Underneath

by Sarah Jamila Stevenson

  “So, ring in the new year with a bang?” Cody asks, smiling sardonically.

  “Well, there was some family melodrama,” I say. “I don’t know if I’d call that a bang, exactly. More like a whimper.”

  “T. S. Eliot,” Cody says with a nod. “Nice.”

  “Yeah, we read that one in English class last semester.”

  “Mrs. DeMarco?” He grins at me. I don’t smile back.

  “Yup. Second period. You?”

  “Fourth,” he says. He cocks his head, his expression mildly curious. I look away from him for a moment, watching Becca as she touches up her black eyeliner.

  “So did you hang out with those Wiccans again on New Year’s?” I ask pointedly.

  “Nah, Becca and Mikaela and I hung out at my house,” he says. “I’m seeing Rennie and her group next week, though, if you want to come.”

  “Uh, no thanks.” I look away, scowling. “That’s exactly what I don’t want to do.”

  “Hey, I already said I didn’t know they were going to put you on the spot like that.” He meets my eyes with an intense ice-blue stare. A challenging stare. “But I meant what I said that night.”

  “What, that you thought it was all a joke? A trick?” I cross my arms.

  “No!” He lowers his voice so that only I can hear. “I mean, if you ever want to practice your … ability, or just talk about it or something, tell me.” He looks contrite now. “I promise. I won’t tell anyone else about it. I won’t say anything about your power unless you tell me it’s okay.”

  I frown. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “So … do you think you might want to try to practice sometime?” He doesn’t quite look at me, just fiddles with the zipper on his jacket.

  “I—don’t know. Maybe.” I feel confused, off-balance. The bell rings, and we gather up our bags and books. I start walking toward my fifth-period physics class. Cody falls into step beside me for a minute.

  “Really, Sunny,” he says, leaning close enough for me to feel his breath on my ear. “Just think about it.” He smiles and starts walking off toward the history classrooms. I stare after him, watching him go.

  He says he wants to help me practice. He wants to help me gain control over my underhearing. And I told Mikaela I’d try to give him a chance.

  I’m afraid to say no, sort of. Problem is, I’m also afraid to say yes.

  When I get home after school, I immediately go upstairs to change into sweats and then flop down on my bed with some physics homework. Angular momentum and collisions: Calculate the momentum of the cue ball as it hits the 8 Ball. That stupid 8 Ball again. At least this time it’s a regular, non-stolen 8 Ball.

  I hear a knock at the door. Hear my mother say, in an icy voice I’ve never heard before, “It’s him. I don’t believe it.”

  I rush back downstairs. Mom, Dad, and Auntie Mina are gathered tensely near the closed front door like a huddle of penguins.

  “What’s he doing here ?” My voice comes out plaintive.

  “Not now,” Dad says, making a shooing motion with his hand. I ignore him.

  “You sure you don’t want me to send him away?” he says to Auntie Mina.

  “No,” Auntie Mina says, her voice firm. “I’ll do it.”

  “Well, we’ll be right here behind you.” My mom puts an arm around Auntie Mina’s shoulder. “We don’t want him threatening you.”

  Auntie Mina nods and opens the door.

  “Hello, Randall,” she says without a single tremor in her voice, though her hands are clenched together, white-knuckled.

  “Mina.” Uncle Randall is dressed in a dark, perfectly pressed three-piece suit, and he’s holding a single yellow rose—Auntie Mina’s favorite color. He says a few perfunctory hellos to my parents and smiles ingratiatingly. “Madam, I’d like to request the pleasure of your company at the Armstrongs’ dinner party. Your chariot awaits.” He gestures at his Mercedes, parked on the street.

  My mouth drops open. He’s going to a party. Auntie Mina has been here, crying her eyes out, and he thinks she’s going to want to go to a party with him? I start to say something, but my mom hushes me. I fidget, feeling like I want to burst.

  “I don’t think I’m up for a party,” Auntie Mina says carefully. “Not on a Monday night. I appreciate the thought, but … ”

  Uncle Randall’s still holding out the rose. He realizes she’s not going to take it, and pulls his arm back. “What does it matter if it’s Monday? You don’t have work in the morning,” he says pointedly.

