“Hey, Elena! You’re quite the early bird.”  

“Hi, Jorge. It’s the holiday season!” Elena laughed and twirled around.  

Jorge grinned. He was short and skinny, with a broad face and black moustache. “You must love school.”  

Elena shook her head. Her hair bounced like dark springs. It wasn’t school she loved—it was Troy.   

Jorge checked the wiring on the bulbs. “There will be a big tree for the holiday party, chica. Even the teachers are happy.”   

“I hope you get a big bonus, Jorge. You work so hard.”  

Jorge grinned and patted Elena on the arm. “I came here from Mexico. We were poor.” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “Often, no food. But here, now that I have my green card . . .” He smiled. “It’s a paradise. I like to send money back home to Mama.” He checked the wiring once more and then left.  

In the classroom, Elena hung her coat on a hook and put her bag on the desk. A second later, Troy walked in. He was tall and cute, with wavy red hair and broad shoulders. Elena sighed. He looked like Blake Gray except he was close enough to touch. She wet her lips. She had put on a touch of purple lipstick.  

Today, Troy wore his favorite blue shirt. It matched his eyes. Elena was dizzy. As he sat down, his hair fell over his left eye. Yawning, he brushed it away. Elena couldn’t breathe. It was crazy. She had no chance with a guy so handsome. But her heart didn’t care.   

Leaning on her elbows, she set her jaw. Troy was her soulmate. A strong woman always won her guy. And Dominican women were strong women.   

Troy yawned again. Elena picked up the cup of coffee she had brought. It was for Troy. She bought one every day just for him. He was always tired and always drank coffee in the morning.  

Shaking, she stood and went to his desk.  

“Ah, Elena!” Troy ran his hand through his mop of hair. A dimple appeared in his cheek, and Elena’s legs went weak.   

“Are you okay, babe?” He rubbed his eyes.   

“For you.” She handed the cup to Troy. Her fingers brushed his, and she was dizzy again. On his right wrist was a blue tattoo of an anchor.   

“Mmm, good. I partied last night.” He groaned. “I guess I stayed out too late. Do you Mexicans party too?”  

Elena raised her chin. “I’m not Mexican. I’m Dominican.”   

Troy yawned and covered his mouth. His teeth were even and white. “Whatever. I hope you’re legal.” He laughed.  

What does he mean? Elena wondered. I’m a citizen.   

Troy was older than the other kids. He said he’d been in the navy. As he drank from the cup, his Adam’s apple bobbed. Elena’s toes curled.  

Troy wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Hit the spot. Thanks, babe.”   

Elena closed her eyes.   

Troy turned on his laptop and began playing Call of Duty.  

“Got him!” He jiggled the controls. “Almost as good as the real deal.”  

“Uh. Troy . . .” Elena played with her hair as Troy stared at the computer. “Troy?” He had forgotten her.  

“Go to your seat, Elena. This is no playroom.” The English teacher folded her arms. Her mouth was turned down at the corners. Carmen was always angry. Elena didn’t like her. It was strange that she never yelled at Troy.   

As Elena sat down, Sasha strolled into the room. The pretty girl always made an entrance, as if she was a movie star. Her blonde hair had gold highlights and hung below her waist. She wore a green off the shoulder blouse. Her face was pale and creamy, without any pimples. Elena touched the small one on her own cheek. She frowned. She couldn’t stand Sasha.   

Swaying her hips, Sasha walked over to Troy. Flashing her teeth, she put her hand on his bicep and squeezed. Troy grinned like crazy.  

“You’re a real man, honey,” Sasha told him.  

Troy’s cheeks turned red.   

Elena looked down. How dumb could she be? She knew she wasn’t as pretty as Sasha. The girl was a queen bee and a cheerleader—everything Elena wasn’t. Elena touched her  hair. It was too curly, and her hips were too big.  

Suddenly, Elena’s eyes were damp. She ran out of the classroom, right past Carmen. Heading into the bathroom, she locked herself in a stall and cried.   

