Even if I don’t believe in magic, my face is swollen, and I’m exhausted, the night still feels like magic to me. A boy I have always liked, told me he liked me. Nothing Mary does can take away from that. Once she kicks my ass, my grandmother always goes to bed. She watches TV infomercials and smokes. I have always wished long and hard for her to fall asleep with the smoke in her mouth and burn the house down. Then I could be free. Even if I were dead, I would be alive for the first time. I am so sick of being a Lake. For me death seems like an out, but being a girl it’s unlikely I will be the one to die. The curse doesn’t care about who has the Lake blood, only that there is love in a heart. The man always dies, always. Even when he is the Lake. Being a girl I must either escape my curse, live a life separate of love, or kill myself. Killing myself has never really been an option. I sit in the window and wait for the only thing that matters. Nothing matters—not the Lakes or the curses or the pain—just her.
