2 Empath

by Edie Claire

  “That is totally cool,” I agreed, impressed.

  Tara whistled. “I think you’ve got both sides of most major wars covered there. Good thing your ancestors got along!”

  I rummaged anxiously through my own backpack, but the envelope remained stubbornly hidden. Where had I stuffed the thing? I couldn’t wait to see my own results. I knew that my grandmother Kalia, whom I was named after, was Hawaiian, but I couldn’t wait to see that fact verified in writing. She had died when my father was young and he’d been raised by his father and stepmother in Minnesota, so he had pretty much zero cultural association with the islands. Still, blood was blood, and I was proud of mine.

  “Mine is going to be totally boring; I know it,” Tara prophesied, finding her envelope and ripping it open with haste. “My mother says she has Native American ancestors, but out here everybody says that. I bet it’s not true. That company probably laughs its head off at how many people’s family trees are completely wrong.”

  She unfolded the paper, and her eyes grew wide. “Get out!” she shouted with glee. “I am part Native North American! 4%!”

  “I always did think you looked a bit Cherokee,” Kylee joked.

  I laughed with her. All Tara’s siblings looked like they’d fallen off a Viking ship. “I bet you’re mostly Scandinavian though, right?” I asked, still looking for my own envelope.

  Tara nodded, her face beaming. “Yeah, 63%. But I’m also 32% Central European. That makes sense too, since my one grandfather was definitely German. This is too cool!”

  “What did you get, Kali?” Kylee asked, just as the stubborn envelope at last made an appearance (inside my English folder). I pulled it out. It was labeled only with my identification number; the testing had been anonymous. I ripped it open.

  “Yours should be really interesting,” Tara predicted. “The Hawaiian islands have so many different populations mingling. You’re sure your grandmother was native Hawaiian, right?”

  “That’s what my dad says,” I answered, unfolding the papers. Please, please, please be true!

  My hands were practically trembling. My eyes roved over the gibberish, searching for the words I longed to see. What category did native Hawaiian fall under?

  “Pacific Islander!” I shrieked with joy. “It’s here! It’s really here!”

  My friends cheered. “Awesome!” Kylee praised. “You’ll fit right in!”

  “What else do you have?” Tara asked. “Your mom’s like, totally Greek, isn’t she?”

  I nodded. “Both her parents were born in Greece, and she never heard anybody in the family ever claim to be from anywhere else.” My face was still buried in the paper. Something didn’t seem quite right. “What category is Greece?”

  Tara looked at the map on her papers. “It would be Eastern European. You have it?”

  I nodded again. “I’m 49% that, so that makes sense.” But did the rest of it?

  “What’s wrong?” Tara asked. “You look confused.”

  “I…” my heart started to pound. “I am confused. It says I’m 31% Pacific Islander. But I couldn’t get more than 25% from Kalia. Right?”

  Tara’s forehead creased.

  “That must mean you have other relatives who were Hawaiian, too!” Kylee suggested brightly.

  I shot a glance at Tara. “But my dad’s father’s people were all from Minnesota. The name Thompson is British, but all the other family names were things like Abramsen and Gulbrandsen. My dad was showing them to me when we filled out the forms…” My voice trailed off. I stared at the paper another moment, then looked back at Tara.

  “But I don’t have any Scandinavian here. Zero.”

  Tara’s eyes held mine with understanding. “What do you have?”

  I took a breath. “It says 49% Eastern European, 31% Pacific Islander, 12% Southern European…” I hesitated. “And 6% East Asian.”

  “East Asian!” Kylee squealed, hopping off her stool. “Seriously? Where did that come from?”

  “2% uncertain,” I finished. “And I don’t know.”

  “Well, aren’t there lots of Asians in Hawaii?” Kylee suggested. “Kalia could have been a mixture.”

  I shook my head. The effort made me a little dizzy. “But I’m already more than 25% Pacific Islander!”

  “Can I see the paper?” Tara asked softly.

  I handed it over to her. Her eyes scanned the numbers, and I could picture the calculations she was running in her head. The same ones I had been running. The ones that didn’t add up.

