“There’s nothing to talk about.”
Jesse responds, a short and sharp statement, but I don’t hear it. I don’t hear the wind howling or the metallic rattle of the rain hitting the truck.
A woman watches us from between the trees. Warm brown eyes catch mine, and a wide smile spreads over her angular face. She wears jeans we thrifted in San Francisco on my seventh birthday, the wordsSugar Highbedazzled in red across each of the pockets. Her hair hangs loose by her shoulders.
It’s the hair that convinces me. Not a drop of rain touches her; not a single strand sticks to her face or neck.
Mama beckons me.
Without taking my eyes off her, I ask, “Do you have the journal with you, Jesse?”
“Yeah, it’s in the back. What—”
“Don’t follow me.”
Mama slips into the gloom of trees, and I break into a run.
It takes twenty minutes after I run out of the woods to realize the shadow is leading me back home. I lost sight of it a couple of blocks ago, but its path is unmistakable.
I stop to catch my breath and push the sweat-soaked hair from my forehead. I briefly entertain the notion of texting Jesse, but there’s no point. As soon as he finishes searching in the woods, he’ll head straight to my house. If I call him now, he’ll demand I wait.
But we’re out of time. The answer to how to break the curse might be in my mother’s journal, and we won’t know if I don’t look into the shadow and unlock another entry.
There is a bitter irony in finding myself chasing Mama’s shadow yet again.
I spent years wondering what happened to her. Looking out into the audience after a dance competition and scanning for her face like a broken reflex. Wishing I could hear her voice in the morning, feel the soft press of her palm against my forehead when I’m sick, lay my head on her lap when my heart weighs me down.
Which version of my mother was true? Which Nadine am I chasing?
By the time I reach my house, every inch of my body aches. I ease open the front door. “Baba?”
No answer. I figured as much. His car isn’t out front, but sometimes he parks in the garage when it storms. I toe off my shoes and shake the rain from my coat. The house lies dark, and the shadows stay still when my gaze glides over them. It’s here—I can feel it. But which one is it?
After a minute of waiting, I flip on the lamp by the couch. If it wants to play coy, fine. I’m not going anywhere.
I draw my phone from my pocket and plug it into the charger. The battery died shortly after Jesse’s confrontation with Alex, and I gape at the texts lighting up my screen.
Lucia:
AIDA OVERHEARD MISS DIAZ TALKING ON THE PHONE
MINA
YOU GOT IT YOU GOT IT YOU GOT IT
Rainie:
congrats you lil nerd!! classic
I scroll through my notifications, stopping at an email from Principal Bellis at the bottom. My hands shake as I thumb it open.
I got it.
Igot it?
I GOT IT.
They want me to speak at graduation. Me, Mina Mansour, will stand behind a podium and address hundreds of parents, students, and teachers on one of the most memorable days of our lives.
