The Cost of All Things (21 page)

Echo started waiting for me after baseball. Actually, she watched our entire baseball practices, a black dot along the third base line, and then she’d loiter by my truck after practice. If I came out with Markos or some of the other guys, she’d fade away. But if I came out alone, she’d get in the passenger-side door and we’d talk.

She wasn’t exactly pressuring me for the money. She wanted to know, first and foremost, if I’d taken the spell, and then, because I always said no, she wanted to know how I was.

And so I told her. I told her about black days and sleepless nights, and lying to Ari to save her more pain, and not asking for the money I knew I needed to ask for, and the worry on my mom’s face and the confusion on Kara’s. I told her that I wanted the spell more than anything, but the problem was, I couldn’t want anything properly, and so that weak wanting wasn’t enough to actually make me take it. The fact that the spell was right there in my sock drawer didn’t make it any more accessible. Ari
was right there in front of me. My real life was right there. None of it came easily.

“I can’t force you to take it,” she said one afternoon. She sat in the passenger seat with her back against the door, head leaning to the side on the headrest. “But I wish you would.”

“I will. I will.” I shrugged out of my letter jacket and tossed it in the backseat. The truck got warm with two people sitting in it and the engine off. “I should pay you first, though.”

Echo watched me take off the jacket and tried to press herself deeper into the car door, farther away from me. “I told you not to worry about that. You’ll probably be able to figure out a way to get the money faster after you take it, anyway.”

“But then once you have the money, you’ll leave me here to go off and be a hero,” I said, trying to joke. “Maybe I don’t want to pay because I enjoy our chats.”

Echo didn’t laugh. Her neck and cheeks turned red and she stared at the glove compartment.

I tried not to move. I’d said something terrible without even knowing it.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She didn’t respond.

“I really do like our chats,” I said. “You’re the only person I actually talk to. Everyone else, it’s too hard.”

She still didn’t say anything, but she stopped glaring at the glove compartment and looked at me. Her eyes were so clear and warm and sad I had to look away.

“What is it?” I asked. “Please tell me. I’m an ass, I know. I’ve made you mad.”

“I’m not mad. It’s—I want you to take the spell. I want you to feel better. But . . . I’m not sure if I want you to give me the money. Not anymore.”

“Oh,” I said.

She meant she wanted to be in the truck with me, checking up on me. She meant she wanted to stick around town, put off her trip, not seek out any more hekamists and covens to save her mom and herself.

For me.

She reached out and took my hand, which was tapping nervously against the steering wheel. Her skin was cool. I exhaled, which created a vacuum in my chest that meant I had to breathe in right away, deeply, completely, and the air smelled like the leather of Echo’s jacket and the lavender in her shampoo and I raised my head and turned to her and she was right there and if I moved an inch I would be kissing her.

For a second I thought I would do it. I felt the possibility consuming me, an electric bolt from my eyes to my toes, all of me suddenly aware of this girl’s proximity and the reality of her body underneath her layers of black jacket now pressing closer to my own.

Then my hand jerked out of hers and I pulled back and away and breathed through my mouth so I would not smell the leather and lavender again. I covered my eyes with my palms to go back
to numbness and darkness. The back of my head hit my window, which was a jolt of pain that was nothing compared to how much I hated myself in that moment.

I did not kiss her. But it didn’t matter. I wanted to kiss her, and that was bad enough.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She was breathing hard, too. That’s all I heard in the car—that and my heart banging on my chest. “I’m sorry, too,” she said.

“I can’t.”

“I know.”

“But you—I like you—”

“No, no. Please don’t say any of that.”

“I appreciate all you’ve done for me—”

“Definitely do not say
that
. Seriously, Win, let’s not talk. Let’s be totally silent and not speak and you drive me home and neither of us ever mentions this ever again. Okay?”

I nodded, and I turned on the car. I had to roll down a window because the air outside had gotten cooler and the inside of the car’s windows had steamed up. The seconds we spent waiting for them to clear were the longest seconds in the world, each one a thousand heartbeats or more.

I looped around the athletic fields to drop her off and then drove myself home. The whole time I was sure that
now
I would take the spell, that surely
now
I was such a miserable, pathetic excuse for a human being I had to take it—there was no other choice.