  After a long moment, her eyes met mine. “Your dad went through all his father’s ancestry with you, and he knew it was for a DNA project?”

  I nodded.

  She exhaled. “It could be a mistake,” she offered.

  “What mistake?” Kylee demanded.

  “All of the Pacific Islander and Asian background in Kali’s profile couldn’t have come just from Kalia,” Tara explained. “And her mother’s parents are already accounted for with the 49% Eastern European. That leaves her father’s father. Even if Kalia herself wasn’t all Polynesian, but had some Asian or even some European thrown in, the fourth grandparent couldn’t possibly have been Scandinavian. According to this, he was Southern European… possibly with Asian blood. He must have had some Pacific Islander blood, too.”

  Kylee’s dark eyes shown with grim understanding. The room went quiet a moment.

  “Like I said,” Tara offered again, gently. “It could be a mistake.”

  “Of course it could,” Kylee agreed. “Did you see that disclaimer form? It was a mile long! It’s a new technology — it could be way off. Plus, it was all done by the numbers, so you know a few are going to get switched around.”

  I shook my head stubbornly. “If it was all off, maybe I could believe that. But it’s dead on with my Greek grandparents. And how many Americans outside of Hawaii have Pacific Islander blood at all? For it to be right about all that, but totally, completely wrong about one grandparent out of four…”

  Nausea rose in my middle. I remembered how eager my father had been to help me with the project. How proud he had been to show me his Swedish grandmother’s family bible, with its generations and generations of carefully penned birth and death dates. Of Kalia’s parents, he had known almost nothing.

  I had to wonder how much he knew about Kalia herself.

  “I don’t think it is a mistake,” I said weakly. I didn’t want to say it. I didn’t even want to think it. But my lips formed the words anyway. “What I think is that Albin Thompson was not my biological grandfather.”

  The nausea got worse.

  “And my dad has no idea.”

  Chapter 10

  “Here,” Kylee ordered, setting a peanut butter cup on the table in front of me. “You need chocolate. Eat.”

  We were sitting in the food court at the mall, eating frozen yogurt. At least, Kylee and Tara were eating theirs. I had only been staring at mine.

  “Kal,” Tara cajoled. “The official Cheyenne last-day-of-school junk food binge crawl isn’t nearly as much fun if you don’t actually eat the junk food.”

  I tried to smile. “Yeah, I know. Sorry.” I picked up the candy and nibbled on a corner. It did taste good. Tara was only kidding about the junk food crawl, but we did have microwave popcorn along with the smoothies before coming to the mall for yogurt. They were trying to get my mind off my mystery grandfather, and I was trying to let them.

  “How’s the blocking coming?” Kylee asked, looking around at the crowd. The mall was busier than usual for a weekday afternoon, swelled with high-energy kids ready to celebrate the summer.

  “Getting better,” I answered. “Slowly.”

  Just a month ago, I would have avoided the mall like the plague. But thanks to some pretty weird advice coming from Kylee’s grandmother’s network of similarly cursed/gifted people in San Jose, I was beginning to get a handle on the empath thing. Sort of.

  I sat up in my chair, “opened” my mind, and looked around
. I had always seen surprisingly few shadows in the mall, and today was no exception. There were two men standing in the hallway near the cinemas arguing, but from their clothing and their position in space, they appeared to have been there before the building was built. The city of Cheyenne had more shadows than did the countryside around it, but neither had as many as Oahu. I realized now that being a military brat had worked to my advantage, because so many of the bases where my father had been stationed were in the middle of nowhere. Wyoming in particular had never been a thickly populated place, which was a big part of why I liked it. As much as I longed to see the world, I dreaded the thought of setting foot in a city like London or Rome, which had been populated for so long by so many that the shadows must overlap each other in gnarly masses. What such a place would feel like to me now, I couldn’t bear to imagine.

  Unless I could learn better control.

  “What’s the situation?” Kylee asked, as was her habit now. She had been helping me with the exercises. Much to my delight, Tara had been too.

  “Only two shadows,” I replied. “Too far away to feel. But I’m getting all kinds of other stuff.”