That afternoon, Elena took her sandwich to the cafeteria. It was decorated with bright silver tinsel and fresh green holly.  

She took a seat alone and, picking up her sandwich, stared at it. She took a small bite. It was baked chicken and ham with hot gravy, melted cheese, lettuce, and tomato. Her favorite. Auntie Alma had made it for her. It was just like the sandwiches from Barra Payan, a restaurant in Santo Domingo.  

But Elena couldn’t eat. She was sick to her stomach. A few tables away, Sasha sat with Troy. They laughed together and bumped shoulders. Then Troy pulled Sasha to him and kissed her.   

Elena bit her lip and made a fist. Under the table, she stamped her foot. She wanted to punch Sasha. She knew it was wrong, but she was mad. Troy was the one Elena loved.    

“Hey, Laynee. What’s the good word?”  

Asim grinned. His teeth were yellow against his copper colored face. He was stocky, and his belly stuck out from the green and white sweater he wore. A Santa hat sat atop his head.  

“You’re late.”  

Asim shrugged. “My Mom didn’t feel good. Her heart is bad. I had to help her. Besides, I might get in late, but I study like a demon.”

“Sure, sure. With you, there’s always something.” Elena picked up her sandwich, wrinkled her nose, and put it down.   

“Hey, Laynee.” Asim stared at the sandwich. His mouth watered. “That looks yummy. Nice and greasy too. Mmm. If you’re not gonna eat it, I’m pretty hungry.”     

“I thought you were on a diet,” Elena reminded him.  

Asim patted his belly. “I’ve been working out,” he said, trying to make a muscle with his arms. “Got to feed these guns.”  

“Guns? Seriously?” Asim’s arms were flabby. She sighed. Troy had big, strong muscles.   

“Yep. I want a body like Yul Brynner had. Gee, what a King of Egypt he made!”  

“Yule who? You mean like Christmas?”  

“No. Yul Brynner. C’mon, Elena, I must have told you about him.”  

She shook her head.   

“He was an actor. He played the King of Egypt in the film The Ten Commandments. He took his shirt off a lot.” Asim grinned. “I’m gonna have muscles like him if I keep lifting.”   

Asim knew a lot about actors. “Oh,” Elena said, “I thought you wanted to be like Vin Diesel or that bald guy from Star Wars."

Asim nodded. “You mean Lobot. He was part robot. But I also want to be King of Egypt.”  

Elena made a face.  

“Well, I’m Egyptian you know, on my father’s side. In his time, Yul was the man, although I also like Captain Picard from Star Trek.” Asim folded his arms and yelled, “Captain on the bridge!” He sat back in his chair. “Engage,” he said in a bad British accent.  

“Elena,” Asim said, "you can be Seven of Nine, and I insist you wear black.” He moved his dark eyebrows up and down. “You’d be a babe in black!” His eyes glowed.  

Elena giggled. Seven of Nine was part robot, and she had a hot bod. She always wore tight body suits. “No way, Asim! You won’t catch me in an outfit like that!” 

Asim took off his hat and held it to his chest. He didn’t have much hair. He had explained to Elena that, as a baby, he got sick and then it didn’t grow right.

“I love you, Seven,” Asim said, staring into Elena’s eyes. “Marry me. I’ll be true to you forever and ever. Or at least until the next show.” He put his hat back on and stuck out his tongue. 

Elena giggled. Asim was a nice guy, but he was too fat and had a hook for a nose. And that hair . . . She shook her head.  

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Elena said. “I have a boyfriend.” She couldn’t help looking over at Troy. He was so cute.    

Asim stuck his thumb towards Troy. “Oh, him. So that loser is the man of your dreams?” He shook his head. “Well, one day you’ll know that I’m the better man. Hey, if you won’t give me your heart, can you at least give me your sandwich?” 

Elena grinned and handed it to him.    

