“I’ll take you there,” I say. I wish I could do something magical—actual magic—like temporarily blind her or transform her into a frog I could cram in my pocket, but before I know it, we’re rounding a corner, and there’s Charlie, leaning against the chemistry doorframe, waiting to meet up with me. His class is on the way to my calculus class, so we like to meet up for sixty seconds of kissing and whatnot. He sees me and perks up, repositioning his bag to his back so I can snuggle up appropriately. He greets me with a kiss on my forehead, then asks, “Who’s your friend?”
I resist the urge to wrap my arms around him and stake my territory. Be cool, Amber. “This is Kim. She just transferred here. She’ll be joining you for chem.”
“Ah. Be sure not to sit in the front row. Mr. Longhorn starts sweating when he talks about solvents.”
“Thanks for the tip.” She laughs.
“I’m Charlie,” he says, offering his hand, and as they shake, I watch him closely for any type of reaction. Did he feel something when they touched? An electric current running from his fingers to his heart? Did she? His expression seems normal, and yet I’m imagining him pulling her toward him and swooping her into his arms for a Hollywood-style kiss. Nothing even remotely close to that happens, but I can’t help but wonder if the seeds of romance have been planted.
“Nice to meet you, Charlie, and thanks for the help, Amber. I should be okay now. I’m glad we met,” Kim says with a smile so sincere it almost makes me sick. There’s no evidence of her being a two-faced miscreant; in fact, she seems like a rare breed of decent human being. I can’t fault her for that.
I feel weird, beyond weird, and barely reciprocate when Charlie presses his lips to mine. He pulls back, confused at kissing a mannequin.
“Everything okay?” he asks, tucking my hair behind my ear.
“Hmm? Yeah. Fine.” But I’m not fine; I’m the opposite of fine. There’s no way I’m going to survive a whole day under this roof where Charlie and Kim could potentially be falling in love. No. I need to get some clarity, and nothing in these textbooks will provide me the answers I need.
It’s taking me five times longer than normal to process every word. My heart is beating so loud I may as well be listening to death metal with noise-canceling headphones.
Charlie looks at me like he’s worried I’m having a stroke. “Okay…but will you be fine, partner? You seem a little…unhinged.”
Oh, it’s nothing. I’ve faced goblins and vampires and more, but it’s adorable transfer students that have me shaking in my knee socks.
When the bell rings, I walk past Calculus and right out the back door. I walk all the way home, in fact, my thoughts playing on an unhelpful, psychotic loop.
I like him. I like him so much. It’s kind of unreal how fast and hard I’ve fallen for Charlie. My work has always prepared me for the worst; for every happy ending I’ve witnessed, there have been ten more train wrecks piled behind them, the dust of their wreckage clouding my vision. That sediment started clogging my arteries, making me feel like love would never truly course through my veins. And now, after I JUST opened myself up to romantic possibilities, I feel like it’s all being taken away from me. It’s not fair, the timing is insane: soul mates meeting in high school? What are the odds of that? Like, 1 percent of the population?! They couldn’t have met in college, or through some horrible online dating app like normal people? GAH!
And yet…I brought this on myself. I let myself be swayed by Charlie sans warranty, and now here I am, with a relationship set to expire. What am I supposed to do? Step aside gracefully and just let the inevitability of Charlie and Kim happen? Or keep on moving forward, letting myself grow more and more attached to him until his fated departure would truly be heartbreaking?
I go straight home and hide in my bed, ignoring my phone and doing everything in my power to turn off my head. Suddenly, I’m struck with an idea. A stupid idea, to be sure, but since I’m home alone and have no one around to stop me, I act before I can talk myself out of it. I charge into Mom’s office, grabbing the jar of white incantation sand off one of the many shelves. I open the lid and start hastily making a circle on the floor. It comes out lopsided—more of an ellipse than a circle—but it doesn’t matter. I light whatever candles are within arm’s reach and place them in the center.
I don’t care if I’m not a witch. I’ve seen this done a hundred times; I know I can do it.
