“Hi, Caryn,” he says before I can decide. “I was afraid you weren’t coming to school today.”
“Um, really? I, uh… ” Why am I always so tongue-tied around this guy?
“Yeah, and before you say anything”— (like I could get the words out anyway)—”I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you about Kensi. Maybe I was just too stupid to see who she really is, but you were right and I messed up big time. We— you know, the team— we got back late last night from our game and when I went home and turned on TV, there she was on the eleven o’clock news. Man, I couldn’t believe it. A girl I thought I knew! Well, anyway. So I called her right then and told her it was over between us, and she said it wasn’t her fault, it was Megan’s, or yours, or the TV crew, or whoever. Kensi can’t ever take responsibility for herself, and now she’s trying to blame everyone else.”
Quince stops for a breath, and I can tell he’s hurt. My heart goes out to him, so to speak, because of course he already has my heart. But what I mean is that he looks so pitiful about being stung by Kensi yet again.
“So can you forgive me for being such an idiot?” Quince smiles at me sheepishly.
It’s more words at once than I’ve ever heard from him— even better than one of my dreams— and I can’t think of a thing to say. Can this be for real? Is Quince telling me without a doubt that he finally broke up with Kensi?
“Okay, you’re still mad and I get it,” he says, with a shrug. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“No, that’s not it, I… ” Quince is looking at me expectantly, so I’d better spit something out and quick, before he walks away. “I never was mad at you. I just hated to see Kensi hurt you.”
“I wish I’d listened to you way back last winter. Could’ve saved myself a lot of grief.” He looks a little better after getting all that off his chest. “Anyway, I’m glad we’re still friends, and I was wondering if you’d go to Peterson’s with me after school one day.”
Quince smiles at me, and I suddenly realize he’s just asked me for a date. After all these months— finally! I feel like I’m floating on a cloud.
“I’d like that.” Now there’s an understatement.
“Great,” says Quince, heading off toward class. “I’ll call you.”
I can barely breathe over my heart palpitations, and then he calls over his shoulder, “Hey, Caryn, you looked cool on TV yesterday!”
My literature book slips out of my hand and bounces off my foot and I don’t even care. Quince saw me on television in my biggest moment of shame, and he still wants to go out on a date with me! I must be the luckiest girl on the planet.
Attendance is pretty light at school today. As I look around Mrs. York’s classroom, I notice quite a few empty chairs. Kensi is absent, for one, and Salissa and Megan aren’t here either. The seniors are gone anyway, since graduation is coming up and they’re pretty much finished for the year. I’m wondering how bad things are going to be after the walkout yesterday, but Mrs. York clearly has more important things on her mind.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she says, rapping on her desk. “I know everyone is still reeling from yesterday’s activities, but I’d like to make an announcement of a different nature.”
She’s going to tell us about the baby!
I absentmindedly wonder why she picks today of all days to talk about it, but Mrs. York’s face is glowing and it’s impossible not to smile back at her.
“This is my last school year here at Rosslyn.” There’s a murmur in the room, and all the kids look puzzled, including me. “My husband has accepted a new job in Chicago, and we’re moving right away.”
Moving? Not coming back next year? That’s not what she’s supposed to tell us.
Before I can stop myself, I ask, “But what about the baby, Mrs. York?”
She looks surprised at first, but then she smiles at me. “I started to ask how you knew that, but then I remembered your TV appearance yesterday.” To the whole class she says, “Yes, Mr. York and I are expecting our first child, and he will be born next December. The doctor has suggested that I rest as much as possible, so I plan to take it easy once we’re settled into our new home.”
There’s a great deal of giggling and chatter among the kids, with various shouts of “cool” and “congratulations” and stuff like that. Mrs. York blushes with pride and happiness.
“Mrs. York?” interrupts one of the school secretaries over the PA. “Could you please send Caryn Alderson to the principal’s office?”
