While I watch them dance, all I can think is that I would be so uncomfortable if I had to partner up with Mr. B. I guess physical contact is a normal part of theater. People are much more comfortable with touching each other than I am. But dancing with a teacher? That’s a no from me. To make this weirder, some of the junior witches in the row behind me keep whispering about how hot Mr. B looks while he’s dancing.

“Can you guys hold there?” Brittany says. Mr. B and Ana freeze midway through a dip. “This is the shape we’re going for. You see how he’s supporting her back?”

“Lucky,” one of the witches behind me mutters. A shudder goes through me. God, the way some of them thirst after Mr. B is so creepy.

Once they finish the demonstration, we all get back onstage. The rest of rehearsal is a struggle, since I’m too exhausted to be doing all this physical activity. To make things worse, Mr. B loses track of time and keeps us fifteen minutes late. As per usual. All the jokes about him never ending on time annoy me now, because it’s like the jokes make it okay for him to keep doing it.

Once we’re finally released for the day, I unlock my phone to a text from Dad saying that he’s running late. I glance over at the group. They’re all clustered around Mr. B, who sits on the edge of the stage with his legs dangling off into the aisle. I consider sticking around to hang out with the Mr. B fan club, but then Brittany laughs hysterically at something he says, practically doubling over as she cackles, and I remember that I would rather pluck out my own eyes than spend more time with her right now. I shoulder my backpack and head out to wait in the Florida heat.

Chapter 14

All T. K. Anderson teachers have magical licenses and magic levels over 60.

—T. K. Anderson website

I text Dad asking what his ETA is, but I don’t get a response. Twenty-five minutes pass, and still nothing from him. When I call, it goes to voicemail.

Then it starts to rain.

I run for cover, evaporating the water from my hair as I go. Once I’m inside the closest building, I call Dad again. My phone, because it’s an old piece of shit, dies mid-ring. Now I’m worried. Why didn’t he respond? I generate a spark of electricity and send it through my phone’s charging port, but the screen just flashes with a message that says CONNECT TO CONSISTENT POWER SOURCE before going dark again.

I need a phone charger, and the only person who I can think of who might still be on campus this late is Mr. B.