As if it’s that simple. “Kids think I’m a freak,” I grumble. “Like Quince. He won’t even speak to me anymore.”
“He will, don’t worry. Just be yourself, and your friends will accept you.”
“But… ” I start to say, and then he’s gone.
Just like that I’m alone again. I blink, rub my eyes, and look around the store— everything is back to normal. The lights have stopped flickering and suddenly the room is perfectly warm.
“MOM! SYBIL!”
They both come running out of the storeroom. “What’s the matter?” my mother asks, her eyes wide.
“Mom! Didn’t you see him? He was standing right there!” I point to the bookshelf where moments before I’d been talking to a ghost.
“Who, Caryn?” She walks over to the door and checks to make sure it’s still locked. “No one’s here but the three of us.”
“Uncle Omar!” I insist. “He was here! Talking to me!”
My mother looks a lot less surprised than I would’ve liked. “Omar? Here? You spoke to him?” How can she be so calm?
“I had a conversation with a ghost, Mom! You’re acting like it’s nothing!”
“No, it’s not nothing, but I really don’t know what you want me to say.” Mom wraps me in her arms, making me feel safe again. “You’re shaking,” she whispers. “Come sit down.”
I allow myself to be led to a chair and collapse into it, relieved that the worst is over.
“Our little psychic medium,” coos Sybil. “Bethany, your little girl here is growing into her powers.”
I roll my eyes. “The next thing I know, you’ll be trying to send me off to Hogwarts!”
They just aren’t taking this seriously. I stand up, grab the clipboard, and stomp over to the bookshelves to start the inventory, shedding my sweatshirt as I go. Suddenly it’s very warm in the store.
A couple of hours later, Mom comes out of the storeroom and says, “I’ve had enough tea. Caryn, would you mind making a Peterson’s run? Sybil? Do you want anything from Peterson’s?”
Sybil calls back, “Well, I’ve got to watch my girlish figure, but bring me a sticky bun and a latte.”
I put my sweatshirt back on, pocketing the money Mom gives me, and slip out the front door headed around the block to Peterson’s. It’s now about noon and the sun has come out, warming the air considerably, but it still isn’t what I’d call balmy. People are out and about in Rosslyn Village— parents with babies in strollers, couples arm-in-arm, storekeepers sweeping walkways. Everyone is taking in the brisk fresh air or just enjoying the sunshine. I smile and breathe in the autumn crispness.
Everything is perfectly normal.
But it isn’t normal. I shudder and try to forget my encounter with Uncle Omar as I walk quickly into Peterson’s Coffee Emporium.
It’s crowded inside, nearly every table filled, the perfect weather for hot coffee. I walk up to the counter and give the barista my order, then because I know she had a fight with her boyfriend this morning and she’s in a bad mood, I let my gaze wander around the store, trying to avoid the negative feelings the barista is dispensing with every order.
In a booth in the back a pretty teenage girl is having a heated discussion with the teenage boy who’s frowning at her. Barbie and Ken, I dub them. She’s a brunette with a sporty ponytail and designer jeans, a white long-sleeved turtleneck, and a pink sweater tied around her shoulders. He has perfectly groomed blond hair, chiseled features, and a golf sweater worn over a stiffly-starched collared shirt.
I try not to pry, but I know they are breaking up due to his wandering eye. I feel like I’m eavesdropping, even though I can’t hear a word they’re saying. I turn my back on them and pretend to look at the display rack of assorted coffees and teas for sale, still trying to tune out the barista’s bad mood and the argument in the corner.
“Hey Caryn!”
I turn to see Megan walking in with a young woman I don’t recognize. “Caryn, this is my sister Caroline.”
Caroline offers her hand. She’s about twenty-five and looks like an older version of Megan— petite, slender, strawberry-blonde hair, warm smile. “Nice to meet you, Caryn… ?”
“Alderson,” I finish for her as I shake her hand.
“Oh, you’re the new girl from Texas,” Caroline says.
“And you’re the ad executive,” I answer, then bite my lip. Did Megan tell me that?
