There’s a chorus of “me neither” and “so did I” from a few students, but Mrs. York is glaring at the class, so it quickly dies down.
“Please, students, focus. Act V… ”
The class settles down for the moment, but I know this is nowhere near over. Megan pulls out a sheet of paper and begins writing furiously.
She’s making up a petition!
From where I’m sitting I can’t see what she’s writing, but I know I’m right and it gives me uncomfortable goose bumps.
So it comes as no surprise the next day at lunch when Megan brings in a neatly typed petition with blank pages attached for hundreds of signatures, and begins asking kids in the cafeteria to sign it. Here’s what it says:
We, the undersigned students of Rosslyn High School, are opposed to any attempts to require us to wear school uniforms. We believe the current dress code is fine and should be enforced by teachers, administrators, and the school superintendent.
By signing this petition, we students declare that we will NOT cooperate with any forced changes in the current dress code.
It’s pretty bold for students to sign their names, saying they refuse to cooperate. Megan walks the petition around from table to table, easily convincing most students to put their signatures at the bottom. She even has to go to a second and then third page as she fills them up. Kids are willing to sign something that at this point is hypothetical, but the petition drive is gaining a lot of momentum and Megan is about to lock herself into a battle of wills with the principal.
I hate the images I’m getting, but they won’t get out of my head. Every time I see that petition, alarm bells clang inside my head with a robotic voice chanting Danger, Danger. Unfortunately, at this point I can’t see how it’s going to end. Maybe I don’t want to see.
Megan holds the paper out in front of me and tries to shove a pen in my hand. “Caryn, you haven’t signed my petition.”
I back up, putting some distance between me and that pen. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. None of it— the petition, challenging the administration— it’s just not going to work.”
Why do I bother? Megan isn’t listening to me. She’s too caught up in this new cause of hers to pay any attention.
“Traitor!” She stomps off to find another group of students to add their signatures.
“Annabeth, call me when you get this.”
I hang up the phone and flip on the TV in the living room. I haven’t seen Annabeth since January, although we’ve talked on the phone since then. I’m thinking she’s the one person who might be able to get through to Megan, seeing as how they’ve known each other since kindergarten.
There’s a rerun of Friends on one of the independent channels, so I settle in for some mindless comedy.
How come all those characters in that sitcom can get angry with each other and still maintain their friendships? It sure doesn’t work that way with the kids I know. Megan is mad at me for not signing her petition. I’m afraid she’ll get in big trouble if she doesn’t stop, and I’m mad at her for not listening to me. And Quince is still mad at me for accusing Kensi of cheating on him.
I sigh and curl up in a corner of the sofa. I hug a throw pillow and pull an afghan over me while I try to concentrate on the program. Rachel is breaking up with Ross after catching him cheating.
Quince is breaking up with Kensi after catching her cheating. Megan and Monica are in the kitchen cooking pasta while Phoebe and Joey and Annabeth are talking about what to wear to school…
The phone rings and I realize I must have dozed off.
“Hello?” I’m still half asleep, the television blaring in the background.
“I’m calling you back,” Annabeth says. “What’s up?”
I sit up and try to get the cobwebs out of my head. I reach for the remote and fumble for the mute button with the phone still in my ear.
“Caryn, you called ME. Are you there? What’s so important?” Annabeth sounds oddly impatient.
“Yeah. I’m about half here. It’s Megan.”
“Megan? You sounded all urgent about Megan?”
“Well, it’s what’s going on at school.”
She’s right. Now that I hear myself, it does sound lame.
Annabeth sighs. “Okay, so what’s she done now that’s got you all upset?”
I sit upright on the sofa, throw the blanket off and try to collect my thoughts. Annabeth knows Megan better than I do, so I’m hoping she has some insights into what might get Megan to back off her single-minded drive to save Rosslyn High School from the dress code demons.
“She’s got this petition drive going, trying to stir everyone up about refusing to wear school uniforms. It’s gotten, well… ”
“Wait, wait. What’s this about school uniforms, and what petition?”
“Sorry.” I realize I haven’t told Annabeth about the principal’s threats and the rumors at school. “Megan just won’t let this drop.”
Annabeth’s voice sounds thoughtful. “Yeah, that’s Megan, all right. But hey— school uniforms in a public school?”
“Well, I don’t know for sure, but Megan’s acting like it’s a done deal.”
“Ooooh, interesting.” Annabeth puts her hand over the receiver giggling, and I can tell it’s nothing I said. “But, Caryn, if you don’t know what’s going to happen, what do you need me for?”
“Oh, never mind. Maybe I should call you back, since you’ve got company.”
“What? How did you know that?” Annabeth sounds puzzled which is funny since she of all people should know how I know.
I close my eyes and concentrate and see a tall boy with dark eyes and curly hair. “Annabeth, who’s your new study partner?”
“Caryn, that’s so freaky how you do that,” Annabeth says, still in that giggly voice. “Okay, it’s a guy in my psychology class and we’re studying for a test.”
“So that’s what you call it!” I say, wishing Quince and I “studied” together. “Does this guy have a name?”
