Impossible Things Read Online Free Page A

awesome. How did you do it?” I lowered my voice. “It was magic of some kind, wasn’t it?”
    She scrambled to her feet, brushing tears away with the back of her hand. “You don’t get it! You don’t understand anything. And don’t say anything about it to anyone!”
    â€œVictoria, don’t be mad. I won’t say anything, honest!” I reached out to her, but she was already running across the schoolyard.

Five
    After lunch I headed straight back to the classroom and got there before anyone else. I was furious with myself for opening my big mouth. I slipped into my back row desk and slumped down, resting my head on my folded arms. Then I noticed that something was different. For the first time all year, the blinds had been opened, and even though the sky outside was gray, the room was filled with light.
    A hand brushed my shoulder lightly. I looked up.
    â€œAre you okay? What’s your name?” The woman had curly red hair and a wide smile that showed a mouthful of braces. Since when do adults wear braces? Hers even had blue elastics which matched her shirt.
    â€œI’m fine,” I mumbled. “My name is Cassidy Silver.”
    â€œI’m Ms. Allyson. I’m subbing for Mr. McMaran.” She tilted her head to one side, suddenly thoughtful. “Silver. I don’t suppose you’re related to Molly Silver, by any chance?”
    I nodded, surprised. “Yeah. You know my mother?”
    Ms. Allyson shook her head and smiled. “Only her work. But I’m a big fan. A friend of mine has one of her paintings. I could look at it for hours.”
    I nodded. I wouldn’t say this to Ms. Allyson, or to anyone else of course, but I don’t really like Mom’s paintings that much. They’re kind of weird: all browns and depressing dark colors with bits of glass and feathers and things stuck on them. And people say all kinds of stuff about them that I don’t understand. After her last show, one critic wrote that she was a brilliant artist whose work “captured the frenetic anxiety of our times.” Whatever that means. Another one said that her paintings looked like kids’ summer camp projects. Dad was furious about that one, but Mom just laughed.
    â€œAre you an artist too?” Ms. Allyson asked.
    â€œNo, not really.” I hesitated. “I mean, of course I like art.”
    â€œWell, you should definitely be looking forward to the big art contest then.”
    â€œWhat art contest?”
    â€œMr. McMaran didn’t tell you about it?” She raised her eyebrows. “Wait until everyone is here and I’ll fill you in.”
    The other students all filed in, but there was no sign of Victoria. The desk beside me sat empty. Now that a bit of time had passed, I could think of all kinds of explanations for what had happened in the morning’s class: McMaran fell off the chair and dropped the chalk because he was drunk; he wrote that weird stuff on the chalkboard because…well, maybe he used to teach high school math and he just forgot where he was. Anyway, I was sure there was an explanation that didn’t involve magic. My cheeks felt hot as I remembered what I’d said: It was magic of some kind, wasn’t it?
    Jeez. Victoria must have thought I was a complete idiot. Tomorrow she’d probably be calling me Cathidy and laughing at me like everyone else. I just hoped she wouldn’t repeat what I’d said.
    Ms. Allyson cleared her throat. “Okay, class! I’m Ms. Allyson and I’ll be teaching this class until Mr. McMaran is able to return.”
    A forest of hands flew up in front of me. How long would he be away? What was wrong with him? Was it true he’d been drunk? Ms. Allyson managed to answer most of them without giving us any real information beyond the official line: He was unwell and would be off work for some time. Period.
    After a couple of minutes, she waved the hands