Caroline looks a bit surprised, but then smiles and says, “Well, that’s a slight exaggeration, but I do work for an ad agency.”
“And your other sister— is she sleeping in?” I ask. Naturally both Megan and Caroline look surprised at that question.
Filter your mouth, Caryn! That vision of the piano-playing sister was only in your head.
“When did I… ” Megan starts, then shrugs.
“Oh, Allie never gets up before noon on Sundays,” Caroline says with a laugh. “Megan, I’m going to go get our coffee.”
“Okay.” Turning back to me, Megan says, “Caroline and I were out for a walk but we got cold. What are you doing today?”
“Helping my mom with store inventory.”
“Yo, Megan Benedict!” Barbie across the room is calling and waving enthusiastically.
“Ohmigod, Annabeth!” squeals Megan.
Barbie/Annabeth jumps out of her chair and runs toward us, hugging Megan like a long-lost friend.
“Annabeth Walton, what are you doing here in Rosslyn Village? Slumming?”
She’s breaking up with her boyfriend and didn’t want to be seen by any of her school friends.
“Oh, we were just in the area. I was having coffee with Josh.” She tilts her head in his direction. Lowering her voice, she adds, “It’s not going well.”
“What happened? You two seemed so happy,” Megan says sympathetically. She glances over at Josh still at the corner table, glowering and sipping his coffee.
At first Annabeth frowns, but then she shakes it off and says, “It’s no big deal. It’s just so great to see you, Megan. Who’s this?”
Megan slaps her forehead. “I’m so rude. This is Caryn Alderson from school. Her mom has a new bookstore in Rosslyn Village. And Caryn, this is Annabeth Walton, a friend from Willowby Prep. That guy over there is Josh Kennedy, but he goes to Belford High School. They’re an item.”
“Not anymore,” I say a little too loudly. I notice the surprised look on Annabeth’s face.
“Well, if it isn’t Rosslyn High’s very own fortuneteller,” says a sarcastic voice behind me. I turn around to see Quince and Kevin standing there.
Is everybody in town here today?
Peterson’s must be THE place to be on a Sunday morning, because the already-crowded coffee shop is getting busier by the minute. And now Quince is here, and obviously still mad at me.
“Hi,” I say, trying to sound casual. “What brings you guys in here?”
“Dude— coffee!” Kevin gives Quince a high-five.
“I just got back from visiting my grandfather’s grave with my mom,” Quince says, in a more serious tone. “And Kevin came by my house, so… ” He shrugs and turns away from me.
Once again I really, really wish I’d ignored Grandpa Adams and kept my big mouth shut about Quince’s mother, because all I want is to be back in his good graces.
“Who are you and what do you mean by ‘fortuneteller’?” Annabeth demands, facing Quince.
Quince and Annabeth glare at one another. Finally he jerks his thumb at me and says, “Caryn here. She thinks she’s some kind of psychic.”
“Really?” Annabeth turns to face me. “Really?”
I wish I could just melt into the floor or something. Quince hates me and now Annabeth is going to think I’m weird, or crazy, or both.
Megan rolls her eyes. “Quince is just mad because of something Caryn told him at the Halloween Carnival while she was playing the fortuneteller. Quince, get over it! That was weeks ago.”
“It was mean.” Quince folds hi
s arms and backs away from me.
Suddenly I feel a cold chill, like I’m standing under a vent, which I’m not. I look around trying to find the source of the air blast, like an open door or window or something. Nothing. I shiver, but no one else seems to feel the draft and Megan is even taking off her jacket.
“Tell Quince I liked the flowers he put on my grave this morning,” says a disembodied voice in my right ear. I swat at my head as if at a mosquito. “Tell him,” urges the voice.
I know that voice. Who… ? Oh no! Quince’s Grandpa Adams!
“I can’t,” I say under my breath. I feel like a secret agent talking into a hidden earphone, but the way the other kids are staring at me I know I’m not being cool.
“Can’t what?” Quince asks.
“I, uh, can’t… stay.” How embarrassing, to be caught talking to Quince’s dead grandfather— again!