At home I took the sandwich out of my drawer and stared at it. If I took it and it worked, the next day I could be back to normal. I’d probably continue to feel guilty, but at least I could kiss Ari and really feel it again, the way I felt the voltage of Echo’s almost-kiss.

I didn’t deserve either of them.

I thought about it. And I put the spell back again.

Echo called soon after I left Markos’s. I’d been walking in circles around his neighborhood, killing time before Kay’s birthday dinner, turning over the idea of Win in my head. The few things I knew about him, the little clues I’d learned. How much Markos missed him. How I’d changed when I was with him. They formed the outline of a person, defined by his effect on others, and together didn’t add up to a real human being.

Markos said if I’d really loved Win, I would’ve wanted to remember. I thought about my parents. Perhaps I didn’t love them enough. Perhaps if I’d cared more I could’ve kept the memory of the fire and built up a scab around it. Then at least I’d have the scar to show for all the pain.

It occurred to me that it was August first.

I was supposed to be in New York, but I couldn’t prove to Jess that I could dance, so she’d never called the movers back after canceling them. She’d stopped putting things in boxes, too. Dishes and books appeared back on their shelves overnight.

Echo’s voice was bright in my ear. A strange contrast to the thoughts of Win and New York.

“Can you come by?” Echo asked.

“Now?”

“I’ve practiced a couple of times and I think I’m ready to make your spell.” She sounded excited, almost giddy, and I was excited, too, but I also couldn’t help picturing her arm covered with cuts and the sound of her screaming.

“I’ll be right there,” I said and started to run, then slowed so I wouldn’t trip in the middle of the road.

Echo described what she planned for my spell, the phases of the moon and the type of food, and how she was going to try to limit the side effects by giving me just enough grace.

“And the side effects?”

“It’s a physical spell, so it’ll have a mental side effect. Grace and control and power . . . you might be more emotional than usual, maybe? Hard to say, especially because it’s compounded.”

I wanted to be excited about everything she was saying, but something nagged at me. Some part of the outline of Win that I couldn’t fill in. Finally I interrupted her.

“Tell me what kind of spell you were making for Win.”

She paused. “I don’t think he’d want me to.”

“Why? Was it a love spell?” If Win had spelled me into loving him, that would explain what I’d done—completely changed my goals and life for him.

“No. It had nothing to do with you.”

I tried not to be disappointed. “But he was going to give
you five thousand dollars for it—that had to be something important. Expensive, so it was a permanent spell, right?” No response. “Did I know what it was, before I forgot him? Or was it a secret then?”

“You didn’t know.”

So Win had secrets. If Old Ari had known that, would she still have gone to so much trouble to forget him?

“Ari? You still there?”

“Why did it take you so long to blackmail me?” I asked.

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “What do you mean?”

“Win died at the end of May. I got my spell a week later. But you didn’t come to find me until the bonfire on July third.”

My steps slowed as the pause got longer and longer. “I couldn’t really think about anything for the first couple of weeks.”

“After Win died?”

“Yeah. I . . . It wasn’t easy.”

“Why not?”

Her voice faded almost to a whisper. “The way I grew up . . . I never had a friend before. I’d never told anyone I was a hekamist. I wasn’t even supposed to answer the door when my mom wasn’t around.”

“But you opened for Win.”

“I started to get desperate. My mom was fading. I needed to make money that she wouldn’t hide or destroy—so I told him. I didn’t expect . . .” She breathed into the phone. “I didn’t know how it would feel to tell someone. To have someone know you.
He knew me. With my mom so sick . . . he was the only one who did.”

I stopped walking. Something bitter churned in my stomach. She had stolen my grief, even if I’d given up all rights to it. “You know what, I can’t come over right now,” I said. “I have to meet my friends for dinner.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“But thank you. Thank you for making this spell.”

“It’s okay.”

“My friend’s been looking forward to this dinner, otherwise I’d ditch. I swear.”

“Don’t apologize. I’ll see you later.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said again anyway, even though the more I said it the less convincing it sounded. “I have to pick up Diana, we’re going to meet up with Kay at the restaurant. I’m probably already late, so—”

“Wait,” Echo interrupted. Her voice stopped wavering; she sounded like herself. “Your friend’s name is Kay?”

“Yeah. Kay Charpal.”