“Yes, he does, but I’m not telling you now. I gotta go. Anything else?” Annabeth puts her hand over the phone and I hear her muffled voice talking to the guy.
I shrug. “I thought maybe you could talk to Megan.”
“Well, okay I’ll try, but I’m not promising anything. It’s Megan, you know.” She doesn’t sound too interested.
“Well, whatever. And have fun with Miguel.” I hang up before she can say anything else.
“You can’t change the events already set in motion,” I hear a voice say to me.
I look around the room and think maybe the TV volume is on, but it’s still set to mute. In frustration I grab the remote and flip off the set.
Just your overactive imagination again.
As I yawn, stretch, and head to my bedroom, I come face-to-face with Uncle Omar in the darkened hallway. Well, it should have been dark because all the lights are turned off, but there’s this glow around him and I can see him clear as day, grinning at me as usual. At least I’ve gotten to the place where I don’t jump or scream for my mom every time I see an apparition, but I have to admit it still unnerves me.
I put my hands on my hips. “I can’t change what?”
“Megan, the petition drive, all of it. It’s beyond your control.” Why does Uncle Omar always sound so calm?
“But I don’t want Megan to get in trouble.” I know I sound whiny, but the whole thing has just got me so confused.
Uncle Omar gets serious and says, “That’s not what you’re afraid of and you know it.”
I give that some thought and realize he’s making sense for once. But if it isn’t Megan getting in trouble, then I still can’t focus on what’s scaring me so much. I knock my knuckles against my head like that’s going to knock the answer loose. Instead it’s just giving me a headache.
“Just let things play out the way they’re supposed to,” he says with that ridiculous grin.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
>
But then he’s gone and the hallway is in darkness again. Without turning on the light I go into my room and collapse on the bed.
What can I do, what can I do, what can I do?
No matter how many times I say it, I don’t have any answers. I turn off the lamp next to my bed and decide to sleep on it till morning.
Unfortunately, I forget to set my alarm.
Chapter 10
Late
“Caryn! Why aren’t you up yet?”
I open one eye and see my mother standing over my bed. I yawn, rub my eyes, and roll over to look at the bedside clock. Seven thirty! Usually I’m up by six thirty.
I have a morning routine. I shower, dress, and eat a bowl of cereal while brewing my mother’s coffee so she can leave for the store by eight-thirty. In a role-reversal kind of thing, I usually wake Mom up just before I leave the apartment to catch the 7:25 school bus. Now I’m going to miss most of my first period class because I overslept.
“I can’t believe I forgot to set my alarm. Can you drive me to school, Mom?”
“You know the car doesn’t have any gas. I’ll give you a note, but you’ll have to walk since you missed the bus.”
“Is it cold outside?”
“By whose standards?” Mom asks.
I can hear the wind blowing through the trees as their still-bare branches scrape my bedroom window, so I know I’ll need a jacket at least. Since it’s late March, none of the other kids are wearing their heavy winter coats to school, and not wanting to look uncool, I decide not to wear mine anymore either. Walking the six blocks to school without a coat isn’t going to be fun, but my social image is worth the sacrifice. I stumble out of bed and head toward the bathroom.
“Sorry about oversleeping, Mom,” I call over my shoulder as she heads to the kitchen to make her own coffee.
By the time I get close to the school building I’m pretty chilled through, wearing only a hoodie sweatshirt. And then of course I have to stop and wait for that light on the corner, the one that never seems to turn green when I need it to. I jump up and down and try to warm myself, while looking around to see if any other kids are late to school besides me.
Sure enough, off in the distance I spot Kensington Marlow, teetering down the sidewalk in her four-inch heels.
Just my luck.
Now I’m going to have to stand in line at the attendance office with her. But wait— maybe not. Just as the corner light finally turns green, I see Kensi climb into a late-model sports car, then the driver speeds by me and through the light (risking a speeding ticket in a school zone I might add). As the car whips past, I recognize Mr. College Guy— the one she was with at the mall back in December. So not only is Kensi seeing other guys, she’s now cutting school with one.
What’s he doing here anyway?
“Spring break,” I say aloud, slapping my forehead. Colleges take their spring vacations about three weeks earlier than most high schools.
As I cross the street I see another student walking up to the main entrance. It’s Quince, and he has a look on his face I’ve never seen before. I hurry to catch up with him.
“Hi, Quince. You late too?”
Suddenly I’m not cold anymore, and in fact I’m warming up quickly. Just being near Quince makes my pulse quicken.
He doesn’t answer and then I know he saw Kensi get into that car. The truth about her is just hitting him, and apparently it isn’t the truth that’s going to set him free. But he turns to face me and forces a grin.
“Dentist appointment. I might have to get braces, and then I’ll look like a geek my senior year.”
“You won’t— ”
His smile fades and he nervously runs his fingers through his hair, frustration pulsating through every move. “It already looks like I’m an idiot. Aren’t you going to say I told you so?”
Poor guy. He’s miserable and I don’t blame him. He just saw what some of us have known for months, and the hurt, anger, and confusion all show on his face.
“No, of course not. Quince, I— ”
“Forget it.” He cuts me off and heads into school.