“See?” Quince turns triumphantly to both Megan and Annabeth. “She’s weird.” He goes off to rejoin Kevin without giving me a backward glance.
I don’t know which is worse— the pain of his rejection, or knowing I hurt him with what I blurted out about his mother back in October. But I’m not about to make it worse by telling him what I know about the flowers on his grandfather’s grave.
“Order for Alderson!” Perfect timing.
“I gotta go,” I say to Megan as I hurry to the counter to pick up my order. Remembering my manners, I turn back around and say, “Nice to meet you Annabeth. Megan, tell your sister it was good to meet her too.”
I leave Peterson’s as quickly as I can, balancing a box with two cups of coffee, one cup of hot tea, and three sweet rolls.
Just when I think I’ve made my escape and I’m safely outside in the fresh air again, I feel a tap on my shoulder.
“Seriously, Caryn, can you really predict things?” It’s Annabeth.
I sigh. Her again.
I readjust the box and try to keep it from spilling. “What I really do is make people mad.”
Annabeth blocks my path so that I’m forced to listen to her. “But you know stuff, like about me and Josh.”
“Lucky guess,” I say, wishing she would just get out of my way so I can get back to the shop.
“But I hadn’t even met you yet! How did you know?” Her eyes are intent, determined. She’s like a dog with a bone.
“Anybody could see you two were breaking up because he cheated on you,” I say. In my hurry to get away from her I completely forget she didn’t mention that part.
“How did you know that? I didn’t tell you.” Her gaze flickers to the coffee-shop window. “And you weren’t close enough to hear what we were saying.”
Maybe it’s the fact that my sweatshirt is unzipped and I’m getting cold; maybe it’s the fact that the expensive designer coffee is getting cold too; maybe it’s the fact that I’ve never seen this girl before, don’t go to school with her, and never expect to see her again; or maybe I’m just tired of keeping a filter on my mouth. Maybe it’s all of the above, but I sort of snap.
“Yes,” I say, louder than necessary. “I’m psychic, okay? And no, nobody told me your boyfriend is a cheat. I just know stuff.”
As Annabeth’s mouth drops open, I hurry off down the street.
It’s the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and business in the store is pretty slow. That isn’t too surprising, though, since most people are making preparations for tomorrow’s feast. The big shopping rush always comes the Friday after Thanksgiving. I’m in the store behind the cash register as usual after school, but I have plenty of time to get my homework done since there aren’t any customers right now. Mom is in the storeroom doing some bookkeeping and Sybil has already left to spend the long holiday weekend with jet-setting friends in Florida.
I yawn and try to focus on math, always a challenge at best. I get up from the stool behind the counter, stretch my arms over my head and try to shake the sleepiness off. It isn’t working, because every time I look at that math book, my mind drifts. So I’m relieved when I hear the bell over the door jingle, announcing a customer.
To my surprise, in walks Annabeth Walton along with two girls I’ve never seen before. The look on my face must speak volumes.
“Didn’t think you’d ever see me again, did you?” Annabeth says, grinning.
“Well, no, I… ”
“I called Megan and asked her where this store was, so here I am.” She turns to her friends. “See? I told you she’d be here.”
The two girls are definitely an odd assortment. One looks like a Megan-clone from prep school— tall, slender, long brown hair, pricey clothes. The other girl is what you’d call Goth— spiked blonde hair, black jeans with a long-sleeved, black T-shirt sporting a Megadeth logo on the front, piercings on every available body space, and a tattoo on the back of her neck that I can’t quite make out. Now she looks like she belongs in this store, but Annabeth and the other girl…
“Oh, sorry,” Annabeth says, when she notices my stare. “These are my friends, Mel and Syd.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
“Mel”— Annabeth says, pointing to Goth-girl— “goes to my church, and so does Syd, but I also know her from school.”
“Hey, Annabeth, we’re going down to Peterson’s,” Syd says. “Meet us there when you’re done.”
The two of them wave at her and walk out of the store, leaving me standing face-to-face with Annabeth. I try to smile, wishing desperately I’d kept my mouth shut at Petersen’s that day.
