Confessions of a Teenage Psychic

by Pamela Woods-Jackson

  “Her outfit,” I answer, then quickly add, “I’ll bet.”

  Now I’ll readily admit that anyone could’ve figured out Kensi would be in trouble for how she’s dressed, so the fact that I know her mother is waiting in the office for her, I keep to myself. But I don’t need to tell Janae that Kensi is about to get sent home, since Janae will figure it out soon enough and spread it all over school by lunch. Problem is, Kensi isn’t the only girl at school dressed inappropriately today, so I suppose the administrators are making an example of her since she’s so popular.

  Mrs. York tries to redirect her students. “Shall we continue?”

  I steal a glance at Quince who has pulled out his folder and is now taking notes. Once his focus is off Kensi, all he appears interested in is academics.

  If only he’d look at me the same way he looks at her. I’m starting to hate Valentine’s Day.

  The school cafeteria is a hotbed of romantic activity. Everywhere you look there are red heart-shaped balloons, pink and red teddy bears, Valentine’s cards (both store-bought and homemade), candy hearts, and of course, chocolate galore. It’s enough to give a person a stomach ache from the sugar rush.

  I sit down at our usual table next to Emma, Ashleigh, and Megan, uninterested in my lunch and dreading their discussions about what their boyfriends got them.

  “Kevin gave me this,” Emma says, proudly displaying a heart necklace.

  “Very pretty,” I say.

  “I got a huge box of chocolates from Jeremy,” Megan gushes. “Anybody want a piece?”

  She pops a piece of chocolate in her mouth before passing the box around the table. I take a piece of chocolate-covered caramel and stuff it into my mouth. Can you drown your sorrows in candy? I don’t know, but I think I might try.

  “Ashleigh,” I say with my mouth full. “Who gave you the teddy bear?”

  “Connor Stevenson.”

  I nearly choke on the candy thinking of Connor and Kensi.

  “Connor’s going to be valedictorian this year, so I guess he doesn’t want to hang out with the likes of Kensington ‘Bottom of the Junior Class’ Marlow after all.” Ashleigh has a triumphant smile on her face.

  “I’d say he traded up.” I swallow the sticky candy, wishing the chocolate would do its mood-enhancing magic.

  “What about you, Caryn? Anything from Mark?” Ashleigh helps herself to a piece of Megan’s candy.

  “Mark? No way, not that I care. I’d rather get a card from Harris Rutherford.”

  Well, not really. And don’t even get me started on my unrequited love for Quince Adams.

  Ashleigh looks genuinely surprised that I’ve been left out of the love-fest, like she’s just now realizing I don’t have a boyfriend.

  “I didn’t even get a pity card. I’m too much of a freak to attract a boyfriend.” I’m feeling pretty sorry for myself, so I cram another piece of candy in my mouth.

  “That’s not true,” Megan says sympathetically, swallowing the last of her chocolate. “You just haven’t met Mr. Right yet.”

  Yes I have, and he’s attached to Miss Wrong.

  “Did anyone see how Kensi Marlow was dressed this morning?” Emma asks, changing to her favorite subject, fashion. “She was really pushing the envelope.”

  “Pushing her luck’s more like it.” Megan takes a swig of apple juice. “I heard she got sent home.”

  I nod as I swallow the chocolate. “I can’t believe how some kids dress for school. When I enrolled in September… ”

  “You got here late and it was already getting cooler,” Megan says. “You should have seen the fashion parade in August. My mother wouldn’t let me wear half the outrageous stuff the other girls were wearing.”

  “Who are you calling outrageous?” Emma demands.

  “Not you, Emma. I’m talking about Kensi and her crew. Like how she looked today,” Megan says.

  I’m trying to listen to this discussion, really I am, but my mind is on Quince sitting at the guys’ table across the room. I allow my thoughts to drift away from fashion and onto the unrequited love of my life.

  Quince: Oh, Caryn, I’ve been a fool to believe all Kensi’s lies. Will you forgive me and be my girlfriend?

  Caryn: Of course, Quince. You know how much I care about you.

  (Organ music reaches a crescendo in the background!)

