I practice the choreography in my room every night after rehearsal that week, which does not help me finish my ever-growing piles of homework. It’s fine, though. I just sleep less. More importantly, I need to stop sucking at these dances, pronto. Nobody is going to be able to say I got this part just because I’m brown by the time the show comes around.

Chapter 12

Some of the slaves evidently did use their newfound magic, as their masters noted that their magical reserves grew significantly over time. As the correlation between magical power and frequency of use had not yet been established, their masters instead came to the conclusion that Africans were predisposed as a race to be magically powerful.

—United States history textbook, Advanced Placement edition

On Saturday, I finally get to work on my own personal brewing projects. It’s the first day I’ve had time to do that in a while. I feel a little guilty ignoring my homework and self-imposed dance-practice schedule, but I can’t pass up the opportunity to make the Eagle Eye potion I saw on my favorite potionworking blog. It ends up being a super-fun project. There are lots of interesting lattice patterns to twist the magic into and a nice relaxing bit where I get to blend the potion into a cream.

I finish the potion by sealing my intention into it. Staring at the blue cream in my cauldron, I imagine the image in front of me getting bigger and bigger, as if my eyes are zooming in on it. I hold that idea in my mind for a moment, then mentally push it toward the magic of the potion. The strand of magic containing my intention sails out of my head and into the cream.

Once that’s done, I grab my potionworking journal, which floats conveniently at eye level while I work. I note down my observations about how I could potentially improve the brewing process for this potion underneath the recipe I wrote down. Then I carefully scrape the cream into jars and clean up the kitchen.

“How’s it going in there?” Mom calls from the living room. Dad’s been called into work today—something about an emergency soil-pollution cleanup that they needed all hands on deck for—so Mom and I are the only ones at home.

“I’m done,” I call back as I slide my cauldron into the cabinet. Once everything is all cleared up, I go join Mom in the living room.