When We Were Magic Sarah Gailey (each kindness read aloud .TXT) 📖

somewhere.” I raise my hand slowly and point to the leg. The coyote’s gaze follows the movement, but she just stares at my fingertip, uncomprehending. I tell her to look, and she glances between my eyes and my finger with an expression that clearly reads as What does it look like I’m doing?

I stand so slowly that my thighs tremble. She mirrors the movement. Paulie stays where she is, quiet enough that I think she’s probably holding her breath. I move forward, pausing with every step, until I’m standing over the leg on the ground. The blond hairs on Josh’s shin glint in the sunlight that filters through the trees. I point at the leg.

The coyote steps toward me so slowly that I almost don’t see her moving. It takes her at least a full minute to reach me. The top of her pointed ear comes up to my knee. I don’t move as she raises her head to look up at me, lifts her snout to smell my fingertip. One of her ears droops slightly in an expression I can’t read.

For you, I try to tell her. She cocks her head, and I hesitate for a few seconds before reaching out a shaking hand and resting it on top of her head.

The flood of communication is instantaneous, if garbled. Who what smell pups far meat who touch why?

I swallow and try again. Meat for you, I tell her. Meat for your pups. She shakes my hand off and takes a few steps away. I walk backward until my heels knock into the stump, then sit down and grab Paulie’s hand.

“Did it work?” she whispers. “Is it gonna work?”

Before I can say that I have no idea, the coyote ducks her head. She takes the leg in her jaws and drags it backward into the trees, and by the time I can think to say anything, she’s gone.

“Jesus,” I breathe. Paulie starts laughing, these huge gulping laughs, and I want to be furious at her for calling a coyote and expecting me to deal with it, but instead I start laughing too. We lean into each other and laugh way past when we should stop. We laugh the entire drive back to my place, and when I get out of the car and turn around to say goodbye, she leans across the front seat, reaches out the window, and presses her palm to the top of my head. She doesn’t say a word, but I say, “You too,” and I can hear her laughter streaming out the open windows of her car as she speeds away.

Later that night, I send her a text. Hey I just remembered you wanted to talk about something?

Nah, she replies. Then, a minute or two later: I honestly don’t even remember lol

It rings false, which is strange, because Paulie is scrupulously honest. I want to follow up. But I get distracted, because Dad taps his knuckles on my bedroom door. I look up to see him and Pop filling the doorframe. They look grim.

“What’s up?” I ask, trying to ignore that gut-clench of dread that comes with knowing, somehow, that I’m in trouble. It’s probably nothing, I tell myself. They don’t know about Josh. They couldn’t possibly know about Josh.

But they’re looking at me like they know every awful thing I’ve ever done.

I’ve done some pretty awful things lately. Dad steps into the room and I know that this is going to be bad.

“Hey, bug,” he says, unsmiling. “We need to talk.”

12.

“GOOD DAY AT SCHOOL?” POP asks. The light from my desk lamp is reflecting off his head, but his eyes are shadowy under the stern line of his thick brows.

I clear my throat and set my phone down. “It was fine,” I say slowly.

“Anything interesting happen?” Pop says, and he’s definitely using his overly casual lawyer-voice on me. My stomach twists again.

“Not … really?” Careful, Alexis. Careful. This is torture, because we all know that they’ve got something to talk about, but I have to pretend like there’s nothing it could possibly be until they decide to drop the hammer. They stare at me with identically unreadable expressions. I clear my throat and raise my eyebrows. Get it over with.

“How was fifth period?” Dad asks.

Not what did you do to Josh. Not we know you buried his head in the woods. Not even what the hell is going on with Gina Tarlucci and why is she terrified of you. None of those things. No. It’s how was fifth period?

I’m dizzy with a sudden combination of relief and guilt. I want to laugh, and I also know that I should be feeling the dread that comes with getting caught cutting class, but it just feels so small. I can’t muster the contrition that I know they’re looking for.

“I didn’t go today,” I say. They look at each other, and I can’t tell if they’re surprised that I fessed up or satisfied that they got me to cop to skipping.

“Why not?” Pop asks.

Shit.

I can’t tell him that I was with Paulie feeding a dead boy’s leg to a coyote. I scramble, and I come up with a very, very good lie.

“I was with Iris,” I say. “Her boyfriend cheated on her again. She was really upset and needed someone to talk to about it.”

This lie should smooth everything over. Iris does indeed have a boyfriend—or rather, she did until a few days before prom. A boyfriend who went to another school, and who the entire gang hates. He kissed another girl last year, and even though Iris forgave him, the rest of us were prepared to be forever suspicious of him. Our suspicions were confirmed, obviously.

I’m pretty sure Dad and Pop don’t know that, though. As far as they know, Iris and her loser boyfriend are still together. And they’re always understanding of my need to support my friends. They don’t get mad if I have to go out late or if I’m on