Bruja Born

by Zoraida Cordova

  “We’ve beaten Van Buren like six hundred times, but they’re still a solid team.” He squeezes my hand once, then lets it go.

  “You okay?” I ask. As a healer, I can sense the tension knotting his aura. He’s always nervous before a game, but today it’s worse than usual. Maybe I’m feeling the residual magic from Alex’s canto. My magic has been way off.

  At the red light, he turns to me. His hair is combed back at the top and his edges are freshly buzzed. I brush my fingers at his nape, where the barber didn’t brush off all the stray hairs.

  “Lula,” he says my name like a sigh.

  He turns to me again. I can’t tell what he’s searching for, but when I look at him, really look at him, I remember why I fell for him. The sweet, caring boy whose smile made me dizzy. I always keep a sprig of hydrangeas on my altar because they remind me of his eyes.

  We both start when someone honks behind us, and he faces the road again.

  “I was thinking,” I say, trying to make my voice low and playful, but I end up feeling silly, “we could do something after the game. Just the two of us.”

  “I already told the team they could party at my house. My parents are on a business trip, and my sister’s already at Uki camp for the summer.”

  I shouldn’t be annoyed, but I am. I tell myself he’s just tired. He’s been practicing extra hard. He’s going to Boston College on a soccer scholarship and wants to be at the top of his game.

  “We haven’t really been alone in a while,” I say.

  “That’s not my fault.”

  “It’s not my fault either. Look, I don’t want to fight.”

  Another red light. He shakes his head, like he’s dispersing the thought he just had.

  “What?”

  “I’m just saying”—he sighs and flicks on his turn signal—“we haven’t been alone because you never feel like being alone. You’ve been so off, and I don’t know what to do anymore.”

  “I told you about my dad coming back. And the break-in.”

  I watch the red light, the people at the crosswalk. We’re a few blocks away from school. I recognize a couple of girls from my team by their black-and-red uniforms. A woman dressed in all black trails behind them. She holds a cane that glints in the sunlight, and with every step, her jewelry swings from side to side. She wears dozens of necklaces made of glittering gems and wooden beads. She glances at us in the car, and I swear I’ve seen her before. For a flash, the dark stare takes me to a place of my nightmares. My skin is hot, and when I close my eyes, I picture the shadows reaching for me with their claws. I grip the car seat so my hands will stop shaking.

  “I know you have family stuff,” Maks says, thankfully unaware of my tiny freak-out. “I just—I’m not sure how to say it. You’re not the same person you were two years ago.”

  Two years.

  Maks and I have been dating for two years. That’s two years of dates. Two years of I love yous and I want you forevers. Two years of going to sleep reading his messages, of hearing his voice just before I drifted off and dreaming about us together. Maks wasn’t the first boy to tell me I was beautiful. But when he said it, when he kissed the inside of my wrist and wrote it over and over again, You’re beautiful. I love you, I believed him.

  I roll down the window. My scars burn and I flip down the sun visor and double check that Alex’s canto is holding up. There I am. I look like the old me even if I don’t feel like her.

  Maks pulls into the school parking lot behind the gym and puts the car in park. He taught me how to parallel park even though I don’t have my license. It’s a weird memory, but it pops into my head as he unbuckles his seat belt and holds the steering wheel with a white-knuckle grip.

  “Maks.” My voice is small because I know what comes next.

  He breathes in long and deep, as if to steady himself. “I think we should break up.”

  2

  El Corazón falls in love over and over,

  trying to make his two hearts whole.

  —Tales of the Deos, Felipe Thomás San Justinio

  “Please, don’t make a scene,” Maks says softly.

  The school band recognizes Maks’s car and cheer as they board the big, yellow-cheese buses. The parking lot is full of students, faculty, and parents dressed in Thorne Hill Knights colors, ready to caravan all the way to Queens Village. My body flashes hot at the thought of getting out of the car to join them.

  I take a deep breath, anger burning a clear path to my lips. “You think we should break up?”

  “Baby, don’t—” He stops whatever he’s going to say next, catching himself on the familiarity, and it’s like a fist to my gut.

  “Don’t call me baby.”

  “Lula. I’ve tried.” He squeezes the steering wheel. “I’ve tried so hard, but it’s been months. I know the robbery was hard on you. You have no idea how much I wish I’d been there to protect you.”

  “And your answer is this?” I look out my window at my faint reflection. Moments ago, I was so sure today was the day everything would be better. “You can’t stand the idea of spending one more second with me that you’re doing this now?”

  He turns to me, daring to look hurt. “That’s not true. You should know me better than that. I wanted to wait until after graduation, but my sister said it wasn’t fair to you. One minute you’re fine, and then the next, you’re not.”

  “I’m trying, Maks.”

  “What about last weekend? Remember Pierre’s party? You just walked out to the middle of the street and stood there, staring into space. If I hadn’t come outside, you would’ve gotten clipped by that car.”

  I do remember. There were too many people in that house and it was too dark, so I walked outside and stared at the light of the moon. It was the only moment of peace I’d found in so long that I didn’t notice the car until Maks screamed my name and pushed me out of the way. He was white with fear, holding my face in his hands until he was sure I wasn’t hurt. He drove me home right away. “You have to talk to someone,” he told me. And I said, “I’m fine. I promise.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I really am. You’re not the same person I fell in love with. You don’t want to be around your own friends. You haven’t applied to college. It’s like your fire is gone.”

  The unfairness of his words stings worse than this morning’s canto. If he knew the truth, he’d surely understand. But how do you tell your sinmago boyfriend that the “robbery” all over the New York news was actually an attack by a power-hungry demon witch?

  I flip between wanting to slash his tires and begging him to stay with me. I’ll try harder, I want to say. But I can’t, so I just watch as the team loads their gear on the bus.

  “Maks,” I plead. Doesn’t he understand that he’s been the only constant thing in my life? “Don’t do this.”

  He finally turns to me. His gaze travels across my face, and I wonder if he’s trying to remember why he fell in love with me in the first place. “I never wanted to hurt you. But I have to do the right thing.”

  “The right thing?” I echo his words. “For yourself, you mean. You can’t put up with me so you’re bailing. Just say it how it is. Don’t pretend you’re making a sacrifice.”

  “You’re twisting my words. I’ve thought a lot about this. I don’t know how to help you and I don’t think I’m good for you. So I have to make a choice. Even if it hurts us both.”

  “If it hurts that much, then don’t do it.” I hate the weakness in my voice. “We can forget about this. Just pretend it never happened.”

  “I care about you, Lula.” He turns to me, and in this moment, I have never loved and hated someone so much all at once. “But I can’t give you what you need. Deep inside, you know that. We—”

  A dozen hands smack the windows of the car. I jump in my seat, and Maks curses loudly when he sees his teamma
tes 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.

  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 wil
l 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.