  A mother, frustrated and angry with her misbehaving toddler. A toddler, hungry and miserable. A mob of middle school girls: nervous, excited, mortified, anxious, jealous, sad, restless…. Yikes! Go away. Been there, done that! A man with his girlfriend: bored. The girlfriend: bored. Trouble there!

  I shook my head at the overload.

  “Okay,” Kylee coached. “Bring down the blind. Picture it. Reach up and grab the handle…”

  I had a hard time believing that such a simple trick could work, but it did. I set all my powers of concentration to imagine a giant circular blind that surrounded and cut me off from the people outside my chosen circle. I started rolling it from the top, slowly, smoothly, and slid it down my field of vision like an invisible protective film. Even before it was halfway down, I could feel a lessening of the emotional noise. By the time it touched the floor, I felt nothing but blissful, peaceful quiet.

  I exhaled with a smile.

  “Got it?” Tara asked.

  “Got it,” I answered. I knew the block would not last forever. It only worked when I concentrated on it, or when I was wholly consumed with other thoughts. When I let my mind wander, I was vulnerable again. But as time went on, I seemed able to call it back more easily. And just knowing I had some control made me feel amazingly better.

  “Ba noi says your progress is astounding,” Kylee praised. “Her friends are all dying to meet you, you know.”

  “I’ll bet,” Tara said. “No doubt the real thing is a bit rarer than most of that crowd is willing to admit.”

  Kylee scowled. “How do you know how common the sensitivities are? Where’s the research on that?”

  I scarfed down the rest of my peanut butter cup. Kylee was right about one thing: I did need chocolate. “Here, finish this,” I said quickly, spooning half my uneaten yogurt into Tara’s cup and the other half into Kylee’s, hoping to prevent another battle. Even with Tara onboard with the supernatural-that-really-isn’t, the two’s approaches to dealing with it couldn’t be more different.

  “Kali knows there are a whole lot of whackos out there who think they’re gifted when they’re really just delusional,” Tara insisted. “She doesn’t need to get derailed by all that hocus pocus. She needs to focus on what’s going on with her, and what can be verified.”

  Kylee rolled her eyes with a groan.

  “It’s caramel supreme,” I tried again, pointing to their cups.

  “That ‘hocus pocus’ just taught Kali how to get her life back!” Kylee protested.

  Mercifully, my phone chose that moment to ring. It was my dad’s tone — a trumpet fanfare. I shushed Tara’s imminent comeback and picked up. My dad never texted and only rarely called, and when he did it was never just to chit chat.

  “Hello? Dad?”

  “Hey, darlin’,” he said cheerfully.

  I relaxed a little. “Hi. What’s up?”

  “I want you to come out to the base.”

  I paused. This was weird. “The base? For what?”

  “There’s something I want to show you. Won’t take too long. You coming or not?”

  I swallowed. The Colonel was used to quick responses, and those in the affirmative. My mother and I were allowed a certain leeway, of course, but there was something in his tone now that brooked no dissent. Still, I hesitated. I wasn’t ready to see him. I had yet to wrap my own mind around the DNA results. What — if anything — should I do about them? What if he remembered the project and asked to see my profile, like, today? And what if he didn’t ask about it? Ever?

  “Kali!” he barked. “This is important. Where are you now?”

  “I’m at the mall,” I answered, rising. “Just give me long enough to drop off Kylee and Tara and I’ll be there, okay? Where?”

  “Park out by the BX,” he instructed, his voice jovial again. “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

  We hung up. Tara and Kylee collected their cups and stood, studying me with concern. “What’s up at the base?” Tara asked finally.

  “No idea.” I pulled my keys out of my pocket. The toddler was howling now, and his angst was eating at my stomach lining. Keeping the blinds down constantly wasn’t easy. “But ready or not,” I said weakly, “I guess I’m about to find out.”

  ***

  I didn’t get to the base much, other than to drop off or pick up my dad, who considered driving himself to work every day to be “wasteful” and who delighted in bumming rides off anyone he could coerce. This habit had the unfortunate effect of leaving him stranded in bizarre places at bizarre times, to the point where my mother no longer blinked an eye at being called to fetch him at the hardware store, or on a street corner, or at a taxidermist’s shop in the next county, and return him to wherever he was actually supposed to be. It was a quirk she found amusing, which I could only attribute to true love. But I wasn’t complaining either, since the car I was driving right now would otherwise be sitting at the base.