  While Emma is babbling on about fashion faux pas and I’m daydreaming, Quince gets up to take his tray to the back of the cafeteria. Dirty lunch trays are anything but romantic and I snap back to the moment just in time to realize he’s stopped at our table on his way. My stomach lurches, either in anticipation that he’ll speak to me or nausea from the candy, I can’t tell which.

  “Okay, I know you all love me, but which one of you ladies taped that anonymous Valentine card to my locker?”

  He looks each one of us in the eye. I lower my head and pretend to take a bite of my now-cold hamburger.

  “Not me!” Emma is the first to speak up. “I’ve got a boyfriend.” She turns to each of us in succession. “Megan? Ashleigh? Caryn?”

  She had to name me last, which leaves everyone staring at me, expecting an answer.

  “It was probably Kensi,” I say, not making eye contact with him.

  “Nope, not her. This one was hand-drawn, and Kensi can’t draw for squat. Besides, she already gave me my Valentine.” Quince blushes and then grins as if remembering it.

  TMI! I close my eyes and try to shut out the image of the two of them kissing.

  “What’d it look like?” Megan asks. “The one on your locker, I mean. I pretty much know all the kids in the art program. I could take a look at it.”

  She must see the look on my face, because she hastily changes directions, “Or maybe it’ll just have to stay a mystery.”

  She smiles innocently at Quince and I silently mouth, “Thank you.”

  Quince shrugs. “Well, whatever, but it’s really cool, with a heart in the middle of a rainbow. Tell whoever drew it that I liked it.”

  He winks at us and then goes to dump his tray. I’m about to faint.

  “Ohmigod, Caryn!” Megan turns to me when he’s out of earshot. “You put that card on Quince’s locker?”

  “Guilty. Please don’t tell him.” My face feels like it’s a blazing red.

  “But why? He’s with Kensi!”

  “Stupid whim, something he told me about rainbows,” I say in a mumble, the candy like a lump in my stomach. “Do you think he suspects me?”

  “Maybe, but my lips are sealed,” Megan says, laughing. “Besides, we all know Kensington Marlow isn’t good enough for Quince anyway.”

  I glance up at the clock and realize the bell is about to ring signaling the end of lunch.

  “We’ve got to hurry and get to class,” I tell Megan as I gather up my tray. “We’re having an assembly after next period.”

  “Huh?” Megan closes up her chocolate box and throws her trash onto my tray. “When did they announce that?”

  “It hasn’t been announced yet,” I say, getting up from the table.

  Megan does one of her exaggerated eye rolls. “Okay, then, Miss Psychic Know-it-all, what’s the assembly about?”

  I don’t answer but hurry out of the cafeteria. All I know is that a feeling in my gut put a flash into my head, and I’m sure there’s more to it than too much candy. I’ll just let her and everyone else find out when they get there.

  Principal MacGregor comes on the PA just after lunch and announces an all-school meeting. Students and teachers are told to come directly to the auditorium with a minimum of conversation. Word on the street— okay, in the school hallways— is that something serious is going down, and all the kids are kind of freaked out.

  There are over one thousand students at Rosslyn High School, so the auditorium is filled to capacity, and faculty members are forced to stand in the aisles and along the walls due to a lack of seats. Mr. MacGregor is on the stage glaring at us as we file in. With this many student
s there’s bound to be noise and chaos, and naturally kids are going to try to find a seat next to their friends. Mr. MacGregor is having none of it.

  “Students, please take your seats immediately. Teachers, I’m going to ask your assistance in getting the students seated and quiet as quickly as possible.”

  We all know he means business, so kids begin to sit in any available seat, urged along by teachers who are getting a little grouchy themselves.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the principal begins when order is somewhat restored, “please direct your attention up here immediately.”

  The school principal isn’t one to be ignored and a hush falls over the auditorium. He clears his throat and in a stern voice says, “As you know, we’re experiencing unusually warm weather for this time of year, but it’s only February. Spring will arrive in a few weeks, and with it will come the desire to wear lightweight clothing.”

  There’s a murmur among the students.