“Don’t look so scared.” Annabeth glances around the shop. “Interesting store. Ooooh, are those crystals?” She walks over to the display case and begins gawking at the jewelry. “Can I look at that sapphire?”
I follow her to the display case and open the cabinet door, lifting out the necklace she indicated.
“This one?”
Annabeth nods.
“It’s $49.95 plus tax,” I say in my most business-like tone.
“Sapphires are for spirituality, and that amethyst over there— it’s for inner peace, right?” Annabeth holds up the necklace to the light and admires the color.
I’m surprised at her knowledge of their purpose, but all I can do is nod.
She puts the necklace back down on its velvet case. “You’re a snob, Caryn Alderson.”
“Huh? I’m… what?”
“You think that just because I live in Belford and go to a private school that I’m stuck up, but you’re the one that’s the snob.”
Well, that really hurts, because in fact she’s right. I wrote her off the minute I left Peterson’s that Sunday, thinking she was just some bored, rich preppie looking for excitement. Yet here she is, acting all sincere.
“I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect to ever see you again, and I really didn’t expect you to be into crystals and things.”
Annabeth shrugs. “I’m really into spiritual stuff, and I think you’re interesting. Megan said you were cool, and I was hoping we could be friends.”
“But you live in Belford, and I— ”
“— have a lot in common with me, no matter what you think.” Like I said, dog with a bone.
“I’ll prove it to you. What are you doing at six o’clock tomorrow morning?”
I look at her in surprise. “Sleeping in, hopefully, since it’s a holiday.”
“Exactly— a holiday where lots of people go hungry. So get your lazy bones out of bed and come with us to the Loving Sisters Shelter downtown. A group of kids from my church meets there every Thanksgiving to help cook and serve a meal to homeless people.”
That blows me away. I never in a million years would have pictured Barbie serving turkey dinner to the homeless, but here she is, not only totally involved but nudging me to help out as well. I agree, give her my home address so they can pick me up at the crack of dawn (UGH!), and then sell her that sapphire necklace she was admiring.
So it turns out that Annabeth belongs to a kind of liberal non-church, where they spend less ti
me sitting in the pews and lots more time doing community service. Again, totally not what I’d expected from a private school kid like her, but I’m starting to realize I need to quit stereotyping people. Friends like Mel and Syd sure prove I was wrong about her. I guess I fit into Annabeth’s world more than I realize.
It’s hard dragging myself out of bed in the cold pre-dawn on a school holiday. Mel is a junior and has a driver’s license, so she picks us all up in an old Ford Taurus and drives us to downtown Indianapolis.
I’m not sure what to expect, but the experience turns out to be totally worth it. By noon on Thanksgiving I’m up to my elbows in turkey, cornbread dressing, gravy, and cranberry sauce, helping cook and serve a meal for hundreds. Now it’s two hours later and the cleanup volunteers are arriving, so our shift is over and we’re free to leave.
“Did I prove myself yet?” Annabeth asks me as we walk out to Mel’s car. “Still think I’m stuck up?”
“No.” I feel guilty for my pre-judgment of her. “This was probably the coolest Thanksgiving I’ve ever spent. Thanks for asking me.”
Annabeth smiles as we cross the parking lot. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”
“My mom’s cooking us a turkey dinner, and I hope she taped the Thanksgiving Day Parade for me,” I respond.
“So can I ask you something?”
Please don’t ask me about your boyfriend. “Okay. What?”
“That guy Quince, why’s he so mad at you?”
Relieved, I take in Annabeth’s calm expression, and hope I can trust her.
“I was supposed to be telling Quince’s fortune at the Halloween Carnival, but his dead grandfather showed up and told me about Quince’s mom being sick and how she was going to be okay. And when I told Quince, he freaked. I swear I’m not making this up.”
Annabeth’s eyes get real wide. “Wow! I knew you were psychic, but I didn’t know you could see spirits.”
Me, neither. “Aren’t you going to tell me how creepy that is?” I brace myself.
But Annabeth laughs, surprising me yet again. “Why do you keep it all such a big secret? If Megan knew… ”
Confessions of a Teenage Psychic Page 7
