Page 20 of Everything She Does Is Magic

There’s no way it’s her, so many years after we last saw each other, hundreds of miles from here. Then again, a lot of the people in Fableview are tourists, and Halloween was always Julia’s favorite holiday. The year we were supposedly friends, we wore matching costumes on Halloween. We were green M&M’s. Her choice. She wanted us to be the same, and while I wouldn’t ordinarily want to dress as a green M&M, I was thrilled to be included. I happily wore the costume with her.

Now I look back and I know it wasn’t about wanting us to dress alike because we were best friends. It was about wanting to see how much control she had over me. In the end, I’m glad she didn’t have all of it.

She’s a year older than I am, so she’d be out of high school by now. She could take a spontaneous October trip if she wanted. And what better place for a Halloween enthusiast than Fableview?

Possessed by something—a need to know for sure, a desire for closure, maybe all of it—I chase down those curls. I’m a wrecking ball, crashing into strollers, bumping shoulders with my classmates.

“Doyle!” someone calls out.

Doyle ismylast name, but I have never been the type of person to go by it, so I continue on my path.

“Um, hello?”

Grace Manalo steps in front of me, waving a corn on the cob in my face. She’s dressed as a jack-o’-lantern, wearing a long orange dress with a smiling black face on her stomach and a stem hat on her head. It’s an outfit that would look ridiculous on anyone else, but on Grace, it somehow seems understated, even with the false orange eyelashes she wears.

“I know you heard me say your name.” She takes a huge bite of corn, unmoved by the startled urgency in my eyes. “I don’t trust you,” she continues, forcing my attention off the crowd and onto her. “Ever since you moved here, you just kind oflurkeverywhere you go. Which is weird already, but you do it in this way where it’s like you’re more mysterious than the rest of us. And I’m kind of tired of it.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. The longer we speak, the farther away the red curls get in the crowd. “I really have to go.”

“I don’t have the capacity for another brooding mystery around here.” Grace puts her corncob up to block my exit. “Ask anyone what happened with me and Parker Holt last year. They ruined my life with their brooding. It was such a production. When we went to the Fall Ball together, they didn’t get me a corsage. Which is actually fine, because I’m really picky, and I wouldn’t have worn it if it didn’t go with my dress. But itdidhurt my feelings. Sometimes it’s about the gesture, not the actual result. I needed to know they cared enough to look for something for me. That’s all. And, by the way, I’m not even, like, attracted to you. Not that you’re unattractive. Don’t read into this. It’s just, on an energy level, I think I would devour you in a way that wouldn’t be fun for either of us. I have no interest in someone who can’t match me.”

At some point, Grace’s rate of speaking slowed down. She’s talking at an almost comical pace, like someone has put her audio on half speed. The red curls are fully out of sight, and I am standing still, strangely transfixed by this speech Grace is giving.

“I’m legitimately afraid you’re going to ruin my life through proximity.” She takes a full ten seconds to hit every syllable. “Like, you’re the type who would substitute almond milk forregular milk in my latte. It would be very bad. I’d have to use my EpiPen.”

“If you have a nut allergy, I will never give you something with nuts in it,” I tell her.

“That’s it?” Her regular rate of speech returns. “You don’t have anything else to say to all that?”

“Not really. Could you show me who Parker Holt is, though? I’ve heard the name, but I can’t put a face to them right now.”

“Search the crowd for the person who looks like they could inflict the most possible emotional damage on you.”

I can’t tell if she’s joking, so I do search the crowd. It’s a good excuse to give one last scan for the red hair.

I spot Darcy instead. The clouds have parted, and there she stands, shining like the sun in her pumpkin sweater and matching headband, smiling as she puts a pumpkin sticker onto a little kid’s shirt.

“I was kidding. Parker isn’t here,” Grace says. “Unless maybe they are.” She pulls out her phone, scanning through her pictures in a panic until she finds one to show me. “This is them, okay? If you see them, you need to warn me.”

“You just said they’renothere,” I remind her, looking at a blurry black-and-white photo of a person in silhouette. I couldn’t recognize Parker Holt if I tried.

“Things can change, Doyle,” Grace says. “Please keep up.”

Darcy makes her way over to us, squeezing Grace’s shoulder. “Please tell me you’re reminding people about the face painting.” Then she looks at me and says in a voice so gentle it makes my neck tingle, “Hey.”

“Where did you set up for it?” I ask, working very hard not to make too much of the honey-sweet change in her tone.

“I’m doing it in the Pam’s Paints booth. My parents are spending the day leading pumpkin carving demos on the main stage, so they won’t see me over there.”

“Smart.”

“I thought you’d know where to find me, but then I remembered you haven’t been to the pumpkin patch party before. Do you want to see our booth?”

“I’ll come check it out in a bit,” Grace answers, not realizing the question is for me. “I’m running a perimeter check for Parker.”

“Sounds good.” Darcy sticks her hand out. “Here, come withme.”

When I grab on, there are a dozen zaps in the center of my chest, tiny fireworks of excitement that bounce off my sternum. Darcy Keller is guiding me through this crowd of locals and tourists. She’s holding my hand.