Chapter 7: The White Blossom Scene

Luz twiddled her thumbs. The motion upset the seeds glued to her palms, so she stopped—placed her hands flat on her thighs—tried to sit still—waited. Butterflies scratched at her stomach, and every muscle in her body was poised to spring as soon as the bookcase-door slid open.

She’d lit the candle on Amity’s desk with a fire glyph, but darkness still clung to the room, and she had no idea how to activate the magical ceiling lights—so after a few minutes of fruitless, thumb-twiddling-less waiting, she pulled a stack of light glyphs from her bag and sent them floating one by one. A gentle, rolling luminescence filled the chamber, like something out of a Disney movie.

Perfect.

Except…was it perfect? Luz tapped her foot, fidgeted with the cuffs of her sleeves, tried and failed to swallow her nervous euphoria.

❀

“Now that we’re officially friends,” Luz declared, pointing her pencil up at Amity, “I need your real opinion about book five.”

Amity glanced up from her textbook. She sat on the couch, her cast supported by a pillow. Gus and Willow were gone; the two remaining girls had spent the last few minutes in companionable silence, Luz on the floor sketching glyphs while Amity read.

Then she shrugged. “I dunno, it was fine.”

“Oh c’mon, Blight, it’s just us,” Luz teased. “You don’t need to pretend not to care.”

“All right, all right,” Amity said, smiling. “I liked it. Obviously.”

Luz brightened at the confession, even though—obviously—she’d already known. “What did you think of the last scene?” she asked—then added in her best, most melodramatic voice, “The emotion! The symbolism! And without a single line of dialogue!”

Amity’s smile faltered, and she looked…worried? Pensive? “I think I know what you’re talking about,” she said slowly, “but explain it anyway.”

Naturally, Luz needed no further invitation. “Okay so on the surface Hecate is just, you know, waving a white flag in surrender, basically saying their rivalry is over. But there’s also—”

“A flag?” Amity cut in.

“Oh, there’s not really a flag, just like, symbolically. She’s throwing a white flag at Azura’s feet.”

Amity cocked her eyebrow. “Hecate gives Azura flowers, not a flag. And she doesn’t put them on the ground.”

“Yeah, but they’re white flowers.”

“So?”

“White means surrender.”

“Says who?”

“Uh…” Good question. “Maybe it’s a human thing?”

Amity’s utter incredulity touched a nerve somewhere deep inside Luz.

“Anyway,” she continued, because why not, really, “the flowers also showed up during Azura and Hecate’s first battle, in book one—the Orchard of Sorrows had tons of them—so it’s kind of an in-joke, like Hecate’s saying, Hey, remember when we tried to kill each other? Crazy times, amiright? ”

Amity snorted. “Okay, that one makes sense. And good catch! I didn’t notice that.”

“Thanks!” Luz said, a little loudly—the old hurt supplanted, temporarily, by overwhelming glee at the fact that someone had not only tolerated but complimented her weird obsessive tendency to reread everything ten times and notice every tiny detail, and not just anyone, but Amity, and she’d also laughed, which was such an incredible sound, and—

“I just thought it was kind of cute,” Amity said, breaking Luz’s train of thought—and now it was Luz’s turn to be confused.

“Cute?”

“Yeah, you know.” She was blushing a little, and her eyes were turned away from Luz, fixed once more on the abomination textbook. “Getting flowers for someone…I guess maybe it’s different in the human world, but over here, you usually only do that if you like someone.” Her words hung in the air for a moment before she clarified: “Romantically, I mean.”

“Oh.” It seemed obvious, now that Amity had spelled it out. But somehow, in all her rereads, Luz had never picked up on that subtext. “Huh.”

❀

Luz sprang to her feet at the first sounds of wood scraping wood. Her heart beat so fast that her chest hurt —like, a lot. As the secret entrance opened, daylight interrupted her floating glyphs. And then Luz’s breath caught in her chest: Amity stood before her, still as a deer.

