The Fairest Kind of Love

by Crystal Cestari

  “Amber,” Amani whispers in a warning tone, big brown eyes wide in alarm. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Don’t I?” I’ve exhausted every option, explored every avenue. I can’t go off to college and start the next stage of my life when this part is broken. What else can I do? It’s not like I didn’t know this place would be shady: any guy who sells pulsating animal organs in an Instagrammable display case is total bad news.

  “If you’re somehow unconvinced of my magical prowess,” Roscoe adds, sensing my hesitation, “let me give you a taste of what I can do.” He leaves the office, returning with a small, fuzzy caterpillar in his palm. He presents the brownish-green bug, hovering his other hand above like a claw. After a few seconds, the caterpillar begins squirming, quickly twisting itself into a color-changing cocoon. It’s happening so fast, like watching a time-lapse video in real life, and seconds later, a gypsy moth breaks free, flapping its white-and-brown-speckled wings wide. A complete metamorphosis in a minute flat.

  “Holy—!” I shout, but it doesn’t stop there. After enjoying a few moments of flight, the moth returns to Roscoe’s palm, curling its wings around its body and somehow returning to a cocoon(?!?!), then breaking free as the original caterpillar. It’s one of the most incredible and messed-up things I’ve ever seen, and these eyes have encountered a lot.

  “With the right spell or talisman, I can unlock the magic of any creature,” Roscoe sneers, setting the little bugger free to crawl around the floor. “I’m sure I can pull the matchmaking magic out of you too, Miss Sand.”

  My heart is pummeling my stomach like a mortar and pestle, grinding my insides into paste. Maybe I could find a worthy magical trade without involving Mom; maybe Roscoe just gets off by upping the intimidation factor. I’ve watched so many people put their hearts on the line for what they want: to get the big reward, you have to take big risks. Yes. I have to do this.

  Holding back the urge to vomit, I reach forward to sign the scroll, hand shaking as I contemplate finalizing a deal with a devil. But thinking about how he held that moth’s life in his hand makes me wonder what he could do to me, and just before I tie myself to a dark warlock I barely know, I drop the quill. I want my magic fixed so badly, but there have to be other options; something better than a backroom deal with an evil stranger. I guess I’m not as gutsy as I thought.

  “I’m sorry.” I sigh, shaking my head in frustration with myself. “I just . . . can’t.”

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugs, rolling up the scroll. “If you ever change your mind, you know who to call.”

  Let’s hope I never have to.

  AMANI AND I AWKWARDLY wrestle into our caps and gowns in the cab on our way north to school.

  “I can’t believe you did that,” she says, purposely looking into her compact mirror to avoid my eye.

  “You mean, totally chicken out?” I ask, zipping up my silky emerald-green gown.

  “No, I don’t blame you. That guy was a creepfest.”

  “A creepfest who could find me answers.”

  “I love you, but that was a horrible idea. He could kill you and not even think twice. And if your mom finds out, she may just kill you anyway.” She’s right, of course, but my stomach continues to churn with doubt. I’m still right back where I was: broken without answers. But it’s too late now, and I want to focus on something else besides my swirling intestinal dread. “I’m so relieved you didn’t sign.”

  “Speaking of horrible ideas, who decided wearing a square on your head should be a symbol of knowledge?” I flash her a cheesy smile, batting my cap’s tassel out of my vision like a cat playing with string. Fitting the ridiculously shaped hat over my black, green, and blue strands helps my drama fade away, and watching Amani slide on hers brings home the weight of this once-in-a-lifetime moment.

  “We’re graduating,” I say, stating the obvious, but it had to be said. Amani examines herself in her tiny mirror, smoothing her dark brown hair under the elastic cap. Even though I haven’t checked my appearance, I can guarantee she’s pulling this goofy look off way better than I am. “There were times I didn’t think this day would come.”

  “Like when we had to do country line dancing in P.E.?” Amani smiles.

  “Or dissect owl pellets in Biology?”

  “Or breathe the same air as our mortal enemies day in and day out?” She laughs, but I’m suddenly overcome by an uncharacteristic swell of sentimentality, so I unbuckle my seat belt to properly turn to my partner in crime and say, “You know I never would’ve made it through without you, right? Like I’d still be stuck doing the grapevine in the gym if you weren’t there to guide me through.”

