“Why couldn’t my power be teleportation?” Gabbie complained as she opened the door to The Bar. It was pretty quiet inside: they hadn’t yet shut off the Wi-Fi for the night, so groups of students still held court at the tables, mostly nursing cups of coffee instead of beers. Gabbie was grateful because it meant she didn’t have to wade through a crowd of drunk people to find what she was looking for.
Gabbie had spent over an hour digging through her collection of cardigans that morning, trying to see if her favorite shrug had accidentally fallen to the floor of her closet. The shrug was like a security blanket for her, and she’d leaned on it a lot more than usual after Dan left. Now, with all the witch stuff happening, she could barely sleep without it. She kept reaching for it throughout the week as she read Lesson 1 (or as she lied her way through conversations with Dan so she didn’t accidentally reveal she was a witch) and finding that it wasn’t there. For a moment, she thought maybe it was some kind of magical test from the Sphere. But when she sat cross-legged on her bed and closed her eyes to concentrate, her powers didn’t make the shrug fly out of thin air and into her hands. She’d even tried doing the reappear spell she found from leafing through the lesson book—nothing.
Her powers had been popping up in random ways even more frequently since their lesson with Alba: she’d ironed a work dress with the touch of a finger, then somehow sliced an apple just by looking at it. Both times, she’d checked her metric immediately afterward—but the change in color was so subtle she wasn’t even sure it was real. She wasn’t anywhere near as desperate as Maya and and Delali to go to the Sphere, but it would be nice if her powers could step in and help her with her TikTok engagement.
It wasn’t until she was halfway through her Thursday afternoon papier-mâché class that she remembered she’d last worn the shrug on her birthday. She had such a clear memory of taking it home that night—she even remembered using it as a pillow at Maya’s. But everything from that night had been so strange, she decided to retrace her steps anyway. The thought of the subway ride from the Bronx to the East Village almost made Gabbie forfeit the shrug. But the memories the sweater held—her college move-in day, graduation brunch with her family, her first kiss with Dan—gave her the strength she needed to brave the trip. To be without both Dan and her shrug during this tumultuous time was too much. Plus, taking a cross-city trip was one more way to fill the time while they waited for their next meeting with Alba.
The bartender was facing away from her, chatting with a beautiful girl on the other side of the bar. Gabbie waited, looking around the cozy, dimly-lit space and intermittently fluffing her twist-out while she waited for the bartender to see her. She looked at her phone screen. Five minutes passed. Finally she cleared her throat—she hated to interrupt—and spoke. “Hi there!” she said. The bartender didn’t budge. She’d have to use her outside voice. “Hey,” she said again, this time a little louder. Nothing. “Excuse me!” she almost yelled, waving her arms to get his attention.
The bartender turned to Gabbie, a small, amused grin on his face. “Yeah?” he asked. Gabbie, momentarily stunned by the gravelly depth of his voice, opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She could only look at him, taking in the clean lines of his beard, the slim silver hoop in his left ear, and the way his white T-shirt, which had a picture of Susan Sarandon on it, clung to the contours of his shoulders.
“Hello?” the bartender asked. “Just a second ago you were flagging me down like you needed the Heimlich.”
“My shrug,” Gabbie spluttered, like an alien. “I left it here a couple of weeks ago.”
“Your what?” he asked. The girl he’d been talking to tucked a twenty-dollar tip beneath her empty glass and he flashed her a brilliant, cocky smile.
“My shrug,” Gabbie repeated. She shook her head to clear it. “It’s a little black sweater made of yarn, with lots of little holes in it. I knitted it.”
“Ah,” the bartender said, raising his eyebrows. He crouched out of view, rooting around under the counter. “This is the lost and found,” he explained as he stood. He placed a cardboard box in front of her. go fish was scrawled on its side in Wite-Out. “If someone found your hole-y sweater, it’s in here.” He winked at her teasingly.
“Thanks,” Gabbie said, suddenly annoyed. Guys like this were exactly why she loved Dan. The bartender was so pleased with himself he couldn’t even wipe that little smirk off his face for five seconds. What was so funny anyway? Gabbie started poking around the box of random clothing, vapes, and occasional IDs. She had just started to give up hope when she spotted a shiny white tag with the letters GCN written on it in thick Sharpie letters. When her mom had told her to write her initials on the tags of all her clothing while packing for college, Gabbie had brushed her off before changing her mind and staying up all night unpacking, labeling, and repacking. Now, she’d never been more grateful for her mom’s advice.
