I think about my mother and how long it took her to piece herself together after my father disappeared. I used to watch her get ready for the day, painting her eyes and lips in vibrant colors to hide her gray sorrow. She’d stare into her mirror and say, “Don’t let them see you cry.”
Now, I repeat her words to my reflection. I press my finger against the tight frown on my forehead. I pull a satin, red ribbon from my bag, the last piece of our cheer uniform. I wrap it around the top of my head and tie the ends into a bow. I fluff out my curls and try not to think about how Maks used to like coiling strands around the length of his fingers. I uncap my shimmering, coral gloss and softly, slowly drag it across my bottom lip, imagining I’m using it to smooth the edges of my heart. This morning I said things would be different. Maybe I can still channel the girl I was before my family’s world turned upside down, before I had to hide behind a mask of borrowed magic and rose petals.
My phone buzzes with a message from Alex.
Alex: Come home. We haven’t left yet.
Alex: I’m sorry. You deserve better.
Alex: I’ll go get pizza and sea salt caramel?
Part of me wants to listen to Alex. A long shower and an evening of eating my weight in cheese and ice cream sounds amazing. But the old Lula wouldn’t shrink away and hide. I text Alex back, I’m fine.
Maks might be right about some things. I have changed. But my fire isn’t gone. Not completely. I can still fix this. I can make him see that we need each other.
I search deep inside for some of the fire Maks says I’ve lost and try to remember that even if I feel broken I am still made of magic.
I get out of the car, lock it, and pocket the key fob. The two buses are lined up and ready to go. Those staying behind wave good-bye, whistling between fingertips and shouting calls of good luck.
“Lula, come on!” My friend Kassandra waves from an open bus door. Her black skin shimmers with the dusted glitter she likes to wear to the games.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and run toward the bus. The door sighs closed behind me, and Manny, the bus driver, nods in my direction as I make my way up the aisle. The air is thick with excitement and a mix of perfumes and perspiration from two dozen bodies that makes my nose itch.
Because I’m the last one on the bus, all the seats are taken except for one. I stand still for too long, and people look at me. Kassandra gives me an everything okay? face. Number twelve, Ramirez, looks me up and down, then smiles as if he hasn’t been checking me out. Number twenty-three, Samori, waves from his designated seat in the back as unofficial DJ. A couple of girls from my step team whisper behind freshly manicured hands, their eyes sliding between Maks and me. Do they already know? How am I supposed to sit next to him for an hour?
Heat burns my cheeks, works down my neck and across my chest. I have the urgent need to turn back, to steal Maks’s car and drive it back home. But Manny closes the doors and starts the engine.
“Lula,” Maks says, gesturing to the empty spot beside him. “It’s the last game. This is still your seat.”
I take a steadying breath and take the seat next to Maks, the same one I’ve had for nearly two years—the captains of our squads, side by side. Have the seats always been this cramped, or am I now noticing because I’m doing everything possible to keep my body from touching his? I take off the jacket I’m wearing and quietly place it on his lap. From the corner of my eye, I can see him clutch it and turn to me.
“I was going to let you keep it,” he says softly, maybe even hurt.
I turn my knees away from him so they’re in the aisle. It’s hard to look at him and know he doesn’t want me. A cry forms in my throat, but I push it back and say, “You wanted this. I’m giving you what you want.”
My phone buzzes again, cutting off whatever Maks is about to tell me.
Alex: On our way. I feel his bad vibes from here.
Alex: There’s still time to come home.
Me: No, I have to get through today.
I wait for her to answer, but Coach starts his pregame speech.
“All right, boys and girls,” he says in his thick Brooklyn accent. “It’s easy to tell you that this game’s in the bag. We’re undefeated, but so are they. We’ve still got something they don’t—the best damn team I’ve seen in years, and I’m freaking old as dirt.”
Everyone laughs except the two of us. Maks leans forward and his arm brushes against mine, warm and familiar and unbearable.
“It’s been a pleasure being your coach,” he says. “I want you to know how proud I am, no matter what happens.”
“You’re not going to cry on us, are you, Coach?” Samori asks playfully.
“Shut it, Sam,” Coach barks. “All right, Manny. Let’s get this show on the road!”
There’s a volley of hoots and whistles. No one stays in their seats like they’re supposed to. A couple of the guys brought confetti poppers for the end of the game but are starting to set them off as Manny turns onto the highway, and Samori holds his handheld speaker up so music fills the entire bus.
“Asses in seats,” Coach warns, staring at his phone. He’s so clueless when he’s going over plays, he wouldn’t even notice if the whole soccer team started stripping down to their underwear.
The chill from earlier returns to my skin, and I reach across Maks to shut the window. As I sit back down, Maks holds the jacket out to me.
“You’re cold,” he whispers, leaning into my ear because it’s so loud around us. “Just wear it. Don’t get sick just because of me.”
I shake my head. I remember the first time he gave me his jacket. We were in the middle of the hallway and he held it out for me. It was too big, but it smelled like fresh grass and his earthy soap and definitely like boy.
“Lula!” Ramirez turns around in his seat, his big, brown eyes only looking at me. “You dropped this.”
He holds a red ribbon with fingers folded against his palm. I touch my hair and realize mine must’ve slipped off.
“Thank you,” I say, and will myself to return his smile.
“You guys going to the prom after-party in the city?” Ramirez asks.
My heart squeezes painfully. I play with the red ribbon in my hands. Thinking about prom makes the last pieces of my old-Lula facade deflate. I spent weeks combing through thrift stores for the perfect blue dress. I picked it because the wildflower-blue color matched Maks’s eyes. My tongue is so dry I fear my next words will turn into sand. I should’ve listened to Alex and gone home. My phone rings half a dozen times, but I just let it buzz in my purse.
“Yeah, man,” Maks says overenthusiastically. “See you there.”
I watch Maks.
Maks watches me.
“Please stop staring at me,” I whisper.
He leans back and lets go of a long sigh. I can’t read his furrowed stare or the way he runs his fingers through his hair to give his nervous hands something to do. Is that regret?
He reaches for my hand, then hesitates and pulls back when he realizes what he’s doing. “I’m sorry. I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
My pulse quickens at his words. What is he saying?
Around us, the other boys are dancing in their seats like we’re in the middle of a parade. My team stomps their feet, clapping their hands to the chant, “Let’s! Go! Thorne! Hill!”
The team’s chant gets stronger, the excitement in the air is thick with the desire to win, and I can’t help but think it’s familiar, like being at a Deathday ceremony. Except instead of summoning spirits, we’re summoning luck and courage and victory. Maybe that’s the key. My power might not be physical like Alex’s, and I might not be able to talk to the dead like Rose, but I can heal. I’ve healed bones and bruises and cuts, so why not us? Maybe I can summon love, fix the rift I’ve created between me and Maks.