The Extraordinary Secrets of April, May, & June

by Robin Benway

  “That’s not the point!” I protested. “I just mean that we should maybe be on the lookout for bad things and maybe we can actually do some good.”

  May was the first to start laughing. “Okay,” she giggled. “Sure, April. What sort of evil, do you think? Godzilla? King Kong? The Joker? What? I’m curious.”

  “I mean the kind of evil where you read people’s minds to become their friend.” I looked at June this time, raising my eyebrow at her.

  “You saw that?” she squeaked.

  I nodded. I had seen a few more things, but I wasn’t ready to get into it with her. The day had already been long enough.

  “You can’t tell me what to do!” June said. “And besides, it worked! You heard what Mariah said!”

  “I don’t even think Mariah heard what she said,” May told her. “But yeah, April. Who made you the leader? Just ’cause you can see the future doesn’t mean you get to tell us how to act. You’re not Mom.”

  “I’m not telling you what to do. I’m just—”

  “Telling us what to do,” June interrupted. “And I’m not gonna be sorry if I’m using my special talents to make friends.”

  I snorted. I couldn’t help it. “So you think Mariah needs a good friend? Someone like you?”

  “Exactly! I’m honest, I’m—”

  “—trying to be her friend by reading her mind,” I finished.

  “Well … yeah, but I’m not lying.”

  “You’re wearing clothes you don’t even like, just to curry favor with her.”

  “But I’m not lying.”

  “You’re lying to yourself. That’s almost worse.”

  May looked miffed. “Well, thanks, April, for wanting to send your sisters out into the dangerous world so we can fix it,” she huffed. “God, high school’s evil enough without looking for more of it.”

  “That’s what I’m saying!” I cried. “Let’s not add to it, okay? Don’t start using these things all over the place and don’t use them to do bad things! That’s, like, Superhero 101!”

  There was a pause before June said, “So I guess you don’t want to know that I read Mom’s mind and found out she has a date on Thursday night.”

  “WHAT?” I cried before I could stop myself. Next to June, May’s eyes got wide, and her mouth opened. And she was gone an instant later.

  “Oh, great,” June said. “This is gonna be freaking annoying as hell. And I know you can hear me, May! You’re lucky we’re the only customers back here.”

  I covered my face with my hands. “This should not be happening. Mom has a date.”

  June nodded. “Yep. Unless her brain is lying.”

  “—only been four months!” May arrived back in mid-shriek, but I didn’t bother to look at her.

  “Welcome to our program, already in progress,” June told her. “Nice of you to stop by.”

  “Like this was my idea to suddenly become a crazy freakazoid!” May shot back. “And you must be reading her brain wrong or something because …”

  June just looked at her. “Because what? Because you don’t like it? So you’re saying I’m doing it wrong?”

  “We don’t like it,” May clarified. “Well, all I can say is that I’m glad I’m the one who can disappear because I don’t wanna be around to see whoever this guy is.”

  “June, you can’t read Mom’s mind!” I told her. “I just told you, we can’t use these things for evil!”

  “Would you stop referring to me like I’m some crazy psychopath?” June cried. “I can’t help it. It’s not like I’m a mindreading expert! This didn’t exactly come with a user guide!”

  “Well, so far our plan blows,” May said. “I blame the pink ink.”

  Avery circled back to us again, this time looking even more apprehensive. “Sooo …” she said, eyeing May warily, “did you have any questions?”

  “Nope,” June interrupted her, then pointed at a television. Our television. “We’ll take that one.”

  “How did you know which one it was?” I asked as we went to the cash register, May leading the way.

  June looked at me. “Duh,” she said. “I saw it in your mind.”

  Oh. How about that.

  chapter 8

  “Even when you can disappear, the hurt doesn’t go away.” may

  After the longest trip ever to an electronics store, I got wedged into the backseat with our brand-new TV. I tried to argue, but June just said, “I called shotgun first!” And if you have a sibling, then you know that’s an ironclad rule. The box dug into my shoulder, and I glared at April when she glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

  “Oh, come on, May,” she said. “Turn that frown upside down.”