“Pretty Indian girl? Naïve? A little needy?”

“Basically.” Echo didn’t respond. “Do you . . . know her?”

She sighed, a long whoosh of air into the phone. “Yeah, I know her. You’ve been hooked.”

For my birthday, my friends found out about the hook.

It was Monday, and we were supposed to meet at the lobster place in town where you have to wear a bib and share buckets of seafood and they keep bringing you sides of potatoes. They were only open in the summer, when you could get fresh seafood and there were enough tourists to make it worthwhile. It was one of those quiet, dry nights, not too hot, moon shining down like a spotlight through the restaurant windows. I was the last one of us to turn seventeen; in fact, Diana would be eighteen in two months, so we’d all be the same age for a short window. Everything was lining up.

Mina and I waited an hour for Ari and Diana. They didn’t text or email or call; I thought I might’ve told them the wrong time. Finally we ordered, and I texted them under the table.

“Maybe they’ve gotten held up somewhere,” Mina said, attempting to be kind.

I bristled at her pity. They didn’t get held up. They couldn’t
get held up. Eventually the hook would bring them to me, because it worked. It always worked.

The first one to show up wasn’t even invited.

Cal Waters stood at the door to the restaurant, blinking and looking around the room. He still looked terrible: thinner, twitchy, sweating. I waved him over; what else could I do? He’d only look worse if I ignored him. When he reached us he stank of tequila.

“Hi, Cal, I’m Mina,” Mina said, smiling and reaching out her hand. “We were in eighth grade algebra together?”

He looked at her outstretched hand but kept his own by his side.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

He opened and closed his mouth without speaking. “I don’t know. I just . . . sort of ended up here.”

Behind Cal, I could see the door open, and Ari and Diana stepped through. I jumped up, pushing drunk Cal aside. “Ari! Di!”

Ari turned to me, her face set in anger. She grabbed Diana by the arm and dragged her to our table. Diana seemed to be in shock.

“Ari Madrigal,” Cal whispered, taking a step back.

“Where have you guys been?” I asked.

Ari glared. “Cut the shit, Kay. We know about the spell.”

“You do?” Cal slurred. He’d gone even paler under the thin sheen of sweat.

Ari barely glanced at him, nose wrinkling. “Yeah. We know
Kay gave us a hook and we aren’t allowed to leave her. You, me, and Diana.”

“Oh,” Cal said, swaying slightly. “Oh, that’s not good.”

“What’re you talking about, Ari?” Mina asked from her seat in the booth.

Ari explained how her hekamist friend had told her what I’d told the hekamist, that day I’d tried to get her to undo Cal’s part of the spell.

“Gee, thanks,” Cal said. “More spells.”

“Oh my god,” Mina said.

I sat back in the booth and crossed my arms over my chest. “So what?”

“So I want to go to New York and dance. Diana wants to be able to drive out of town without bashing her face in.” Ari gestured at Di, who stared at a point on the wall and didn’t seem to notice. Ari looked briefly worried, then turned to me, anger back in place. “It isn’t right.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“Break the spell. Let us go.”

“Breaking spells is nearly impossible. Don’t you know that?” I asked. Ari flushed and pressed her wrist against the edge of the table. “And anyway I don’t want to break it. We’re friends.”

“No, we’re not.”

“We’ve all made mistakes. Diana lied about being with Markos. You lied about forgetting Win—and we forgave you. So forgive me and let’s move on.”

Mina shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“What do you even care, Mina?” Too loud. The tables next to us turned and stared.

Ari shot a look at Mina. “You better watch out Kay hasn’t given you the hook, too, because if you try to go to India again, you’ll probably end up back in the hospital.”

Mina stopped breathing, went still.

The waiter approached the table with a cupcake crowded with candles, but when he saw our faces, he blew out the candles himself and backed away slowly.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but I knew whatever I said would be wrong.

“Happy birthday to me,” I said.

“Something’s still wrong,” Cal said. He exhaled alcohol over the whole table. “Not you and your hook. Something else. I’m so . . . hungry. D’you have anything to eat?”

“Shut
up
, Cal,” I said.

“Might not be a memory,” he said to Ari as if she’d asked him a question. “Might not be. I could be delusional, schizophrenic. I can’t tell.” He looked back and forth between our faces as if not quite seeing us, stopping on mine. “Did you give Markos a hook, too?”

