Lex is clearly wrong. There’s no way I like Ana like that. I’m just intense about my friendships. Right?

Right.

Lex’s words stick uncomfortably in my brain while I work on my part of the potion prep for the weekend. I still haven’t managed to shake my growing self-consciousness by the time I hop into Ana’s car after work.

Ana and I drive mostly in silence for a while. I stare out the window at the passing cars, composing myself. I don’t know why Lex’s comments are bothering me so much. I don’t like Ana. Even if I did, the chances that she likes girls are slim. The chances that she likes girls and specifically likes me are even slimmer.

“How’s my favorite enemy doing?” Ana says. I startle, even though her voice wasn’t loud. “Wow, you were deep in thought,” she says. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“I’m just tired from work,” I say, realizing that it’s probably rude for me to ignore her the entire time we hang out. Get it together, Shay. “Zonked out there for a sec.”

“Did you brew anything cool today?”

I sit up straighter in my seat. “Yes! I got to do this new potion today that helps with breastfeeding, and I got to manipulate the magic into all these cool star patterns that were really hard to get right.” I give her a full description of how the potion is brewed, complete with enthusiastic hand gestures. By the time I finish the story, I realize that I haven’t let her get a word in for at least five minutes.

“You’re such a potions nerd,” she says, giving me a small smile.

“So are you,” I say. She does almost as much potionworking as I do at school.

She makes a noncommittal noise. “I just want to make money when I get older, and if I study potionworking in college, I could work in a magilab or go to medical school.”

“Oh.” I always thought she was pretty into potions. “Would you do something else? If you didn’t have to make money?”

Her face goes blank. She stops the car at a red light, and the silence stretches so long that I wonder if she’s going to answer. “Teach dance,” she says finally. “Probably.”

“You’d be good at that.”

“Thanks.” She taps her fingers against the steering wheel, staring at the road ahead. I sneak a glance at her every few seconds, wondering what’s going on in her head. She doesn’t say anything else until the light turns green. “Thanks for not telling me that I should, like, pursue my dreams,” she says as she pulls the car into the intersection.

“Oh, um, no problem?” Surreptitiously, I check her expression to see if she’s kidding, but she seems completely serious. “I’m lucky because my dream job happens to be something that makes money.”