Ana hands me the plastic tub of hair potion. I sniff it before starting to coat my hair with it. The potion smells a little like the shea butter lotion Mom uses, mixed with something else I can’t identify that reminds me of Pilar’s shop. My curls immediately look more defined, and a haze appears around my head as the water starts to evaporate from my hair faster. I resolve to start brewing curly-hair potions this week.

Ana takes her hair down from its tight bun, sticks her head under the tap, and gives her scalp a quick scrub. “I can’t believe you hated me, like, a month ago,” Ana says, squeezing the water out of her hair. She holds out a hand, and I pass her the tub of hair potion. After turning off the water, she stands and finger-combs the conditioner into her own hair. “All I could think when you told me you hated me was, wow, that’s some Bronxtown Brooms level shit right there.”

“Yeah, if Bronxtown Brooms was about two witches who were . . .” I fumble for how to continue. “Academic rivals turned . . .” I pause again. “Friends?”

She chuckles. “I was wondering where that was going.”

There’s a moment of silence where I mentally yell at myself for the weirdness that just came out of my mouth.

Ana tilts her head to the side, considering me. “You have something—here.” She wipes her hand off on one of the towels, then swipes a finger across my cheek. My heart relocates to somewhere in my throat. She pulls her hand back and shows me a glob of hair potion.

“Um, thanks,” I say, and my voice sounds too high in my ears. “Sorry, wow, I’m a mess.”

Okay, if this had happened before Lex said all that stuff about Ana possibly being into girls, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. But now my brain is short-circuiting, and all I can think about is how I can still feel the brush of her finger on my cheek.

“Anaaaaaaaaaa!” a voice yells from somewhere else in the house.

I jump, startled. Ana turns toward the door, wearing an expression of weary resolve. Pounding feet run by the bathroom. Ana’s name rings through the house again, whinier this time.

“Are you going to—” I start to say.

“Don’t worry, she’ll find us,” Ana says, coming to lean against the countertop next to me. A few quiet seconds tick by, and then the sound of pounding feet returns.