Free The Lingering Grace by Jessica Arnold Page A

before the bell rang. She shot Alice a smile and slid into the chair behind her. Alice was just turning around to whisper one of her many burning questions when Mr. Segal started talking. She could feel his disapproving glare on the back of her head and she turned back around. Her fingers were drumming on the desk again and it took all the self-control she had to stop herself from turning back around the minute Mr. Segal started handing out the essay prompts.
    There was a tap on her shoulder and she jumped.
    “You dropped your pencil,” Eva said.
    “No, I—” but Alice stopped as Eva thrust a mechanical pencil and a piece of paper into her hand.
    Alice unfolded the paper under her desk and only dared look down at it when Mr. Segal sat down at his desk. She picked up her pencil and pretended to study the quiz in front of her, but dropped her eyes to read the note in her lap.
    How long have you known about magic?
    Alice’s stomach clenched and burned. She swallowed hard, gripping her pencil tightly, and flattened the paper out on her desk. With her head bent down over her desk, Mr. Segal wouldn’t ever have guessed that she wasn’t actually working on her quiz, but she felt like she had a neon sign pointing to her head. Alice was used to following the rules—she had no particular appreciation for them, but she hated to be scolded.
    I read a book , she wrote under Eva’s neat handwriting. This was a gross oversimplification, but there wasn’t room on the paper (or enough time) for her to write out the full story.
    Can you do magic? She wrote below her answer.
    Alice folded the paper again, held it loosely in her hand, and, still bent over her quiz, let her hand dangle to the side of her chair. She barely felt the brush of Eva’s fingertips as she deftly took it back.
    There was a soft crinkling of paper, barely audible over the sound of pencils on paper and gentle breathing that filled the room.
    Alice stared blankly at her blank paper, waiting. None of the prompts at the top of the page made sense to her. She couldn’t focus; they may as well have been written in a foreign language. All she could think about was the scratch of writing on the desk behind her, the sound of a paper being folded once again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eva push the paper to the very front of her desk. Alice reached over her shoulder and grabbed it.
    Yes.
    Dizzy, Alice realized that she had forgotten to breathe.
    I’m learning. I found a book too. I’ve been practicing for a year.
    Alice quickly scribbled out the question foremost in her mind and put the note back on Eva’s desk.
    Can you teach me?
    The paper sat there for five minutes; Eva seemed intent on finishing her essay and Alice halfheartedly picked the easiest prompt and started writing an introduction. She was trying to come up with a thesis statement, her mind wandering, when she looked down and realized she had written the word “magic” three times over.
    She erased the entire thing and started again.
    Finally, after Mr. Segal had collected the essays, Eva grabbed the note. She didn’t write back this time, but rather leaned forward and whispered.
    “Yes. Meet me for lunch. The courtyard.”
    The hour before lunch was interminable. Alice didn’t know how she endured history; she glanced up at the clock every thirty seconds and chewed her nails. She was out of her desk ten seconds before the bell rang (earning her a disapproving glare from Ms. Calloway, a severe-looking woman with thin, graying hair). Once in the hallway, she sped around bunches of students and into the courtyard, where she leaned against a low wall, waiting.
    She pulled her usual lunch out of her backpack: a bag of chips, a box of raisins, and a bag of carrots. It was never enough, but she couldn’t ever get up early enough to plan better. Sometimes she bought something at the cafeteria out of desperation. Other days she just dealt with the hunger; it kept her awake.
    Her mom was convinced