Charm and Consequence (Novella) - By Stephanie Wardrop Page 0,1

and walk across the lot toward us. Both Tori and Trey wave him over like they're bringing in an airliner on a foggy runway and only the sheer force of their good will can land the plane safely.

I’m less enthusiastic about Michael Endicott’s arrival. Michael may be a new transfer from a snotty prep school, but his family founded Longbourne a couple hundred years ago—no doubt by swindling the natives out of it in exchange for firewater and some quilted floral handbags—and he never lets anyone forget it. When I first met him at the beginning of the year and found out that I would have to be his lab partner in bio and the year-long series of projects in AP English, I seriously considered taking night school classes and getting a GED just to avoid him. But since I promised my mom that I would try to give people more of a chance this year at school, I’ve sworn to focus on the good things in Michael.

And he may actually be kind of okay, if you can get past the look of perpetual self-satisfaction in his eyes. On the list of Good Things about Michael Endicott: dark eyes that are kind of like melty chocolate chips and hair with all of these curls that he just can’t keep down. And when he laughs it sort of erupts up through his throat in a surprised rumble and makes you want to laugh, too. Plus, his report on Chaucer helped our group kick butt on the English presentation last week, so I guess I find him much more tolerable these days. Attractive, even. That’s a pretty solid list, right?

I give him a little wave as he reaches the edge of the grass, and ask, “Where were you in bio today?”

“Dentist appointment,” he explains, then smirks and points to my hemp lunch bag. “So, Georgia, you brought your ethically acceptable lunch out into nature today? What’s on the menu—braised tofu, mashed yeast, turnips sprouts?” On the list of Bad Things about Michael Endicott? The fact that no one finds my veganism more hilarious than he.

“Ha, ha,” I say, raising one eyebrow at him, which I've found gets people to shut up sometimes, if for no other reason than they wonder how you did it. “You should consider going vegan, though. I’m assuming that all of the meat you’ve eaten in your lifetime is clogging the arteries to your brain. Something is seriously impairing your sense of humor.”

“I promise to read your article in The Alt again and take notes,” he laughs, and actually winks at me. I thought only grandfathers did any winking these days, but for some reason, it actually feels kind of good to be winked at, like we’re co-conspirators. Like we share something.

Tori leans into Trey a little, tosses her blond curls, and says, “I thought you guys worked out the lab partner situation?”

“Oh, we did,” I assure her, smiling at Michael as I say, “He writes, I draw; he wields the scalpel, I’ve got the Sharpie.”

Michael nods and adds, “And for our English class projects, Georgia’s agreed to allow the group to report on the occasional white male character as long as we acknowledge how heinously he has oppressed the female characters.”

I roll my eyes and he smirks at me.

“Sounds like you’re a perfect team,” Trey says, which proves my suspicion that he has a tin ear for irony. He adds, “Hey, Tori and I are going to a movie tomorrow night. You guys should come, too!”

I look at Tori for a second to make sure that this is okay with her. She smiles like she just received a generous and unexpected gift and not at all like a big sister confronted with a pesky little-sister tagalong. I turn to Michael then, just as he says, rather sharply, “No.”

Just, “No.”

Not, “No, I have to wash my grandmother’s back that night.”

Or, “No, I read to orphans at the library on Fridays.”

Or, “No, my religion strictly forbids the viewing of moving images.”

Or even, “No, thank you.”

He has the grace to add, “Sorry,” but it’s a few seconds too late. I can feel myself turning red and my body temperature has shot up to sub-Saharan levels. I duck my head and begin digging in my lunch bag as if something is in there that I desperately need—like a bigger bag to put over my head. Normally I’d feel indignant at his rudeness, and I do, a bit, but mostly I just