VALERIA:

I would not love you if you dosed me with love potion

I would not love you if you gifted me the ocean

If you saved our store

Or respected my name

I would not love you

I will never feel the same

—Lyrics to “My Unfortunate Condition” from Bronxtown Brooms

Ana drives a dilapidated blue van that vibrates softly when she goes above fifty miles per hour. She warns me about that when we first start driving, so I’m expecting it by the time we fly on the highway to leave West Palm Beach. Still, it’s jarring when the car starts to shake.

Ana laughs, probably noticing the terror on my face. “Yeah, I wasn’t kidding. This thing is a piece of shit. I bought her off my uncle for basically nothing after I got my license.”

“At least you have a car,” I say grumpily. If I had a car, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I could have driven myself home once the potion wore off.

“Are you mad at me for driving you home?” she asks.

Um, what? I rest my elbow on the car door, lean my face into my hand, and stare out the window. I watch the greenery underneath the highway for a while before answering. “I dunno. No,” I admit. “I don’t know how to act with you now, okay?”

“Okay. I thought I’d ask, since I apparently suck at figuring out how you’re feeling.”

We lapse into silence. I can’t see the magic in faraway objects anymore, thank god, so now the dim glimmers of magic I see in the passing scenery are pretty instead of overwhelming.

“Mr. B was really worried about you being sick. I made up some story about how you hadn’t been feeling well for most of the rehearsal, and I thought he was going to ditch everyone to come help you for a second,” Ana says, sounding amused.

“Great,” I say flatly. More reasons for him to pity me. Love it.

“Do you not like him?” Ana asks. “You’re, like, his new favorite. I thought you were all rah-rah Mr. B now.”

“I don’t hate him or anything,” I say. That salsa comment he made pops into my head, but I shove the thought away before I can dwell on it too much.