Luz couldn’t speak. Maybe she was having a heart attack? Amity looked like she was pretending to be a statue: mouth hanging slightly open, hand frozen in a sort of half-raised position. She looked ridiculous. She looked beautiful. Luz regained enough sense to clap her hands—twice.

Are you sure you want to do this? Willow had asked less than an hour ago. I know you think you’ve got it all figured out, but…you could be wrong.

Maybe. Maybe. But she’d asked Willow to complete the spell anyway.

It happened in a flash of green light: The seeds on Luz’s hands sprouted into thin, knobby branches, and upon the branches bloomed dozens of small white flowers, five petals apiece. Still not trusting her mouth to make the correct noises, Luz wordlessly extended the bouquet to Amity with both hands. She managed, at least, to smile.

Amity looked at the flowers, then at Luz. Then the flowers. Then Luz. An orb of light drifted between them, obscuring Amity’s face for a handful of excruciating seconds. When it finally floated off, Luz saw that Amity wasn’t smiling back. All emotion and color had drained from her face.

“I don’t…” Amity spoke in barely a whisper. Then she broke her statuesque pose, turning to close the bookcase behind her.

Luz stepped back, giving Amity space to work the door. Her fingers tightened around the flowers. Amity moved with meticulous, deliberate care, until finally the bookcase clicked into place. The dancing orbs became once more the only major light source. The words to “Kiss the Girl” ran through Luz’s head.

“You don’t…?” she prompted. Her voice cracked on the second word, and she bit her lip.

Amity turned back around; she didn’t look at Luz, opting instead to stare at the blossoms. She might have looked bashful but for her bloodless face.

Worry tugged at Luz’s breast. Had Willow’s fears been justified? Had Luz come to the wrong conclusion? Did Amity really, actually…hate her?

“I don’t understand,” Amity said at last.

Luz stretched out the flowers again, her arms stiff and straight. “I want to put the past behind us. I want to be your friend again.” She’d practiced these words a dozen times in the mirror—could recite them in her sleep if need be. Still, she took a deep breath before continuing. “But also, if you want to be…not just friends? I want that, too.”

Amity’s eyes widened, and her hands balled into fists. “But…but…why. ”

Okay, big reveal time. “You didn’t drink a truth serum,” Luz said, “you drank an anti-truth serum.”

Amity blinked.

“Eda lied to you!” Luz said in a rush. “She didn’t sell you a love potion, she sold you a truth serum, and you didn’t mess up the spell, you did it perfectly: You turned a truth serum into a potion that forces you to lie .”

Instead of the excitement Luz had expected, Amity’s eyes widened in horror. “How…how did you know about—”

“Edric told me! When he dropped off your letter, and then he said not to tell you that he…oh.” Whoops.

Amity closed her eyes and nodded—Luz couldn’t tell whether it was an Okay, cool nod or an I’m going to murder him nod. A few seconds passed in utter stillness—an eternity—before Amity opened her eyes.

“You like me.” She wore a tight, neutral expression. “Not just as a friend. You…like me the way I like you.” It was halfway between a question and a statement.

Luz swallowed her fears, her hopes and hesitations and what-ifs, the lump of hurt lodged in her throat, and moved : bundled the bouquet in one hand, closed the distance between them in two quick strides, and reached for Amity’s hand with her own. Their fingers interlocked, and when Amity’s eyes widened, Luz smiled. (It was a genuine smile. She did feel happy. Even if…)

“Yeah,” Luz said. “I do.”

Maybe it had been a long time coming. Maybe not. Luz had yet to put her feelings under a microscope. But holding hands and locking eyes with Amity, seeing her under the soft glow of the light glyphs—

“Can I kiss you?”

Amity blushed scarlet. Luz felt her cheeks follow suit as she belatedly realized that she had spoken those words: that she had asked Amity for a kiss. What the fuck.