Asim ate it all and burped. “Sorry.” He patted his belly. “Like a rock. Must have lost five pounds since I started working out. I feel good, too. Hey, Elena, I can’t wait for the Christmas party. How about you?”   

She nodded.   

He snickered. “Maybe I’ll even be your Secret Santa again.”  

Elena rolled her eyes. “Two years in a row? That would be a record.”  

“The luck of the bold.” He smirked.  

“Hey, do you have the inside track or what? I think it’s rigged.”   

“Me? Inside track?” He rolled his eyes. “No way. It’s just fate.”   

Elena checked her cell. “Well, that’s it for me.”  

“Leaving so early?” Asim asked. “We have another class.”  

“I know, but I’m not feeling well. Besides, the nurse said it was okay.” She glanced at Troy, but he was joking with Sasha.   

Asim lifted an eyebrow. “Oh. I get it.”  

“There’s nothing to get. My stomach’s upset.”  

“If you say so. That Sasha is a piece of work. Not my type though. I don’t go for blondes. I think she’s divorced.”   

“Divorced? She’s not even twenty.”  

Asim sighed. “She’s a bad girl.” He shook his head. “Well, Seven, I’ve got to study. Even the King of Egypt needs good grades. See ya.”   

Elena grinned. It was weird. Troy was her soulmate, but Asim made her laugh.  

She walked over to the elevator. Her stomach was still upset as she left the building. She took the subway and got off at Bedford Avenue, a few stops from her own Bushwick neighborhood. She’d never been to Bedford Avenue before. Aunt Alma said it was an area for rich college kids. But Elena was curious. She heard there were cute shops and bookstores nearby.  

Stopping at a window, she stared at the covers of romance novels. She blushed. The men on the covers wore no shirts. Elena dreamed of writing her own romance novel. Troy would be on the cover without a shirt. Her cheeks burned hotter. She walked faster. Maybe she wanted too much, but she couldn’t help it.    

Elena stopped near a crowd. A group of people in their early twenties stood outside a bar. Most held beers or glasses of wine. Loud music blasted onto the street. Elena recognized a Beyoncé song. Despite the cold, a young guy with bleached hair wore a muscle shirt and black leather pants. He had dragon tattoos on his bare arms.   

“Hey, Latina, want a drink? On me.”  

Elena shook her head. “I don’t drink.”  

“C’mon,” he yelled. “You afraid of immigration? I’ll keep you safe.”  

Elena hurried off. She knew she didn’t belong here.  

Elena turned down Lorimer street, away from the bars on Bedford Avenue. She took long strides, pumping her stiff legs.  She kept seeing the image of Troy kissing Sasha. When she thought of it, her chest ached.  

Soon, she was lost. She checked her cell, but there was no signal. The streets were empty, and many of the stores were boarded up.

Elena slowed down. It was overcast and began to sleet. The icy drops slammed against her cheeks. She shivered, pulling her coat tight around her and looking for street signs.  

At the corner was an odd storefront, the faded sign cracked and yellow. A worn flag hung from a pole. It was the Dominican flag—a white cross in the center and four squares, two red and two dark blue. Dull letters on the sign spelled Libreria Communitaria. It was local book store.

Elena pressed her nose to the window, but it was too dusty to see inside. Lightning blazed and thunder boomed. Then the sleet fell harder. Elena shivered and went into the store.   

It was dim and musty inside. An old woman sat behind the counter. She blinked. Her eyes were dull. She was tiny, with long orange hair. Her face was brown and worn like leather.   

“Hi,” said Elena in a small voice. “Are you open?”   

The woman nodded and waved a crooked hand. Her nails were long and pointed.

Elena brushed water off her coat and looked around. Dirty shelves were filled with dark books. Strange pictures in red and black hung on the wall behind the register. On one, a demon with rusty skin sat cross-legged in a jungle. The trees around her were bent, their branches twisted. The sky was dark violet, and the moon was black.  