I’m going to conjure the Fates.
I SIT CROSS-LEGGED ON A pillow on the line of sand, breathing in the conflicting candle scents. If I weren’t in such a messed-up state of mind, I’d probably think twice about asking one of the Fates into my home; if I can get one here, he or she will not be happy about being conjured by a lowly matchmaker. But so what? Only the Fates can explain to me why this is happening, so I don’t give a crap what kind of mood I’m met with.
I close my eyes, running my lines internally before speaking aloud. I’ve heard the spiel before, but the words have never crossed my lips. There’s no room for error if I want this to work.
“Divine Fates, watchers of this lowly realm, the Sand family calls upon you. Bless us with your wisdom, your eternal foresight, and share with us the secrets of our mortal coil.” I take several deep breaths, envision the scene I wish to see before opening my eyes. If I can hold a proper image of the Fates in my head, they will know I’m worthy of their time, and grace me with their presence.
Slowly, I open my eyes, and to my satisfaction, a glowing pinprick of warm blue light is bobbing in the middle of the room. Quickly it grows, stretching vertically, until a humanlike shape begins to form. A head, limbs, and torso all come into focus, but no feet; the Fates look kind of like a genie without a lamp, just a wisp of curling light dangling down below. I guess you don’t need feet when you can float into existence.
I’m so pleased with my victorious conjuring, I want to scream a battle cry of success, but I refrain from self-congratulation, as the male Fate is clearly not as pleased to see me as I am him.
“What’s this?” he snips. “I thought I was being called by a Sand sorceress.”
“Well, I am a Sand, but—”
“You’re a matchmaker,” he says, disgusted, as if he were addressing a leper.
“Yes I am,” I say with my chin held high. I’m not going to let a spectral jerk add to my drama. “And I need some information.”
The Fate laughs. “I don’t answer to the likes of you!”
“Why not? I was able to get you here, even without being a witch. Don’t you think that deserves at least a minute of your time?”
He raises a sky-blue eyebrow. “I suppose….”
Great! Better make this quick before he changes his mind. “I need to know if a matchmaker is allowed to be in love.”
There’s another laugh, which is pretty rude if you ask me. “This is your concern?”
I nod.
The Fate swoops in closer, hovering like a cloud just above my head. “Little girl, do you realize what I deal with all day? War, destruction, disease…the absolute depths of human existence—”
“And you know what I deal with?” I cut him off. “Loneliness, betrayal, heartbreak. Every single day people come to me, looking for a sliver of hope, wanting to know that they won’t go through this world all on their own. They come to me for answers about love, but what do I know? I’ve never been in love! I’ll probably never…” I choke on my words.
“There is nothing in the stars that says a matchmaker can’t fall in love,” he says. His tone is more clinical than sympathetic, like he’s reading from a supernatural textbook.
“But then why…” I whisper, my head hanging down so as not to reveal any potential tears. I cannot let myself cry in front of a Fate. “Why would someone I can’t keep cross my path? Why even present me with an option that’s not truly open?”
He sighs in frustration. “You went against your own advice, did you not? With your latest romantic entanglement?”
; “I did.”
“And if you were faced with the same set of circumstances, would you do it again?”
I consider this. If I knew Kim was about to enter our lives, would I still offer my heart to Charlie? Would I let down my guard, go against the self-imposed barriers I’ve built over the years? My knee-jerk reaction is no, I wouldn’t; who would willingly throw her heart to the slaughter? But then, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t know what it felt like to be held by someone so tightly, to be looked at like I was the sun in someone’s sky. I wouldn’t have the memories of fingers and lips that warmed me, of smiles that lit me up inside. Even if he does get lured away, aren’t the memories worth something? Does it all have to be swept under the rug of regret?
No. It doesn’t. I don’t regret falling for Charlie, no matter how spazzy my insides feel. I’m scared, yes, about what will happen next, but I’m still here. My heart aches, but it still beats. I’ve made tons of recipes that didn’t come out right: too sweet, too bland, too gooey. But I don’t regret trying them; they helped me figure out where I went wrong. I’d never stop baking after burning a batch of cookies, so I don’t fault myself now.
