Short Story: Skating on Thin Ice

 Skating on Thin Ice

The November wind cut through Cara Whitfield's school blazer like a blade as she hurried across the playground, clutching her books against her chest. Above, grey clouds threatened more rain, and the bare branches of the oak trees rattled ominously. Winter was coming early to Sunnywaze this year, and with it, the kind of bone-deep cold that made everyone long for warm, cosy places.
Which was exactly why Cara was so surprised when Kelly Hart approached her after English Literature.
"Cara!" Kelly called, her voice unusually bright. "Wait up!"
Cara turned, immediately wary. Kelly Hart didn't speak to her unless it was to make some cutting remark about her second-hand uniform or her habit of actually reading the assigned books. Behind Kelly came her constant companions, Sally Moorfield and Polly Morton, both wearing the same artificially sweet smiles that never reached their eyes.
"We were just talking," Kelly continued, falling into step beside Cara as they walked toward the school gates, "and we realised we've been absolutely awful to you this term."
Cara blinked in surprise. In the three months since starting Year 7 at Sunny Day Academy, Kelly's trio had made her life systematically miserable. They'd "accidentally" knocked her books from her hands, whispered cruel comments about her clothes loud enough for her to hear, and somehow always managed to be in the loo when she needed to escape their taunts.
"We want to make it up to you," Sally added, her blonde ponytail bouncing as she nodded earnestly. "There's this brilliant new ice rink that's opened in the town centre. We thought maybe you'd like to come with us on Saturday?"
Cara stopped walking entirely. "You want me to go ice skating with you?"
"Why not?" Polly chimed in, her dark eyes sparkling with what looked like genuine enthusiasm. "It'll be fun! A proper girls' day out."
Every instinct Cara possessed screamed that this was a trap. Kelly, Sally, and Polly had never shown her anything but disdain. They were the sort of girls who had been friends since primary school, who shared inside jokes and matching lip gloss, who moved through the corridors of Sunny Day like they owned the place.
But as Cara looked at their expectant faces, she felt something she'd almost forgotten: hope.
Maybe they really did feel bad about how they'd treated her. Maybe they'd realised she wasn't so different from them after all. Maybe, just maybe, this could be her chance to finally belong somewhere.
"I... I don't have any ice skates," Cara said hesitantly.
"You can hire them there," Kelly said quickly. "It's only five pounds for the afternoon, including skate rental."
Five pounds was a lot of money for Cara's family, but she'd been saving her pocket money for weeks. She could afford it, just barely.
"Okay," she said, the word tumbling out before she could stop herself. "I'd like that."
"Brilliant!" Sally squealed, clapping her hands together. "Meet us at the rink at two o'clock on Saturday. It's going to be absolutely magical!"
As the three girls walked away, chattering excitedly amongst themselves, Cara felt a flutter of genuine happiness in her chest. For the first time since starting secondary school, she had weekend plans that didn't involve hiding in her bedroom with a book.
She was so focused on this unexpected turn of events that she almost didn't notice the strange tingling in her fingertips, or the way the autumn leaves seemed to swirl around her feet in patterns that defied the wind.
Saturday arrived grey and bitter, with the kind of cold that made your breath visible and your fingers ache even inside gloves. Cara had spent the morning in a state of nervous excitement, trying on different combinations of clothes until she settled on her warmest jumper and her best jeans. Her mum had been surprised but pleased when Cara explained her plans.
"It's lovely that you're making friends, sweetheart," she'd said, pressing a ten-pound note into Cara's hand. "Get yourself a hot chocolate afterwards."
The Sunnywaze Ice Palace was a gleaming new addition to the town centre, all glass and chrome and twinkling lights. Through the enormous windows, Cara could see families gliding gracefully around the rink while cheerful music played. It looked like something from a Christmas film.
Kelly, Sally, and Polly were waiting by the entrance, already laced into pristine white ice skates that looked expensive and well-used.
"Cara!" Kelly waved enthusiastically. "You made it! We've already got our skates on. The queue for rentals is just inside."
As Cara joined the queue for skate rentals, she noticed several other students from Sunny Day scattered around the rink. There was Felix Morrison from her Maths class, gliding backwards with impressive skill. Near the barrier stood three older boys she recognised from Year 10, Connor Blake, Jamie Winters, and Marcus, who seemed to be taking a break from skating, their cheeks flushed from exertion.
"Hurry up, Cara!" Polly called. "We want to get on the ice before it gets too crowded!"
The rental skates were nothing like Kelly's pristine white boots. They were scuffed brown leather with worn laces, and they pinched Cara's feet uncomfortably. But as she wobbled toward the ice, following the three girls who moved with confident grace, she felt that flutter of hope again.
"Right then," Kelly said as they reached the barrier. "In you go!"
Cara gripped the barrier tightly and stepped onto the ice. Immediately, her feet shot out from under her, and she windmilled her arms frantically to keep from falling.
