“Oh, Mom, I just couldn’t.”
Mom looked at me pleadingly. “We should take advantage of the publicity. These are paying customers, honey, and it could be really good business for the store too.”
People not only wanted me to give them my psychic insights, but they were willing to pay for it? I kicked the thought around in my head for a few minutes. On the one hand, I’d have to rev up my psychic abilities to give people their money’s worth. On the other hand I could also pick up a little cash that would come in handy on my visit to Houston this summer. On the other hand…
“You’re only entitled to two hands!” said a laughing voice in my head.
I stifled a giggle. Mom raised her eyebrows at me, so I said, “Nothing. Just Uncle Omar.”
She just shook her head.
“How much do you think I should charge people?” I asked, trying to remember how much Astros tickets cost. “Ten dollars?”
“Ten dollars?” Mom said, pausing on her way back to the kitchen.
“Too much?”
“Not enough! At least twenty. You’re worth every penny.”
I flopped my head back on the sofa trying to take it all in. People wanted me to tell them about their futures. Offering to pay me for my advice, and yet only a few days ago I was still pretending I made lucky guesses all the time. Things had changed so fast I could barely catch my breath. But I liked the idea of having a little money of my own, not having to depend on my parents all the time.
So I returned some of the phone calls and actually set up a few appointments. Just three for starters because, well, I’m a kid, and I also want to do normal stuff.
When I got to the store the next day after school, I couldn’t believe what I saw. The store was packed with customers, which of course was a good thing. But I didn’t know if I should help wait on people or go start my readings like Mom and I had agreed. I caught her eye and waved both of my arms over people’s heads. Mom didn’t have time to spare, but she pointed to the back room and then continued waiting on customers near the bookshelves. Sybil had a line of people at the cash register waiting to pay for their merchandise, so she couldn’t stop to talk either.
I smiled politely at people as I squeezed my way past them to the storeroom where I was supposed to begin my career as a professional psychic. I was nervous enough already, but all those people set my fears into hyper-drive. What if I gave someone bad advice? What if more of them wanted readings than the ones I’d counted on? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
Too late to back out now, though, since I’d already made appointments. Mom had set me up in a corner of the storeroom with a dinette table, two chairs, and a floor lamp. She even used Grandma’s white linen tablecloth to make it more attractive. It was pretty cozy and private, actually. But I was still nervous.
I sure could use some help right now.
I heard Uncle Omar laughing. “You’ll be G-R-E-A-T!”
I dropped my head in my hands but couldn’t help laughing too. “Uncle Omar, no one does that tiger thing anymore. It’s the twenty-first century now!”
But his joke helped me relax.
The lamp next to the table had a low-wattage bulb which cast a soft light, and on the table was a deck of playing cards.
Mom knows I don’t need props to read people so it must be for effect only, but since I didn’t know what else to do, I picked them up, shuffled, and dealt out a hand of solitaire.
“Uh, Caryn?” I heard a familiar voice call out.
“Back here!”
My first customer had arrived— Harris Rutherford! He grinned at me shyly, shook my hand, sat in the chair opposite me, and fidgeted for a moment before finally speaking.
“Um, are you going to read my future with cards?”
“No,” I said, stacking the cards back into a deck. “I was just fooling around. Now, what do you want to know?”
I guess what he wanted to ask was really important because he looked me in the eye and blurted out his question without waiting another second. “Why don’t the girls at school like me?”
Talk about a loaded question. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings with the truth, and I didn’t want Harris to think I wasn’t taking his question seriously. So I thought for a minute and focused really hard on his problem.
Finally it came to me like a lightning bolt. “Remember last October when I told you to concentrate on getting good grades?”
He nodded and his shoulders slumped like he already knew what I was going to say, but I was sure he didn’t.
“Well, all that hard work is going to pay off, Harris. You’re going to some kind of camp this summer where there’ll be lots of other brainiac kids like you. All because of that 4.0 you earned this year.”
