The Names They Gave Us(50)

“I can see that. I think I’m an Asher, actually.” He’s a little too serious for his own good, loosened up by his friendship with adventurous Iris.

“Oh my God,” Anna says. “You are.”

“Right?”

We lie there, watching for a few minutes, until Anna whispers, “Wouldn’t you just kill for Zuri’s wardrobe.”

“Oh my gosh,” I reply. “I’d totally be her for Halloween just to wear something that cool.”

It’d be a perfect group costume, all the girls and their specific styles. Maybe at college, I’ll get lucky and find fellow fans.

“Hey, Anna?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something weird?” When she nods, I ask, cringing at myself, “Do you have good friends at home? Like, a group?”

She stares down at the screen for a moment, considering. “I’m friendly with a lot of people. But . . . not super close. Not like camp.”

“Me neither,” I admit, relieved.

“Well,” she says, knocking her shoulder into mine. “Good thing we have camp, then. Hey, how’s your moms doing?”

“She’s . . . okay. Thanks for asking.”

“Will you tell me about her? It’ll help get my mind away from . . .” She pauses to take a controlled breath inward. “This.”

As our favorite witches and warlocks get into trouble on-screen, I tell Anna about my mom, about the swim team, about my house. Eventually, she nods off, lips parted like a little kid’s. Good. But I feel strange leaving without saying good-bye. I don’t like the idea of her waking up alone.

As I’m scratching a quick note on scrap paper from her desk, Mohan walks in. He doesn’t look surprised to see me, but then, Keely probably told him I was here. His T-shirt today reads: I DONUT CARE.

I wave, not wanting to wake Anna with any noise. He points to her sleeping form and gives me a thumbs-up, impressed. Then he puts his hands into a prayer pose, mouthing: Thank you.

I want to say, “All I did was chatter to her,” but I don’t want to disturb the silence. So I just nod.

Without a word, he lies down on the bed in the opposite direction. They look like the grandparents from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

They look like they’ve done this a hundred times.

He clasps his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling like it’s made of shifting clouds. Perfectly content.

She won’t wake up alone, but I leave the note on her desk anyway. It’s the witch school motto, Latin etched into marble on the floors. A phrase the girls use in the dark moments, to bolster each other to bravery.

Confidimus stellarum, I write. From one boss witch to another.

Though I’ve been here for a month, Friday night is my first time in town. I’ve been before with my parents, for groceries or an ice cream cone. But I’ve never been to this street, where we’re approaching a freestanding, white-sided building called Tom’s. The sign provides no further information about what kind of establishment actually belongs to Tom. A diner? A bar? Sort of both, it turns out, and also a makeshift dance hall.

We enter to a big brass version of the Jackson Five’s “ABC.” The band takes up most of the back wall, men rocking with trombones and saxes, plus a middle-aged woman on drums. Henry stands in the center of the trumpets, easily recognizable in his Detroit Tigers snapback hat.

The bar smells deep-fried, with a tangy undertone that I think might be beer. It’s everywhere—amber liquid in pint glasses, next to chicken tenders and baskets of thick fries. The tension in my shoulders eases as I remind myself: the Cheesecake Factory has alcohol, and I go there with my parents sometimes. I’m not at a bar bar.

While I’ve been busy looking around, Anna, Mohan, and Keely have settled into the last available booth. I slide in next to Anna and examine the plastic menu page.

“Boom! Pay the piper!” Keely slaps a slip of paper onto the table. It’s an IOU. “You thought I’d forget. But I never forget. Full basket of onion rings, not that bullshit junior size.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mohan mutters. With a look of genuine warning, he tells me, “Don’t ever lose to her.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” I say. Sincerely.

“There’s the entourage!” The man who has walked up to our table has no uniform to indicate that he’s a waiter, but I don’t know who else he’d be. “How’s the summer goin’?”

“So far, so good!” Anna quips.

“I don’t know this one.” He nods at me.

“This is Lucy, our new counselor. Lucy, Tom.”

I give a little wave. “Nice to meet you.”

“Welcome. Hope you like fried food because that’s what we got. Cokes all around?”

“Yes, sir,” Mohan says.

“And a basket of onion rings,” Keely adds happily. “Just for me. They go on Mohan’s tab. Thanks, Tom.”

Mohan rolls his eyes. “Gloat more, seriously.”

“And burgers?” Tom asks.

“Yep. Four,” Keely says, taking a deep breath. “One with extra cheese, one with no pickle and extra mustard, one—

“Sans lettuce, I know, I know.” Tom glances at me. “And for you?”