Bruja Born (Brooklyn Brujas #2)(5)

A dozen hands smack the windows of the car. I jump in my seat, and Maks curses loudly when he sees his teammates using his car like a set of congas.

“Let’s go, Horbachevsky,” they shout, all wound-up energy and excitement. “We got a game to win, son!”

“I need a minute,” I say, pulling down the visor.

“Lula…” But when he looks at me, he falls silent.

He hands me the key fob and gets out.

And that’s when I flip back to wanting to smash his car. I watch him lift his duffel bag onto his shoulder. He glances back at me twice before he makes it to the bus, where his boys greet him with fist bumps and cheers that he doesn’t return. He looks down at his feet, his lip tugging up into a crooked smile. I’ve always loved that smile.

I reach for my phone, my hands longing for something to crush. But the spike of anger dissolves into sadness, and I reach out to the first person that comes to mind. I text Alex: Maks broke up with me.

Just then, my chest tightens, and despite the warm early summer breeze, I shiver. My breath comes out in a tiny cloud. My arms are covered in goose bumps beneath my jacket—Maks’s jacket. Out of habit, I check the parking lot for shadows that shouldn’t be there. But there is only the school mascot, a knight waving a plastic sword, running back and forth in front of the bus. My intuition must be messed up. Maybe my body is just physically rejecting this breakup.

Maks’s words play in my head on a loop. I’ve tried. I don’t know how to help you. It’s like your fire is gone.

I think about my mother and how long it took her to piece herself together after my father disappeared. I used to watch her get ready for the day, painting her eyes and lips in vibrant colors to hide her gray sorrow. She’d stare into her mirror and say, “Don’t let them see you cry.”

Now, I repeat her words to my reflection. I press my finger against the tight frown on my forehead. I pull a satin, red ribbon from my bag, the last piece of our cheer uniform. I wrap it around the top of my head and tie the ends into a bow. I fluff out my curls and try not to think about how Maks used to like coiling strands around the length of his fingers. I uncap my shimmering, coral gloss and softly, slowly drag it across my bottom lip, imagining I’m using it to smooth the edges of my heart. This morning I said things would be different. Maybe I can still channel the girl I was before my family’s world turned upside down, before I had to hide behind a mask of borrowed magic and rose petals.

My phone buzzes with a message from Alex.

Alex: Come home. We haven’t left yet.

Alex: I’m sorry. You deserve better.

Alex: I’ll go get pizza and sea salt caramel?

Part of me wants to listen to Alex. A long shower and an evening of eating my weight in cheese and ice cream sounds amazing. But the old Lula wouldn’t shrink away and hide. I text Alex back, I’m fine.

Maks might be right about some things. I have changed. But my fire isn’t gone. Not completely. I can still fix this. I can make him see that we need each other.

I search deep inside for some of the fire Maks says I’ve lost and try to remember that even if I feel broken I am still made of magic.

I get out of the car, lock it, and pocket the key fob. The two buses are lined up and ready to go. Those staying behind wave good-bye, whistling between fingertips and shouting calls of good luck.

“Lula, come on!” My friend Kassandra waves from an open bus door. Her black skin shimmers with the dusted glitter she likes to wear to the games.

I sling my bag over my shoulder and run toward the bus. The door sighs closed behind me, and Manny, the bus driver, nods in my direction as I make my way up the aisle. The air is thick with excitement and a mix of perfumes and perspiration from two dozen bodies that makes my nose itch.

Because I’m the last one on the bus, all the seats are taken except for one. I stand still for too long, and people look at me. Kassandra gives me an everything okay? face. Number twelve, Ramirez, looks me up and down, then smiles as if he hasn’t been checking me out. Number twenty-three, Samori, waves from his designated seat in the back as unofficial DJ. A couple of girls from my step team whisper behind freshly manicured hands, their eyes sliding between Maks and me. Do they already know? How am I supposed to sit next to him for an hour?

Heat burns my cheeks, works down my neck and across my chest. I have the urgent need to turn back, to steal Maks’s car and drive it back home. But Manny closes the doors and starts the engine.

“Lula,” Maks says, gesturing to the empty spot beside him. “It’s the last game. This is still your seat.”

I take a steadying breath and take the seat next to Maks, the same one I’ve had for nearly two years—the captains of our squads, side by side. Have the seats always been this cramped, or am I now noticing because I’m doing everything possible to keep my body from touching his? I take off the jacket I’m wearing and quietly place it on his lap. From the corner of my eye, I can see him clutch it and turn to me.

“I was going to let you keep it,” he says softly, maybe even hurt.

I turn my knees away from him so they’re in the aisle. It’s hard to look at him and know he doesn’t want me. A cry forms in my throat, but I push it back and say, “You wanted this. I’m giving you what you want.”

My phone buzzes again, cutting off whatever Maks is about to tell me.