Witch - By Fiona Horne Page 0,11

not before I noticed that he surreptitiously changed some of the equation’s figures so that it would be solvable.

‘So, you are not bulletproof after all, Miss Thorn,’ he sneered as some of the class giggled and I slunk back to my seat. Just like the day Cassidy had teased me on the bus, I started to feel black anger rise in my throat. But when I looked up Mr Barrow was staring at me again in that strange, cold way. All my anger was squished like a bug and I just felt flattened.

By the time I got home I was in a foul mood. I huddled in my room, pretending to do homework but secretlydoing nothing more than wishing for my old, relatively anonymous life in Australia. Mrs Torre’s tea-leaf reading had freaked me out, so that now my friendship with the twins seemed somewhat tainted, to be honest. And as if that wasn’t enough to unsettle me, the meaner Mr Barrow was, the weaker I felt. For some reason I just couldn’t stand up to him the way I normally would. So far this ‘gift’ Mrs Torre had talked about hadn’t reared its head yet, either. And more than anything, I was wishing that Bryce had never walked me home that first time. The angelic halo of sunshine around him that I remembered from that afternoon now brought to mind the fires of hell.

My mother thrust her head around my door. ‘Vania, I saw an interesting recipe on the Food Channel today – a Chinese soup. You know your father loves Chinese food . . . and, umm, it’s vegetarian, with broccoli and tofu. What do you think?’

I nodded and tried to smile; then in a desperate attempt to distract myself from how much my life sucked, I took the plunge and said, ‘Maybe I can help you make it?’

My mother beamed. ‘Oh, that would be just lovely!’

I peeled and chopped the broccoli, and my mother diced coriander and shallots, and together we added pinches of chilli and dashes of soy sauce until, each sipping samples from the same spoon, we agreed that the soup had just the right spicy ‘kick’.

This was the first time my mother and I had ever done anything like this together. It was actually fun, and it distracted me from my problems. The fact that she was embracing my vegetarianism cheered me up.

Even more surprisingly, my father loved the soup. Mum and I watched as he gulped it down enthusiastically.

‘This is delicious. The chicken is so tender,’ he exclaimed as he scooped up a piece of tofu with his spoon.

‘No, honey,’ said my mother. ‘That’s not chicken, that’s tofu.’

Seeing his confused expression, she added a little hesitantly, ‘It’s vegetarian chicken.’

My father continued to frown as he considered this for a moment. ‘Well, if you two are the chefs then I think I can handle this vegetarian stuff,’ he said eventually in a gruff but approving tone.

I was so happy I thought I would cry. It felt like a magical spell had been cast. Who would have thought we would all be sitting there so happily, enjoying dinner together . . . a vegetarian dinner!

But the only spell I had cast was thinking positively and deciding to focus on what did work in my relationship with my parents instead of what didn’t. As I went to bed that night I promised myself I would keep practising the magic of positive thinking, not just with my parents, but with everyone – even Bryce and Cassidy.

The next morning, unfortunately, I woke feeling less confident in my ability to see the best in every situation. I headed into school determined to avoid Bryce and spare myself more heartache – but I resolved I would keep smiling no matter what.

My first challenge presented itself when Mr Barrow cornered me in the corridor as I was attempting to get to maths.

‘Vania Thorn,’ he said, glaring at me. What was his problem?

‘Yes, Mr Barrow?’ I said as politely as I could.

‘I need to speak with you about your test results. Meet me in my office at lunchtime.’ He turned on his heel and strode away.

I stared after him in surprise. I’d scored ninety-six per cent on my test. What was wrong with that?

Morning classes were over all too quickly, and at twelve noon I was reluctantly knocking on Mr Barrow’s office door.

‘Enter!’

I felt like I was on trial in the Spanish Inquisition as I stood in front of his desk through