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

tucking her hair behind her ears. “But I’m sure they’re okay. We would have heard if they weren’t.”

I chew on my lip. “I don’t know if Paulie’s okay. Can I tell you what’s going on with her? I promise it isn’t gossip.”

Maryam purses her lips for a second. She doesn’t listen to gossip. It’s something that’s important to her—a principle she stands by, no matter how hard it can be to navigate high school without tuning in to rumors. Ultimately, though, she trusts me enough to nod.

I tell her about Paulie’s lost memories of Drew. Her eyes go wide.

“That’s messed up,” she says softly. I nod, biting my lower lip. She pokes my chin with a manicured finger. “Stop it.” I stop biting my lip, then immediately start again. Maryam rolls her eyes and pulls a dark red tube out of her purse. She holds my chin while she applies the contents to my lips with an expert hand. “If you don’t leave it alone now, you’ll have lip stain on your teeth all day,” she mutters.

“Are we sure Paulie’s even in school?” I ask, trying not to let my lips touch while the stain sets. She shakes her head.

“I’m not sure who’s here right now,” she says. “That cop from the cafeteria has been pulling people out of my classes all day.”

“What? Shit.” I didn’t notice it happening. I was too busy trying to figure out what my stupid feelings are, when I should have been paying attention to the goddamn police investigation. “Shit. Is Roya here today? You guys have bio together, right?” I ask.

“She’s not here,” she says, laying a gentle, magic-warm hand on my arm. “We usually have bio, but she’s out sick or something. Don’t worry about her.”

“I’m not worried about her,” I say, too fast. Mercifully, she ignores me. She keeps her hand on my arm, though, sending a wave of calm through me.

“Have you talked to Marcelina?”

My stomach twists with guilt. “Not for a few days,” I say, and Maryam frowns at me.

“Are you guys fighting?”

“No,” I answer truthfully. “I guess I’ve just been really distracted, and I haven’t seen her since lunch the other day.”

“When Iris went with the cop?”

“Yeah. That cop. I don’t know, Maryam.” The bell rings, but we both ignore it. All around us, people are hurrying, scooping up backpacks and shoving past each other to get into classrooms, but Maryam is frowning at me, so I don’t budge. It’s her “I don’t know how to say a thing but I want to say it but what if you get mad at me for saying it” frown. It’s a frown I’ve been seeing from her a lot lately.

“What’s up?” I ask gently.

“You should talk to Marcelina,” she says, her eyes sliding away from mine. “I think she needs you right now.”

“Why?” I ask, but Maryam shakes her head.

“She’s having a hard time,” she says. “But it’s not my news to share.”

We hug each other tighter than usual and then head off to class. While the teacher hands out the day’s worksheets, I sneak my phone under my desk and text Iris.

Meet you after school? Soccer field?

Her response is so immediate that I wonder if maybe she had her own phone under her desk—if she was about to text me again.

Yes yes yes.

I also text Marcelina, asking if she wants to hang out soon, telling her that I miss her face. She doesn’t reply, because Marcelina never has her phone out during class. I still wait, though. I wait, and I fidget, and I try not to bite my lip.

At the end of the class, I turn in a blank worksheet. I don’t even put my name on it. Roya’s not here. Paulie’s not here. Something’s going on with Marcelina. It feels like things are falling apart.

I just don’t know why.

I slip out of fourth period five minutes early by telling the teacher I need to use the restroom. She waves me off without a hall pass. I wait outside of Marcelina’s class and catch her as she’s walking out the door.

“Hey, are you okay?” I wince even as I’m saying it, but then again, Marcelina’s never been one for subtlety.

“No. Definitely not,” she replies. See what I mean?

“What’s up?” We walk toward the senior lockers and I grab her textbooks so she can use both hands to open her sticky combination lock. She bangs on it twice with her fist before it pops open.

“I’m all fucked up, Alexis.” Her voice is calm, but one of her eyes is twitching. She’s hardly wearing any eyeliner at all, and she’s only got four earrings in each ear. She looks like half of a Marcelina. “Like, really fucked up.”

“What is it?” I hand her books over and she shoves them ungently into her locker. She braces herself against the shelves.

“I wasn’t sure until this morning, but now I’ve definitely got it figured out.” She looks up at me and I notice the heavy layer of concealer under her eyes. The thick makeup has settled into creases, making her look older than she is. “I can’t forget anything.”

“What?” I feel like I’ve misheard or misunderstood, like I missed a stair. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” she says slowly, “I can’t forget anything. I remember everything that’s happened to me in the last …” She counts on her fingers. “Five days.”

“I don’t get it,” I say. I move out of the way of her locker-neighbor. Marcelina slams her own locker door shut and spins the lock, and we start toward the cafeteria. She’s walking fast, not looking at anyone we pass. Her eyes stay on the linoleum like she’s watching for landmines.

“Normally you forget like … half the things that happen in a day, right?” she says, her voice low and urgent. I shrug. I guess I know what she means, although I never really thought of it that way before. “Well, I can remember it all. In like … really intense detail.