  She smushes my cheeks with her palms. “Don’t make me cry! I just put on mascara, which is near impossible in a cab!”

  “It’s true! You are my everything . . . near, far, wherever you are . . .”

  “I believe that the heart does go oooooooon,” Amani starts singing in a weird, warbly voice.

  “You’re here, there’s NOTHING I fear!” I belt out in an equally awful tone.

  Arms flung wide like we’re the kings of the world, we sing about our hearts going on and never letting go, hugging and laughing as our cabdriver eyes us from the rearview mirror, but there are tears behind my smiles. Everything’s about to change. And though I’ve been praying for this day to come since forever, I still can’t believe it’s here. High school is over. The pain, the suffering, the pointless papers about wars and scientific debates: up to this point, so much of my time has been spent doing things I had to do. Subjects I had to study, sports I had to play. None of it was my choice, and even my magical life was dictated by the rules and constraints set forth by the Fates and every other mystical creature more powerful than me (read: all of them). But that’s all about to open up, doors flung wide with possibility. And that’s what I want: I’ve been waiting too long for this freedom to have anything holding me back. I want to drop this anchor of matchmaking uncertainty and run free into the future. Clear eyes, full heart, can’t lose. Chicago Culinary Institute, here I come!

  We’re about a block away from Manchester Prep, and Amani does one last makeup check, reapplying her sparkly lip gloss for the third time. I rustle through the duffel bag we packed, stuffing the anti-tear handkerchief I yanked from home into my billowing gown pocket, just in case. (It’s enchanted to keep you composed if you don’t want to be blubbering in public, and since I still don’t want to show any signs of weakness in front of my horrible classmates—even though, Gods willing, I will never have to see them again—I want to keep this charm handy.) As we pull up to school, the electronic announcements sign flashes, CONGRATULATIONS, GRADUATES! GOOD LUCK!

  The football field is set with a stage, hundreds of white folding chairs, and green balloons. I can honestly say I never attended a single sporting event, but I can’t imagine it ever looked anything like this. Almost instantly, I’m spotted by my beautiful boyfriend, Charlie, who bounds across the grass and wraps me in a hug. He somehow manages not to look like a giant dork in his graduation costume, accessorizing with a tie printed with foxes (our school mascot) and plug earrings. The gowns bring out the forest green in his eyes, and I just want to smother him with kisses.

  “Amber Sand, are you ready to leave this teenage wasteland behind?” he asks, still holding me close.

  “Yup, I’m gonna leave this place in a blaze of glory.”

  His eyes light up behind his glasses. “You mean . . . you finally wrangled up a dragon from one of your black-market-magic friends for me?”

  OMG, this adorable boy. Little does he know! “I meant a metaphorical blaze, but I do have some news for you.” I pause for dramatic effect.

  He stares at me expectantly. “And?”

  “Well, you know how I had that appointment this morning?” I look into those eyes I’ve spent all year obsessing over. While most couples wax poetic about each other’s eyes, it’s been a complicated situation for me. The static remains, but for o
nce, Charlie is in the loop on what I see; he knows all about the fuzzy, pixelated images that never unscramble, and how his girlfriend may have even less magic than ever. I’ve decided that keeping secrets from him only leads to drama, and being able to talk to him about my worries has brought us closer. So much of our relationship has been steered by outside forces; for once, I’m taking the wheel.

  “With the scary dark-arts man?” he asks.

  “Yup. The matchmaking cure is TBD, but you will never guess what he has in his shop.”

  Charlie grips me tighter. “Don’t toy with me. I am emotionally fragile right now.”

  I lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Dragon eggs,” I tease, and instantly he shoves me backward, fireworks in his brain causing all his limbs to flail in amazement.

  “ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” he yells, arms swinging around, revealing the flaming dragon sleeve that reflects his sweet, nerdy heart. “What are we even still doing here?! Let’s go see them! Right now!”

  “Hold on, hold on,” I laugh, placing my palms on his chest. I feel his fanboy heart fluttering with joy. “We should probably graduate first, don’t you think? Perform this vital rite of passage?”

