Page 55 of When We Were Magic
“I don’t care what she is,” Maryam says smoothly, looping her arm through mine. There’s a note of warning simmering in her voice. “She’s my friend.”
“Oh, are you sure about that?” Gina’s eyes narrow and shelooks at me with such hate that my heart jumps. “Because you might like to know that she’s a—”
“Enough,” Maryam growls, her fingers tight on my arm. She whips off her sunglasses with her free hand, then leans forward and looks into Gina’s face. Maryam’s eyes spark with furious fire. “That isenough. I will not tolerate whatever hateful garbage you think you have to say. Alexis asked you to leave us alone, because she is a good and kind person. I am not asking you to leave us alone.” Her voice is low and dangerous, and the colors on her face are sharpening with every word. The shadows under her cheekbones seem to grow a little deeper. Her eyes flash, not with anger, but with the light of growing magic. “I. Am. Telling you.”
A breeze ripples between us, and Gina bolts upright. She’s gone before Maryam’s got her sunglasses all the way back on. She shoves someone aside to tear away down the bleachers. The wind continues behind her, pushing at her back, whipping her hair into her face.
I notice that the people she passes don’t seem touched by even the slightest of breezes.
I look at Maryam. She’s back in movie-star mode, her face exactly as still and unreadable as it was before Gina showed up.
“Did you do that, just now?” I ask Maryam. She gives a single nod, pursing her lips. “You can do wind?”
“I try not to,” she mutters. “But sometimes when I get angry …”
“Remind me not to mess with you,” I intone.
She looks at me over the top of her sunglasses in an uncanny impersonation of Roya’s swim coach. “If you don’t know that by now, I can’t help you,” she says sternly.
I laugh and give her arm a squeeze. “You’re amazing. That was amazing. I can’t believe she thought you didn’t know—or that she didn’t think you were also—that was amazing.”
“You can tell me, you know,” she says.
“What?” I can’t see enough of her face behind the sunglasses to know if she’s even looking at me.
“Whatever it is that Gina was going to say.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re entitled to your privacy,” she says softly. “But I’m here to listen, and I’ll still love you no matter what. You don’t have to be worried that I’ll, I don’t know. Disapprove. Or whatever.”
The bleachers are digging into my thighs and I shift, but I can’t get comfortable. “I’m pretty sure she was talking about magic.”
Maryam purses her lips. “What else, though?”
“I mean … you know everything about me. Pretty much everything.”
She’s still not really looking at me. “I don’t,” she says. “I know the stuff you tell me, but there’s stuff you hide, too. And that’s okay. I’m not hurt or anything.” I don’t know if I believe her. She says that she’s not hurt with a breeziness that rings false. “I just want you to know that you’re not the only one who can listen.”
“I know you can listen,” I tell her. “I just feel bad. I keep making you guys listen to my problems and clean up my messes and it’s not fair to you, you know? I’m starting to think maybe I should just turn myself in.”
There’s another shrill whistle-blast. Swim-dad stomps back up the bleachers. He sits in front of us with his arms crossed, shaking his head. I wonder if his kid even likes swimming. He adjusts his cap, blocking my view of the pool. But then his elbows drop, and I look down to the water, and there she is.
There’s Roya.
She’s standing behind one of the starting blocks, shaking her hands out by her sides. She squeezes her fists tight, then shakes out her fingers three times, then rotates her wrists, then starts over from fists. She’s nervous. It’s her only event at her last meet and she’s nervous.
I want more than anything to send the thinnest thread of magic her way, just something to say that I’m here and it’ll be fine and she’s going to do great. Just a little warm touch, the kind we all send each other all day long, checking in, making sure everyone knows that they’re not forgotten and not alone. But she’d be furious—she made us all promise a long time ago that we’d never,neverhelp her at meets. Even though I wouldn’t even know how to use magic to help her swim, just the act of making her less nervous would probably count. She doesn’t want any interference, and that means no magic at all, not even her own. She doesn’t love swimming, but still—she wants to be amazing in her own right.
Not that she needs help.
She climbs onto her starting block and bends to grip the edge. My chest aches at the sight of her. I know that this event is the 100-meter butterfly, because that’s all she’s been talking about for a month. That’s pretty much all I know about it, and that largely describes the end of my knowledge about the sport as a whole. I’m not a great swimmer. I can mostly just keep myself alive in the water and make my way across the reservoir. Roya, though—she might not use her power for help, but she doesn’t need it. What she does in the water is its own kind of magic.
When the whistle blows, she shoots off the starting block like a finger of lightning jumping from one cloud to another. Her entire upper body arcs up out of the water, her arms meeting over her head and then driving powerfully backward. She moves through the water like a torpedo. When she kicks off the wall of the pool and turns around before anyone else has finished even half of a lap, I let out a whoop that makes swim-dad jump and turn to look at me. I ignore him, standing up to cheer.
She wins. Of course she wins—she’s Roya. She’s incredible.
Maryam and I yell ourselves hoarse, but we don’t go down to congratulate Roya. Not now. She hates being talked to right after she swims. I did it once at the beginning of sophomore year, her first year on the team: I ran right up to her to congratulate her, offer a high five, and ask how it felt to kick so much ass. She was glassy-eyed and panting, her cap clenchedin one hand, her hair in a tight braid that hung over one shoulder. I can still picture how the tip of her braid was dripping—I was surprised because I always thought the swim caps were there to keep your hair dry. She had goggle-lines around her eyes, and I remember being startled by the impulse to reach up and smooth them.