“Uh, yeah,” Amity said. “That sounds—good, very, yes—”

Heart thundering, Luz leaned forward; Amity kept on stammering until their mouths met. Okay. Okay. This was happening. Their lips just kind of rested on each other for a moment, before Luz took it upon herself to innovate…move things around and…okay. All right.

Luz kept an eye on Amity the whole time—because she was supposed to, right? Make sure Amity was enjoying herself?—and after maybe fifteen seconds, she noticed Amity’s posture was stiff, and that she wasn’t really contributing to the kiss so much as passively accepting it. So Luz pulled back.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes! Yes. Sorry.” Still unsmiling, Amity untangled her fingers from Luz’s, then, eyes averted, started to smooth a section of her shirt that didn’t need smoothing.

Luz’s legs locked up; her heart skipped a beat. “‘Sorry’?”

Amity’s gaze shifted. “This is amazing and you’re amazing, and I can’t believe you actually—” She cut off abruptly, sniffled a little, and wiped at her eye. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Amity, it’s…” Luz was drowning; she couldn’t tell which way was up, and she hardly had the strength to look. “It’s okay to cry.”

Luz watched something break inside Amity: watched her mask crack and her eyes begin to water. Then she reached over, wrapped Amity in a tight hug, and followed her own advice. The flowers fell to the floor.

Luz didn’t talk, didn’t think—just let it happen. Her lungs heaved and her shoulders shook. Her tears ran down the back of Amity’s uniform. She clung to Amity like a life preserver, and Amity hugged her back, firm and gentle.

At times Luz thought she heard, past the sounds of her own sobbing, Amity’s. A sniffle here, a hiccup there, a low-pitched whine like an overworked fridge. Luz didn’t react—couldn’t—except to double the force of her hug. It felt good, the press of their bodies: intimate and real, in a way the kiss hadn’t.

“Don’t— leave me again,” Luz managed to choke out.

Amity’s fingers tightened against her back. “I won’t,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Luz. This—everything—it was…a little overwhelming, I guess.”

“ I’m sorry!” Luz didn’t want to see Amity’s face yet—didn’t want the hug to end. “I thought…once I found out what happened, I thought I could just…tell you and…everything would go back to normal. Better than normal,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to—want to think about—”

It attacked without warning. Something sharp escaped her lips—a gasp, or a growl, or a scream, she didn’t know.

“Luz!” Amity exclaimed. Then, softer, “Luz…”

She barely noticed Amity’s sudden squeeze of a hug, or the hand now resting on the back of her head. Sundered, she gave herself to tears.

❀

It came in waves. Always, just when Luz thought she’d cried herself dry, the pain would crash into her again. Back and forth. In and out. Carnage and respite. Through it all, Amity held her—not even letting go when they lowered themselves to the floor, backs to the wall. She tightened her hug whenever Luz wept. She wept, too.

In time, and with effort, Luz told her everything. About Aiden Clark. And the handful of other times when classmates had pretended to befriend Luz. As a joke. Or a dare.

“So when you drank the potion and— said that, I thought…” Luz trailed off, her throat tightening.

Amity squeezed her. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry.” It had become her refrain.

The ceiling lights cast the room in a uniform white glow. Luz had dispelled her glyphs—they’d been giving her a headache.

“Can you…touch my hair again?” Luz asked. She felt embarrassed in spite of herself—this was all so new. “That was nice.”

Amity shifted her hand from Luz’s shoulder to her head. “Like this?”

Luz nodded. Amity began to stroke Luz’s hair—and the next wave hit. Luz’s tears seemed to trigger Amity’s; they cried together.

After the worst of it had—for the time being—passed, Luz managed to ask, “Are you okay?”

“Yes. This is wonderful.”

Luz tilted her head to look up at Amity. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her makeup was ruined. But she was smiling, and it didn’t seem forced.

