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“Let’s go, girls!” Miss Drill blew her whistle. “Three more laps before the flyers get back!” The Second Year’s picked up their pace. Imogen couldn’t even remember how their bet came about, only that it all began with that ridiculous Miss Hardroom in the staff room. One moment they’d been arguing about the best way for Mildred Hubble to repair her broken broomstick, and the next thing she knew, she’d made this ridiculous wager – that her girls could run ten laps around Cackle’s faster than the First Years could manage to do the same thing on their broomsticks. Somehow, the prize had become a date of the winner’s choosing. She tried to ignore how her stomach fluttered every time she thought about it. A line of girls ran past, and her confidence was growing. They only had three laps to go and not a single flyer had—
Ethel Hallow zipped through the gate and made a perfect landing.
“First flyer back, girls! Double time!”
Miss Hardbroom appeared by her side. “Well done, Ethel!” Folding her arms over her chest, Constance arched a single smug eyebrow at Imogen. “As expected… Magic makes all the difference.”
“You’ve not won yet, Miss Hardbroom. Don’t forget all the flyers have to make it across the finish line – and that includes Mildred Hubble. You’ll be taking me hiking up Mt. Snowdon next Saturday, mark my words.” Imogen tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach that appeared every time she thought about their wager.
Constance didn’t answer, but she was looking decidedly less smug.
“Is that the look of concern I see?” Imogen asked as the runners began their last, sweaty lap.
“Only two flyers have yet to return.”
And one of them was Mildred Hubble.
Another flyer returned. Runners began crossing the finish line. Constance craned her neck, desperate to see Mildred racing towards the gate. When a cheer – faint and wheezing – rose up behind her, she knew she’d lost.
“There you have it, Miss Hardbroom. Magic doesn’t always trump good old-fashioned muscle power.” Imogen treated herself to some full-on gloating.
Constance endured it for mere seconds before turning to Maud. “Where is Mildred Hubble?”
“She’s not back?”
“Of course she’s not back! If she were, I wouldn’t be asking where she is.” Curious expressions shifted to worry, and a kernel of concern appeared in Constance’s stomach. “Why did you think she would be back?”
“Because she was in front, right behind Ethel.” Maud frowned trying to remember. “Ethel had been saying mean things, you see, and they’d gotten…competitive, you know?”
“Ethel’d been a right cow, you mean,” Ruby added.
“Right. Anyway,” Maud pressed on. “They were up ahead of us. We lost sight of them at the last turn, but I don’t remember passing her. What about you, Enid? Jadu?”
Even Imogen got worried when both girls said no. “Ethel? Do you know what happened to Mildred?”
“Sorry, Miss Drill. No one told me I was meant to be babysitting Mildred Hubble.”
Before Constance could lay into Ethel, two figures appeared at the gate: Mildred Hubble and an elderly woman leaning heavily on Mildred’s broomstick.
Mildred waved to get their attention. “Miss Hardbroom! Help!”
With an exasperated sigh, Constance transferred Mildred and the woman into the courtyard. “What have you done now, Mildred Hubble?”
“Saved my bacon, she has,” the woman answered. “Moira Clove, at your service – or I would be, if I hadn’t been mowed down by some hooligan on a broomstick. I’m meant to be helping Miss Tapioca in the kitchens until Miss Semolina can get back from her sister’s wedding.” She pointed at her swollen ankle.
Imogen perked up when she heard the woman’s story. “A broomstick? You were run over by a girl on a broom?”
“I was! Why… It was that girl right there!” She pointed at Ethel. “Knocked me right off my feet without so much as a ‘beg your pardon!’”
“You shouldn’t have been in my way.”
Moira huffed her annoyance. “I called for help, but she kept right on flying.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that, Miss Clove.” Imogen nudged Mildred out of the way, supporting Moira under her shoulder. She shot Constance a scowl. “I guess she was just too focused on using magic to be a decent person.”
Constance opened her mouth to argue, but she wasn’t quick enough.
“Too right! And if that wasn’t bad enough, while I was hat over broom on the ground, a whole coven of girls ran right past me. That one actually told me to get out of her way.” She pointed at Drusilla. “Thankfully, dear Mildred stopped to help an old witch to her feet.”
“Yes, well done. Mildred.” Constance’s smile was so thin her lips practically disappeared. “Ethel, Drusilla – since you conducted yourselves most disappointingly, you may escort Miss Clove to the infirmary. After, I shall expect you in the potions laboratory. Since you seem to have forgotten the words to our beloved school song, five hundred lines: Ne´er a day will pass before us when we have not tried our best.”
The girls trudged inside, leaving Imogen and Constance alone in the courtyard.
“Well,” they both said at once. Imogen motioned for Constance to go first.
“I suppose congratulations are in order.”
“You needn’t act like it’s quite so painful…especially since you should have won.”
“I see.” Constance turned and began walking towards the castle with her hands clasped behind her back. “However, while it’s true my girls should have won, we didn’t. Which means…”
“Which means I get to choose where we go on our—” Imogen stumbled over the word.
“On our date,” Constance supplied. “And you’ve decided we should spend the day at Mt. Snowden.”
“It is beautiful this time of year.”
“Yes.”
“Almost as beautiful as you.”
Constance didn’t say a word, but the pink glow coloring her cheeks gave her away. “If you say so.”
Imogen held out a hand. “Shall we say Saturday morning at seven?”
“Seven it is.” They shook on it, and Constance let her grip linger longer than might be considered proper. “I’m looking forward to it.” She followed the girls into the castle.
Admiring the view, Imogen smiled to herself. “As am I, HB. As. Am. I.”