His smile was crooked, but he didn’t seem very happy with that answer. “Yeah, I just got accepted to a science camp held by some local pharmaceutical company, but that’s not— ”
“Who’s Jenna?” I interrupted him.
He frowned and then shrugged. “I don’t know any Jenna.”
I smiled, because I liked this particular vision. “You will. You’ll meet her at that camp this summer, and she’ll become a good friend. The two of you will have lots in common. You know, science stuff.”
I saw a whole roomful of geeky kids like Harris, all engrossed in their science projects, and I knew he’d fit right in and be happy. And Jenna? She’s shorter than Harris, has curly brown hair and wears thick-rimmed eyeglasses that actually suit her. She’s cute and has that intellectual type of humor that most kids don’t get, but Harris does. I knew he’d like her.
Harris looked skeptical, though. “Do you really think so? I mean, so far girls… ” He didn’t finish and even without psychic powers, I knew what he wanted to say.
“Trust me, Harris, this girl Jenna’s really gonna like you.”
A smile slowly crept onto Harris’s face. He’s kinda cute when he smiles like that. “Well, thanks, Caryn. How much do I owe you?”
It just didn’t seem right to charge him money, and I remembered something I’d told myself last month in Mrs. York’s class. “About three or four math-tutoring sessions next fall should do it. Maybe. I’m really bad at math,” I said.
Harris beamed. “Okay, great! I’ll call you in August.”
He stood up, shook my hand again, and walked away with more swagger than I’d seen all year.
And that was my first professional reading!
It was way past the store’s usual six o’clock closing time when I finished my last reading— a college student who wanted to know if the guy she was dating was Mr. Right (he wasn’t!)— and I felt a rumbling in my stomach as I made my way out of the darkened back room and into the brighter lights of the shop. Standing near the cash register, with a big smile on his face, was Quince. Hello, butterflies!
“Hi, Caryn!”
I managed to smile back at him. “Hi, yourself.”
“I know I said something about coffee, but I’m famished and wondered if you’d like to go get a burger with me instead.”
Wow! Quince Adams was asking me for a date, and all I had to do was open my mouth and accept. But of course, I was speechless.
“But if you’re busy… ” he said, after a lengthy pause.
“No! I’d love to go!” Congratulations, Caryn, you did it.
“Great!”
Quince held the door open for me, and as we strolled out into the warm, early-evening sunshine, I saw Uncle Omar leaning on a parking meter. “Told ya so,” he said with a wink.
“Thanks, Uncle Omar,” I said under my breath.
“Did you say something?” Quince asked.
I looked up again but all I saw was a car parallel parking next to that meter. I smiled at Quince. “Oh, just telling myself how lucky I am to be here with you.”
Quince smiled back at me and took my hand as we walked down the street to the fast-food restaurant.
Lesson #2: It’s okay to stand up for what
you believe.
I never was in favor of Megan’s protest march against the administration for trying to force kids to wear school uniforms. But this time it looks like the kids won.
The news media have stayed all over the big walkout story and been following up on it for days now, with interviews of school administrators, parents, PTA officers, and even the superintendent. Their slant is that Rosslyn High School will be the laughingstock of not only the city, but the state and possibly the country (slight exaggeration but it sells newspapers), if they force public school students to wear uniforms, as if Rosslyn is a private school. According to Janae, Superintendent Pruitt is getting hundreds of phone calls and e-mails from angry parents and embarrassed community leaders, including the mayor of Indianapolis.
So today, the superintendent caved under all that pressure and issued a statement that in the future, students will be strictly held to the current dress code, but uniforms will not be required. Cha-ching!
Lesson #3: Sometimes people get away with things and sometimes they don’t.