  “No, not yet,” she says patiently. “I’m still waiting for a job offer.”

  There’s a long, tense pause.

  “Okay, look. Mina. Can we talk for a minute?” he says. “Please?” His cajoling tone makes me grimace.

  “Okay,” Auntie Mina says. “Go ahead.”

  He clears his throat meaningfully. Auntie Mina stays silent, and my parents and I stay where we are.

  “All right,” Uncle Randall says shortly. “I’ll get to the point. I want you to come to this party with me, but I also want to find out when you’re coming home.”

  Auntie Mina swallows visibly. “I … need some time before we can have this conversation.”

  “It’s been almost two weeks. How much time do you need?” He’s almost hissing now, as if he doesn’t want anyone to overhear. “We planned to attend this party months ago. The Armstrongs are expecting to see you. What am I supposed to tell them?” My dad jerks a little, and my mom places a hand on his arm.

  “I don’t care what you tell them,” Mina says, frowning. “Tell them the truth. And I’m still figuring things out. I’ll call you in a few days, okay?”

  There’s an ominous silence. Uncle Randall glances at his watch. “A few days, then,” he says. He holds out the yellow rose again until she finally gives in and takes it from him. Then he says, in a curt voice, “I’m not sure what you think this is going to accomplish, but I hope you get it out of your system.”

  He turns around abruptly and walks down our front steps to his car.

  And then my dad does open his mouth, but before he can say anything, Auntie Mina reaches out and shuts the door. She sags, leaning against the door with her head in her hands.

  “He treats you like a child!” My dad is incredulous; angry. “And he thinks you’re planning to go back to him as if nothing happened?”

  “Ali!” My mom reaches out, massages one of his shoulders. “Let’s all go into the kitchen. I brought home some pie from work. Come on. We’ll talk more in there.”

  They can talk. All the words I’d been planning to say have dribbled away. It’s one thing to underhear Uncle Randall thinking awful things. It’s another to actually hear him say them aloud, to have his words thunder and echo in the air between us.

  I follow, mutely.

  A few nights later, between bites of rice, Auntie Mina says calmly, “I’ve scheduled a phone call with Randall for Sunday. We’re going to talk things over.”

  “What do you mean, ‘talk things over?’” I say, putting my fork down. “He’s had his say.”

  “Sunny,” my dad says sharply.

  Mom looks at me, frowning a little. “Sometimes you have to give people a chance to talk, that’s all.” I look at Dad. He’s not looking at anyone, just eating mechanically and staring at his plate.

  I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to give Uncle Randall any more chances.

  I look at Auntie Mina. A slight smile is fixed on her face, and I have no idea what she’s thinking. Is she going to go back to him? She’d be nuts to do that. Especially with her new job starting in two weeks; her chance at a new life.

  I wish I knew for sure. I could try to talk her out of it somehow, try to prove to Auntie Mina that she wants nothing more to do with him. I could make her promise.

  Things have changed so much. When I was little, they used to seem like a fairy-tale family to me. But fairy tales, like promises, are just words.

  seventeen

  That night,
I pick up my cell phone and scroll down my list of contacts, my fingers twitching nervously. When I reach the C’s, I linger for a second on Cassie’s name. I never quite managed to delete her from my phone book. I don’t know why. It’s not like we’ve talked. But deleting her entry would feel like there’s no going back, ever.

  I sigh and scroll down to the number I was planning to dial. Cody.

  Yesterday at school, we talked again about what happened over winter break, this time without Mikaela or the rest of the group potentially eavesdropping. He said that he’d been doing a little research and had some ideas about how I could try to get control over my underhearing. I think he might actually still feel bad about what happened. I know I’ve been wishing it never happened.

  No matter what I do, though, I can’t change it, any more than I can change what happened to Shiri. Still, I wake up every morning and go to bed every night trying to underhear something, anything, that could help Auntie Mina. Seeing her haggard face every day, her aimless puttering around the kitchen waiting for her new job to start, is almost too much for me to bear, so I keep trying.

  But I can’t do it alone.