She pulled the shrug from the tangle of items in the box and pressed the polyester-wool blend to her cheek, and felt herself almost tear up. She couldn’t believe she’d almost left the sweater to die here, mixed in with musty pairs of socks with marijuana leaves printed on them.
“Wow,” said the bartender. Gabbie opened her eyes, remembering she was in public. He was staring at her, the lean muscles of his arms tensing as he rested on the bar. “You made that yourself?”
“Yeah.” Gabbie looked at the mass of yarn in her hands, embarrassed. “I know it’s so dorky but sometimes I like to make things myself, you know, like arts and crafts and stuff and sometimes home improvement projects and when I was in seventh grade my mom wouldn’t buy me this shrug from Limited Too, so I copied it at home and now I have this TikTok account where I do a bunch of crafting but yeah, this one’s extra special I guess.” She could not believe she’d just revealed to a devastatingly handsome bartender that she had an emotional connection to a frizzy Limited Too dupe she’d made when she was thirteen.
The bartender laughed, but he wasn’t making fun of her. The laugh was . . . appreciative. “Well, that’s a waaay better founder story than mine.”
“Founder story?” Gabbie asked.
“Yeah,” he responded. “I’m a creator myself. I made this.” He stood upright and pulled at the fabric of his T-shirt.
“You made that shirt?” Gabbie asked. She still hadn’t sat down, and now she was leaning eagerly against her side of the bar. “That is so cool.” What were the chances she would meet another creator the same week she started taking Crafting seriously?
“It’s one of many. The idea is that it’ll become a sort of ubiquitous form of self-expression, like what color Converse you wear or the kind of phone case you have or the color you paint your nails, you know? Everyone has a favorite celeb. The line’s called celebritees.” He emphasized the “tees.”
“Wow,” Gabbie said. “That’s such a good idea.” She would love a Lizzo celebritee.
The bartender did another of his self-satisfied smiles. “I design and sew other stuff, but yeah, this is my bread and butter.” He extended his hand. “I’m Faison.”
“Gabbie.”
He had a sudden moment of realization. “Oh, I remember where I’ve seen you. You were here with Maya on her birthday, right?”
“Yeah,” Gabbie replied. “Yeah, just really quickly on the way out.”
Faison nodded. “Yeah, I remember. I never forget a beautiful face. It’s a strength and a weakness I guess.” His eyes locked into hers as he said this, and Gabbie didn’t know how to respond. She never got hit on. Maybe it was the eyeliner trick she’d learned from her new “mutual,” Yasmine. Or maybe it was just being outside of her apartment for once.
“Are you one of Maya’s sisters?” Faison said when he realized Gabbie wasn’t going to reply.
“I—no,” Gabbie replied. “Just a friend.” Or like, a sister in witchcraft.
“Cool. Well, can I buy you a drink, Gabbie? You can tell me more about this business you’re starting.”
Gabbie stole a glance at her phone screen. It was almost time for her evening call with Dan, and even though she was dying to talk to someone—anyone—about Crafting and Coconut Oil, she needed to head out soon if she wanted to make it.
“I’m so sorry,” Gabbie said, really meaning it. “But I have an appointment that I can’t miss. Raincheck?”
Faison nodded like it was no big deal, and Gabbie fought a little wave of sadness at how unbothered he seemed. “Sure.”
Gabbie turned—in the ten minutes that she’d been looking for her shrug and talking to Faison, the entire bar had basically emptied out. How long had they been alone in there? She headed to the doors, reaching them just as the sky opened up and it started to pour. With her hand on the doorknob, she watched through the door’s windows as people scattered, escaping the sudden, torrential rain. What? Just ten minutes ago, it had been sixty degrees and sunny.
She turned around to see Faison laughing, his eyes trained on her. She walked slowly, sheepishly back to the counter.
“Okay, that is not the kind of raincheck I meant,” she said.
“I promise, I did not make that happen,” Faison replied.
Gabbie slid onto a barstool and crossed her legs. “Can you do a dirty Shirly?”
Gabbie
Dan
Dan
Gabbie
Dan
Dan