Page 30 of Everything She Does Is Magic

It startles me back into my body, returning my thoughts to my brain instead of whatever distant planet they’d gone to, where I thought I was someone else.

I’m holding both her hands, bandaged and regular. Squeezing them, really. I’m kneeling between her legs.

I almost kissed her.

She repeats the question, which is good, because I’ve already forgotten it.

“My parents are coming into town next week, and they asked me to bring afriendto dinner. If you want to come,” she says. She makes a show of emphasizing “friend.” Because that’s how she sees me.

God.

She’s trying to let me down gently.

I fly upright, so embarrassed I can barely contain myself. This supply closet is packed with random things. Every move has dangerous reverberations, shaking paintings and creations.

“I’d love that,” I say, forcing myself to be as cheery about this as a friend would. We are definitely friends. I guess? I’ve never once thought of Anya as that. She’s kind of existed in her own world. But it makes sense. She’s my friend. Of course she is.

That’s great. Perfect.

We can do that.

“Really?” she asks, then she seems to think better of it. “I’ll text you more later. But I have to go. Sorry I didn’t finish my ceramic.” She sticks her unbandaged hand into her pocket andpulls out two twenty-dollar bills. “Here. Let me know if I need to give you more.”

My whole world spins. I can’t slow it down enough to stop her, still processing the almost kiss, and the dinner invite, and her slipping into the supply closet in the first place. She skirts past me, letting herself out.

I should follow her. Tell her to stay. But I’m frozen in place, confused and overwhelmed. It’s good to be in the chaos of this room, like being closed inside my own private disaster cocoon. I slump into the chair she’s vacated, needing to catch my breath.

My dad’s broken mug has been organized into a tighter pile than I left it in, with a splatter of blood beside it. This is where Anya was standing when I found her. This is what she was doing. I’m so caught up on why she’d want to fix my broken ceramics that I almost miss it. My gnome.

He has no visible cracks. Not a single piece is out of place. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’d never been broken at all. He looks exactly as he did when I first made him, shiny and small and sweet.

But Iknowhe was broken. I swept him into a dustpan myself, then spent the last week painstakingly sorting each shard, making piles to begin the tedious process of rebuilding what I’d destroyed. In less than five minutes, Anya seems to have completely fixed him, the same way she fixed Maddie’s wings.

I throw open the supply closet door, prepared to chase Anya all the way down Fableview Boulevard. It’s time she gives me somerealanswers. There is no getting out of it this time.

I don’t have to do that, because she’s still here, talking to one of our other customers.

This would be weird enough on its own. I’ve never even seenAnya speak to her own aunt. But the look on Anya’s face is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced either. Her skin has turned a bluish white. Her eyes are red and watery. Those lips I wished to paint hang open in a softOshape.

She’s talking to someone I don’t recognize. She must be one of the tourists here for the full Fableview experience.

I’m weighing my options, deciding how much I want to ask Anya in front of this person. It’s like we’re back in the supply closet again. She’s hurt, and I can’t help but insert myself into the situation to fix it.

“Hello,” I say brightly, stretching my hand out to greet the other girl. “I know we met when you came in, but I’m Darcy, Anya’s friend.” The word “friend” still feels like a weapon. At least this time I can repurpose it for a better cause.

“Oh, wow, hi.” As the girl shakes my hand, she does a full-body assessment of me. It’s quick, not meant to make a point or anything, but I still notice it. “I’m Julia.”

Julia.The person Anya brought up at the pumpkin patch, who once told Anya that she didn’t care about other people’s feelings.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, giving away nothing. “Do you guys know each other?” I keep all my attention on Julia even as Anya gives me her most intense, focused stare. She wants me to look over, to send me some kind of signal that this isthe girl. But I know how badly this Julia hurt her in the past. And judging by how upset Anya looked when I emerged from the supply closet, Julia’s still hurting her now. Playing ignorant will take away some of Julia’s power.

“Anya used to live in my hometown, yeah,” Julia says.

“Cool! We love having her in Fableview. Isn’t she the best?”This might be too far, but I’ve already decided I hate this Julia girl, and I don’t mind daring her to speak poorly of Anya to my face. I know for certain Anya’s not a bad person. And I also know with proof that she absolutely thinks about other people. She came all the way to the art shop to fix my ceramics, and she didn’t even want me to know she’d done it. She might be the most generous person I’ve ever met.

“This place is great,” Julia says, avoiding my question altogether. “I’ve been staying at the Fableview Inn with my boyfriend. We road-tripped here.” She points to the guy she came with, who is still painting his ceramic. He doesn’t look up to acknowledge us.

“I love the Fableview Inn,” I tell her.