  “Today, a number of your classmates came to school in inappropriate attire and have been asked to return home and change their clothes. I’m taking this opportunity to remind you that we have a dress code here at Rosslyn High School and it will be enforced!”

  This time the murmuring is very loud.

  “Yeah, right!” say some boys on the front row.

  “Good luck with that!” More kids join in the clamor.

  Principal MacGregor bellows, “This is not a discussion, it’s a warning!”

  The kids get quiet again in a hurry.

  “Any student arriving at school dressed in unacceptable clothing will face suspension. I do not expect to have another day like today, where the moral compass is cast aside in the name of fashion. Rules will be followed by all students in this building. You may now return to your afternoon classes.”

  The grumbling grows louder as we get up to leave the auditorium. Megan catches up to me and pulls me aside.

  “You knew we were having an assembly!” For someone whose outfit doesn’t even come close to violating the dress code, Megan seems pretty upset. “Did you know what Mr. MacGregor was going to say?”

  I nod. “And it’s going to get worse.”

  “How much worse can it get?” Megan says, crossing her arms.

  “I don’t know,” I say with a shrug. “Uniforms maybe?”

  Megan stares at me like that’s the stupidest thing she ever heard. “They can’t make us wear uniforms like in a private school!”

  I back off my prediction, because I don’t know if this picture in my head is set in stone or just a warning. “They can’t?”

  “I thought I was done with uniforms when I left Willowby,” Megan says with a huff. “Kids will be really mad. I’m mad!”

  “Megan… Oh, never mind. I’ll talk to you tonight!” I try to escape before Megan makes me tell her about the picture that just flashed into my head.

  “What do you mean you’ll talk to me tonight?” Megan is really puzzled now but I don’t have time to explain.

  “Caryn Alderson! Tell me what you know!” I cringe when I realize Janae overheard us.

  I whisper to Megan, “Please stay out of this.”

  Trouble is, when Megan sets her mind to something, there’s no stopping her, and I can see the wheels in her head turning already. Megan storms out of the auditorium like a woman on a mission.

  It’s easy to start a rumor in a big public high school, especially with Janae on the case, and now the rumor mill is in full swing. Kids are whispering in hallways and classrooms, “We’re not going to be allowed to wear shorts,” or “Sandals are being outlawed,” or “They’re going to make us wear strict uniforms.”

  All I can hope for is a long, cold spring. Anything to keep kids from dressing like they’re at a beach party, because otherwise my internal radar is telling me Rosslyn High School is in for some rough times.

  When I told Megan earlier today that I’d talk to her tonight I already knew what about, so I’m staying up late waiting for the phone to ring. I guess she’s gotten over the wardrobe paranoia, at least temporarily, because she’s as bubbly as ever when I answer the phone.

  “Guess what, Caryn! You were right. My sister Caroline got engaged today! Valentine’s Day— it’s just so romantic! And you should see the ring Richard gave her! They’re planning their wedding for next summer and she wants me to be a bridesmaid. It’s so cool! Mom’s so excited! This is one time you can say ‘I told you so’ and I won’t mind at all.”

  I mentally give myself a thumbs-up. “Tell Caroline I’m very happy for her, and for your family.”

  Megan tells me all the details and when I hang up the phone, even though it’s late and I’m tired, my mind won’t quit churning about the day’s events. I go into the living room and turn on the TV, find a Star Wars marathon playing on one of the local channels, and snuggle down on the sofa to watch.

  There’s a disturbance in the Force, echoes in my mind as I drift off to sleep.

  Luke Skywalker is on a sandy beach, wearing cutoffs and a muscle shirt, fighting Darth Vader who is dressed in swim trunks and flip-flops. Princess Leia is in the background— or is it Kensington Marlow— wearing skintight short shorts, a clingy wet T-shirt, and of course, braided buns on each side of her head.

  “A kiss for luck!” Kensington tells Quince.

  I sit straight up as my eyes pop open, and then I realize it’s only Princess Leia talking to Luke. Heck, even he got a kiss on Valentine’s Day— from his sister, but still…

  Between the warm weather, the dress code rumors, my sixth sense telling me Megan is heading for disaster, and Kensi cheating on Quince who doesn’t seem to care, I wish I could go to that Galaxy Far, Far Away.

