Page 63 of Everything She Does Is Magic

“Yeah, if by ‘slammer’ you mean a night with an old guy eating a hot dog in a tent,” she tells me. “That was nice of him, but he asked me for five hundred dollars for it.”

“That little shit,” I mutter. “He asked me for that too. Thank god we told each other. He would’ve made out with a thousand bucks.”

“I’d never have paid him. And I wouldn’t ask him to be my protector either. Though it was nice of him to take the fall for me. He defended me against Julia too.”

“What? She’s here?” I ask, looking out as if maybe I can spot her red hair from this height.

“Yeah,” she says. “She confronted me a little bit ago. And Kyle actually scared her off.”

“Good,” I say. “She sucks.”

This makes Anya laugh. “She did have some good qualities, but I can’t remember them anymore.”

“It’s okay. I don’t need to know her complexities. As your girlfriend, I get to just hate her.”

Anya kisses me on the cheek, sending a fluttering thrill through my whole body. “So what happens if you don’t have a protector by your birthday?” I ask.

“Then I get kicked out of the coven. They remove my powers, and I’m banished.”

“I’m sorry,” I say again. “That’s horrible. I can see why you did what you did. I wish I could help.”

“Yeah, but helping me would mean you aren’t my girlfriend.” She leans in for another kiss, this time on my mouth.

“That would be a terrible thing,” I say, talking with my lips against hers.

“Terrible,” she echoes. Then she kisses me. Deep and warm and right. My heart could burst into confetti.

We reach the bottom of the ride. The operator lifts the bar to make us exit, despite my request to let us go for one more round.

Grace is waiting for us, grinning. “I took such a cute picture of you two up there,” she says, showing us her phone. “God. I’m such a good friend, aren’t I?”

I give Anya a look that she doesn’t receive. It’s crystal clear what she should do. Who she should pick.

But it’s not my choice to make. It’s hers.

4 Days Until Halloween

30

Anya

Madame Poncik hands a stack of red and green construction paper to the first person in every row, asking them to take a sheet of each and pass the rest back. Darcy sits in front of me, her blond hair soft and flowing, touching the edge of my desk.

My girlfriend.

That will never get old.

When she turns around, she smiles. Her green eyes are the only thing that could ever look this good under the unforgiving fluorescent lights of Fableview High.

“Salut,” she says.

“Salut,” I respond. “Comment ça va?”

“Très bien.” She pretends to struggle with separating the papers, buying us a few more precious seconds. Madame Poncik hates small talk. “Et toi?”

“Comme ci comme ça.”

“Just so-so?” she asks in English.