She must have sensed Luz’s confusion. “I’ve had an awful week, and I didn’t realize…how much I needed this.” She wiped her eyes with her free hand, the one that wasn’t idly playing with Luz’s hair. “I’m sad, but…good sad. Does that make any sense?”

“Of course. Nothing wrong with a good cry.” A lesson she’d learned long ago.

“…yeah,” Amity said, like the idea had never occurred to her.

Their eyes were locked. Luz hesitated briefly, then reached for Amity’s cheek; Amity closed her eyes and leaned into the touch. She cupped Amity’s cheek in her hand, brushing away the tears with her thumb, awestruck.

“I really really like you, Amity.” She wasn’t speaking so much as opening her mouth and letting her emotions loose. “I’m excited to see where this goes! I want to go on dates and hold your hand and cuddle and—and kiss if you want to! And tell the whole world that we’re dating! And—”

“I want to,” Amity said.

“What?”

“Kiss.” She opened her eyes after a moment. “If you…want to try again.”

Yes, said Luz’s heart, and, “Sure, what could go wrong?” said her mouth—because she was an idiot who couldn’t help but crack jokes at the worst, most inappropriate times.

Amity laughed. A light chuckle, the span of a second—but God, she laughed, and Luz found herself laughing, too. The tension in her chest loosened.

They tried again. Amity confirmed that she, too, was a novice—that she’d only had one other crush, years ago, and never worked up the nerve to confess. In time, and with practice, they found a rhythm. The sensation of another’s lips on Luz’s own, the surprisingly sour taste of witch tears, the wrung-out laughter that accompanied each misstep: it wasn’t at all how Luz had pictured this unfolding. No, this was much better.

She saw that the flowers had been moved onto the desk, atop a dignified-looking smear of purple goop. Amity must have summoned an abomination while Luz had been too distraught to notice.

“Oh!” Luz said, pulling away from the kiss. “I almost forgot.” Wow, her lips felt weird. Not physically, but like, psychologically. She rummaged through her bag, procured a wad of cash, and proffered it to Amity. “I made Eda give you a refund.”

Amity looked at her curiously for a second, and—well, Luz wasn’t sure who laughed first, but soon they were both howling. The whole situation was kind of absurd. They fed off each other’s laughter until they’d each succumbed to a full-blown giggle fit: Whenever Luz almost got herself under control, watching Amity shake with silent hysteria was enough to set her off again.

Then Amity kissed her. It took Luz completely by surprise: One second she was nursing a stitch in her side, and the next Amity had yanked her into a tight embrace and pressed her face into Luz’s. She found herself melting—muscles slack in Amity’s grip—every inch of her body on fire.

The hug loosened. The kiss ended. Luz opened her eyes, only just realizing that they’d been closed. Amity looked surprised—and a little embarrassed. Her hands rested on Luz’s hips.

“Sorry, um, was that…?”

Luz nodded. Enthusiastically, she hoped. 

And then—because this seemed as good a time as any to sate her curiosity—she nudged Amity with her elbow and said, “Have any dreams about me lately?”

“Yes, actually,” Amity replied without missing a beat. “I had a dream last week about the white blossom scene. You were Hecate, and I was Azura—kind of. It was weird.” Her gaze was somewhere beyond Luz—maybe on the desk. “But seeing you in here today, with the flowers…” She snorted. “I thought I was dreaming again.”

She didn’t seem to have caught Luz’s drift—or was deliberately ignoring it. Luz decided not to press the matter. After all, Amity hadn’t willingly volunteered the information about her sexy dreams. (Luz would cherish it nonetheless. Being crushed on was one thing, but to know that someone liked her like that was a different thrill entirely.)

“You better not be dreaming,” Luz said instead, lightly teasing. “I don’t want to wake up and find out none of this happened.”

Amity’s eyebrow rose. “Wouldn’t that mean you were dreaming?”

“Oh yeah. Uh, I really hope I don’t…just straight-up disappear?”

Amity kissed her again. Hard.

“Please don’t,” she insisted.