When We Were Magic by Sarah Gailey (novels to read txt) 📗

on my cheek, and I wipe it off on my sleeve, laughing.

“Are we okay?” I ask.

“I think so,” she says. “Are you sure you don’t want to make out just a little, now that we both know where we stand?”

I look over at her with no idea how to say yes I want that a lot but I can’t because it would be wrong but I want to do that a LOT—and I see the wolf grin waiting for me. She cackles at the look on my face, and I shove her over. “You’re an asshole,” I laugh.

“You’re fucking smitten.” She cackles. “Holy crap, Alexis, you’ve got it really bad. I knew you liked Roya, but yikes.” She wipes her eyes and props herself up on her elbow. “If I’d known you were this crazy about her, I would never have tried anything,” she says more seriously. “I promise.”

“I know.” I stand up and hold out my hand. “Thanks for understanding.”

“Of course,” she says, taking my hand and pulling herself up. “And hey—Roya’s going to be a lucky gal once you two finally make out. You’re a damn good kisser, Alexis.”

I blush so hard that she starts laughing again. She cracks jokes until we’re a few blocks from my house. At the driveway, she puts the car in park and rubs the back of her neck awkwardly.

“Would, um … would you mind not telling the gang about what happened tonight?” she asks softly. “It was awesome and I’m not embarrassed or anything, but I don’t want them to think I’m pining after you or anything.”

“Of course not,” I answer. “And … no weirdness. Between us, I mean. At least, not on my side of things.”

Paulie cups my chin in one hand and presses a gentle kiss against the tip of my nose. “I know,” she says. “I might be sad for a minute or two, but … no weirdness.”

“Hey, Paulie?” I ask.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think you lost this time?”

She looks blank for a second before she remembers. She forgot. I did too—we both got so caught up that we almost forgot about what we’ve been losing of ourselves. “I don’t know,” she says. “I’ll find out, though.”

“I hope … I hope it’s not too bad,” I say softly.

“It’ll be fine,” she says, giving me a tiny smile. “Whatever I lose, there’s no way it’ll be as bad as what I lost last time. And besides, it’s only temporary. We’ll bring Josh back, and I’ll remember my brother again, and you’ll dream again, and we’ll all be fine. It’ll be over before we know it, yeah?”

I nod. Dreaming again. I don’t think I realized how much I missed being able to dream, but I find myself tearing up at the idea of getting my dreams back. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.” She ruffles my hair. “Now get out of my car.”

“Love you,” I call out over the squealing of her tires, and she throws a hand out the window. Her pinky, index finger, and thumb are outstretched in the sign-language symbol for I love you, and my heart swells with our friendship, and what could have happened, and the reasons why it didn’t happen.

It’s totally obvious, she said. I can’t help but wonder if it’s that obvious to Roya, too.

I head inside and slip into my room without getting intercepted by anyone. I tug the backpack out from under my bed—the one with the heart in it. I unzip it slowly. Part of me doesn’t want to check on how it’s doing. But I haven’t looked at it since before Iris got rid of Josh’s hands, and I hadn’t realized that Roya had taken extra measures with the leg she dropped in the reservoir, and now Paulie and I have taken care of the other leg—if getting rid of pieces of Josh is bringing the heart back, I figure it’ll be obvious by now.

As soon as I unzip the bag, I know I’m right. The heart inside isn’t quite flesh, but it’s softer than it was last time I touched it. It’s cool to the touch, like Maryam’s hands first thing in the morning.

I cup it in my palms. It’s still heavy, but lighter than it was the last time I held it. It beats and the sudden spasm is startling, nothing like the soft, occasional throbs of the morning we all tried to bring Josh back. The way the heart moves now—once every thirty seconds or so—is so violent and visceral that I almost drop it. The whole thing jumps in my grip. It feels wrong to put something so clearly alive back into the backpack, but I do it anyway. Between heartbeats, I lower the heart carefully into the bag. I zip the backpack shut and push it under my bed.

It’s working. We’re getting rid of pieces of Josh, and his heart is coming back. If we do this right, everything will go back to being the way it was.

If we do everything just right, the whole plan will work.

I lie back on my bed and try not to listen for the sound of the dead boy’s heart beating underneath me.

16.

ON SATURDAY, A BAREFACED MARYAM pulls up to my house in her brother’s spotless car. It’s already sticky outside, the kind of warm early-morning air that portends either a thunderstorm or a hellaciously hot afternoon. I’m in a tank top and shorts, and I’m still plucking at the fabric where it sticks to my back and thighs. “Paulie texted me a couple of hours ago,” she says as I slide into the front seat, the bare skin of my legs squeaking on the leather. “She’s not feeling well.”

“Hope she’s all right,” I mumble, avoiding eye contact. “You doing okay? You’re naked.” I gesture to her face.

“Fine. Just indecisive today.” Maryam grabs one of two metal thermoses out of the cupholders between us and hands it to me. I take a sip—it’s iced tea, I think, but it’s cool and squashy and