  He looks at me like I’m insane. “Who cares about a stupid ceremony when dragons are REAL?!”

  “Listen, I will make this happen for you.” I ball up his gown in my fists, since he’s basically a flight risk at the moment. “I swear on my nonstick commercial-grade baking pans that we will find a way for you to see the dragons. But let’s listen to speeches about how the future is ours first, okay?”

  His fingers find their way to my jawline, thumbs brushing over my cheeks. “God, I love you.” We kiss, his excitement over mythical creatures transferring to me, lips warm and wanting, not caring about the crowds around us or that our silly pointy hats keep crashing into each other. Despite the static and confusion surrounding my status, Charlie and I have never been closer, and kissing him has never been better.

  I pull back, though I’d rather stay in his embrace. “I love you too. Dork.”

  We’re greeted by the rest of our merry band of misfits. Kim Li, also pulling off the grad look with a collection of rainbow-colored accessories, skips over with glee, telling each of us how much she loves us. She and Amani ooh and aah over each other’s dresses and hair as I spot another familiar, albeit surprising, face coming our way: Ivy Chamberlain.

  “Guys! Hey!” I snap my fingers to get the group’s attention. “It’s Ivy!” Confused eyes search the crowd for the declawed siren, whom nobody’s seen in over two months. Losing her sister and her powers in one fell swoop was not easy for my former archnemesis, though with all of her awful magic used up, she became slightly more tolerable to be around. Her brazen “I own you and the entire universe” attitude dimmed, and since none of her “friends” could be compelled to cower at her feet anymore, she started hanging around us. But her personality was not the only thing that shifted; as the weeks went on, her beauty faded, transforming her from a high-fashion perfume ad to a plain, forgettable face. Not that plain is bad—I am as plain as they come—but she’s always been the epitome of polish, so the change was extreme.

  Then she started missing school. The occasional day stretched into longer absences, and when she did show up to class, she was barely present, sunken eyes and lethargic movements erasing the former swagger and sass she used to commanding effect. When we asked Ivy what was wrong, she’d snap and say, “Nothing,” refusing to show weakness despite it being written all over her body. After she missed two straight weeks, Amani and I went by her house to check on her, but the Chamberlains’ butler informed us the entire family was out of town, dealing with an urgent “family matter.” The siren who terrorized me for years completely disappeared without word or warning. After everything we all went through during our mermaid adventure, I thought maybe we’d upgraded our relationship from “venomous” to “it’s complicated,” but apparently that’s a nut I’ll never crack.

  “I didn’t think she’d be coming,” Amani says to me as a ghostly version of Ivy nears our circle. “Can she even graduate after missing so much school?”

  “Who knows.” I shrug. “I mean, her parents are still sirens; worst case, I guess they can finagle her a diploma.”

  “She does not look great.” Kim cringes in concern. “What do you think is wrong?”

  But there’s no time to speculate; the four of us turn Ivy’s way as she nods in recognition. “Hey” is all she says, as if she hasn’t just materialized out of thin air. Hey? That’s it? What the hell?! Part of me is annoyed: you don’t just disappear off the face of the earth without letting someone know, especially if that someone risked life and limb to help you. I’ve been worried about her—a chunk of my heart torn up over her well-being—and now she shows up like it’s no big deal? What is that? But Ivy looks even worse than I remember, her glossy blond locks traded in for dull strands of straw, sun-kissed skin turned sallow, so my resentment takes a back seat to genuine concern.

  “Ivy, where have you been?” I ask, skipping the small talk I have no patience for. “We’ve tried calling, we went by your house—”

  “You didn’t have to do any of that.” She glares, eyes free of shimmer.

  Ugh. Still with this tough act. “Are you for real? We didn’t know what happened to you!”

  “Yeah, Ivy, we’re your friends,” Kim says sweetly. Ivy tries to shoot her a cutting look, but that fire is gone, replaced with appreciation for our concern. She turns, shielding her frighteningly pale face with her graduation cap. I think I hear her sniffle, but she wipes away any signs of emotion before replying.

