Teresa

“They are not tricks,” the boy said sharply, still looking at his hands. “It’s called magic?”

“Magic?” I repeated after him.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he backed me, stretching his hand to the leaves of the big tree before us. The leaves began to rustle on their own with no wind present.

I glanced back sharply, just to be sure of what I was seeing. There was no wind anywhere, but the leaves were moving.

“Are you the one doing that?” I asked the boy. ...