  “You can put your pithy statements where the sun don’t shine.”

  That shut her up.

  By the time we got home, our mom’s car was in the driveway. “Good news!” June cried as she and April climbed out of the front seat and I stayed in the back, struggling with my seatbelt and a TV that was the size of New Hampshire. “We got a TV! It’s just like our other one! It’s like an evil twin!”

  “Great!” my mom said as she came out of the garage. “Well done!”

  “Little help,” I muttered. “I’m being consumed by an electronic device.”

  My mom came around to my side of the car to help me. “Hi,” she grinned. “Did you have fun?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” I said as she helped me out of the car. “Maybe next time we can go shopping for rabid dogs. I hear that’s even more fun.”

  “Haha you,” she said, pulling at my arm. I stumbled onto the driveway, then glared at the TV. Really, though, I wanted to glare at my mom. A date? I mean, seriously? She’s not sixteen! Aren’t adults supposed to be, like, over dating by the time they’re thirty?

  June cleared her throat and muttered something about me being an ageist.

  “Can I go upstairs, please?” I asked my mom. “I have a headache and kind of want to die.”

  I thought she’d say no, that I had to help carry in the TV, but instead she just leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Sure,” she said. “Go call your dad. He called to talk to you while you were out.”

  April suddenly looked up, stricken. “What?” I said as I walked past her, but she just bit her lip and shook her head, like her not saying anything made it better for some reason. “Fine, be like that,” I told her, then went upstairs into the office so I could use the phone.

  The funny thing is that I have a cell phone. I guess that’s not the funny part of that story. The funny part is that no one ever calls it, not like they used to when we were back in our old house. Now it just sort of sits there in my bag or my pocket, which is a real bummer because I like my ringtone.

  I’m not trying to get a bunch of sympathy or anything, but having a cell phone that no one calls is pretty depressing. It’s a high-tech reminder that I have zero friends.

  I wondered why my dad hadn’t called it, though, why he called our home number instead. We text every so often, so it’s not like he didn’t have the number. (The only thing worse than not having anyone to text with is only texting with your parents.)

  “Yo,” I said when he picked up on the second ring. “It’s your favorite kid calling.”

  “Hi, June!” he said, and I smiled even though the joke was about a million years old between us. Sometimes the oldest jokes are the best, though.

  “Try again,” I said.

  “April!”

  I had to laugh this time. “Strike two.”

  “Ah, a sports metaphor. It must be May.”

  I giggled a little (don’t tell anyone) and sank down into the big chair at the desk where my mom does all her paperwork. “Good guess,” I said. “You’re lucky there’s not four of us.”

  “Well, after three you lose count, anyway. There could be eight of you for all I know.” My dad laughed and suddenly he was so close that I could practically smell his cologne.

  “Hi, Dad,” I said, wrapping the
phone cord around my fingers. “Are you done being ridiculous now?”

  “Maybe. We’ll see how it goes. How are you, kiddo? How’s school?”

  “About as awesome as you can imagine high school being.”

  “That bad?”

  “Why do parents always think that school’s so great?” I asked him. “Or that something amazing happens every day?”

  “Because we enjoy reminsicing about our misspent youth,” my dad said.

  “Whatever.”

  “You got me. It’s a stupid parent question that we’re required to ask.” My dad cleared his throat then. That’s never a good sign. “Hey, kiddo. I gotta talk to you for a sec.”

  “One second?” I said, even as my heartbeat quickened a bit. “Or do you want to go a full minute? I can do either.”

  “Seriously, kiddo.”

  “Okay, adulto.”

  “Look, Mayday, you know there’s nothing I want more than for you to come out here.”

  I froze, the phone cord suddenly too tight around my hand. “But?” I said, and I didn’t like how strained my voice sounded, like the phone cord was wrapped around my throat instead. “There’s a ‘but’ coming, isn’t there?”

