Echo Soul Seekers

huffs under her breath, looking like she’s considering marching right over there and telling them for me.
    But all I can do is stare at that slim, beautiful, exotic-looking girl with the halo of hair, the long almond-shaped eyes that tilt up at the sides, the dainty nose, and the generous full lips.
    She looks like a dancer—sinewy, fluid—the very manifestation of grace.
    She looks like several nationalities got together and decided to donate their most celebrated physical traits to one person, and she’s the result.
    “Who’s that with them?” Jennika nudges my arm. “The one standing next to Jacy?”
    I continue to stare, wondering why they all seem to know her—why she keeps looking at Dace. And why Dace can hardly bring himself to return the look.
    About to probe deeper, try for one of those impressions , if only to get a read on the situation, when I catch myself. Stop myself. If anything, I should be building walls between us, not knocking them down.
    Jennika’s voice drones on, providing a long list of what’s meant to be helpful hints on how to handle this breakup with my friends in order to gain the upper hand. Stopping only when I say, “Jennika—”
    She looks at me, face expectant.
    I gnaw hard on my lip, force myself to swallow the angry retort that comes far too easily. The one about boundaries—about allowing me the freedom to make my own mistakes my own way. The one where I remind her that she can’t protect me from everything no matter how hard she tries. Instead, I just slip free of the car and wave to her from the curb. Watching as she exits the lot before I make for Chay’s old blue truck parked at the side of the building, just under the cartoon picture of a wizard, our school mascot. This was what Paloma was hinting at.
    “Get in.” He leans across the seat to prop open my door. “Paloma’s waiting. Looks like you’ve got more training to do.”
    I climb in beside him, and despite knowing better, I can’t keep from taking one last look at Dace as Chay pulls onto the street.
    Can’t help but notice how quickly he senses me looking.
    How swiftly he turns to meet my gaze.
    I sink into the moment—allowing myself to bask in his presence.
    Until I remember the high price of loving him and force myself to look away.

 
    twenty-three
    Dace
    I sense her the second her mom pulls into the lot.
    The rush of her energy, like a cocktail for the senses that leaves me thirsting for more.
    So absorbed by Daire’s presence, I almost miss it when Lita says, “… and then I’m like, Phyre ?” She reenacts a scene from the day before, dramatizing the same expressions, the same hair swing, so we can see it just like it happened. Going on to add, “And sure enough, it was her. She’s back in Enchantment. Can you even believe that? I could’ve sworn they were gone for good.”
    “Phyre?” I stare at Lita, though I don’t really focus. The name alone is enough to reel me into a past I’d long since buried. Hardly ever think about.
    Lita shakes her head, shoots me a dramatic roll of her eyes. “Um, hello? Yes, Phyre. What do you think I’ve been going on about?” She looks at everyone else, making a face she thinks I can’t see even though I’m standing directly in front of her.
    “So, she’s back?” I say, knowing the question will only serve to annoy her, but I missed the details the first time around. I need the confirmation that it is what I think.
    She adopts an overtly patient expression and the tone to match. Acting as though she’s been left to deal with a difficult child who needs everything carefully explained. “I saw her in town yesterday. She’s definitely back. She’s even coming to Milagro. Said she’ll start up after Winter Break…”
    She goes on from there, but I’ve already stopped listening. I’ve heard all I need to.
    Phyre.
    Here.
    At Milagro.
    I try to shake free of the thought, but it clings at the edges. Encouraging the blur of long-forgotten pictures that form in my head. The slideshow unfolding to the soundtrack of my own voice, warning: You can never go back. And why would you want to?
    Then, just after I think it, I realize I wouldn’t.
    Go back.
    Not ever.
    “Wow,” Xotichl says. Always amazing me with her ability to pack so much meaning into one single, seemingly innocuous word. Her head tilts toward me, no doubt reading my energy. Trying to assess how I’m taking the news. What it means to me—what it means for Daire.
    I respond