Page 2 of Our Little Moments

You’re going to see Derek. He’ll have a solution.

You won’t be an embarrassment for much longer.

Have some faith.

You’re Stella Brookstone.

You always find solutions.

…

I get to the coffee shop twenty minutes early, as always.

I order our usual and head to sit in our spot, waiting for my Derek to arrive.

Anticipation is thumping in my veins.

Please have good news.

Please have good news.

Please have good news.

Please, please, please.

A portal opens right outside the coffee shop, and I know my only friend is here. He’s always been able to open portals—it’s his magical ability after all, which is powerful when it comes to tournaments, and really useful in his daily life.

Tournaments are magical competitions held a few times throughout the year where people like me and him—who have powers—all compete against each other. We all face each other in a temple, and if you run or get pushed out, you’ve lost your chance at fame and money, which a lot of people need.

Winning requires speed, strength and powerful control over your magic. Training is all about sharpening these abilities to the best they can be to have the highest chances of winning. Luckily, people with healing abilities are always nearby to come and help if necessary. It would be bad press if competitors got injured badly during these competitions.

When Derek walks through the door—when I see his apologetic face—despair hits me so hard I can barely breathe.

I’ve lost everything. There’s nothing more I can do.

“Hey,” he says as he slides into the seat across from me.

The world fades, and all that’s left is the frantic pounding of my heart.

No, no, no, no.

There must be something I can do. There has to be a way to get my magic back. I can try harder; I can train more; I can try new techniques. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it.

Derek’s knuckles brush mine, bringing me back to reality. He gives me a smile, knowing where my head went.

“Hi,” I finally reply. “How was your training yesterday?” I ask, desperate to shift my focus away from the mess that is my life.

His eyes are exasperated as they find mine. “Come on, Stella. Don’t give me that bullshit. I know you.”

I know you.

It’s a punch to the gut.

Everything in me wants to run away from the look of pity he’s giving me, to run away from the crushing sense of failure that’s been haunting me for months.

I break eye contact, unable to take it anymore.

“Do you have any news?”

---