  I got clearance to pass through the gates and then wound my way around to the exchange. My dad was nowhere to be seen, so I pulled into a spot and parked. I was out of the car and walking toward the door when I saw them: my dad, another middle-aged man wearing business casual, and a guy in a yellow tee shirt and cargo shorts who looked like a football player.

  All three of them turned to me and smiled.

  “Matt!” I exclaimed happily, hustling toward him.

  His eyes twinkled as he stepped away from our fathers and met me halfway, enveloping me in a brief, but hearty, bear hug. “Surprise!” he said, laughing. “Bet you didn’t expect to see me here, did you?”

  “Um… no!” I said, laughing with him. Matt’s father worked at Hickam Air Force base in Oahu, and during my family’s house hunting trip, the two officers had coerced Matt into giving me a tour of the island. Despite high potential for disaster, it had worked out great. I genuinely liked Matt, who despite being a hopeless jock was kind, sincere, and generally fun to be around. He had even invited me to the Spring Fling at his high school and introduced me to all his friends. “What are you doing here?” I asked, still stunned.

  “College visit,” he answered cheerfully. “I knew we were going to do it sometime this spring, but I didn’t realize you lived so close. Then this morning Dad said he wanted to drive up to Cheyenne and see some people at Warren before we flew back, and I said, ‘Well, all right!’”

  I smiled. I didn’t need to ask which college. He meant the Air Force Academy, which was a couple hours away near Colorado Springs. I stole a glance at my dad. As expected, he was grinning like the cat who ate the canary. Matt, being the son of an Air Force officer who also wanted to be an Air Force officer, was the stuff my father’s dreams were made of… his dreams for me, that is. Five minutes after meeting Matt, Mitch Thompson had been mentally walking his only daughter down the aisle and handing her over to
a lifetime of preordained bliss.

  It wasn’t going to happen, of course. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t happy to see the guy.

  “I’m so glad you made the detour!” I said honestly.

  “You want to grab a bite?” he asked. “We can’t stay much longer, but I’m starving. What have you got at the BX?”

  “Subway and Burger King,” I answered. “Take your pick.”

  “You two go on,” my father said with a wink. “We’ll catch up with you later.”

  The undisguised glee on his face disturbed me, given that he knew full well how I felt about Zane. It seemed like, in blocking out all knowledge of my abilities, he had blocked out Zane’s existence as well.

  “I’m thinking Subway,” Matt said, steering me away from our fathers and towards the entrance. “But I’m hungry enough I may do both.”

  “Go ahead,” I laughed. “Knock yourself out. I just had a fruit smoothie, some microwave popcorn, part of a frozen yogurt, and a peanut butter cup.”

  He groaned. “No more talk of food until I get some, okay?”

  I laughed again. In a few minutes we were settled into a booth and Matt sighed with contentment as he downed his first bite of burger. “Oh, yeah. That’s the stuff.”

  I studied him as he ate. We had texted back and forth a few times since I left Oahu, but nothing too heavy. I knew that his water polo team had won the regionals; he knew that my parents had already preregistered me for Frederick High. I’d also been texting with a friend of his named Lacey, a girl I’d met at the dance whom I’d felt an instant connection with. Starting into a new school for senior year could have been a horror, especially since I was having to leave Tara and Kylee. But thanks to Matt, I was actually looking forward to it.

  “So,” he said after putting away most of a burger and a couple bites of sub. “Whatever happened with the guy who was in the car accident? He doing okay?”

  I tensed. Of course he would want to know. I did recruit him, in a panic, to drive me to the Honolulu airport when I realized that Zane was alive and in a hospital on the mainland. It had all been a huge mess, because early on, before I realized that Zane (a) had feelings for me, too, and (b) was not deceased, Matt and I had started to date. I had been trying to reverse that course, but never really got the chance. Not that I left Matt in limbo — I was such a wreck when I left, the fact that I had deep feelings for the injured mystery guy would have been obvious to a deaf tomato. But he had every right to ask what the status was now.