Everyone turns to look at me, and I want to hide under my desk. Me? Why me? Even Mrs. York seems surprised that I’ve been summoned, but she nods at me to go. Quince gives me a big grin, so at least he’s still in my corner if I’m in trouble.
I swallow hard as I pick up my book bag and head out the door.
Everything seems pretty normal in the principal’s office— phones ringing, the secretary working at her computer, kids coming in for late passes. I sit in the waiting area trying not to fidget. Just a regular day, almost like yesterday never happened. But my internal radar is going off and I know there’s more going on than just being questioned by the principal about the walkout.
“Caryn,” says the principal’s secretary. “You may go in now.”
I muster up all the courage I have (which isn’t much), and open the door to the principal’s office to see— Mrs. Renfrow! The head of the English Department is sitting in Principal MacGregor’s chair, and looking very comfortable behind his desk. She smiles warmly at me and motions me to a chair opposite the desk. I hesitate, wondering what’s going on.
“Caryn, I’m sure you’re confused at the moment,” Mrs. Renfrow says.
She can say that again.
“Where is Mr. MacGregor?” I ask, dropping into one of the room’s vinyl chairs.
“He’s been reassigned,” she says in a neutral voice.
I instantly get an image of a tiny building in a rundown part of town. “To an elementary school?”
“Well, yes,” Mrs. Renfrow answers with a surprised frown. “The superintendent was displeased about yesterday’s activities in general and Principal MacGregor’s handling of it in particular.”
What she means is mis-handling, but for once I keep my mouth shut. Someone coughs and I realize Megan, grinning widely, is sitting on a sofa on the back wall next to Ms. Benedict, who doesn’t look happy at all. A frowning man in a pinstripe suit is sitting on the other side of Megan, studying the screen of a large phone.
I’m wondering who he is when Mrs. Renfrow claims my attention. “I’m the acting principal of Rosslyn High School now, Caryn, and I’d like to begin by assuring you that you’re not in trouble. I’m just looking for answers.”
So why am I here?
As if in answer to my unspoken question, Ms. Benedict says, “I know you were accidentally caught on camera, Caryn, but I also know you weren’t really involved. I’ve told Mrs. Renfrow that yesterday’s activities were Megan’s choices, not yours.”
“I just want you to tell me in your own words what happened,” says Mrs. Renfrow. “We’re trying to piece together the events leading up to the activities and see to it that the appropriate persons are held accountable.”
I can’t figure out why all the grownups keep calling the walkout “activities” like it was a field trip or something. But Mrs. Renfrow is looking at me expectantly, and unfortunately I can’t form a single coherent thought. Why is she asking me? The silence in the room is eerie. And something else is distracting me. Who’s that man? OH! Of course! Megan’s father! He’s here to make sure Megan doesn’t get into too much trouble.
I realize Mrs. Renfrow is still waiting for my reply. “Well, I… I… ” Seriously, I’ve got nothing.
“No one blames you for anything, Caryn, but somehow you managed to attract a great deal of media attention, and naturally I’d like your version of things. As the new administrator, I must make students aware that walking out of the building in th
e middle of a school day is an inappropriate way to address certain issues.”
“Well, sure, but I… ”
Mrs. Renfrow closes a file folder on the desk in front of her. “Why don’t you just write down your version of the activities, Caryn— in correct essay form mind you— and turn it in to me by tomorrow?”
I cringe. Mrs. Renfrow’s not only expecting a detailed account, but she’s going to be grading my spelling and punctuation.
“What about the uniforms?” Megan asks.
Mr. Benedict shoots his daughter a warning look. “That’s quite enough, young lady.”
But Megan just shrugs. “Dad, it was just a question.”
“I’ve spoken with Superintendent Pruitt,” Mrs. Renfrow tells her. “And a decision will be made soon concerning the school dress code. In the meantime, Megan, I believe you have something you need to say to everyone.”
Megan grins at me, gives me a subtle thumbs-up sign, and says, “Hey, Caryn, any psychic predictions about uniforms?”
