When We Were Magic by Sarah Gailey (best books to read non fiction TXT) 📕

him see that he’s caught my attention, that I’m worried. I hope that he only sees “worried,” and not “pissing myself with fear.” He holds up a finger, frowning—the other person on the line is still talking.

“Hang on,” he says after a long time. “I have Alexis right here. I’ll ask her.” He covers the mouthpiece and looks up at me. “Hey, bug, did you see Josh Harper last night?”

Let me take a moment to explain why I say what I say next. I’ve grown up with two lawyer dads. Trial lawyer dads. They both work defense cases, which means they could find a loophole in a mountainside and turn it into a tunnel big enough for a steam engine to pass through. They’re also both great at spotting lies. They trust me a lot, and they let me get away with a lot, but they expect the truth from me, and most of the time, I give it to them.

On my very best, sneakiest day, when Pop and Dad are both way overwhelmed and barely have time for me, I can maybe get away with “I’m staying over at Marcelina’s house tonight” when really I mean “I’m going to lose my virginity to whatever boy is nearby tonight.”

Today? With Dad looking straight at me, worry draped across his brow like a flower crown? Not a chance.

So I say yes.

“I saw him at prom,” I say. “And … at the after-party.” I let myself look a little guilty about the after-party, and Dad’s eyebrows go up in a decent imitation of Pop’s surprised-face. He gives me a we’ll talk about that later look, then uncovers the phone.

“Yeah, she saw him,” he says. “He was at a party. Whose house?” He looks at me.

“His house,” I whisper. Dad’s eyebrows go down into a furrow.

“Your house,” he says, and the person on the other end talks a lot. I wave my hands and shake my head. “Hold on,” he says into the phone. “Maybe I misunderst—hold on, okay?”

“Sorry,” I say, “it was at his dad’s house, not, uh. Not his mom’s house.”

“I see,” Dad says. “And I take it his father was out of town?”

I bite my lip and nod. Dad’s lips tighten into a thin line, and I know that there will be a Long Conversation about this in my future.

He relays the information into the phone, then says, “I’m sure he’s fine,” and “Let me know if there’s anything we can do to help.” Then he hangs up.

“What’s up?” I ask. “Is everything okay?” There’s fear in my voice, and I hope to god that Dad thinks it’s just fear of the consequences of having gone to the party.

“I’m sure everything’s fine,” he says, crossing his arms. “That was Mrs. Harper. Apparently, Josh didn’t come home last night, and he isn’t answering his phone.”

“Oh,” I say, looking at the ground. I wonder if Iris’s spell got rid of his phone, or if it’s in his bloodless bedroom at his dad’s house, ringing and ringing and ringing.

“Hey,” he says, walking toward me and putting his phone into the pocket of his cargo shorts, which Pop calls his “soccer dad” shorts. “I’m not thrilled about this party, but you know I trust you, right?” He ducks his head to look into my face. My eyes are stinging with guilty tears.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I know.”

“Then all I need to know is, were you safe there? Were you with your friends, and did you all keep an eye on each other and get home safely and responsibly?”

The tears spill over, and I hiccup once. “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, we were all together. And we were safe.”

Dad puts an arm around me and pulls me into a hug. I lean my face into his shirt. He smells like deodorant and bar soap, and I cry for everything that I can’t tell him.

“Hey, bug, hey, it’s okay,” he says, rubbing my back like he did when I was a little kid. “I’m sure Josh is fine. He probably just overslept and forgot to charge his phone or something. He’ll turn up.”

I don’t answer, because I can’t. The tears won’t stop coming. I cry until I’m tired and drained. I cry until I feel as empty as the duffel bags that Josh abandoned at the bottom of his closet. I cry until I hear Pop shouting for one of Nico’s goals, and then I pull away from Dad, and wipe my face, and give him a weak smile.

“It’ll be okay, bug,” he says, trying to look comforting but really just looking worried.

“I know,” I say. But I don’t know.

I don’t know at all.

5.

THE NEXT MORNING, I WAKE up while the stars are still out. I sneak out of the house without turning any lights on, leaving a note on my door that says I caught a ride to school with Paulie. I walk to Marcelina’s woods and listen to the way the world sounds different before dawn. I wonder why I don’t wake up this early more often—it’s kind of beautiful, the way everything is still and silent. The way the world feels half-finished in the almost-light.

My backpack is heavy. I’ve still got Marcelina’s shovel, plus all my school stuff.

Plus the head and the heart.

I checked on them before I left the house. Nothing about the head has changed. Something about Iris’s spell preserved the flesh, held it in a state of suspended animation. The heart, though—I wasn’t imagining things the other day. It’s just the slightest bit warm. As if someone was holding it right before me and their skin left a trace of heat on its glassy surface. I turn the beginning of an idea over in my head as I walk, but it’s loose, ill-formed, and I lose track of it too quickly.

When I get to Marcelina’s house, I’m the last one there. Everyone else is standing around, silently watching their shoes soak up the morning dew. They stand at the edge