"Careful!" Sally laughed, but there was something sharp in her voice. "Haven't you ever skated before?"
"Not... not really," Cara admitted, clinging to the barrier as other skaters glided past her effortlessly.
"Oh dear," Polly said, exchanging a look with Kelly that made Cara's stomach clench. "This might be more difficult than we thought."
For the next twenty minutes, Cara struggled around the edge of the rink, gripping the barrier with white knuckles while Kelly, Sally, and Polly skated circles around her, literally. They offered helpful suggestions like "Just let go and glide!" and "Don't be such a scaredy-cat!" but there was something in their voices that made each piece of advice sound more like mockery.
Other skaters began to notice. Cara could hear whispers and giggles as people pointed at the girl who couldn't move more than two feet without grabbing for support.
"Maybe we should try the middle of the rink," Kelly suggested loudly. "Away from the barrier."
"Oh yes," Sally agreed. "You'll never learn if you keep holding on like a 5-year-old."
Before Cara could protest, the three girls had positioned themselves around her, gently but firmly guiding her away from the safety of the barrier. The ice stretched out in all directions, smooth and treacherous, filled with confident skaters who made it look effortless.
"I can't," Cara whispered, panic rising in her throat. "I need to go back to the edge."
"Don't be silly," Polly said, her grip on Cara's arm tightening. "You just need to trust yourself."
And then, with perfect synchronisation, all three girls let go.
Cara's arms windmilled frantically as she tried to maintain balance, but it was hopeless. Her feet slipped and slid, carrying her in directions she couldn't control. She crashed into a small child, sending the little boy tumbling, then careened toward a group of teenagers who scattered with annoyed shouts.
The inevitable fall came near the centre of the rink, spectacular and humiliating. Cara's feet flew out from under her, and she landed hard on her bottom with a crack that echoed across the ice. Her legs splayed out at awkward angles, her hair fell across her face, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment as what felt like the entire rink turned to stare.
Kelly, Sally, and Polly skated over, their faces masks of false concern.
"Oh no!" Kelly exclaimed, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. "Are you alright, Cara?"
"That was quite a tumble," Sally added, making no move to help Cara up.
"Maybe ice skating isn't for everyone," Polly said with mock sympathy.
As Cara struggled to get back on her feet, slipping and sliding on the ice, she heard the whispers starting around her.
"Poor thing, she's hopeless."
"Why did they bring her if she can't skate?"
"Look at her flailing about like that."
But then something unexpected happened. As Cara finally managed to get her feet under her, muscle memory from years of roller skating in her childhood kicked in. Her body remembered the rhythm, the balance, the way to shift weight from foot to foot. Suddenly, she wasn't flailing anymore.
She was gliding.
The transformation was so sudden and complete that the whispers around the rink changed tone entirely. Cara pushed off with one foot, then the other, finding her balance and her confidence with each stroke. She'd never ice skated before, but roller skating wasn't so different, and she'd been brilliant at that before her family had moved and left her childhood rink behind.
Within minutes, Cara was skating with a grace that made other people stop and watch for entirely different reasons. She executed a perfect turn, then another, her movements becoming more confident and fluid with each passing moment.
Kelly, Sally, and Polly watched in shock as their intended victim became the centre of positive attention.
"Bloody hell," someone said admiringly. "Look at her go!"
"She's brilliant!" called out a voice from the sidelines.
Cara felt a surge of joy and confidence she hadn't experienced in months. This was what she'd been missing, not just the physical activity, but the feeling of being good at something, of having people watch her with admiration instead of pity or mockery.
She attempted a small jump and landed it perfectly. The small crowd that had gathered applauded, and Cara felt her face flush with pleasure instead of embarrassment.
But Kelly, Sally, and Polly weren't finished with her yet.
"Well, well," Kelly said, skating up beside Cara with a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. "Aren't you full of surprises?"
"Shame you're not as good at schoolwork as you are at showing off on ice," Sally added, her voice carrying clearly across the rink.
"What do you mean?" Cara asked, though her stomach was already sinking.
"Oh, come on," Polly laughed. "Everyone knows you're struggling in Maths. Mrs. Patterson had to explain fractions to you like you were still in primary school."
"And don't get me started on your Science marks," Kelly continued, circling Cara like a predator. "Jamie told me you got a D on your last test."
The watching crowd was listening now, their admiration turning to uncomfortable voyeurism as they sensed drama unfolding.
"At least I try," Cara said quietly, but her voice lacked conviction.
"Try?" Sally laughed shrilly. "Is that what you call copying from other people's work?"
"I don't copy!" Cara protested, but her voice was drowned out by their laughter.
"Face it, Cara," Kelly said, loud enough for half the rink to hear. "You might be able to skate, but you're still the same pathetic loser who can't keep up with the rest of us. Pretty skating won't change the fact that you're thick as a brick and twice as boring."