Ms. Benedict groans and Mr. Benedict looks like he’d like to throttle his daughter.
Megan seems to have won this round.
Epilogue
Summertime
Today’s the last day of school! Just counting down the minutes till the final bell makes me giddy with anticipation. Still, I’ve learned more in the last week than I did all year, except it wasn’t lessons from a textbook, it was stuff about the real world.
Lesson #1: Being psychic isn’t all that bad.
After the episode in the acting principal’s office last week, I went to Mom’s store to meet Indianapolis Star reporter Serena Farrell. She turned out to be a young woman fresh out of college and eager to impress her boss with a good human interest story. The Rosslyn High School walkout was still big news, so Serena said she felt lucky to get the interview with me, considering all the offers I’d had.
Serena had a bubbly personality and I felt comfortable with her, but once she turned on her tape recorder she was all business.
“How were you involved in yesterday’s protest march against Rosslyn High School?” Serena began.
“I really wasn’t involved at all. I just got caught on TV by accident,” I said, while Serena scribbled notes on a pad, which kind of freaked me out.
“You were seen on camera predicting a phone call from the superintendent, correct?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess.”
She looked up from her note-taking, almost like she was surprised at my answer even though the whole point of this interview was my psychic coming-out. “Is that something you do a lot?”
I looked over at Mom and she nodded encouragement.
“I’ve been doing it since I was a little kid.”
“And your friend Megan Benedict told the Channel 2 news reporter that you’re a psychic. Is that true? Are you psychic?”
“Yeah, it’s true,” I mumbled.
“Can you speak up, Caryn? I don’t think the recorder will catch that.” Serena moved the device closer to me.
I remembered that the reason I was here in the first place was to finally admit who I am, so I sat up straight, looked Serena directly in the eye, and spoke in a firm tone. “Yes, it’s true. I’m psychic.”
“So, predicting phone calls— is that the only thing you do, or are there other things?”
“Oh, yeah, lots of other things. I get strong feelings or sometimes pictures in my mind.” I didn’t mention talking to dead people. I figured she was getting enough ammunition as it was.
“And Ms. Alderson,” Serena said. “What’s it like living with a psychic daughter?”
Mom paused a moment. “Well, I suppose it was a surprise at first, when she was so little and started making predictions. But now it’s just a part of who she is and I don’t think about it very much. Sometimes her abilities come in handy.” Mom winked at me.
“In what way?”
“Oh, this and that. Most recently she insisted I wait a few days before buying a new handbag I had my eye on, and sure enough the next week it went on sale.”
Serena nodded but didn’t smile. “How accurate are your predictions?”
I shrugged. “Most of the time I’m right. Except for when it’s stuff about me. Then I don’t have a clue.”
“Then you’re not psychic about your own life?”
I shook my head, but then I remembered the tape recorder and said, “No, I guess I just have to figure out stuff on my own without any extra help.”
“But she’s pretty accurate about other people’s lives,” Mom said smiling.
Serena nodded again. “Can you give me an example? Some sort of psychic insight about me, for instance?”
Okay, I didn’t anticipate having to prove myself. I paused longer than I needed to, so maybe she’d think I was giving it some deep thought. Actually, once I focused on Serena’s life I got a pretty quick hit. Finally I said, “Well, you’re moving out of that tiny apartment you live in and you’ll be sharing a bigger house with two other women. And you’ll be getting a raise soon.” I sneaked a glance at Mom, who lowered her head and smiled to herself. She knew I was dragging out my answer for effect.
Serena’s eyes got real wide. “Amazing! It’s true I’m moving in with friends, but the raise? In this economy?”
I shrugged. “Call me back in about a week after this story hits. It’ll happen.”
After Serena turned off the recorder, she said she’d do a follow-up story if she got a raise. I told her she’d have to call me in Houston, because that’s where I’d be for the summer. And actually, I enjoyed making that happy prediction for her and I’m looking forward to her phone call at my dad’s.