“Yes,” I finally admit. “I probably would.”
The Fate rolls his eyes. “Well, there you go.”
I know the Fates are notoriously obnoxious, but I thought I’d get something a little more substantial out of this. “Is there any chance there’s a bug in the system?”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, like, a percentage of error? In my magic…in matchmaking in general?”
“In general, or in reference to your particular situation?” he eyes me suspiciously.
“Both! Either! What does it matter?” I exclaim.
“Do not get fussy with me, young lady.”
Ugh. “Sorry. I just feel like I should know, you know? If there’s a chance I’m leading people astray, maybe my matchmaking should come with a disclaimer. A ‘follow at your own risk’ or something?”
The Fate is looking around the room, clearly bored by this discussion. “You have yet to make a false match, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I shake my head. “But what about Amani?”
“My previous comment stands.”
“But she hates her match.”
The Fate stays silent. Either he is over this, or he has no idea what I’m referencing. I mean, I’m sure the Fates don’t sit around and gossip about the love lives of teenage mortals, unless we are oblivious stars of the weirdest interplanetary reality show of all time.
“And Charlie?”
“You know I can’t reveal one’s own future.”
I take a deep breath, realizing this is my only chance for an answer. I have to try. “I know, but can’t you just, like, point me in the right direction or something? Just this once? I know I’m asking about myself here, but really this is about something bigger: about my magic as a whole. If what I’m feeling for him is somehow skewing who I see for his match, or if there’s a love loophole I’m not aware of…I just feel like I need all the details to keep moving forward. Not only for myself, but for anyone who comes to me for help. I need to know that what I’m telling them is real. Please. Share your magical wisdom or whatever?”
Unmoved by my plea, his light starts to fade, undoubtedly heading off to deal with his next crisis. My time with him is up. But before he disappears completely, he says, “I already have.”
I go to bed early and ditch school the next day. I just don’t feel like dealing with the outside world. My phone keeps buzzing; Charlie has called me a hundred times. Well, maybe not a hundred. I know he’s probably worried about me ditching school without a heads-up, but I need to be alone with my thoughts.
What did that Fate mean when he said that he’d already shared his wisdom? For someone who is “all knowing,” he was pretty vague on the actual information. Did he mean his point about me not making a false match? Because that’s obviously wrong, since Amani and Vincent are a total no go. Unless there’s still a chance they’ll end up together? Amani seems pretty adamant in her repulsion of him. Even though I have envisioned them together, it’s hard to see her doing a 180 at this point.
If, for the sake of argument, I haven’t made a false match, does Charlie fall under that umbrella? Technically, I haven’t actually matched him; I’ve never revealed Kim’s identity as his match, though I did introduce them yesterday. Does that count? In the times that I have physically brought couples together, it’s usually been with the revelation of their destiny, not just a random meeting. Does that have to be shared? Do I have to say, “This is your match”? Or is the meeting enough? GAH.
I feel like everything I once knew is now muddled, and I just want to give up altogether.
I take a sadness nap, and when I wake up, Amani is sitting on the edge of my bed with her cosmetics bag.
“What are you doing?” I ask groggily, cheek adhered to my pillow with drool.
“I’m going to paint your toes with glitter polish,” she says, searching for my feet under the piles of blankets and empty cookie bags.
“What? Why?”
“Just because you’re having some sort of emotional breakdown doesn’t mean you can’t have cute toes. Rainbow or gold?” she asks, holding up the two bottles.
I love her train of thought sometimes, no matter how nonsensical it can be. So I submit. “Fine. Rainbow. But beware when you take off my socks.”
“I’ll breathe through my mouth.” Friendship, ladies and gentlemen. “So, can I regale you with tales from the outside world?”
“Depends,” I answer. “Are they filled with happiness?”
“No. Only pain and suffering.”
