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Petra’s wife, Daniela, is sanitizing and tidying up the testers. The bottles make tiny clinks as she puts them back in place. When they married five years ago, Petra introduced her as her third spouse, second wife, and first soulmate.

To a twelve-year-old girl on the cusp of her bisexual awakening, Petra was my hero.

“Joining us for dinner, love?” Daniela chirps, chucking me under the chin. She smiles with her whole face, revealing deep dimples in her brown cheeks.

“It’s vegan tonight,” says Petra. “We always have room for one more!”

Austin’s mom works long hours as an emergency room doctor at our local hospital, especially after her promotion and throwing herself into work after her husband left, so Austin’s more or less been raised by Petra.

He grew up eating chicken nuggets, tangelos, and frozen meals until Petra met Daniela at a crystal conference, where they fell in love when they reached for the same pink topaz—once they were done arguing over who got to take it home.

They wound up leaving with each other instead, and Daniela proposed to Petra with it a year later.

“Thanks, but I can’t tonight,” I tell the older women. “I need your help, actually.”

Spider plants, sword ferns, and weeping figs dangle from the exposed beams, purifying the air.

They rustle as we pass underneath, almost like they’re talking to each other.

Much like the flora, the owners communicate with wordless glances, probably running through everything that can happen to a teenage girl.

“I know just the tea,” says Petra.

Dani gives her an apologetic look. “I’ll stick to my coffee.”

Mortar the potential reward far outweighs the risk.

“But,” Petra adds, “a full moon is also a chance for bright new beginnings to come out of those unhappy endings.”

My stomach clenches like a fist. A moment ago, I could have discarded everything Aurora said. Now I know I can’t. “You know, Petra, you’re not the first person to say that to me recently.”

Is a moon just a moon? Or…is this my opportunity to finally have a partner to join me? We can have each other’s backs as we trek through the Longing Woods to find the wishing well. I’ll finally have someone to journey with. This is what I’ve been waiting for. Kiara can undo her bad luck, and I…

I can wish for my dad back.

I’m not the same little girl who so easily believed in magic, who marveled at the majesty of the woods and hung on to my dad’s stories as if he draped the very stars in the sky.

I see the woods as something to fear, to mistrust. As a place that takes and doesn’t give back.

Day by day, year by year, the wonder has waned until only the barest sliver remains.

It’s precious, but it hurts, too, like a bruise I can’t help but press.

Petra raises her arm to examine the column of bracelets. Carefully, she selects one with smooth green stone beads, sliding the elastic over her narrow wrist. “Here, for you. If you’re going to go traipsing around in the woods, I’d feel better if you had this.”

I slip it on, admiring the shimmer from all angles. “It’s beautiful. What is it supposed to do?”

“Do?” Her forehead creases. “It’s a bracelet, my dear. It doesn’t do anything.”

Deflated, I sink against the window seat cushions. So even if I did want to go on a wild goose chase for the fabled wishing well, this isn’t the magical tool from my wise mentor that will help me do it.

Petra fondly rolls her eyes. Leaning forward, she taps the bracelet. “Don’t be so dramatic. I didn’t say the beads were useless.”

I perk up. “They’re not?”

“Green aventurine,” she explains. “Among other things, it’s considered to be the crystal of good fortune and personal growth. Maybe the luckiest of all crystals. Some call it the stone of opportunity.”

“And if I give this to Kiara, she’ll be okay?”

Petra clucks her tongue. “It’s not for her. It’s for you. Charms may keep the negative energy at bay for a while, but all it takes is another pothole, another boy too distracted to pay attention, another truckload of squash…”

“No, you’re right. I bet the other squash families really have it out for her.”

Petra’s blue eyes turn flinty.

“I was kidding! Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s not me to whom you owe the apology,” she says mildly.

Ugh. She’s right. But there’s no way I’m confessing anything to Kiara. What purpose would it serve? I’m going to help her regardless. I may not see the world the way I once did, but I am still my father’s daughter. He wouldn’t abandon a friend in trouble, and neither will I.

For the second time in my life, my words have caused real, true harm. And despite what I told Radhika, Kiara is my problem. But.

Helping her also helps me.

She never needs to know it was me that night who hexed her, not Aurora.

Besides the fact that her friends would come for me with flaming pitchforks, I don’t want her to know.

I mean, I want her to trust me, and that’s going to be categorically more difficult if she knows I have it out for her. Had. Had it out for her. Past tense.

Turns out Kiara was right after all. Because from this moment onward, I am 100 percent going to be Kiara Mistry’s heroine.