“Yeah…” I clear my throat, trying to sound mysterious instead of panicked. “But I can teach you about something else. A class I’ve been working on. It’s about using manifestation and scripting to shape the energy around you,” I continue, slipping into my practiced cadence, “so you can move through the world protected by intention and what you choose to project.”
This is a chance for me to perfect my newest class offering. More than that, it’ll truly help these girls stay positive and put the kind of armor in place that people like to see, that they expect. Our worlds are different, but I know that the messy softness—the kind that’s real, the kind that hurts—is best kept hidden no matter where they are.
Romy’s freckled cheeks flush pink as she leans closer, eyes bright. “And the way you speak. I want to learn of that too. Being from Cups, you and Mr. Thorne sound differently than we do here in Wands, and you use such curious words.”
Heat prickles along my neck, and I let out a strangled laugh. “Sure, I can teach you some words.”
Nessa seizes Romy’s hand, then snags Celine’s,tugging them into a chain. She and Romy squeal in unison, bouncing up and down. Celine rolls her eyes and lifts her limp arm in solidarity and mutters an unconvincing, “Huzzah.”
Their laughter bubbles over the stall like soda foam, until Nessa blurts, “When can we start? Now? Tonight? How many lessons will it take? Every day, perhaps?”
I bite my lip, stalling. “I’m not sure how long we’ll even be in town—”
“The market’s closing,” Nessa insists, already gesturing around us. “The timing is wonderful.”
I glance around. Vendors are shuttering stalls, loading up crates, folding bolts of cloth. Across the sand, Declan and Tarek are helping a woman wrestle massive rugs into rolls, both of them sending up clouds of dust with every move.
“I don’t know…” I hesitate.
That’s all the opening they need. Nessa leans forward, pleading. Romy clasps her hands like she’s praying at an altar. Even Celine, halfhearted though the motion is, tilts her head and tosses her braid as their chorus of begging rises up.
“Okay,” I say, a little breathless. “Let’s do it.”
***
I pluck an orange tasseled cushion from a nearby stall and settle down on it in front of my teenage audience. Nessa, Romy, Celine, plus a handful of other curious girls, crowd in close, skirts pooling around them in a kaleidoscope of silks and beads.
At the very back, Dav looms like a human exclamation point, arms crossed, jaw hard, sword gleaming at hiship. Tarek, in contrast, plops down at the end of the front row with all the enthusiasm of a puppy. Declan sinks onto the rug beside him as Fennel joins and Cinder curls into a smoky comma against his flank. The donkey stares at me adoringly, and I can’t help but smile at him.
“Welcome everyone,” I begin, voice wobbling before I catch it and push the sound into theater-kid projection. “I am so pleased you enjoyed our performance. I hope you also enjoy this lesson.”
The girls clap and squeal. Tarek whoops loud enough to make Cinder flinch.
“First,” I say, lifting a finger like a professor, “affirmations. They’re not spells so much as reminders. We repeat them to align our energy with what we want and how we want to be seen by the people around us.”
“Like scales for the voice,” Nessa offers eagerly, her bracelets chiming as she jots down notes on parchment.
“Exactly.” I snap my fingers, seizing the metaphor. “Except instead of do-re-mi, it’sI am worthy.”
I stand and pace in front of them like I’m leading a seminar at some chic Manhattan coworking space instead of a patch of desert sand. “Okay. First rule of affirmations: no hedging. NoI hope, nomaybe, nosomeday.” I sweep my hand in a decisive little chop. “The universe is not your flaky boyfriend. It doesn’t respond to wishy-washy. You have to talk to it like it’s already listening.”
Nessa leans forward, eyes shining. Romy scribbles furiously on her paper. Even Celine tilts her chin, pretending not to care while clearly taking notes when she thinks no one is looking.
“Second,” I say, “it has to bepresent tense. Not Iwill bebrave. Iambrave. You perform without fear. Youcommand the stage and captivate the crowd. Speak as though it’s already happening.”
Nessa looks up at me like I have all the answers, like every word coming out of my mouth is sacred text. And maybe I actually am helping. Someone like this, like me, would’ve helped me when I was younger. If someone had told that girl she could change her life just by changing her language, by scripting a better story and wrapping herself in intention until she believed she was untouchable… Maybe she wouldn’t have felt so invisible. So unchosen. So small in rooms where no one cared to see her. Maybe she wouldn’t have handed herself over to every boy who noticed her.
My chest warms, my spine straightens, and for once in this sand-scorched circus I don’t feel lost. Iamexactly where I’m supposed to be.
“Now, once you’ve written it, you speak it. Say it like you’d bet your life on it. That’s how you align your energy.”
Romy bites her lip, nodding so fast her curls bounce.
I sweep my hand like I’m conducting an orchestra. “Go on. Get to crafting your affirmation.”
For five minutes, the empty market fills with the scratch of writing and murmured affirmations. Nessa mouths her words over and over, adjusting her phrasing until her lips form a triumphant grin. Romy keeps scratching lines out and rewriting, her curls bouncing with every shake of her head. Celine sighs like this is beneath her, but her hand moves steadily across the page anyway.
I float among the girls, dropping encouragement: “Yes, that! Say it louder.” “Good but make it more you. Less apologetic.” “Perfect. Own it.”