The words hit Cara like physical blows. All her newfound confidence evaporated as the familiar shame and humiliation crashed over her. Around the rink, people were staring again, but now their expressions ranged from pity to uncomfortable embarrassment at witnessing such public cruelty.
Cara felt tears prick her eyes and turned to skate away, but Kelly grabbed her arm.
"Where are you going? We're not finished talking to you."
"Leave me alone," Cara whispered.
"What was that?" Polly cupped her ear theatrically. "Speak up! Or are you too stupid to use your words properly?"
That's when Connor Blake appeared beside them.
At fifteen, Connor was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and the kind of quiet confidence that came from being genuinely well-liked rather than feared. He was captain of the Year 10 football team and had never, in Cara's memory, spoken a cruel word to anyone.
"Is there a problem here, ladies?" he asked mildly, but his eyes were hard as they fixed on Kelly.
"No problem," Kelly said quickly, but her grip on Cara's arm tightened. "Just having a chat with our friend."
"Didn't look very friendly from where I was standing," said Jamie Winters, gliding up to join them. Jamie was Connor's best friend, equally popular but with a sharper edge and a reputation for not tolerating bullies.
"Yeah," added Marcus Brown, completing the trio. Marcus was quieter than the other two but had a way of seeing everything that happened around him. "Looked more like three against one to me."
Kelly's face flushed red. "This is none of your business."
"Actually," Connor said, his voice still mild but with an undertone of steel, "I think it became our business when you decided to humiliate someone in public."
"We weren't..." Sally started.
"You weren't what?" Jamie interrupted. "Calling her thick? Making fun of her grades? Because that's what we heard."
The rink had gone quiet around them. Other skaters had stopped to watch, sensing that something significant was happening.
"She's our friend," Polly said weakly.
"Friends don't treat each other like that," Marcus said quietly. "Friends don't set each other up to be humiliated."
Connor looked directly at Cara, his expression gentle. "Are you alright?"
Cara nodded, not trusting her voice.
"Good," Connor said. Then he turned back to Kelly, Sally, and Polly, and his voice became sharp as winter ice. "Here's what's going to happen. You three are going to apologise to Cara. Properly. And then you're going to leave her alone."
"You can't tell us what to do," Kelly said, but her voice lacked its usual confidence.
"Can't I?" Connor asked. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like three bullies picking on someone who can't fight back. And you know what? That makes me angry."
"Really angry," Jamie agreed, crossing his arms.
"And when we get angry," Marcus added, "we tend to tell people about it. Teachers. Parents. Other students."
The threat hung in the air like frost. Kelly, Sally, and Polly might be queens of Year 7, but Connor, Jamie, and Marcus were respected throughout the entire school. If they decided to make life difficult for the three girls, they had the social power to do it.
"This is ridiculous," Kelly muttered, but she was already backing down.
"The apology?" Connor prompted.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Finally, Kelly spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Sorry, Cara."
"Sorry," Sally mumbled.
"Sorry," Polly echoed.
"Louder," Jamie said. "So everyone can hear."
"We're sorry, Cara," Kelly said, her face burning with humiliation. "We shouldn't have said those things."
Connor nodded. "Good. Now, I think you three should probably head home. Give Cara some space to enjoy her skating."
Without another word, Kelly, Sally, and Polly skated toward the exit, their heads down and their earlier confidence completely shattered.
The watching crowd began to disperse, the drama over, but Connor, Jamie, and Marcus remained with Cara.
"You okay?" Connor asked again.
Cara nodded, though tears were still threatening. "Thank you. You didn't have to do that."
"Yeah, we did," Jamie said firmly. "Nobody deserves to be treated like that."
"Besides," Marcus added with a small smile, "you're a brilliant skater. It would be a shame to let them ruin it for you."
As if to prove his point, he gestured toward the ice. "Want to show us some of those moves? That jump you did earlier was impressive."
For the next hour, Cara skated with Connor, Jamie, and Marcus. They were patient teachers, showing her more advanced techniques and cheering when she mastered them. Other students began joining them, drawn by the positive atmosphere and Cara's obvious skill.
By the time the afternoon session ended, Cara had a group of new friends and a confidence she'd never possessed before. As she returned her rental skates, Connor approached her one last time.
"Cara," he said quietly, "if those three give you any more trouble, you tell us, alright? Or tell a teacher. You don't have to handle bullies on your own."
"Why?" Cara asked. "Why did you help me?"
Connor considered the question. "Because everyone deserves to feel safe and happy. And because..." He paused, then smiled. "Because my little sister is starting Year 7 next year. I'd want someone to look out for her if she needed it."
As Cara walked home through the November twilight, she felt something she'd never experienced before: the warm glow of belonging. Not just because people had defended her, but because she’d discovered something in herself that she hadn’t known existed.

