Bruja Born (Brooklyn Brujas #2)(4)

“I know you have family stuff,” Maks says, thankfully unaware of my tiny freak-out. “I just—I’m not sure how to say it. You’re not the same person you were two years ago.”

Two years.

Maks and I have been dating for two years. That’s two years of dates. Two years of I love yous and I want you forevers. Two years of going to sleep reading his messages, of hearing his voice just before I drifted off and dreaming about us together. Maks wasn’t the first boy to tell me I was beautiful. But when he said it, when he kissed the inside of my wrist and wrote it over and over again, You’re beautiful. I love you, I believed him.

I roll down the window. My scars burn and I flip down the sun visor and double check that Alex’s canto is holding up. There I am. I look like the old me even if I don’t feel like her.

Maks pulls into the school parking lot behind the gym and puts the car in park. He taught me how to parallel park even though I don’t have my license. It’s a weird memory, but it pops into my head as he unbuckles his seat belt and holds the steering wheel with a white-knuckle grip.

“Maks.” My voice is small because I know what comes next.

He breathes in long and deep, as if to steady himself. “I think we should break up.”





2


El Corazón falls in love over and over,

trying to make his two hearts whole.

—Tales of the Deos, Felipe Thomás San Justinio




“Please, don’t make a scene,” Maks says softly.

The school band recognizes Maks’s car and cheer as they board the big, yellow-cheese buses. The parking lot is full of students, faculty, and parents dressed in Thorne Hill Knights colors, ready to caravan all the way to Queens Village. My body flashes hot at the thought of getting out of the car to join them.

I take a deep breath, anger burning a clear path to my lips. “You think we should break up?”

“Baby, don’t—” He stops whatever he’s going to say next, catching himself on the familiarity, and it’s like a fist to my gut.

“Don’t call me baby.”

“Lula. I’ve tried.” He squeezes the steering wheel. “I’ve tried so hard, but it’s been months. I know the robbery was hard on you. You have no idea how much I wish I’d been there to protect you.”

“And your answer is this?” I look out my window at my faint reflection. Moments ago, I was so sure today was the day everything would be better. “You can’t stand the idea of spending one more second with me that you’re doing this now?”

He turns to me, daring to look hurt. “That’s not true. You should know me better than that. I wanted to wait until after graduation, but my sister said it wasn’t fair to you. One minute you’re fine, and then the next, you’re not.”

“I’m trying, Maks.”

“What about last weekend? Remember Pierre’s party? You just walked out to the middle of the street and stood there, staring into space. If I hadn’t come outside, you would’ve gotten clipped by that car.”

I do remember. There were too many people in that house and it was too dark, so I walked outside and stared at the light of the moon. It was the only moment of peace I’d found in so long that I didn’t notice the car until Maks screamed my name and pushed me out of the way. He was white with fear, holding my face in his hands until he was sure I wasn’t hurt. He drove me home right away. “You have to talk to someone,” he told me. And I said, “I’m fine. I promise.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I really am. You’re not the same person I fell in love with. You don’t want to be around your own friends. You haven’t applied to college. It’s like your fire is gone.”

The unfairness of his words stings worse than this morning’s canto. If he knew the truth, he’d surely understand. But how do you tell your sinmago boyfriend that the “robbery” all over the New York news was actually an attack by a power-hungry demon witch?

I flip between wanting to slash his tires and begging him to stay with me. I’ll try harder, I want to say. But I can’t, so I just watch as the team loads their gear on the bus.

“Maks,” I plead. Doesn’t he understand that he’s been the only constant thing in my life? “Don’t do this.”

He finally turns to me. His gaze travels across my face, and I wonder if he’s trying to remember why he fell in love with me in the first place. “I never wanted to hurt you. But I have to do the right thing.”

“The right thing?” I echo his words. “For yourself, you mean. You can’t put up with me so you’re bailing. Just say it how it is. Don’t pretend you’re making a sacrifice.”

“You’re twisting my words. I’ve thought a lot about this. I don’t know how to help you and I don’t think I’m good for you. So I have to make a choice. Even if it hurts us both.”

“If it hurts that much, then don’t do it.” I hate the weakness in my voice. “We can forget about this. Just pretend it never happened.”

“I care about you, Lula.” He turns to me, and in this moment, I have never loved and hated someone so much all at once. “But I can’t give you what you need. Deep inside, you know that. We—”