  “We can . . . talk about it later, if you want,” she submits, tossing her limp hair over her shoulder. “You all look horrible, by the way,” she adds, trying to lighten the mood. “I didn’t miss any of you while I was gone. Especially since you’re all so hideous.”

  Well, well. I guess not all of her siren ways have been erased. Tension easing, I say, “Aww, Ivy, you always know how to make special moments feel all warm and snuggly,” to which she rolls her eyes.

  “She’s not wrong, though,” Charlie jokes. “These gowns are an insult to society.” He spreads out the emerald fabric like wings.

  “We need to take a group picture, no matter how ugly we look!” Kim chimes.

  “Yes, we wouldn’t want to forget this precious memory,” Amani deadpans, tilting her cap to an even weirder angle. We beam at each other, so much so that it makes Ivy shift uncomfortably in her heels.

  “So what now? Do you losers group-hug or something?” she asks.

  Amani and I lock eyes, smiling mischievously. “Well, now that you mention it . . .” The four of us lunge forward, capturing Ivy in a green tornado of affection, listening to her squeal in resistance as we cram together tighter. I never thought I’d be one to participate in mass cuddling, but here I am, right at home in the embrace of all these magical weirdos. I’m woman enough to admit that I like it, having multiple pals nestled into my heart, which used to be a sparse, barren space.

  As we each cross the stage, collecting our hard-earned pieces of paper and symbolically shifting tassels to represent the transition to the next part of our lives, I cheer for my strange group of friends and wonder what I would ever do without them.

  SUMMER IN CHICAGO IS a marvelous thing. We pray for warmth all winter long, and when we finally feel sunshine on our skin, we don’t take it for granted. People bust into flip-flops the moment it’s above freezing, and every weekend is bursting with some sort of outdoor craft fair, farmers’ market, or music festival. Navy Pier in particular packs in as many events as possible, so when people get bored at Taste of Chicago or Lollapalooza, they can mosey on over to ride the Ferris wheel, take in a show, and shop, shop, shop. This summer, they have planned a ginormous Beat the Heat! promotion, with daily water balloon fights, snow cones, and live appearances by random local celebrities on the air-conditioned main stage. Normally this nonsense would make me cr
azy, but summer is my favorite season, the warmth melting some of my frosty edges. And while Navy Pier isn’t exactly a Zen garden, at least I can walk along Lake Michigan covered in light.

  My matchmaking gig may be on hiatus, but I’m still working at Windy City Magic. Mom let me sleep in and miss the morning shift, and even though I spent a lazy couple of hours eating donuts and watching Gilmore Girls, I somehow got to the pier thirty minutes early. I could go in and help Bob organize the essential oils shipment, or I could grab an iced coffee and not be helpful at all. Decision made!

  I make my way to the water’s edge, walking all the way down to the easternmost point of the pier, where most tourists are too tired to venture. I flop onto a bench facing away from the pier and toward the lake, doing my best to soak in the serenity before I plunge into inventory duty back at the shop. Sunlight sparkles on the gentle waves as a daily cruise ship rounds the bend, riders laughing at the tour guide’s corny jokes.

  I have big plans for this summer, in that I have zero. While I absolutely cannot wait to start at the Chicago Culinary Institute and begin my ascent into dessert heaven, I want to enjoy these next few months by doing as little as possible, spending time with my friends before we’re scattered to our respective schools. Much to Vincent’s and Ella’s dismay, I’m taking way fewer hours at both the Black Phoenix and MarshmElla’s, and Windy City Magic too. You’re only on the brink of adulthood once, and I want to be lazy whenever I can. Amani and I are hoping to marathon all seven seasons of Bristol Bay, some terrible soapy drama she swears I will love (or love to make fun of), and Charlie and I have vowed to take turns planning “fancy date nights” for each other, where we surprise the other with mystery outings. I’m up first, and I bought us discounted tickets for a chocolate walking tour around the city. It’s going to be great.

  I smile at the thought, making my way down the rest of the pier, but I stop dead in my tracks when I spot a line of people winding outside Windy City Magic. What in the world? What is going on in there? We’re usually busier in the summer since the pier as a whole is more jam-packed, but I’ve never seen a queue of people waiting to get inside, not even when Mom ran her special “buy one, get one” aura-cleansing promotion.