Mortals think they know what magic is. It's the glitter, the shine. The smoke and the illusions. It's pulling rabbits from empty hats or turning princes into frogs. That's all "fake" magic, though. When humans feel delusional, they claim true love is "real" magic. But I believe real magic is the soul-sucking smartphone, in the way one can throw away three hours, zombie-eyed and unaware of how unhealthy they appear—exactly like my best (and only) friend is doing now.

Maddi sits on my bed in the same cross-legged position she's been in since noon. Supposedly, we are hanging out, which was her idea, but so far, she's been staring at her phone, and I've been staring at her. It is surprisingly fascinating, watching her work. However, I'm sick of it. This is not hanging out, a concept I now understand. I snap my fingers at her face.

"What?" She's too irritated to even glance up from her phone.

"Did you come here to say something?" My tone catches her attention; she looks up. And laughs.

"No, I already said my piece."

"You've been silent."

"Well," she smirks the same she gives her cell, "straight to it then: you're better than Lo—"

"Don't. Say. It," I interrupt loudly.

"Fine. That no-good, sonofa—"

"Not that either."

"So I call him what? 'Your ex'?"

I shrug.

"Okay... Your ex—remind me to show you an algebra meme later—isn't worth it. You deserve better."

"I could still use comforting. Mama's furious with me."

"Ha! You dug yourself into that grave, remember?"

Yes, Maddi. I remember all right.

...

When I arrived home, in a puddle of tears, I immediately rushed upstairs to my room, pushed past both Klaus, my younger brother, and the Baby whose current name I couldn't remember. I didn't register the safety goggles around their heads or the Baby's telepathic plea. I just ran.

I was still sobbing hours later—after flopping onto my bed and turning on my cell. After checking thegreatestslogan's profile and finding the video. The video where he dumped me, outing me to all four hundred fifty of his followers. He'd saved it, posted it. And he'd titled it "For everyone who missed my livestream..." At some point, my phone buzzed with a text from Maddi. It read, "Saw what went down with u and Logan. U ok?" I replied, and she responded almost instantly.

Me: Not really. Don't wanna talk about it.

Maddi: Ok

She didn't text again, so I returned to wallowing in self-pity and doubt. Why would he do this to me? We'd been together for a year. Why now? Was it because I didn't tell him what I was until a week ago? He called me "Mad Hattie", like my Instagram handle. He mocked me. Maybe I shouldn't have told him at all. I knew the risks of revealing my witchcraft to a mortal, but he was my boyfriend. I trusted him.

I was about to text Maddi back when I heard it—the tell-tale sign indicating something bad was happenning, something I was too late to stop. "This is going to be AWESOME!"

"KLAUS!" I bolted downstairs. There he was, in full mad scientist paraphernalia, peering through the microwave window, the Baby in his arms. "Wait. What are you doing?"

"Heating up a potion," he answered.

"In the microwave? Tell me you're not trying to be modern."

"Can't."

I turned disbelievingly to the Baby. Surely his twenty thousand years to Klaus' five hundred would give him some sway. He only listens to you, I was informed. And you weren't paying attention.

"This one doesn't explode, right? Last time, Mama—" Klaus cut in.

"H, I remember what happened. It shouldn't blow up."

"Shouldn't?"

"I don't think it will. If it does..." he grinned. "Ooh! Five! Four! Three—" It exploded, our house right with it. Perfect timing for Mama to return.

...

At dinner, Mama asks about our days. "Maddi came over," I say. "She still doesn't get how we can have a baby brother who is older than us."

"Frankly, neither do I," Mama chuckles. "But you know how it is with us magic-folk. Was that all?"

"No." I hesitate. "Maddi wants me to get over Logan. She says I'm better than him."

"You are!" Klaus exclaims.

"It doesn't feel like it."

"Gah!" The Baby shrieks while thinking, Why? Because you aren't on social media twenty-four-seven?

"Twenty-four-seven? Very modern of you."

"Do you want to be good at social media?" Mama inquires.

"Yes. I want to fit in."

"You don't need to."

"True," I agree, "but I like social media."

"Then be good at it! You can be anything you want!" pipes Klaus.

You also do not have to be anything you do not want to be. It's part of the beauty of living an indefinite life. Keep the aspects from each era you like and ignore the rest.

I beam at the people I love most. "Thanks, guys."

...

Two weeks later, smiling to myself, I scroll through my Instagram for the fifth hour straight. I am giving my account a makeover. No longer will I be MadHatti3. I need to embrace all of me, including my witchy side. "I've got magic. So what?" to quote my new profile picture, commissioned by some online acquaintance of Maddi's. It depicts Maddi and me: she with her owlish but chic glasses, chestnut hair swept in a side-bun, arm draped across my shoulder, flashing a peace sign; me blowing glitter from cupped hands, honey-blond hair down my back. We are captured perfectly.

Making this choice, accepting myself and obliterating Logan, feels wonderful.

I reflect on my thoughts from before. How stupid mortals' idea of fake versus real magic is. How magical phones and social media are. Although I continue finding modern technology otherworldly, I was wrong to think humans so foolish, so delusional. There is something magical about being with those you love most. Friends. Famil—

"This is going to be AWESOME!"

Oh hell no. Not again.

"KLAUS!"