We both have to report for late passes, but Quince gets there ahead of me and he’s first in line. He never speaks to me again or even makes eye contact with me, hurrying out of the office while I have to stand in line behind two other kids.
“You have ten minutes left in first period, Caryn,” says the attendance clerk. “Do you want to go there now or just wait and report to second?”
“I’ll go to first, to see if I have any homework.”
And find a way to talk to Quince if I can.
I hurry to my locker and then to class. When I get there Quince is already in his seat, staring straight ahead at the chalkboard like he’s intent on reading the day’s assignment. Since he isn’t blinking, just staring, I doubt he’s really seeing anything— except red.
I look around the room and notice attendance is a little light this morning. Megan isn’t here, Kensi of course isn’t, and Emma and Ashleigh are also missing. I slide into my chair and pull out a sheet of notebook paper, quickly scribbling a note to Janae.
Where is everyone?
She scribbles a reply and passes it back to me.
Megan and Emma— office
Ashleigh— college visit
Deana— puking
Quince— late
Kensi? Who cares!
Where have you been?
I scribble back. Overslept. Megan— why office?
Petition! Janae scribbles.
Uh-oh, that can’t be good. I can almost hear the music of doom playing in the background.
“Caryn, it’s bad enough that you’ve missed most of class, but could you and Janae please stop passing notes and pay attention for what’s left?” Mrs. York says.
“Sorry.”
I turn my attention toward the front of the classroom. Just as I’m writing down the homework assignment the dismissal bell rings.
Since none of the other girls are around at lunchtime, I sit down alone with my food tray at our usual table in the cafeteria. Salissa Pringle is, for whatever reason, sitting at the far end of it trying to appear engrossed in a romance novel. That’s fine by me, since she and I definitely travel in different social circles. Normally she sits with Kensi and the other cheerleaders on the far side of the room, but that table is empty today too. I guess Salissa would rather sit with her social inferiors than be seen sitting alone, and I kind of smile to myself at that thought.
I fumble in my book bag for something to read, hoping to appear studious and aloof to anyone who might notice I’m eating alone. While I scrounge through old homework papers, pencils gone astray, and stab myself with a protractor, a food tray slams down next to me.
I look up, startled. “Uh, hi, Megan.”
“I’m SO mad I could scream!”
“But you practically are— screaming, that is.”
Megan plops down hard in the chair next to me and loudly scrapes its legs across the floor as she scoots herself up to the table. She turns to face me and lowers her voice slightly.
“Aren’t you going to say I told you so?”
“That’s a popular question today,” I say, poking at my food.
But Megan’s in no mood for mystery. “Make sense for once, Caryn!”
“Okay, no, I’m not going to rub it in.” I take a bite of my lukewarm pepperoni pizza even though my appetite is gone. “What happened?”
“It was horrible!” Megan says, her face flushed. “Someone ratted me out! The principal was there and they even called Mom out of her class, and they made me give up the petition. I had nearly five hundred signatures!” Tears are welling up in her eyes.
I lift my shoulders. “So why are you surprised someone told? At least five hundred kids knew what you were up to.”
She shakes her head, fighting back the tears. “Yeah, all the kids knew, but they promised solidarity. So the principal must’ve found out somehow.”
A tear slips down her cheek and she wipes it away with a quick swipe of her hand.
“Megan, I’m sorry. I know how much— ”
“It’s just so unfair!” Megan slumps down in her chair, her arms folded across her chest.
I remember what Janae wrote in that note earlier. “And what about Emma? Why was she called down?”
Megan pouts her lips. “How do I know? Emma didn’t do anything— well, except sign the petition, but so did lots of other kids.”
I’ve definitely lost my appetite and I can’t look Megan in the face, so I pick at the cold pepperoni slices with a plastic fork. “So I don’t get it. Is the principal going to call in every kid who signed it?”
“I don’t know, probably not. Just me.”
So common sense— not to mention my sixth sense— tells me that Principal MacGregor thinks punishing the ringleader will squelch this mini-rebellion. But the administration doesn’t know Megan if they think it’ll be that easy.
I quit playing with my food and face Megan. “What did Mr. MacGregor say to you?”
“That I was setting a bad example, that I’d embarrassed my mother, that I wasn’t representing Rosslyn High properly. You know, all that guilt trip stuff,” she says, tears welling in her eyes again.
Yeah, I know how adults can be, and the principal’s glare and stern voice have a way of making kids wish they’d never been born, let alone disobeyed the rules.
“So did you get in trouble? Detention? What?”
“I have to write a one thousand-word apology to the principal and superintendent before tomorrow,” Megan moans.
“That’s like three pages long!” No wonder she looks so upset.
“Yeah, and I’ve got better things to do.” Megan takes a sip of her chocolate milk while her gaze wanders around the cafeteria. “Hey, maybe I can get Harris Rutherford to do it for me.”
Poor Harris. The only attention he ever gets from girls is when they want something from him— math homework, three-page letters, whatever.
“I thought Harris was better at math than English,” I say, hoping to save him.
Confessions of a Teenage Psychic Page 13
