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

“What was that about?” I ask as I hand my chips to Marcelina. Paulie gives me a Significant Look.

“They want to know about Josh,” she says.

“Why would they think Iris knows anything about Josh?” I ask, ripping foil off my burrito. My fingers tremble a little, but then Roya leans over and takes a huge bite right out of my hands, spilling rice all over me. I glare at her, and she winks, her cheeks bulging. “You’re gross,” I snap, my voice harsher than I want it to be.

“You wuff it,” she replies, her voice muffled by burrito. I roll my eyes, but I can’t help smiling, because … it’s Roya.

“The cop said that they found texts from Iris on Josh’s phone,” Maryam says, pulling Iris’s abandoned fries across the table with a shaky hand. “From the night of the party.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” I say.

“Well, that’s not what the cop said,” Marcelina interjects. We all turn to look at her—Marcelina isn’t usually one to correct people, not unless it really matters. “Sorry,” she says, looking everywhere but at us. “It’s just that, well. Um.”

“It’s fine,” Maryam says, although she sounds irritated. “Go ahead.”

“Okay, well, what she said was that they found Josh Harper’s cell phone, and that there was evidence indicating that Iris had been in contact with him in the time adjacent to his disappearance, and that they wanted to discuss the situation further without disrupting her class schedule.” She’s talking fast, and her voice rises with every new clause. “And then Roya said that they were disrupting her lunch, and that seemed more important than Iris missing Econ, and then—”

She trails off, red splotches rising on her chest.

“You okay?” Paulie asks softly.

“I don’t know,” Marcelina says. “Sorry.” Maryam’s face softens, and she watches Marcelina carefully. Roya lays the back of her hand against Marcelina’s forehead, maternal. Marcelina flinches away. “I’m fine,” she says. It’s a transparent lie, but we don’t push it. Marcelina will tell us when she’s ready. She always does.

“So what do you guys think Iris is going to tell them?” Paulie asks, expertly redirecting our attention. Marcelina gives her a grateful smile.

“Not a damn thing,” Roya says, reaching to the bottom of the french fry pile to extract an unsoiled wedge. “There’s nothing to tell.”

Paulie rolls her eyes. “Okay, but they’re going to ask if she knows where Josh is, and—”

“And she doesn’t,” Roya interrupts. “None of us do. We all know where some of Josh is,” she adds in an undertone, “but none of us are ever going to know where all of Josh is.”

“Except me,” I murmur.

“Except you,” Marcelina says through a mouthful of fries.

“Speaking of,” Roya says, reaching for my burrito, “are you doing anything tonight?”

“What? Tonight? Why?” I see Marcelina and Maryam exchange eye rolls. They start talking to each other about some makeup trick they want to try, and Paulie joins in on the conversation, even though she almost never wears anything beyond lip balm. And just like that, Roya and I are alone in the middle of the cafeteria. She watches me with raised eyebrows. “I mean, yeah, why?”

“I want to go to the reservoir,” Roya says around a large bite of my lunch. A piece of rice is caught in the divot of her top lip, and she flicks out the tip of her tongue to get it. I steal a sip of Paulie’s water, but it doesn’t make my mouth feel any less dry.

“Sure,” I say. “To, uh … take care of a thing?”

“Yeah,” Roya says. “To take care of a thing. You walked today, right? I can drive us there after sixth period.”

“Okay,” I say, and then Paulie is asking me a question about makeup that I don’t know the answer to, and the moment’s over. Under the table, Roya’s foot brushes against mine, and Paulie has to repeat herself three times before I answer.

“Oh, fuck,” Roya mutters. I glance over, and she’s looking behind me.

Her mom is standing in the doorway, and she doesn’t look happy. She’s wearing slacks and a fitted black blazer—the outfit she calls her “head-bitch-in-charge uniform.” Her badge hangs from her belt and her hair is up in a tight, shiny brown bun, and there’s no two ways to look at it: she’s here in a professional capacity, and she does not have time for games. She points at Roya, then hikes a thumb over her shoulder. Roya stands up, slinging her backpack over one shoulder. She jams her hands into her pockets and stalks out of the cafeteria without saying goodbye to any of us.

As she disappears through the doorway, my phone rings. I look down. It’s Roya’s name and face on the screen. I answer, expecting it to have been a butt-dial, but a muffled version of Roya’s mom’s voice comes through. I put my phone on speaker and rest it in the middle of the table. We all lean forward to listen.

“Were you at that party?” Chief Cassas is asking. There’s rustling. I’m pretty sure Roya’s got her phone in the front pocket of her hoodie.

“Yes.” That’s Roya’s voice, loud and clear. She called me from inside her pocket on purpose, I’m sure of it now. Two things dawn on me at once: First, the fact that Roya knows that we would all lie to her mom to protect her, and she wants us to have our stories straight. Second—the fact that she can call me without looking at the screen.

I bite my lip and try not to smile. She has me on speed-dial.

It’s probably nothing. She probably has all of us on speed-dial.

Or maybe not. Maybe it’s just me.

“I can’t believe this,” her mom is saying. “You told me you were going to be at Alexis’s house. Are you lying to me now? Is this what we’re doing?” Roya says something I don’t catch, and there’s another rustle. “I don’t care if you wanted to