When We Were Magic

Sometimes I don’t know what to say, and it never feels like it’s okay to not know.

I didn’t mean to kill Josh Harper. Really, I didn’t. It’s just that I was nervous and condoms are more complicated than I was expecting, and one thing led to another and— well. Now there’s blood everywhere and he’s dead.

He won’t be scared to jump next time, though,” Roya says, kicking her feet. “That’s the key to doing stuff you’re scared of. You gotta run at it.

My friends love me more than I deserve. That’s never been a question. The question is, how long will it take them to realize that?

But we have to at least make an effort. I think we have to try to do the right thing, before we can find excuses for having done the wrong thing.

She wrote pages and pages about how she could tell she was getting things wrong, and how she wanted to say the right things but didn’t know how to. She kept writing about how she hoped I knew she loved me, even when she messed up.” He smiles. “She wasn’t saying ‘I love you in spite of who you are.’ She was saying ‘I might screw this up a lot, but the biggest thing is that I love you. The most important thing in my heart is that I love you.’ Does that make sense?

They shove wet noses against my palms and huff hot air against my wrists. They lean against my legs, trying to tell me about the grass and the cat and the one amazing smell they found and rolled in. I smile in the dark and tell them to go back to sleep, that I’ll hear all about it in the morning.

I know I won’t pretend to be any less powerful than I really am. Because now I know for sure: the worst part of me isn’t the strongest part of me. And the strongest part of me is so, so much stronger than I ever realized.

What you said is what matters. Your impact matters more than your intentions,

Because whatever this thing is, it's beautiful. And whatever it is, it's ours.

He never says anything bad about his wife, though, which makes me trust him a little more.

She looks a little naked without makeup. People always talk about how wearing makeup isn’t natural, how “real” women look better, but that’s bullshit. Marcelina is perfectly lovely with or without makeup, but the “real” Marcelina likes wearing a ton of eyeliner and dark lipstick and sometimes does really incredible things with eyeshadow that I don’t fully understand. She and Maryam spend hours experimenting on each other’s faces, turning each other into mermaids and vampires and starlets. She’s good at makeup and she loves it and if that’s not “real,” I don’t want real.

Magic. How can I explain what it’s like? It’s like that feeling when you’ve been cooped up inside all day and then you finally go outside and remember what fresh air tastes like. It’s like when you get up in the middle of the night and your mouth is gross and dry and you take a drink of water and the water is sweet. It’s like watching someone dive into a pool without leaving a ripple. It’s like waking up.

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. But I know that I’ll keep sailing either way.

I SEE MOVEMENT OUT OF the corner of my eye a scant few seconds before I hear Paulie crowing. “All riiiiiight!” When I look over, she’s got both fists in the air, and her face is split into a wide grin. “Finally!

They tell me about the thing they found to roll in, and the mole that’s burrowing underneath us right now that they can never seem to dig to, and the pig ears that Uncle Trev brought home for them.

Are you going to soon?” “I don’t know.” I laugh, sitting up. “I don’t even know if I should ask her out or not.” “Well, when you’re ready to, know that you have my blessing,” he says. “Roya’s always welcome in our family.

He grins at me. “Like … a week ago? All my bones hurt.” He laughs, and I laugh, and then I hug him again and he hugs me back. I cry on my too-tall, growing-up-fast little brother until I stop being scared to let him go.

Yeah,” Iris interrupts. “I wanted to ask you about that. Have you noticed anything weird these last few days?” I don’t say anything, letting the absurdity of the question hang between us.

I stand under the water until the heat makes me dizzy. After I turn it off, I lean my head against the tile and finally, finally, I let myself cry.

She also said it was really pretty. Not that it matters, but she said it, is all. She thinks it’s pretty.

Roya opens her mouth, probably to start up the same argument she and Maryam have every other month—about the ways they’re treated differently, about intersections of privilege and marginalization, about modesty and culture.