by Pam Tribble
Chapter XII.
The next morning over breakfast Lyra filled her parents in on the events of the night before—with edits. They seemed genuinely impressed when she described Jonah’s basement room. They were even more astounded when she told them he belonged to Mensa and asked if they’d ever heard of it.
“That is a very elite group,” her father remarked. “Do you realize his IQ is like in the top five percentile of the world’s population?”
“Top two, actually,” Lyra grinned.
“It looks like Jonah has a bright future ahead of him. His uncle seems to be directing him well,” her mother observed.
Lyra was happy they seemed to think well of Jonah. She told them of hers and Jonah’s plans to hike that day and they had no objections. Lyra wasn’t sure how good the views would be because the day had dawned cold and foggy and at eleven when she and Harry walked down to meet Jonah, the clouds remained low and mist still swirled along the ground.
Jonah was waiting for her at the trail marker. Miniscule beads of condensation clung to his hair and clothing.
“Hi.” She ducked her head as she stopped in front of him, shy after last night’s kiss and her confession.
“Hi.”
That simple word warmed her all over. Lyra recalled something from a book, The Mozart Effect, she’d once read. Its premise was that music, and all sound really, is vibrations. Some of these vibrations resonate within us and create certain emotions and moods; they can even heal us or make us ill. The author contrasted listening to the music of Mozart with standing in front of a high-powered machine. But what Lyra specifically remembered was an idea that there is a particular frequency that sounds just right to each individual. Lyra thought the timbre of Jonah’s voice was her healing tone; she felt better every time she heard it.
“Sleep well?” she asked.
“Mmm hmm. You?”
“Pretty well.”
“Which direction should we go?”
“Let’s head east,” Lyra suggested. “If the weather doesn’t cooperate I know a short-cut to get us back here more quickly.”
“Okay. You lead then.”
They walked for half an hour or so without talking much. The moisture on the ground required that they pay attention to where they stepped. Lyra had brought her walking stick, and was glad she had; it helped to steady her when her feet slipped on the wet rocks.
When the ground leveled out and the trail widened, Lyra stepped to the side and slowed so that Jonah could walk beside her.
“Jonah?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I ask you something?”
No response.
Lyra glanced over at him.
“Yeah. You can ask.”
“How do you talk to people in their heads?”
He remained silent for several moments.
“I don’t know how, but I’ve always been able to do it. When I was very young, if I was in pain and called to my mother—mentally, you know—she would come to me. For a long time she thought I’d verbally called her. It took a long time before she realized I wasn’t actually speaking.
“Sometimes it would get me in trouble. If I got angry at my father, and didn’t control my thoughts, he would hear them.” His voice took on an edge. “I learned to control it early on.”
They walked a few more paces before she asked her next question. “And animals, you can talk to them?”
“Animals don’t understand speech, so it’s different with them. I can send a direct thought, like…” You smell good.
Lyra smiled widely. “Thanks.”
Jonah smiled back down at her, “Or I can subtly plant an idea so that the person thinks they thought of it themselves. I can project an image or even just an emotion. When I need to communicate with an animal I concentrate on a feeling, such as calming it down, to let it know I won’t harm it. Or, like with the bear that day, I projected the image in her mind of me going over the cliff, bringing back her cub, and delivering it to her.”
“That’s pretty cool.”
Jonah’s mouth curved upward as though recalling a secret joke. “It can be.”
“What? What are you thinking?”
“Oh, nothing.” He laughed.
“C’mon. Tell me,” Lyra pleaded.
“You might get mad at me.”
“I doubt it.”
“Well, I do my best not to force my thoughts or feelings on someone else except when absolutely necessary, but sometimes I am tempted. And occasionally I give in. It has helped me get my way a time or two.” He looked sheepishly over at her, gauging her reaction.
Lyra laughed, but then a thought came to her and she stopped. “Have you ever done it to me?”
Jonah definitely looked disconcerted now. He didn’t meet her eye.
Lyra came to a halt and flung her arm out to stop him too. “Have you?” She wasn’t angry, but she wanted to know.
Jonah sighed. “Not directly.”
“What does that mean?”
“I did it recently for something that involved you, but I didn’t do it to you.”
Lyra waited.
“I sort of gave Ms. Hammons and Mr. Thompson the idea that it would be better if you sat in front of me in their classes.” His expression was contrite, but Lyra could see the laughter in his eyes.
“I knew it! I knew something fishy was going on! It was too coincidental for them both to change our seats around on the same day.” Lyra tried to get angry, but she only managed exasperation. “Why did you do that? I liked sitting behind you.”
Jonah smirked. “Well, I like sitting behind you.”
“You know how unfair that is,” Lyra pouted.
“That’s why I don’t do it often,” he chuckled. “But that was one time I couldn’t resist.”
“Why?”
His smile faded and his voice turned serious. “We weren’t friends yet. But, I fantasized that we were. I liked watching the light in your hair, seeing you walk into and out of class and your profile when you turned your head. Sometimes I would imagine you turning around in your desk to talk to me—like you do now.” He paused and his voice dropped to a whisper. “And your hair smells good.” He looked embarrassed having made that revelation.
