Page 13 of Everything She Does Is Magic (Fableview #1)
“So what’s your—” I start, right as she says, “Have you changed your—” Our words crash into each other like we’re blindfolded, roaming around for a safe topic.
“You go,” I say. The brush zags in my hand, streaking her cheek with too much pink. “Sorry.”
“I don’t mind.”
I dip a paper towel into my fresh cup of water, reminding myself to breathe. I’ve been around pretty girls before. It’s never been a reason to panic.
“I was going to ask if you’ve changed your mind yet about owning the paint shop,” Anya says.
Her insistence makes me laugh. “You’re really convinced I don’t want that.”
“I am,” she confirms.
“Okay, let’s say you’re right,” I say. “Hypothetically. How would I even begin to tell my parents? You saw how they reacted to the dog painting. And I’ve been doing all these little things, like sneaking the discount cards and offering face painting.
They’re so busy with their own obligations that they don’t even notice the tiny havoc I’m wreaking.
All this is nothing compared to telling them I’ve already applied to a college out of state. ”
Real excitement bursts forth, jostling Anya forward right as I’ve just finished wiping off my previous mistake. “You have?”
“Shh.” I press my finger to her lips to quiet her down. And maybe to feel them. For the sake of my future art, of course. “Yes. Just one. I used my work money to pay for the application. I won’t get in, so I don’t think it matters yet anyway. It’s just an experiment, I guess.”
“Of course you’ll get in,” she says. “Vous êtes le meilleur élève de notre classe.”
“C’est faux!” I protest. It’s false.
“C’est vrai,” she challenges. It’s true.
“All right, your turn.” I turn her face to start the wings on her other cheek.
“Tell me something about you no one else knows. Like how you fixed Maddie’s wings so fast. Grace insists it was magic.
She’s convinced you’re an actual witch.” With my hands on Anya’s face, I can feel her teeth clench together.
“You don’t have to,” I throw out, not wanting to lose our progress by being too bossy.
The silence swells.
I paint my way through it.
“I’m not a witch,” she says. “I’m just a regular person.”
The strangest thing happens. Her answer disappoints me. It’s not as crushing as it was when I was younger and my parents sat me down to tell me the truth about every other magical thing in my life. They were Santa Claus. They were the Easter Bunny. They were the tooth fairy.
Anya is just so…special, I guess. She really does feel like magic.
I’m about to ask how she did it when she says, “I used to have this friend named Julia.”
“No one knows you had a friend named Julia?” I tease, hoping the ribbing sets her further at ease. When her jaw relaxes, I smile a bit to myself.
“No one knows why we stopped being friends,” she tells me. “She told everybody it was because I was a bad person.”
“What really happened?”
“It’s kind of complicated. For a few months, we did everything together. Everything Julia wanted to do, that is. It’s easier for me to stay quiet and go along with things.”
“I like it when you speak up,” I tell her.
“It’s easy to talk to you,” she tells me.
My paintbrush runs along the hard line of her jaw. I have the strangest urge to touch it with my fingers. The brush isn’t enough. “Tell me what happened with Julia,” I whisper.
“She asked me to do something impossible. When I told her I couldn’t, she told me I was a liar and a horrible person who didn’t care about other people.
She told everybody else in town the same thing.
And because I was so quiet, and she wasn’t, they all believed her.
It got so bad that I had to cut my time living with that relative short. ”
Ever since Anya arrived in Fableview, she has been alone. I’ve never once seen her hang out with anyone or even hold a conversation with a classmate in the hallway. It seemed to be how she wanted things, considering how she treated me in French class. My heart aches, knowing the truth.
I wish I could see pictures of this Julia. Read her social media posts and pass judgment on her. But Anya is so skittish. Scared and delicate and afraid to trust. The last thing I want to do is overwhelm her by asking too much at once.
I decide to say, “That’s Julia’s loss. You’re my favorite person I’ve met in a really long time. Probably ever.”
This close, I can see Anya’s pupils dilate, zeroing in on my lips. Goose bumps prickle along my arms. My heart feels like it grows three sizes. All I’m doing is painting a hot pink butterfly on Anya’s face, but somehow, I feel completely, totally alive .
She doesn’t tell me any more about Julia. I paint in silence, each brushstroke another gentle offering to her. A beckoning. Trust me enough to tell me the rest someday.
When I finish her face painting, I hand her the mirror to take a look.
“Oh, I don’t think I want to know,” she tells me, batting the mirror away.
“C’mon! You have to!” I insist. “You look cute!” This time I say it on purpose. It has the same effect on me—that zipping, slippery rush.
She keeps her hand on the mirror.
“I’m really proud of you for applying to a college. I just want you to know that,” she tells me.
I promised myself I would never date someone in Fableview.
Yet here I am, kind of wishing I could.