  My dad took a deep breath. “But unfortunately with this new job, I have to—”

  “I can come on the weekend,” I said. “That’s okay. I can leave Friday after school and go home on Sunday.”

  “No, honey, it’s the weekends. I need to travel for most of next month. And the condo, it’s not set up. It’s—”

  “I don’t care,” I said. I hated the way my voice sounded, all weak and eager like the smart girls who play dumb. “I can sleep on the couch. It’s cool, it’s fine.”

  “Honey.” My dad took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, but I’m new at this job, and I need to pay some dues. They’ve got me traveling twenty-six out of the next thirty days. There’s nothing more I’d rather do than have you come out here, you know that—”

  “I’m not the one who knows those things,” I said, even though he’d never understand what I was talking about.

  “What?”

  “What what?”

  My dad sighed again. “November, okay? We can do it in November. You can even come out over Thanksgiving, and we can go to Austin.”

  I was gritting my teeth so hard that I could feel my jaw start to ache. “Sure,” I said. “Just like how in August, you said I could come out in October.”

  “Sweetie, it’s not—”

  “That’s cool,” I said. “Whatever. It’s fine. I mean, I totally understand why you would need our television sent to you if you’re going to be traveling all the live-long day, but why it’s a bad idea for your kid to visit for three days. That’s so logical.”

  There was silence then, and now my eyes burned with saltwater. I blinked hard, just like I had seen June do before. “So,” I said. “Anything else?”

  “May, sweetie, please understand—”

  “Okay, cool,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  He started to say something, but I hung up before I could hear his voice anymore. Only it wasn’t because I didn’t want to hear his voice; it was because I didn’t want to cry. I never cry. It’s like the stupidest thing a girl can do, but sometimes holding it back takes more effort than I have.

  I could hear April and June and my mom downstairs laughing about something and unloading the television. That damn television. My mom probably already knew that my dad had called to cancel the trip (maybe they even argued about it), and now I knew why April had given me that look when I had come inside. The future predictor missed the earthquake and saw this instead. June was probably even in on it, considering that she could read April’s mind as easily as one of her stupid gossip rags.

  Once again, the invisible girl was the last to know.

  When I finally got myself under control, I went into my room and lay down on the bed. I was so tired all of a sudden, tired of change and new things and old things and everythings, and I stared at the window as the sun set from yellow to pink to purple, just like a bruise in reverse.

  When it was almost dark, April knocked on my door. “Hey,” she said quietly. “It’s me.” When I didn’t respond, she just came in, which totally defeats the purpose of even having a bedroom door. “Hi,” she said. “Are you in here?”

  I looked down at my hand and realized that I had disappeared. I wondered how long I had been gone. “Here,” I said, snapping my body back into my skin. It’s like putting on tight pants for a second, like I have to reshape my body to fit itself.

  “The door’s shut for a reason,” I said, but I didn’t even care that much. April knew that because she came in and lay down on the bed next to me, stretching out so that we were toe to toe. She’s older, but I’m taller.

  “I’m sorry about Dad being a lame-ass,” she said after a few minutes. “That sucks.”

  “It’s Texas,” I replied. “It’s not going anywhere. Haven’t you seen those bumper stickers, ‘Don’t Mess with Texas’? I’m pretty sure they’re serious.”

  “May.” April reached down and covered my hand with hers. “It’s okay to be disappointed.”

  Sometimes she sounds so much like my mom that it trips me out. “Whatever,” I said, but then it was too hard to talk and I just gave up. I even tried disappearing again, but April just stayed there next to me, which was sort of nice because it turns out that even when you can disappear, the hurt doesn’t go away.

  chapter 9

  “I’d take excitement over easy any day.” june

  April tried to talk to me the next morning. I say “tried” because I met her in the kitchen and cut her off before she could say one word.

  I had practiced this speech in the mirror for ten minutes that morning. I was ready.