The demon by the tree had bright red hair that coiled like a snake. Her teeth were sharp and yellow. Elena shivered. She recognized the Curupira, a Dominican demon who tortured men and stole children.  

The old woman laughed hoarsely. She pointed a bony finger at a table in the back of the room. Elena felt her feet move towards it. She stopped in front of a large, thick book. The book cover was black with odd silver symbols. Elena opened it. A gust of wind stirred the pages. They were stiff, like old parchment.  

Gray dust rose in the air. Elena sneezed and wiped her eyes. She stared at the lettering. The words were written in red ink. They were in a kind of Spanish that was hard for Elena to read. She narrowed her eyes. A few words were familiar. It was a recipe for a love potion!   

The old woman came up behind Elena. With a swift motion, her bony hand ripped out the page. She offered it to Elena.  

“For me?” Elena blinked. “A gift?”  

The woman grunted. Her orange hair brushed the floor. Elena stood for a moment. Then she took it.  

As soon as she grabbed the paper, the old woman bared her teeth. They were dark and sharp like fangs. Turning, the woman limped back to the counter. Her feet made heavy, scratching noises on the floor.  

Elena choked as she noticed the old woman’s feet. They were turned backwards. They were not the feet of a person but the feet of the Dominican demon in the picture. The Curupira! Elena tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry.   

The old woman glared at her. Then she laughed. The sound was awful, like metal chains rubbing against a blackboard. Elena screamed and ran from the store.  

Outside, the sleet had turned to cold rain. It was dark as midnight, as if Elena had been in the bookstore for hours. She heard a noise behind her and began running. Elena ran for three blocks before she stopped. Scared and out of breath, she rushed down to the subway. Her hand still clutched the dusty parchment.   

Alma sat on the carpet with her hands on her thighs. Her black hair was up in a bun, and she wore a pale pink jump suit. Behind Alma was a large Christmas tree. On top was a cheery gold and silver angel with white wings.  

Alma loved Christmas. She had pinned green and red stockings up on the wall. An oil painting of Santa and Mrs. Claus hung over the fake brick fireplace. Red and yellow lights flashed as if a real fire burned. 

Elena stepped inside slowly. She was cold and damp. She watched as Alma stretched and touched her nose to the ground. As always, Elena was impressed by her aunt’s yoga skills. Despite Alma’s age, she practiced yoga every day, plus twenty minutes of meditation. Her body was thin, and her face was smooth. Elena thought of Sasha’s slim body and knew that she must also do yoga.      

Alma looked up as Elena sneezed.   

“Hi, Alma.”  

“Are you ill? What is that in your hand?” Alma cocked her head.  

Elena shivered. She didn’t realize she still had the parchment. It was crumpled in her fist.  

“Huh? This? Nothing.” She hid her hand behind her back.  

“You think I am blind, chica? Come, show me. A page held so tight must have importance, no? Show me please.”  

Elena slowly handed her aunt the parchment.   

Alma put on her glasses and unfolded the stiff paper. “Hmm, such coarse paper and yellow with age.” She stared at the writing, and her body jerked. “Dios mío! It is written in castellano antiguo, old Spanish.” Alma covered her mouth with her hand and stared at Elena. “Dios! It is the black magic—the worst kind. The spell of a witch or a demon.”  

She looked at Elena. “A love potion?” Alma frowned and stared at the parchment again. “This is ancient, foul work. It is cursed.” Her eyes darkened. “Where did you get this black magic, chica?”  

“I–I just found it,” Elena lied. She held out her hand. “Please give it back.”  

Alma frowned and touched the page with slim fingers. She traced the symbols. “A love potion? What does a pretty girl like you need with such a thing, hmm?”  

Alma shook her head. “This recipe will do you no good. And these symbols . . .” She studied them for a moment. “Jesucristo! It is the work of a Curupira, an awful demon. The black magic of a Curupira is an evil thing. I must throw this parchment out now, chica, while I still can.”  