  The phone rings only once on the other end of the line before Cody picks up. “Hello.” He sounds abrupt and distracted. I can hear voices in the background.

  “It’s Sunny,” I say, my stomach doing flip-flops. I rush on before I lose my nerve. Just like a race—I just have to keep my eyes on the other end of the pool. “Look, I’ve been thinking about what you said. So … tell me more about what you found out.” My palm is sweating and I grip the phone more tightly in my hand.

  I’m not sure how far I can trust him, but I don’t want to be scared anymore. I want to be in control. I almost tell him that, but he jumps in, sounding a lot more enthusiastic now.

  “Oh! Okay. Yeah. Wow,” he says. “I wasn’t sure you would want to, but—no, it’s awesome.”

  “Well, good.” I can imagine him pacing back and forth in his fidgety way, and I smile a little.

  “You know, I had a feeling you were going to call. I’m really glad you did.” His voice is low, as if he wants to talk to me and only me. A tiny shiver travels up my arms at the sound of his voice … even though I know he’s into witch chicks with flowing skirts and big candles.

  “Me too,” I say. “So what’s this advice you were talking about?”

  “Oh, man. I’ve been reading a lot of stuff, books from Rennie and some articles on the Internet, and I think there’s—” Cody stops mid-sentence. I hear a woman’s voice muffled in the background, impatient and a little angry.

  Cody says “Okay! ” to whoever was talking and then makes a frustrated, wordless noise into the phone.

  “Sorry about that. My mom. I have to wrap it up in ten minutes.”

  “I can call you back,” I say.

  “No, that’s okay. I’m just on phone restriction until to-morrow night.”

  “Phone restriction?” I refrain from asking for details, but I’m curious. Maybe the Magic 8 Ball incident came back to haunt him. “Okay, we could talk about it at lunch tomorrow.”

  “I was kind of hoping we could get together outside of school. Like maybe at your place?” He sounds eager. I can’t believe he just asked that. I jump up from my bed and walk over to the window, looking out at the drizzle that coats the lawn with a wet sparkle.

  “Sure,” I say, but in the back of my mind I think of Mikaela and wonder what she’d say. “I’ll just have to tell my parents. When were you thinking?”

  “Saturday? I’m going somewhere with Andy and David at four, but I can drive over before that. I’ll be off restriction by then, so I should be able to borrow the car.” He snorts, then adds in an undertone, “Like they really care anyway.”

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, Mom and Pop are into the whole authority thing. But it’s all talk.” He laughs, but it doesn’t sound like he’s really that amused.

  “Okay.” I’m not sure what to say. My parents sure aren’t into the “authority thing,” whatever he means by that.

  “Anyway, I’ll see you on Saturday.”

  I pause, then ask, “What do you want me to … do on Saturday? Should I get candles, or something?”

  “Leave it all to me,” Cody says, this time with a real smile in his voice. “No spectators, though, don’t worry. And you might want to do a little practicing in the meantime. I read that relaxation really helps.”

  “Like in what way?”

  “Try lying flat on your back and tensing each muscle individually then relaxing it, until all your muscles are totally relaxed. Then, if you just concentrate on the sound of your breathing, for like five minutes or so with your eyes closed, you’re supposed to reach a state of heightened awareness. Rennie says it works for her.”

  “Oh,” I say. It sounds a lot like what I tried with Mikaela, but maybe it’s something I need to practice alone for a while. It doesn’t hurt to try. Even though I don’t like the idea that he’s still talking to Rennie about me.

  I hear an exclamation in the background again, the same voice I heard earlier.

  “I’ve gotta go,” Cody says. “But let me know tomorrow if Saturday works.”

  “Sure. Talk to you then.”

  “Later.”

  I press the disconnect button a little reluctantly, though I know he’s already gone. I almost can’t believe that phone call really happened. I have a crazy feeling in my stomach, and sort of a buzzing in my head … and it’s not entirely bad.

  Except that I know I should tell Mikaela. I don’t want there to be secrets in our friendship. At the same time—I want to keep this to myself. So help me, despite knowing how she feels about him, and despite not quite trusting him, I want to keep this side of Cody to myself.