  “Look,” I said. “I do not appreciate you telling me what to do or insinuating that I’m somehow doing evil because there is true evil in this world and I am not a part of it.”

  (I was particularly proud of that line, I have to admit.)

  “And,” I continued, “I just want to remind you that I am, in fact, a mindreader, and I know what you’re thinking. So don’t—”

  “Wanna bagel?” April interrupted me. “Mom brought some home before she went to her early morning meeting today.” She gestured towards the brown paper bag that was sitting on the counter. “Chow down.”

  “Do you know how many empty calories are in a bagel?” I told her. My stupid bangs were in my eyes again, and I shoved them behind my ears. I’m trying to grow them out, and it’s making me insane.

  “No, but I know how many delicious calories there are.” April took a huge bite of her bagel (which, okay, looked pretty good) and raised an eyebrow. “Mmm, bagel-y goodness.”

  “Stop distracting me!” I said. “Like I was saying, I’m a mindreader, in case you’ve had some sort of brain—”

  Great big globs of greasy grimy gopher guts …

  “Stop it!” I said. “I hate that song and you know it! Besides, you shouldn’t be promoting violence to your little sister, anyway! It’s wrong!”

  April shrugged and turned away. “Take what you can get,” she said.

  “You’re a terrible role model!” I yelled as she walked towards the garage door, car keys in hand.

  “That’s nice. You want a ride to school?”

  “I’ll walk, thanks,” I glared at her.

  April looked down at my knee-high stacked boots, which were no more comfortable than the ballet slippers from the day before. “You’re gonna walk in those?”

  “Excuse me, but supermodels walk down slippery runways all the time in six-inch stilettos. I’m pretty sure I’ll survive the experience.” I shook my hair out over my shoulder, trying to get in the habit of looking like Mariah, who had probably never once had to grow out her bangs. She probably just willed her hair to look fabulous.

  “Do you have a twitch or something?” May asked me as she came downstairs, looking 500 perce
nt more miserable than she’s looked before. I hadn’t thought that was even possible. Her dirty blonde hair had no body or volume whatsoever, and her skin looked really pale in that “Maybe you should read this pamphlet about anemia” way. If it wasn’t so expensive, I would’ve totally offered to let her use my tinted moisturizer.

  But all I said was, “What twitch?”

  “Your twitch. You keep doing that thing with your hair.”

  “I’m tossing my hair,” I told her.

  May just groaned. “Tossing is for salad, not hair.”

  April jangled her car keys again. “Okay, last time. Does anyone else want a ride to school?”

  “Why are you going so early anyway?” May asked her, digging in the bag of bagels. She frowned a little, then peeked in the bag. “Oh, gross, who put the onion bagel in here? If there’s one onion bagel, then they’re all onion bagels.”

  April was distracted long enough to drop her guard, and I flew into her brain like a bee. An angry bee. An angry bee with a grudge.

  “Ohhhh,” I grinned after a few seconds. “I know why April wants to go to school so early.”

  “Shut up, June.”

  May glanced from me to her, then back. “Why?”

  “Because she wants to get there early so she doesn’t have to see Joooooooolian.” I giggled at her and then scooted away before she could shove me.

  May sank her teeth into the bagel and ripped off a huge chunk. “Cwazy,” she said through a mouthful of bread. “I thot we were in wuv wiff him.”

  “We are not in love with him,” April said hotly. “I am going to school in a car, and you’re both welcome to join me. Although I’m starting to question that last part.”

  “If your brain could blush right now, it would,” I told her. “You’re so translucent it’s asinine.”

  May swallowed. “Where are you getting these words?” she asked me. “Seriously, last week it was ‘shut up’ and ‘nuh-uh,’ and now you’re all polysyllabic and shit.”

  I just shrugged. No point in telling her that I had ended up seated next to this kid in my bio class who was trying to get to the National Spelling Bee Championship. Michael knew thousands of words and their definitions and kept chanting them over and over in his head. At the rate he was going, I was probably gonna end up at the spelling bee championship, too.