Serena had brought a photographer with her and the story was in the Metro section the next morning, accompanied by a fairly large picture of Mom and me smiling broadly. We’re standing in front of Mom’s store with the sign visible behind us, which was Mom’s idea to get some free publicity from the story.
Of course the interview stirred up the whole psychic story about me all over again. Kids at school were buzzing with the news.
“Hey, Caryn!” I saw one of the senior girls waving at me from way down the hall, running to catch up to me. I didn’t even know her name. “Can you tell me if I’ll meet a new boyfriend when I start at Purdue in the fall?”
“Uh, yeah… ?” I walked down the hall shaking my head.
“So what’s my future career going to be?” I looked behind me and a freshman girl I barely knew, Angie Morrison, was standing right there.
I was surprised she even knew who I was, but said without thinking, “Interior design.”
“Uh, Caryn.” It was Mark Evans, who’d barely said two words to me since the Christmas dance, shuffling up to my locker with his hand in front of his mouth. “Uh, do you see me getting… braces?”
I almost laughed, but I guess it wasn’t funny to him. “Not for another year, but then it’s going to make all the difference.”
He even smiled a little before he hurried off down the hall.
“Yo, Alderson! Tell me how I did on that AP exam!” I turned around yet again and there was Connor Stevenson, yelling at me from down the hall, his arms spread wide.
I don’t know why I saw what I saw, because I don’t know anything about AP scores. But suddenly there was a cartoon “5” dancing in my head, complete with top hat and walking stick. “Five.” Whatever that means.
It must have been the answer he was looking for, though, because he gave me a double thumbs-up and strutted down the hall, calling out to everyone he saw, “I got a FIVE!”
“Caryn, girl, you gotta tell me what it’s like to be you.” Janae Thomas was leaning against the locker next to mine wearing stonewashed jeans, stilettos, and a rhinestone-studded T-shirt, her hand on one hip.
I sighed. “To be me? What are you talking about, Janae?”
“Being psychic. What’s that like?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Well, it’s hard to explain. But it’s k
inda like watching words and pictures on a computer screen all going by really fast, except it’s happening in my head.”
Janae smiled and I could just see the wheels turning in her head. She thinks she has the inside track on all future goings-on at Rosslyn High, with me as her personal psychic hotline for gossip.
“Girlfriend, any time you get a preview of anything juicy about to happen, you call me first, okay?”
“Okay, Janae.” But since she’s usually the first to get the news anyway, she probably doesn’t need my help at all.
So the day wasn’t half as bad as I’d imagined it would be. I went straight home after school the day the newspaper story hit, eager to tell Mom my social life wasn’t over after all.
But by the time Mom got to the apartment she was fried. I guess the phone had been ringing off the hook at the store all day and she couldn’t take down the messages fast enough.
“Thank goodness you’re home, Caryn. Here, start returning these phone calls.”
I looked through the slips of pink paper she handed me. “Who are these people?”
She shouted to me from the kitchen where she was raiding the refrigerator. “They all saw the newspaper story this morning and now they want to make an appointment with you for a reading.”
I shuffled through the stack. There had to be thirty messages. “Reading?”
“Yes. People want to pay you money to predict their futures.”
“Predict their futures?” I repeated, dropping the messages on the table.
Mom stepped back into the living room, a frown on her face. “It’s called a reading, Caryn.”
“But, Mom, I’ve never given one before.” Was she serious? For total strangers? How could I?
Mom stared at me like that was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “Sure you have, Caryn. Not a formal one maybe, but you do it all the time.”
“Yeah, but these people would expect me to, you know, be accurate.” I picked up the messages and tried to give them back to her.
Mom put her hands behind her back “Yes, and you usually are accurate, Caryn. Why don’t you give it a try and see if you like it?”
Confessions of a Teenage Psychic Page 20