  I groan, turn off the TV, and go to bed.

  Chapter 9

  An Ill Wind Marches In

  You could say March blew in like a lion, but really it was more like Hurricane Megan.

  The rumors about school uniforms died down a little after Valentine’s Day, especially since the weather turned cold again and all the kids had to go back to wearing their winter clothes. But Megan wouldn’t let it drop. She kept up a running dialogue with anyone who cared to listen— and a few people who didn’t care to listen, like me— about how Rosslyn High would be the laughingstock of the city if kids were forced to wear uniforms in public school. Megan single-handedly kept the kids stirred up, despite my constant warnings for her to stay out of it.

  This rumor is a tough one to squelch, though, since the story keeps changing all the time. Sometimes there are exaggerations, sometimes there’s a grain of truth to it, but most kids just don’t know what to believe.

  “Mrs. York?” Megan asks the teacher in first period, interrupting the lesson. “Is it true we’ll have to wear uniforms next year?”

  Mrs. York sighs. “Megan, I really don’t know where you heard that, but to my knowledge it’s not true.”

  Megan barely allows Mrs. York to finish before waving her arm in the air. “But Principal MacGregor said— ”

  “Yes, I know what he said about dressing appropriately, but students have heeded his warning and I think things have calmed down again,” Mrs. York says, holding up a hand.

  “Yeah, but only because it’s cold right now,” Kensi whines. “When it gets warm again and we want to wear— ”

  “Yeah, shorts and stuff,” Megan chimes in.

  “I believe you students have blown Mr. MacGregor’s comments way out of proportion.” Mrs. York now has her hands on her hips, exasperation in her voice.

  Deana Pruitt raises her hand. “I overheard my dad say something about a stricter dress code.”

  “Perhaps the superintendent is just planning to enforce the dress code we already have,” Mrs. York replies.

  “Does that mean only khaki pants and navy blue shirts like I heard someone say?” Janae asks.

  “I heard guys would have to wear ties everyday!” Kevin shouts.

  There’s a lot of murmuring, everyone repeating what they he
ard like it’s a child’s game of Gossip. Apparently there are very real threats to our fashion individuality, if you believe the rumors.

  Mrs. York’s patience is wearing thin. “Class, please, can we get back to work?”

  No one is listening to the teacher now. Students are whispering among themselves and the angrier they get, the louder they talk. I hear snippets of conversations punctuated with “no way” and “they can’t tell us what to wear” and “my dad will freak” or “uniforms are too expensive.” Most of the students have always attended public school and have no idea what it means to wear a uniform. I’m one of those kids, but Megan— straight from Willowby Prep— and a few of the students who attended parochial schools are up in arms.

  “Class!” Mrs. York taps her foot until the class settles down. “I think we need to table this discussion and get back to our lesson. We were discussing Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream. Does anyone see any similarities in the play-within-a-play about Pyramus and Thisbe, to Romeo and Juliet?”

  “What I think is important is that Thisbe got to choose her own clothes that supposedly got torn by the lion,” Emma says.

  Naturally that gets a laugh from the class.

  “Anybody have a comment that does not pertain to wardrobe?” Mrs. York scouts out a likely victim. “Caryn?”

  Nothing like being put on the spot, but since the teacher called on me, I go ahead and make my point.

  “I don’t know about Thisbe, but if Bottom and all those bogus actors had worn outfits that offended the duke, they’d have been thrown out of Athens.”

  Okay, I’ll admit it’s a cryptic remark, but I can’t help myself. All the mini-movies running in my head are screaming at me that this problem is going to escalate to a very bad end. If I can believe my gut instincts, everyone needs to back off and quit aggravating the teachers, and more importantly, the principal. Kids are letting what we’re wearing to school take on a life of its own.

  Quince opens his mouth with a loud, exaggerated yawn, followed by an overhead arm stretch. “Is anybody else as tired of all this dress code talk as I am?”

  Megan claps her book closed. “Yeah, well, most of you have no idea how boring it is to wear the same thing to school day after day. I did it for years and I don’t want to do it again.”