At Jonah’s words, Lyra had begun to feel a warmth in her stomach spreading out inside her. It worked its way up and turned her cheeks pink. She turned and started walking again. “You’re forgiven.”
“Thanks.”
“So can anyone else in your family communicate telepathically?”
“No.”
“Can you hear other peoples’ thoughts? Read their minds?”
He hesitated. “No…but I am pretty good at gauging emotions. I can tell if someone is really scared or angry or happy. It’s like they send out a pulse that I can feel or sense.”
“And what about your strength? It’s like you are superhuman.”
Jonah frowned and his tone turned sour. “Yeah, well, my dad used to have a theory about that.”
Lyra decided she didn’t want to know what his father’s theory was. She transferred her stick to her left hand and reached for his, entwining their fingers loosely. “You are the most fascinating person I’ve ever met and I feel blessed to know you.”
Jonah relaxed and he gave her a small smile.
Lyra didn’t press for any more information. Instead, they talked a little about school and Lyra told him funny stories about her friends hoping he might feel more comfortable around them.
Although it never actually rained on them, the mist was so heavy, they were soaked by the time they made it back to Lyra’s.
“Will you come inside? Let’s get something to drink, warm up, and maybe watch some TV.”
Jonah looked unsure. “I don’t know.”
“Tired of me? I have been running my mouth a lot.”
“Oh, all right.”
“Don’t let me twist your arm or anyth
ing.”
He grinned. “I want hot chocolate, though—with marshmallows—none of those fancy lattes or mocha cappuccinos for me.”
He took her breath away when he smiled like that. “You got it.”
After shedding their muddy boots and jackets, and towel-drying their hair, Lyra and Jonah padded into the kitchen to make the hot chocolate. Jonah leaned against the counter and watched Lyra work: pot, milk, cocoa, cups, marshmallows.
In no time at all, they were sitting side-by-side on the couch in the den, their cold fingers slowly unthawing with the warmth of their mugs. Lyra flicked on the television then handed the remote to Jonah. “We can watch whatever you want.”
Jonah skimmed through the channels, pausing occasionally to watch a minute of wrestling, a cooking show, old South Park and The X-Files episodes. Finally he settled on an old Elvis movie.
What Lyra liked best about being with Jonah, besides the thrill…that electric current that seemed to run between them…was that talking wasn’t always necessary. Neither felt the compunction to fill every space with words. It was enough to just be together. The hair on his forearm tickled hers when he shifted. Their shoulders, hips, and thighs touched and exchanged warmth. Lyra sighed contentedly. Jonah looked down at her; she smiled up at him.
“Do you believe in the supernatural, Lyra?”
The question caught Lyra off guard. “Um, well, I suppose so. What exactly do you mean—hauntings, ghosts, alien sightings?”
“Yeah, that’s part of it. Do you think all that stuff is just a hoax?”
“Hmm. I don’t know. I’ve never had a paranormal encounter myself, but I think many sincere people are convinced that they have. I think it’s narrow-minded for people to believe extraordinary things, or miracles, are not possible just because they’ve never experienced them. Even though we can’t explain something at the present time doesn’t mean it’s not real. I mean, we didn’t know other galaxies existed until a powerful enough telescope was invented. Maybe we just don’t have the tools to interpret what we now consider paranormal. And what you do…you know communicating without speaking…that’s supernatural.”
Jonah scanned her face. “If you go to church then you believe in angels, right?”
“Yes.”
Jonah paused again, as if debating whether to ask his next question. “What about demons? Do you believe in them?”
Lyra got the feeling that there was more to this conversation than just mere curiosity. “Yes. The Bible says some of God’s angels rebelled and they became demons.”
Jonah searched her face for another long moment, then turned back to the movie, evidently finished with his inquiry.
“Why?”
Jonah just shrugged and kept his eyes on the television.
“Do you believe in them?”
“Yes.”
“Has anything weird ever happened to you?”
“Yes.” His tone was mildly ironic.
Lyra waited—in vain. “So, are you going to tell me about it?”
“Maybe some other time.” Jonah got to his feet. “I better go.”
Just then, Lyra’s mom entered. “Did I hear you say you were leaving, Jonah? I was coming to ask if you wanted to stay for pizza. I am about to order a couple.”
“Oh, yes, please stay Jonah.” Lyra begged. “I was going to see if you could help me a bit with math before you left. I’m having some trouble with those logarithmic functions.”
He looked at her, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Lyra smiled back innocently.
“Okay, I’ll stay. Thank you, Mrs. Grant.”
“Great. What kind of pizza do you like?” Olivia asked.
“I’m not picky. Whatever you all usually get will be fine with me.”
“Lyra, you want supreme without the sausage?”
“Yes, thanks, Mom.”
Left alone again, Jonah said quietly, “You don’t really need help with algebra, do you?”
Lyra grinned, unapologetic. “No, but you can hear me play much better from inside the house.”