Walking through the November twilight, Cara felt the strange tingling in her fingertips again, stronger this time. As she passed under a streetlamp, she noticed something extraordinary, the light seemed to pulse gently in rhythm with her heartbeat, and the autumn leaves that had been scattered across the pavement were now arranged in perfect spirals around each lamp post.

But the real changes began on Monday morning.

Cara arrived at school with her head held higher than it had been in months. The events at the ice rink had shifted something fundamental inside her, and it showed in the way she walked, the way she looked people in the eye, the way she no longer hunched her shoulders as if trying to disappear.

Kelly, Sally, and Polly were already in their usual spots by the lockers, but something was different about them, too. They looked smaller somehow, less sure of themselves. When Cara passed them in the corridor, they looked away rather than meeting her gaze. Just before PE began, Cara froze as she saw the three girls walk sternly towards her.

"Cara," Kelly said quietly, "could I... could I talk to you for a moment?"

They stepped away from the crowd, into a quiet corner of the gymnasium.

"I'm sorry," Kelly said, and this time there was no artifice in her voice, no calculation. "Not just for tonight, or for the ice rink, but for everything. For months of making your life miserable."

"Why?" Cara asked simply.

Kelly shifted uncomfortably, looking down at her feet. "I don't know," she said finally. "It just... it felt normal, I suppose. Everyone else was doing it too."

"But why me?"

Kelly's face flushed. "You were always so... I mean, you acted like you were better than everyone. Always reading those weird books, never talking to anyone, acting all superior."

"I wasn't acting superior," Cara said quietly. "I was scared."

"Well, how were we supposed to know that?" Kelly snapped, then caught herself. "Sorry. I just... You seemed like you thought we were all stupid or something."

"I never thought that."

Kelly was quiet for a long moment, picking at her fingernails. "Sally said you probably didn't have any friends at your old school either. We thought... I don't know what we thought."

"And now?"

"Now everything's rubbish," Kelly said, her voice cracking slightly. "My grades are awful, I can't do anything right, and everyone thinks I'm horrible. Which I probably am."

"You're not horrible," Cara said gently. "You just... made some bad choices."

"Yeah, well, bad choices have consequences, don't they?" Kelly's voice was bitter. "Mum keeps asking why I'm not doing well in school anymore, and I can't exactly tell her it's because I was mean to people and now I can't think straight."

Cara felt the familiar tingle in her fingertips and realised she had a choice to make. She could use her magic to help Kelly, to try to restore what the girl had lost through her own cruelty. But would that be right? Would it teach Kelly anything, or would it just enable her to continue hurting others?

"Kelly," Cara said gently, "I can't fix what you've lost. That's not how it works. But I can tell you this—it's not too late to become different. It's not too late to choose to be nicer."

"But how? I don't even know why I was so horrible in the first place. It just seemed... easier, I suppose."

