I swallow and make myself look at him.
He’s still the single most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. The thought that even with distorted memoriesandthe knowledge of my past, he still kissed me…it’s too much. Too much to believe.
He kissed me.
Despite everything, he still wants me. Maybe only physically, but maybe…
“Agree?” I ask, cutting off my wandering thoughts.
“That’s it?” he asks. “That’s your condition?”
“Yes,” I say. My voice cracks, so I steel my spine. I will not cower, not now. “You decide whether you want them, once and for all. It will be your choice. I’ll understand, whatever you decide.”
“All right,” he says, brows furrowed. “I agree.”
I nod in response. My throat is too tight to speak.
“Which one are we doing first?” he asks. His voice is raspy as he peers at the jar in my lap. The label is turned away, facing me.
I stare at the jar too. I’d planned to show him his final memory with me, the one that led to everything else, that led to thenow, with him looking at me like I’m a stranger.
“Actually, neither of them,” I say. I twist slightly, shoving thejar into my bag. Elliot immediately starts to protest, but I cut him off. “I’ll show you them, I promise. But first…I need to show you one of mine.”
I look down at my palm and rub my fingers together. My magic pulses beneath my skin, zapping just beneath my fingernails.
“One of yours?” he repeats.
“Yes,” I say. Another nod. Another stubborn refusal to cower. I stare at Elliot. “It’s important. I promise.”
“All right,” he says finally, reluctantly.
With magic stinging my skin, I press my hand to my forehead, pulling the memory from my head. The pain is similar to extracting a tooth. The memory strains to hold its place in my brain, but I am nothing if not gifted at forgetting.
“What can I do?”Margot asks.
She sits beside me on the hard wooden bench outside of the headmaster’s office. Her hands rest on my knee. She just painted her nails yesterday, and I study the pale yellow polish, rather than meet her eyes.
“I didn’t do it,” I say. My voice wobbles, and before I can stop it, tears leak from my eyes. “I swear, Margot. I couldn’t have. I didn’t?—”
“I know,” she says. She squeezes my knee, so hard it’s painful. “Look at me, Secora.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and do my best to blink away the lingering tears. When I finally meet her gaze, she leans closer.
“I know you didn’t,” she repeats. “I’m going to talk to Mama, and they’re going to figure this out, okay? We’ll get it taken care of.”
She means every word, but it’s a hollow promise. Mama Blake won’t be able to save me, not from this one.
“They’re going to send me back,” I choke out. “They’ll make me go back, and they’ll n-never reverse my sentence. They might even k-k-”
I break off. I can’t make myself say it out loud.
The tears fall again, and this time, there’s nothing I can do to stop them. I sit here and cry, while Margot helplessly rubs my back. She promises again and again that Mama Blake will help, until my sobs are too loud to talk over.
“Oh, Secora—” she starts.
“Elliot,” I interrupt. I’m mostly-incoherent now, but I know she’s heard me. “Get Elliot. Please.”
I know better than to ask for him. We’re not supposed to be friends, let alone close enough for me to beg for him. Margot knows we’ve kissed, that we’re kind to one another. She doesn’t know how many stolen moments we’ve shared. She doesn’t know he’s told me his dreams or that he talks about having a family with me someday.
