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

leaves. I will never understand how I knew the shape of her hip under my palm before I ever touched her. But I did.

It’s like that. It’s the pull in my belly that’s been there since the moment I saw the dried blood on Iris’s hands. The pull that, if I’m honest with myself, has been there since the moment Iris cast that spell in Josh Harper’s bedroom. The pull that I gave in to when I showed Pop my magic, and turned my blood into something beautiful and dark.

I don’t know how I know how to give in to that pull. I don’t know how I know that it’s the right thing to do. But I do it anyway.

I flip Iris’s hand over and squeeze it hard in mine, feel the beautiful little flowers of her blood turn back to liquid between our palms. Then I clap my palm over Gina’s mouth, leaving a bloody handprint behind, and I reach for my magic, and I—

twist

—and her mouth falls open.

She gasps like she’s coming up for air. She staggers and puts a hand on my shoulder, and as she does, I feel something shift in my bones.

I can do this.

“I hope you don’t tell anyone what we can do,” I tell Gina. “I hope you just … come talk to us about it. But if you do decide to tell someone about us, nothing bad will happen to you. It’s up to you what you do.”

Gina shakes her head, touches her lips. “I knew it,” she whispers. “I knew it.” She walks away fast, looking over her shoulder more than once on her way to her car. She’s looking at me.

I can’t tell what she’s feeling. She looks curious, and excited, and afraid.

No matter what happens, I can’t undo that fear. I can’t ever make her forget the feeling of not being able to open her mouth. I can’t make her believe that I won’t hurt her, any more than I can bring Josh back to life.

But I can try to do things the right way. Even if it doesn’t work out, Maryam is right—it’s worth the attempt.

I take Roya’s hand and we head to her car, which is parked in the shade of a big twisting oak. She leans against the back bumper and pulls me in close.

“You okay?” she whispers against my temple, her lips brushing my hairline.

“I’m trying to be,” I answer, and it feels like the truth.

I’m trying. And I’m going to keep trying.

24.

I’M THE LAST ONE TO show up at Marcelina’s house. I know because they text me:

We’re all here, where are you?

We’re going to make s’mores, where are you?

Alexis get here already, before Roya explodes.

I’m late because I’m walking. I could have asked for a ride, but I’d rather walk. Tonight is the last night before the evenings will start to get really hot—I can smell the way the air is singed at the edges, and I know that tomorrow night, summer will be here. Not just because we graduated today, but because the heat is going to get thick and slow and heavy.

Right. I almost forgot. We graduated today.

It was fine. It lasted too long and none of the speeches were nearly as touching as they were supposed to be. Josh’s parents talked about wishing they could have seen him walk across the stage, and there was a big pile of flowers on an empty chair that was supposed to represent him but really just looked small and cheap. Roya held my hand during the moment of silence. Everyone else bowed their heads, but I couldn’t stop looking at the pile of drugstore carnations on that chair. It wasn’t enough. I couldn’t cry for a boy I didn’t know and didn’t miss, but I ached for the goodbye he should have gotten and didn’t. For the life he should have had.

For the thing inside me that took it away from him.

And then it was over. I got a piece of paper that represented my diploma but that wasn’t really my diploma because they mail those to your house. I shook my principal’s hand. I stumbled as I stepped off the stage, but nobody started bleeding because of it. I threw my hat in the air and hugged my friends and cried because even though it was all a bit stale and a bit overdone, it was ours.

That’s why we’re having the sleepover at Marcelina’s house—we’re celebrating. The school year is over. Tomorrow afternoon, Paulie is going to get into her car and drive for hours and hours until she’s in New York City, where she’ll learn how to be who she wants to be. Tonight is the last night that we get to be students, the last night we get to be kids. We all know that there are people who will still think of us as kids for the rest of our lives, but really, this is the last of it. So we’re having the last slumber party that we’ll all be able to have together. We’re going to stay up late and talk and eat and watch movies and probably wind up telling early-morning secrets because we’re too tired to not share them.

And that will be the end of it.

So I’m walking. I’m running my fingers over leaves as I pass, smelling the rosemary from Marcelina’s neighbor’s hedge stirring into the warm air. My feet hurt from standing forever at graduation, but that’s okay. I’m walking through my neighborhood for the last time as the person I am now, and when I leave Marcelina’s house to go home tomorrow morning, I’ll be walking past this same hedge as someone else. As the person I’m supposed to start becoming.

I don’t know if that person I’ll become will have anything in common with the person I was a month ago. I don’t know if I’m a whole new ship, now that all my sails and all my planks have been replaced.