Take Megan Benedict, for instance. She’s the Teflon Kid. Despite being the ringleader, all she officially got was a slap on the wrist and a stern talking-to. Mrs. Renfrow assigned her to three days in DLC— Directed Learning Center— which is supposed to make kids think they’re in an educational environment instead of serving in-school suspension. She also had to write a letter of apology to the superintendent, which she did, but in a final act of defiance she sent off a copy to the newspaper. They gladly published it on the “Letters to the Editor” page. Here’s what it said:
Dear Superintendent Pruitt:
I’m a sophomore at Rosslyn High School. I led the student body in the protest march last week against school uniforms, which brought lots of publicity to the school. As a student, I’m sorry I had to disobey school rules in order to get this issue out in the open, but no kids got hurt by being out of the building for a couple of hours. I’m also sorry for embarrassing you, Mr. Pruitt, but it was worth it for the administrators to see what a huge mistake they were making. Thank you for changing your mind about making us wear uniforms.
Sincerely,
Megan Benedict
Some apology, huh? What really saved her, though, was her dad making a huge cash donation to the school. Janae’s been happily spreading the news that next year we’ll have all new computers in a renovated lab, thanks to Mr. Benedict’s generosity.
But on the other side of the getting-away-with-it spectrum is Kensington Marlow. She probably wouldn’t have gotten in much trouble at all if she hadn’t taken her shirt off and displayed her underwear for the TV-viewing public. Kensi was asked— no, TOLD— to go home and not return for the rest of the school year, even though there were only a few days of school left. That means she didn’t get to take her final exams, so her already-low grade point average took an even bigger nosedive. Next year, according to Janae, Kensi will be assigned to an alternative school. No cheerleading, no student council, just Kensi and some other at-risk kids in a converted elementary building somewhere in downtown Indianapolis, doing lessons on computers all day.
The ironic thing about Kensi’s downfall— sorry, it was too good to pass up!— is what it did for Emma’s political career. She’s been bumped from vice president to president of the student council after Kensi’s removal, much to Emma’s amazement and to my relief, because I’d seriously begun to doubt myself. I guess everything happens for a reason though, and there’s no timeline for psychic predictions.
The day after the protest, Mrs. Renfrow summoned Emma and Janae Thomas to her office, where she informed them of her decision to promote Emma to president and Janae to vice president.
Afterward, Emma came storming up to me in the hallway. “Caryn, can you believe it! Now I have to be student council president just because Kensi couldn’t keep her shirt on!”
“Well, Emma, I said— ”
“Oh, don’t go all ‘I told you so’ on me,” she said, hands on hips. “This is going to ruin my summer!”
“It is not,” I insisted.
“Because now I have to go to that student council forum after all. Talk about a waste of a whole week! And what about the design camp I really wanted to go to?”
I shook my head. “Wow. A week in Washington DC at the school’s expense. Tough luck, Emma.”
Her shoulders slumped. “But you know how I feel about political stuff! I really want to go to that clothing design camp.”
“You’ll do both,” I said.
“How do you know?” Emma frowned, like she really expected a logical answer. Then she rolled her eyes. “Oh. Well, you don’t have to be so smug about it!” And she flounced off down the hall.
So here’s how things are shaping up for the summer for everyone:
Megan’s sister Caroline told her she could invite a few friends to her wedding so that Megan would have the company of kids her own age. She decided on Jeremy Harper for her date, and Emma and Kevin, and then she invited Quince and me, officially recognizing us as a couple. I’m thrilled to be invited, especially since Mr. Benedict is shelling out big bucks for his daughter’s wedding. It’s going to be held outdoors at some big country club up in Belford, and Megan tells me the whole thing was mostly planned by her stepmother. It’s pretty cool getting to go to such a romantic event with the guy who’s been my crush all year. There will be an actual orchestra— not just a DJ— and I’ll have to do some practicing ahead of time, because Quince is a very good dancer. I wonder if Uncle Omar could teach me some moves? Nah! Too 70s.
