across the street. “Just wait.”

“You came,” Brittany says wonderingly. She’s made her way from the front door to the edge of her driveway. He doesn’t pay her any attention, just marches past her to follow me.

“I made a mistake. I understand that. But they’ll take away Brittany’s scholarship for this. That’s her future,” he says. “I should have waited until she wasn’t my student anymore. Trust me, I know. I—I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I won’t make this mistake again!”

This stops me in my tracks. “You won’t make this mistake again?” I repeat incredulously, and turn to face him. He comes to a halt and stares at me with a beleaguered expression. “You were already doing the same thing to me!”

His face screws up in confusion. “What? No.” He glances behind him at Brittany. “Did Brittany say that? I knew she was jealous of you, but—”

“You pulled me out of rehearsal to be alone with you. More than once. You used the scholarship to make me do things I didn’t want to do. You were always touching me!” He stands stock-still, baffled.

“Stop lying,” Brittany snaps. She steps forward, anger contorting her features. Mr. B puts a hand on her shoulder for a moment, and the angry lines in her face smooth out. I sense the tiniest magical shift nearby, so small that I could almost think I was imagining it.

“What’s wrong with you?” I say, pointing an accusatory finger between Mr. B and Brittany. “You’re literally manipulating her magic right in front of me!”

He frowns. “That was . . . unintentional. I’m sorry, Brittany.”

“It’s okay,” she says, looking up at him with wide-eyed trust. “I was totally freaking out.”

“No. No, that’s not right!” I sputter. “He can’t just do that to you!”