Elena didn’t move, but every muscle in her body was tight. She wanted the recipe for the love potion. Needed it. Her fingers itched, and she clenched and unclenched her hands. The image of Troy’s face rose in her mind—his dimpled chin and sky-blue eyes. She held out both arms, and her hands shook. “Please, Alma. Please. Give it back to me.”  

Her aunt’s face was hard. “No.” Alma took a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly. “No, no, I do not think so.”  

Elena trembled. Her fingers curled as if trying to touch the parchment.   

Alma studied her niece. “Ah,” Alma said. “I see you want it very much, this page of the black magic.” Raising her arm, Alma held the parchment up in the air, waving it. “So, maybe I will give it back to you. Maybe.”   

For a moment, Alma held it out to Elena. But as Elena reached for it, her aunt withdrew her hand, shaking her head. “Yet it is cursed.”   

Elena bit her lip. She didn’t know what to do. As Alma stared at Elena, Alma’s shoulders began to shake. Her mouth twisted, as if she was having a fit. Elena cried out.   

A moment later, Alma’s dark eyes twinkled, and she rocked with laughter. “Dios mío, bonita. You are educated in America and yet you still believe in this Dominican bull?”  

“No, I just . . .” Elena’s cheeks burned.   

Alma laughed so hard she almost fell over. Elena stamped her foot. She hated it when Alma made fun of her. Although born in the Dominican Republic, her aunt had a master’s degree and a wicked sense of humor.   

“Okay, okay. Por favor, please. Elena, take it before I die from laughing.” Alma held the parchment out to Elena, who grabbed it back.  

Alma gulped air and tried to calm herself. “Caramba, my beloved niece needs a magic love potion?” She groaned. “Who is the lucky man?”   

Elena’s face was hot. “A guy at school. Troy. He’s . . . he’s amazing, Alma! Handsome with wavy hair. And he’s hardworking. And his eyes, Alma. So blue, like the sky.”    

“Pobrecita. You are lovesick, then? Ah well, then perhaps you need this potion. Who knows? It might get you what you want.”   

“Really?”  

Alma rolled her eyes.  

Elena’s words came out in a rush. “The old woman who gave it to me had orange hair and backwards feet. A real Curupira. It has to work.”  

“Ha! Orange hair and backwards feet? The demon Curupira itself spoke to you? Where was this?”  

Elena nodded. “In a bookstore in Williamsburg. She didn’t speak. She just gave me the love potion. A gift, I think.”   

“I see. A gift from a Curupira.” Alma sighed. “You are sure the woman had backwards feet, huh?”   

"She did. I saw it, Alma. I saw it with my own eyes. She limped and had long orange hair and backwards feet. She really was a Curupira. I’m sure of it. She must have known that I’m in love and need it.”  

Alma took a breath. “Ah. This young man at school, this Troy. Does he know your feelings, Elena? Does he care for you?”  

Elena tossed her hair. Her lips trembled. “I don’t know.”  

“Yes. I see now what this is. Come here, chica.” Alma took Elena’s hand. “You are cold, chica. I will warm you.” Alma rubbed Elena’s hand, and Elena felt energy move from her aunt into her own body.    

After a minute, Alma sighed. “I should not have made fun of you. It was wrong. It’s just . . . we women can be fools for love. I feel I have sheltered you too much from life, from romance. You are a dreamer.” She patted Elena’s hand. “So, do you really love him, this boy at school?”  

Elena hesitated. “I think so.” Her voice was faint. “He’s the one who makes me dizzy with love.”  

“I see. Well, perhaps the magic love potion will work.”  Alma sighed. “You are still a child.”   

“I’m sixteen going on seventeen. I’m not a child,” Elena said. “I’m all grown up.”  

Alma smiled. “Of course. As you wish, child. Now, come.” She rose to her feet, still holding Elena’s hand. “Let us go to dinner. My stomach growls, and soon she will bite.” She kissed Elena on the cheek. “Later, I will help my sweet grown-up niece with her love potion.”