Page 50 of Everything She Does Is Magic

When I do, she flops onto the edge of my bed. “I really had you wrong. Like, I already knew that, but now I get it. You’re not brooding in a boring, obvious way. You’re, like, really wounded.”

I shrug.

“I relate,” she continues. “People don’t see me as wounded either. But I’m actually really sensitive. I’m just good at doing it with a smile, you know?”

It’s not unusual to find myself wordless. It’s most of my life. What’s stranger is my need to say something. To want to talk to Grace.

“You’ve never struck me as someone who doesn’t have feelings,” I tell her.

“Of course not. Everyone just sees me as dramatic, though. Like my emotions are oversized for the sake of spectacle. My soul is actually a lot more like your gothic, cobwebbed aesthetic than anyone would ever expect.”

I bet another person would laugh at this. Grace’s delivery is so big, sodramatic, as she would say, that it’s easy to see heras unserious. But her whole life is an exercise in taking things more seriously than anyone else ever has. She’s shown up to my house dressed as a burglar without a hint of irony. And her thing with reptiles. She regularly wears clothing covered in images of snakes or lizards or crocodiles.

“Even though my own heart has been unjustly stomped on more than once, I’m a romantic,” she tells me. “Which is why, when they gave me one good apology speech, I took them back.”

“Parker Holt,” I say, the only thing I know for sure in this whole mess.

“The one and only. Anyway, Parker and me is not what matters right now. Although itisvery interesting. It’s for another time. I know about what happened with you and Darcy, obviously.”

Itisobvious, I guess, that Darcy would tell her best friend. If I had a friend to tell, I’d have done the same thing. And honestly, I can’t imagine a better audience than Grace.

“Normally I’d just coach her through the breakup, because it does build character,” Grace continues. “Even her little stint with Kyle Holtzenberg gave her some necessary shading. But I want to help you.”

“You’re here to help…me?”

She makes a waving gesture. “Have I not made that clear? I misjudged you, and I’m owning that. You’re a good person, and you’re good for Darcy. So I want to help you win her back.”

I want to argue that I haven’tlostDarcy. But I know I have. I’ve blown up her life like a dynamite stick, and she hasn’t texted me back since the dinner. She didn’t look at me today in school either, and not in our usualwe don’t know really each otherway.

Sheavoidedme.

“She’s pretty mad at you,” Grace goes on, confirming what I’ve already felt. “You really should’ve told her about the whole protector thing.”

“I wanted to. It just took so long to get her to believe I am an actual witch that I forgot all about the protector thing.”

“I know. I tried to tell her you were a witch too,” she says. “Before you came along, she never really embraced magic as reality. That’s something you can’t exactly convince someone of unless you can do it yourself, and unfortunately, I don’t have powers like you do. But things just go over Darcy’s head sometimes anyway. She didn’t realize how long she’d liked you either.”

My cheeks burn. This is precious information, rarefied intel, and I know it. I feel like I’m not supposed to want to hear more, but I can’t help myself. “How long has she liked me, exactly?”

“You made a wrong move,” Grace says, ever the diplomatic best friend. “But we can definitely fix it.”

“How?”

“The haunted carnival.” She plucks the schedule from my mirror, inspecting it. “I see here you already know about it. I’d tell you it’s a big deal, but everything is a big deal this month. So it’s justanotherbig deal.”

“I’m beginning to learn that,” I tell her.

“I’ve been opposed to this whole change-the-town campaign. Recent circumstances have swayed me.” She plops down on my bed again. “Darcy’s always wanted to make the carnival spookier. Everything we do in Fableview is so tame, and every time we go to the carnival, she says there should be at least one place where it gets scary. I know my little sister Maddie would love that too. She’s desperate for some real horror in this town. Who better to create some scares than a real-life witch, right?And if that makes a certain reformed skeptic swoon, well…isn’t that what us hard-hearted romantics do?”

“I mostly, um…fix broken things,” I tell her, feeling unworthy of this speech, and this situation, and even the title of a romantic.

“Then let’s fix your broken heart, girl. C’mon. You can’t wallow any more than you already have. Please. It’s not a good look.” She makes her way to the window again. “Are you in ornot?”

“You haven’t said what we’re going to do.”

She smiles. Sly. Knowing. “Don’t worry about that part. I’ve already got our costumes picked out. All I need is confirmation that you’ll participate.”

“I’m in,” I say with a shaky breath.