  Thursday at lunch Cody walks up to me while Mikaela’s in the bathroom and hands me a stack of Internet printouts.

  “These should help you out. They’re about reaching that state of heightened awareness I was telling you about.” He gives me a sly smile.

  “Thanks.” I try for a cool smile back. “Saturday’s fine with my parents. They’ve been wanting to meet you.”

  That’s when Mikaela walks up.

  “So your parents want to meet the man in black?” she asks, looking at me steadily.

  I remind myself that I haven’t done anything wrong. She didn’t exactly stake a claim on Cody.

  Of course, neither did I.

  “Cody wanted to help me with the … you know. Practicing,” I say, all too aware of David and Becca sitting just a few feet away. “He found some information on the Internet.” I wave the papers Cody gave me.

  “Ohh.” Mikaela relaxes visibly. “Good for you. Cody is a fountain of obscure information.” She bumps his arm with her shoulder.

  I can’t tell anything from her expression, but what does it matter? Mikaela was the one who kept encouraging me to talk to him, saying he’d understand.

  “It can’t hurt to try,” I finally say.

  “Damn straight,” she answers.

  I think of our awkward truce, the fight that preceded it, the realization that she likes Cody, too. I try again to read what’s behind her enigmatic smile, but I can’t.

  That night, I look at the printouts Cody gave me. “Opening Your Chakras, Step-by-Step,” says one. A laugh slips out, but I did promise to give this an honest effort. The other printout has a drawing of the body’s meridian lines and talks about things like chi and the flow of energy along invisible pathways.

  There’s something about the drawing that strikes me: a simple black-and-white line diagram of a person’s head, but the line representing the top of the head is dotted rather than solid and there are wavy arrows labeled “energy” radiating in and out of the top of the head. The expression on the person’s face is serene, their eyes half-closed as if they’re at peace with the universe.

  I know it’s just a drawing, but that’s how I want to feel.

  I close my door, sit on the floo
r next to the bed, and light my black-cherry candle. The printout says to try to focus on something simple and hold it in your mind, something like a candle flame flickering or the sound of the breath. I concentrate on feeling my lungs fill, then empty, over and over. I start to relax, my eyes closing. I can still see the image of the flickering candle flame against the backs of my eyelids, dancing. It absorbs my attention; the pale yellows and richer oranges, the tiny dark heart of the flame.

  I try to release the tension in all of my muscles, still breathing evenly, focusing my attention on that one spot in my mind’s eye with the slowly fading candle flame.

  Then, on impulse, I try something completely new. It wasn’t exactly mentioned in any of Cody’s printouts, but it seems right. My eyes still closed, I picture the top of my head as … less than solid, open to the universe, to whatever feelings or images or sensations might flow in and out. When I inhale, I imagine energy is flowing in through the top of my head as well as into my nostrils and lungs; when I exhale, I picture those wavy lines in the diagram and feel almost as though I’m breathing through the crown of my head.

  I get a strange, light tingling sensation in my scalp, traveling down to my eyes and ears. I almost imagine that the top of my head … isn’t there, somehow. There’s a slight humming in my ears, like electricity through wires.

  And then the humming grows louder, and it becomes a voice, just out of the range of my hearing; but my room is quiet, and I know it’s not the sound of somebody speaking out loud. It feels familiar, though, and there’s a crackle, almost a smell, that’s sharp but not unpleasant, like pine needles. It’s a male voice, and I feel something like frustration? Exasperation? Is it my dad? Who else would be close enough for me to hear? Then it all fades. I open my eyes.

  But I’m not unhappy. More like jubilant. Amazed.

  Unlike Shiri, lost in the face of her unwanted ability, I feel powerful.

  I can’t help the huge grin that spreads across my face. This time, it almost worked.

  From Shiri Langford’s journal, June 15th

  Our backpacking trip is already almost over. I can’t believe it’s been two weeks. Last night we sat at the edge of the lake, all seven of us just watching the night sky, talking, laughing. I’d been so scared that something would go wrong while I was there, that THAT would happen while I was in the tent with Brendan and I’d have to explain why I went so still, why I was shivering and exhausted afterward.