Bruja Born (Brooklyn Brujas #2)(6)

Alex: On our way. I feel his bad vibes from here.

Alex: There’s still time to come home.

Me: No, I have to get through today.

I wait for her to answer, but Coach starts his pregame speech.

“All right, boys and girls,” he says in his thick Brooklyn accent. “It’s easy to tell you that this game’s in the bag. We’re undefeated, but so are they. We’ve still got something they don’t—the best damn team I’ve seen in years, and I’m freaking old as dirt.”

Everyone laughs except the two of us. Maks leans forward and his arm brushes against mine, warm and familiar and unbearable.

“It’s been a pleasure being your coach,” he says. “I want you to know how proud I am, no matter what happens.”

“You’re not going to cry on us, are you, Coach?” Samori asks playfully.

“Shut it, Sam,” Coach barks. “All right, Manny. Let’s get this show on the road!”

There’s a volley of hoots and whistles. No one stays in their seats like they’re supposed to. A couple of the guys brought confetti poppers for the end of the game but are starting to set them off as Manny turns onto the highway, and Samori holds his handheld speaker up so music fills the entire bus.

“Asses in seats,” Coach warns, staring at his phone. He’s so clueless when he’s going over plays, he wouldn’t even notice if the whole soccer team started stripping down to their underwear.

The chill from earlier returns to my skin, and I reach across Maks to shut the window. As I sit back down, Maks holds the jacket out to me.

“You’re cold,” he whispers, leaning into my ear because it’s so loud around us. “Just wear it. Don’t get sick just because of me.”

I shake my head. I remember the first time he gave me his jacket. We were in the middle of the hallway and he held it out for me. It was too big, but it smelled like fresh grass and his earthy soap and definitely like boy.

“Lula!” Ramirez turns around in his seat, his big, brown eyes only looking at me. “You dropped this.”

He holds a red ribbon with fingers folded against his palm. I touch my hair and realize mine must’ve slipped off.

“Thank you,” I say, and will myself to return his smile.

“You guys going to the prom after-party in the city?” Ramirez asks.

My heart squeezes painfully. I play with the red ribbon in my hands. Thinking about prom makes the last pieces of my old-Lula facade deflate. I spent weeks combing through thrift stores for the perfect blue dress. I picked it because the wildflower-blue color matched Maks’s eyes. My tongue is so dry I fear my next words will turn into sand. I should’ve listened to Alex and gone home. My phone rings half a dozen times, but I just let it buzz in my purse.

“Yeah, man,” Maks says overenthusiastically. “See you there.”

I watch Maks.

Maks watches me.

“Please stop staring at me,” I whisper.

He leans back and lets go of a long sigh. I can’t read his furrowed stare or the way he runs his fingers through his hair to give his nervous hands something to do. Is that regret?

He reaches for my hand, then hesitates and pulls back when he realizes what he’s doing. “I’m sorry. I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

My pulse quickens at his words. What is he saying?

Around us, the other boys are dancing in their seats like we’re in the middle of a parade. My team stomps their feet, clapping their hands to the chant, “Let’s! Go! Thorne! Hill!”

The team’s chant gets stronger, the excitement in the air is thick with the desire to win, and I can’t help but think it’s familiar, like being at a Deathday ceremony. Except instead of summoning spirits, we’re summoning luck and courage and victory. Maybe that’s the key. My power might not be physical like Alex’s, and I might not be able to talk to the dead like Rose, but I can heal. I’ve healed bones and bruises and cuts, so why not us? Maybe I can summon love, fix the rift I’ve created between me and Maks.

I know him. I know he didn’t mean it, that a part of him still loves me. The pressure of our lives got to us, in between us. Now I know how to make it better.

I wind my ribbon around my wrist, red as love, red as blood, red as want. Let my magic bubble to the surface of my skin. I gasp when my power surges through me, like the slap of cold water, and I shudder from head to toe. Healing magic should be warm, but I can’t reel it back now. I breathe faster and faster, think of every kiss and touch and secret we’ve shared.

“Lula?” Maks inches closer, our thighs pressed side by side, and throws his jacket around my shoulders.

It’s working. It has to be because when I look up, Maks’s eyes are trained on me. I don’t dare look away from his face. There’s a nick on his chin I didn’t notice before. He must’ve cut himself shaving, but when I push my magic into his skin, the red cut disappears. His lips part, and we’re so close I can feel his intake of breath, the race of his heartbeat.

When he closes his hand around mine, I shut my eyes and memorize the feel of us, skin on skin.

When I kiss Maks, the world falls out of focus, everything around us pixilated except for him. The bus speeds down the highway, dozens of horns blaring, and we slide against the window. I rest a hand on his jawline, freshly shaven and smooth. I push away all other thoughts and focus on us. Whatever broke between us, I can fix.