My stomach dropped. “No, of course not. Cal, why don’t you go home?”

Diana grabbed Cal’s sleeve and stepped closer to him. He didn’t seem to notice. “Why did you ask if she spelled Markos?”

“Because they kissed. And now Markos is a shut-in.”

Diana and Ari looked at him and then at each other, then,
simultaneously, at me. I saw in their eyes every shred of possible understanding and forgiveness falling away; as flimsy as it was, it flaked off like the thinnest gold leaf. Underneath, there was nothing but cold, ugly concrete. All the anxieties I’d unhooked jumped and flew at me, making it hard to breathe.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” I said.

“They kissed,” Cal insisted, then burped. “Markos said so. He wouldn’t lie to me.”

I bit the side of my mouth and wished again for some wit, to know what to say and how to say it so that they’d understand and forgive me. “If it is true—which I’m not saying it is—but if he’s telling the truth, it was before I knew Diana was with Markos. If she’d told me they were together—”

“What the hell, Kay?”

“Ari, don’t,” Diana said.

Ari ignored her, getting louder by the second. “You claim to be this perfect friend who’s always here for us, but meanwhile you’re spelling us and kissing Diana’s crush—it’s sick.
You’re
sick.”

“Please stop,” Diana said. People at surrounding tables whispered to their waiters, pointing in our direction.

“Do you even know what being a friend is? Because I may have forgotten a lot in the past year but I know enough not to do something so monumentally stupid to the nicest, most loyal best friend you’ve ever been lucky enough to—”

“Shut up, Ari!” Diana said. Her face was bright red. She still held Cal’s sleeve, as if she’d forgotten to let go. “Stop defending
me. You’re not some paragon of perfect friendship.”

Ari flushed and drew herself up taller. “I’m not as bad as her.” She pointed at me.

“Think about it, though. It doesn’t matter what Kay did. Markos would’ve still broken up with me because I lied to him about your stupid spell.”

Ari stepped back and stumbled into the booth. “You blame
me
for what Markos did?”

Diana took a shaky breath. “You’ll always be my best friend, Ari. But sometimes you’re not very good at it.” Diana turned to Cal and pulled on his arm. “Come on. I’ll hail you a cab.” Cal allowed himself to be led out of the restaurant.

I wished I could follow them. During the conversation the place had become drab and unromantic, with cheap tablecloths and tacky seafaring decoration. I should’ve picked someplace else to eat. Someplace less beachy, less summery. A bistro with white tablecloths and classical music playing. Maybe none of this would’ve happened if I’d chosen differently.

Ari and I faced each other across the booth. “I tried to be a good friend,” I said. Ari snorted and I spoke faster to stop her from speaking over me. “I did. I love you guys. I’ve been trying to help you all summer.” My voice warbled, which I hated. I didn’t have to explain anything to her, but I did anyway. “I’ve been staying near. Even when you ignored me or made fun of me, I knew I had to stick around. And maybe—maybe one day everything would go back to normal. You’d appreciate me. We’d be real friends.”

It was humiliating down to my bones, as if I’d burned off clothes and skin and muscle to get to the truth. Tears stung behind my eyes, more from anger than from sadness, and I held them back.

Ari shook her head. “Diana’s mad but she and I will be fine. You’re delusional if you think it’ll be the same with you.”

Ouch.

Unhook it. Hang it away.

I stood up. Mina stood, too, but I refused to look at her, and she let me leave the restaurant alone.

I left Ari and Mina stewing in the restaurant, hating me. Cal and Diana, waiting for a cab on the street, hating me. Fine. I hated them, too.

Only I didn’t really hate them.

All the feelings I’d unhooked were still there. I could unhook them but that didn’t mean they were gone. Somewhere in me, I was ashamed. They’d seen the worst part of me, the truest part. I could pretend that it was good enough to order them around and get them to do what I wanted, the birthday dinner and sitting sullenly in my backyard, but what I really wanted them to realize was how much they missed me. And I couldn’t force that.

Instead, I punished them. I was true to my word and didn’t call any of them for four days.

Knowing what I did about the spell, I knew that what happened then was partly, if not fully, my fault.