"Start small," Cara suggested. "Help someone who needs it. Be nice without expecting anything back. Stop trying to make others feel bad and start trying to make them feel good instead."

"Will that bring back my abilities? My... whatever I've lost?"

Cara considered the question carefully. "I don't know. Maybe. But even if it doesn't, you'll have something better, you'll actually like yourself."

Kelly looked up at her with something like hope in her eyes. "Do you really think I can change?" "I think anyone can change if they really want to," Cara said. "But it has to come from you. Nobody else can do it for you."

The change in Kelly wasn't instant or dramatic, it happened in small moments that most people didn't even notice.
The first real sign came three weeks after the talent show, during a particularly brutal Maths lesson. Mrs. Patterson had just handed back test papers, and Cara watched as Kelly stared down at her result, a D minus that would have been unthinkable just months earlier.
"Right," Mrs. Patterson announced, "those of you who scored below a C will need to attend revision sessions during lunch breaks."
Kelly's face flushed red as several students turned to look at her. The old Kelly would have made some cutting remark about the test being unfair or found someone else to blame. Instead, she quietly packed the paper into her bag and raised her hand.
"Mrs. Patterson? Could I... could I get some extra help with quadratic equations? I don't think I understand them properly."
It was such a small thing, but Cara noticed. Asking for help instead of making excuses. Admitting she didn't understand instead of pretending she was above it all.
After class, Kelly lingered by Cara's desk.
"Um, Cara?" she said awkwardly. "I know you're really good at Maths. Would you... I mean, if you're not too busy... could you maybe explain how you solved question seven?"
Cara looked up, surprised. "Of course."
They spent ten minutes going through the problem, Kelly asking genuine questions and actually listening to the answers. When she finally understood the concept, her face lit up with real satisfaction.
"Thanks," she said simply. "That actually makes sense now."
It wasn't friendship yet—they were still too wary of each other for that—but it was a beginning.
The struggles came in waves. Some days, Kelly would catch herself falling back into old patterns. When Year 9 student Milly Henderson accidentally bumped into her in the corridor, Kelly's first instinct was to snap at the younger girl.
"Watch where you're..." she started, then stopped herself. "Sorry, are you alright? Did you drop anything?"
Milly looked up at her with wide, surprised eyes. "I'm fine. Thanks."
But later that same day, when Sally made a particularly nasty comment about Cara's "charity shop shoes," Kelly found herself laughing along before she could stop herself. The look of hurt that flashed across Cara's face made Kelly's stomach twist with shame.
"I didn't mean to laugh," she told Cara after Sally had walked away. "It just... It's hard to break habits, you know?"
"I know," Cara said quietly. "But it still hurt."
"I'm sorry. Really sorry. I'm trying to be different, but sometimes I forget."
Cara studied her face for a moment. "The fact that you feel bad about it means you are changing. The old you wouldn't have cared if you hurt my feelings."
These small interactions began to add up. Kelly started sitting closer to Cara's group at lunch, not quite part of their conversations but not actively excluded either. When Felix made a joke, Kelly would smile genuinely instead of rolling her eyes. When Emma shared exciting news about making the netball team, Kelly offered congratulations that sounded sincere.
But the real test came during a Geography project about climate change. Students were assigned random partners, and Kelly found herself paired with Jasper Goldstone—quiet, thoughtful Jasper, whose family stories she'd once dismissed as irrelevant.
The old Kelly would have taken over completely, writing the entire project herself to ensure a good grade. Instead, she found herself asking, "What do you think we should focus on?"
Jasper looked surprised. "Really? You want my opinion?"
"Yes," Kelly said, and realised she meant it. "You always have interesting ideas in class."
Working with Jasper taught Kelly things she'd never expected to learn. He had a way of thinking about problems that was completely different from hers—more creative, more connected to real people's experiences. When he suggested they interview local farmers about how weather patterns had changed over the decades, Kelly's first instinct was to dismiss it as unscientific.
But she caught herself. "That's... actually a really good idea. Personal accounts could make our data more meaningful."
Their project ended up being one of the best in the class, and Kelly felt a pride she'd never experienced before, not the hollow satisfaction of dominating others, but the genuine joy of collaborative success.
"You're a really good partner," Jasper told her as they presented their findings. "You listen to ideas without trying to change them."
The compliment meant more to Kelly than any grade ever had.
But change was exhausting. Some days, Kelly felt like she was constantly monitoring herself, second-guessing every word before she spoke, analysing every reaction to make sure it was kind rather than cruel. The effort left her drained.