After the wedding, Megan’s off to Ball State University where she’ll be attending a camp for future architects. I guess they have some prestigious architecture school up there, and supposedly high school kids who are invited to attend the camp have a good shot at being admitted to the university when the time comes. Miss Emerson, the art teacher, recommended her for the camp which means Megan really has talent.
Annabeth is off to her family’s summer house on Lake Michigan. She promised to call me often while I’m in Houston, and we’re definitely getting together as soon as we both get back to town in August.
Ashleigh and Harris are each attending smart-kid camps— Harris to that science camp and Ashleigh to some month-long camp in New Hampshire for gifted math kids. I guess that’s their idea of a good time, but it makes my head throb thinking about spending the summer doing equations.
I was a little worried about my mom being lonesome while I’m down in Texas, since every other time I’ve stayed at my dad’s she was only a few miles away across town. I asked her if she’d be okay here by herself.
“Honey, don’t give it a thought. I have the store and Sybil, and George has promised to keep me occupied while you’re away.”
So I guess Mom and Mr. Desmond are becoming a hot item. Who would’ve thought old folks could still enjoy romance?
Then I started worrying about being away from Quince while I’m out of state, and wondering if he’d find a new girlfriend over the summer. I guess I’m still pretty insecure where he’s concerned.
“Caryn, give me some credit,” he said, tugging on my ponytail. “It took me all year to realize you were the girl for me, and I’m not backing down from it now. And did I tell you I’ll be in Houston in July?”
I was thrilled. “Houston? Really?”
“Yeah, I’m attending a weeklong baseball camp at some university down there. It’s gonna be pretty hot out I guess, but there are a bunch of professional ball players running the camp, and I could really learn a lot.” He took my hand and melted my heart with a smile. “Do you think we could get together?”
I felt almost giddy. “Are you serious? I wouldn’t miss it! And I can introduce you to my dad.”
Quince got a funny look on his face, and it occurred to me that being introduced to the girl’s father isn’t every teenage boy’s dream.
“Unless you’d rather not.”
“No, I’d like to meet your dad.”
<
br /> Okay, I’m not totally convinced, but it’s still cool I’ll be able to see him some while we’re both in Texas.
“I’m so glad that school’s over. It’s been a long year,” I told him.
“Yeah, and by the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you… ”
I smiled. “Ask me what?”
“Remember last October? And we’d just met— ”
Uh-oh.
“— when you told me about my mother’s diabetes. How did you know that?”
“Just a lucky psychic guess,” was all I said.
Someday I’ll get up the nerve to tell Quince that I can also talk to spirits, but today isn’t that day. I just smiled at him, squeezed his hand, and looked up into those smiling blue eyes of his.
And speaking of spirits, what about Uncle Omar? I still see him everywhere, or sometimes I just hear his voice when I don’t actually see him. I’m kind of getting used to having him in my life— almost as if I wasn’t talking to a dead dude. He gives me good advice sometimes, and other times it’s like having an extra parent to correct me.
“Are you going to Houston with me?” I asked him one day.
“You kidding? Sun, surf, hot chicks. I’m there!”
He’s still got his sense of humor.
I can’t wait to see my dad. I fly out of Indianapolis the day after Caroline Benedict’s wedding, and I’ll be in Houston until mid-August. Dad has promised to take me to baseball games, the beach, a new art museum that’s opened, and picnics in the park near their apartment.
Want to hear something crazy? I’m dreading the hot, sticky weather down there. Maybe I’m becoming a Hoosier after all.
It’s late in the afternoon on the last day of school and the hallways are filled with kids who mostly haven’t been in a classroom since lunchtime. We’re all watching the clock tick down the minutes until summer vacation begins, almost like we’re ringing in a new calendar year instead of ending the school year. As I look around, I finally feel like I fit in here. I’ve gone from being a self-conscious loner to having friends who accept me for myself— psychic abilities and all.
Confessions of a Teenage Psychic Page 21