“Okay then. Proceed.”
She starts working on my right foot, filling me in on Manchester gossip I really don’t care about. But then she segues into, “So…Kim.”
“Yup. She’s real.”
“And now you’re avoiding Charlie.”
“Huh?”
“You’re avoiding him. You haven’t answered any of his texts or calls.”
“How do you know?”
“He came up to me yesterday after you bailed. He’s worried about you.”
“He’s not too busy falling for Kim?”
Amani scrunches up her nose and lips, but I doubt it’s because of my stinky feet. “Listen, you know I love you, but don’t you think you’re being a little ridiculous? I mean, yes, it is stressful that Kim has magically arrived, and yes, I do understand your freak-out. But Charlie is with you. He chose you. You’re acting like he dumped you the moment he laid eyes on her.”
“It’s inevitable, though.”
“Yeah…” She twists the nail polish cap back on. “You don’t know for sure what the future will bring.”
“And you do? Are we having conflicting visions? Is this the classic matchmaker versus precog showdown here?”
She’s biting her lip like there’s more she wants to say but can’t.
“What are you not telling me?” I sit up quickly, smearing sparkles on my sheets.
“Nothing! It’s just…I think you need to relax. Don’t cast Charlie off just yet. He’s holding on to you. The whole thing deserves a closer look.” The word launches off her tongue with extra pep, like a clue being flung airborne. Did she break our pact and have a vision, see a further future between Charlie and me?
“Okay, Sharma: spill.”
She hangs her head like a dog caught using a rug as a restroom. “Look. I didn’t mean to spy on your destiny. Charlie was sniffing around me, so I almost didn’t have a choice.”
“WHAT?!”
She fluffs the skirt of her uniform. “Something’s going on with me. Ever since that séance, my visions have been coming back. And it’s been getting easier, or at the very least, more involuntary. Like it used to be.” She gives a small smile. “The other day, I envisioned a pop quiz in world history just by passing by Mr. Whittle in the hall.”
“Amani, that’s ama
zing!” I wrap her tight in a hug. “I can’t believe it!”
“I know, it’s weird. And I still have some work to do in learning to control it.”
“I can help you!”
“Yes, and I’m going to hold you to that,” she says. “But it doesn’t change what I already know. I don’t think it technically goes against our pact when I say, as a precog and your friend, I feel very strongly that there is more to your and Charlie’s story, and I urge you to find out what it is.”
A few days ago, I was only at the beginning; the ink had yet to dry on the introduction of our relationship. I certainly wasn’t looking for a way out or a sudden plot twist. I was excited to see where the story was headed, what kind of adventures were chapters ahead. Was this event just a small diversion from the sunny days to come? Or am I destined for a depressing ending no matter what?
I really don’t know.
“Just…think about it,” Amani continues. “You better be back at school tomorrow. You can’t just leave me there alone.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I’ll get it together.”
“Good. I have to be going; biology homework awaits.” She stands and collects her things. “Call me if you need to talk.”
I nod, and when she’s gone, I return to my former vegetative state, this time with cuter toes.
“CONGRATULATIONS, YOU ARE EACH OTHER’S MATCH.” Two twentysomething girls sit before me, our hands joined in a circle at my matchmaking booth. The minute they hear the news, they forget all about me, trading my fingers for each other’s, sharing a kiss that could easily be the final shot of a romantic movie. One a partial fairy, the other just a boring ol’ human, the two girls fit together so perfectly, I almost didn’t bother putting them through my whole Cupid charade. Still, people like ceremonies. Even if they know the final outcome, it’s the pageantry and traditions that cement those moments in reality. I let the lovebirds carry on for a bit; it’s nice, comforting somehow, to see love with my own eyes.
After they’ve finished rejoicing in their bona fide romance, the pixie turns to me, blushing at her full-on public make-out session. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry for carrying on like that!” she says with a southern drawl. “We’re both just so thrilled!” Her girlfriend grins in agreement.
The Best Kind of Magic Page 23