Plotting the Stars 1 by Michelle Barry

Author:Michelle Barry [Barry, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Holiday House
Published: 2022-11-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A COUPLE WEEKS GO BY, AND NO ONE mentions my lack of Number Whispering magic. Not Ms. Goble, even though her all-knowing looks say volumes. Not Lila, though she shoots me encouraging glances whenever we see each other. And not Canter, even though the first few days after he discovered my (supposed) lack of Inscriptions were galactically awkward. And most important, no one else. Canter might just be true to his word. My classmates haven’t missed my nonexistent magical participation in Goble’s lessons, but their snarky comments are nothing compared to my relief at not being expelled.

I make my way back to my room after classes finish for the week. On any other Friday, I’d be excited for a weekend working late in the garden, sleeping in the next morning, but not today. It’s Family Weekend, and the school is bursting with extra people. Bernie, Canter, and I decided it’d be too risky to go to the moongarden post-curfew. Who knows if we’ll run into some parents wandering the school after-hours, reminiscing about their glory days at S.L.A.M. a millennium ago.

I snort and head toward my room, dodging the slowmoving parents and zippy younger siblings. There’s a welcome reception scheduled for tonight, then a big fair tomorrow for the older students to show off class projects. I’ve never been so glad my parents are total number maniacs. They probably don’t know there’s such a thing as Family Weekend, let alone when it is. At least my roommates are sure to be occupied.

I flash my pendant in front of the sensor, scoot through the door, and start to throw my bag toward my bed, when a tall figure standing in front of it startles me. The bag goes flying, scattering its contents in all directions.

“Aargh! Blast it—Mom? What are you doing here?” I shriek. This is bad. This is bad bad bad.

“Can’t I visit my daughter on Family Weekend without being bombarded by flying schoolwork?” Mom tries to smile, but it comes out more like a grimace.

I know that look; it means disappointment, displeasure, disapproval. And for me, distress distress distress. My mind blinks a warning like a crashing space shuttle. “Come on, Mom. We both know it takes a math-related natural disaster to get you out of your office. Some stupid Family Weekend isn’t going to cut it. How’d you even find out about it, anyway? I know you aren’t reading the S.L.A.M. newsletter.”

“Myra, that’s not fair. Please don’t start with the whole deserted daughter routine. You never once wanted to come with me to the university, and I offered hundreds and hundreds of times.”

“Are you sure you added up those hundreds correctly?”

“Myra.” She narrows her eyes and drops her chin. I recognize that look, too. The trouble that brought her here is about to be revealed. “Speaking of adding, why don’t you tell me what’s going on with your math classes lately?” The volume of her voice rises with each word, so the last is almost a screech.

Uh-oh.

I don’t have any way out of this, so I do what anyone in my position would.

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