"It's so much work," she confided to her mum one evening. "Being nice all the time. I never realised how much energy it takes."
"The right thing is often the hard thing," her mother replied gently. "But it gets easier with practice."
"What if I mess up again? What if I hurt someone's feelings and they decide I haven't really changed?"
"Then you apologise and try harder next time. That's all any of us can do."
The friendship with Cara developed slowly, built on small gestures and gradual trust. When Cara mentioned she was nervous about an upcoming skating competition, Kelly surprised them both by saying, "I could come watch, if you want. For support."
"You don't have to," Cara said quickly.
"I know. But I'd like to."
Kelly had never been to a skating competition before. She sat in the cold arena, watching Cara glide across the ice with grace and confidence, and felt something she'd never experienced before, genuine pride in someone else's success without any jealousy or resentment.
When Cara landed a particularly difficult jump, Kelly found herself cheering along with the rest of the audience. And when Cara won second place, Kelly was the first person to congratulate her.
"You were amazing," Kelly said, and meant every word.
"Thanks for coming," Cara replied, her smile warm and genuine. "It meant a lot to have you there."
They weren't best friends, that level of trust would take much longer to build. But they were becoming something Kelly had never thought possible: real friends, based on mutual respect rather than fear or manipulation.
The hardest moments came when Kelly's old instincts clashed with her new values. During a particularly stressful week of exams, she overheard two Year 9 students making fun of her declining grades.
"Kelly Hart got a C minus in English," one giggled. "Remember when she used to act like she was so smart?"
"My sister says she's gone all weird and nice now," the other replied. "Probably just pretending so teachers will like her again."
The old Kelly would have confronted them immediately, using her size and reputation to intimidate them into silence. The new Kelly wanted to do exactly that, the urge to lash out was almost overwhelming.
Instead, she walked away and found Cara by the library.
"I almost did something horrible," she said without preamble.
"But you didn't," Cara pointed out.
"I wanted to. Really, really wanted to."
"That's normal," Cara said gently. "The important thing is that you chose not to."
"How do you do it?" Kelly asked. "How do you stay kind when people are being awful?"
Cara considered the question. "I remember how it felt when people were cruel to me. I don't want to make anyone else feel that way."
"Even when they deserve it?"
"Especially then. Because usually, when people are being mean, it's because they're hurting somehow. Hurting them back doesn't fix anything."
Kelly absorbed this wisdom, adding it to the growing collection of insights that were slowly reshaping how she saw the world.
By the time spring arrived, the changes in Kelly were visible to everyone. She volunteered to help with the school's charity drive, spending her weekends sorting donations and packing food parcels. She joined the peer mentoring program, using her own experiences to help younger students navigate social challenges.
"You're like a completely different person," Emma observed one day as they worked together on a history presentation.
"I'm trying to be," Kelly replied. "The person I was before... I didn't like her very much."
"Do you like who you are now?"
Kelly paused, considering. "I'm starting to. For the first time in ages, I actually like myself."
The friendship with Cara continued to deepen, built on shared experiences and mutual support. When Kelly struggled with a particularly difficult Science concept, Cara patiently explained it until it clicked. When Cara felt overwhelmed by her responsibilities as a peer mediator, Kelly listened without judgment and offered practical suggestions.
They studied together sometimes, their different strengths complementing each other. They attended school events together, not as best friends but as genuine companions who enjoyed each other's company.
"I never thought we'd be friends," Cara admitted one afternoon as they walked home from school together.
"Neither did I," Kelly agreed. "I thought you hated me."
"I did, for a while. But people can change. You've proved that."
"I'm still changing," Kelly said. "Every day, I have to choose who I want to be. Some days are harder than others."
"That's what makes it real," Cara replied. "If it were easy, it wouldn't mean anything."
Kelly nodded, understanding. The girl she'd been cruel, insecure, desperate for power over others—was still there somewhere, waiting to resurface if she stopped paying attention. But every day, she chose kindness over cruelty; every moment, she chose to build others up instead of tearing them down. That old version of herself grew a little smaller, a little quieter.
She might never get her magical abilities back. She might never be the effortlessly popular girl she'd once been. But she was becoming something better, someone who could look at herself in the mirror and feel proud of the person looking back.
And that, Kelly was beginning to understand, was its own kind of magic.