Auracle

by Gina Rosati

  Rei looks at me for a long minute, then shakes his head. “No, that’s not a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s the middle of the day, Anna. You can’t just … no, it’s a bad idea.”

  “Okay, fine.” I shrug, turn around, and keep walking. “You go to class. Seth can figure out what to do about his phone. And I’ll just go home.”

  “Now you’re mad.”

  “I’m not. I promise.” I stop and hold out my pinkie finger out of habit, and he locks his pinkie finger and his eyes with mine. He’s looking for assurances that I’m not mad, and I’m not really, more annoyed. I release his finger and start walking again.

  “Rei,” I ask gently, because I know how he can get sometimes, “Remember when you used to think my trips were kind of cool?”

  “Yeah, and I used to think my Power Rangers underwear were cool, too.”

  He says this with such a straight face, I crack up laughing. “But they were cool, especially when you wore that red cape with them.” There, I got a little smile out of him. “You used to think what I did was magical,” I remind him.

  “It is, Anna. It’s cool and you will always be that magical, mystical, Auracle girl who impresses the hell out of me because I can’t figure out how you do it.”

  “Really? I impress you? Wow! That’s hard to do,” I tease him.

  “The point is, the more I learn about physics, the more I realize what you do is also really dangerous.”

  “How is it dangerous?” I ask. “When I’m out there, I’m all energy. There’s nothing to hurt.”

  Rei’s parents’ store is about fifty feet away, landmarked by a red awning under the rustic wooden sign that says,

  Yumi’s Market

  Organics ~ Reiki ~ Yoga

  He sees it and he takes my hand to stop me. “This is not textbook physics, Anna; this is metaphysics. And yes, there’s plenty to hurt,” he insists. “You tell me you can move through space at light speed. What if you get sucked into a black hole? Nothing comes out of a black hole.”

  “God, Rei,” I would laugh if he didn’t look so serious, “what are the chances of that happening?”

  “I don’t know, but do you want to take the chance? And what if there was a fire in your house? You’d come back and find yourself cremated. What if your father came in your room while you were gone and you didn’t come back in time?” His eyes leave mine for a flash second and travel up to the fine white scar near my hairline.

  “I’ve already told you. If something bothers my body, I feel a tug right here,” I point to my belly button. “And I know you hate my father, but…”

  “I don’t hate him. I just don’t trust him,” he points out.

  No, I’m pretty sure he hates him, and there are days when I hate him, too. But at the end of the day, he’s still my father. Even though I barricade my bedroom door, I don’t believe he would seriously hurt me on purpose.

  Still …

  Rei brings up logical points. I know there are risks when I leave my body, but I don’t see how it is any riskier than crossing the street. The cord that tethers me to my body is like an emergency switch, and I trust I’ll feel that tug if I’m in any kind of danger.

  I don’t know if my ability to astrally project at will is a talent or if I’m just a freak, but I consider it a gift. How else would I get to visit so many places, some of which I couldn’t get to even if I had a zillion dollars? And I love that rush, that feeling of euphoria that comes with traveling at the speed of light. I’ve been coming and going for so long, I can’t imagine what my life would be like if I were stuck in this body with no means of escape. I’d probably go insane from claustrophobia. This is not something I want to do; it’s something I need to do, but it’s not a bad need … not like my father needs to drink. This is different.

  Isn’t it?

  “I’m sorry,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say. Knowing that Rei doesn’t approve of my favorite hobby makes me sad, and I hate that every trip is peppered with guilt. He still has my hand in his, and he squeezes it before he lets go.

  “You don’t have to apologize for your father.”

  “I’m not. I’m just…” I look up at the signs on the windows that advertise so many good and healthy things within. I know Rei is only looking out for me, trying to protect me, just like he always does. I just feel that sometimes he’s trying to protect me from … me.

  CHAPTER 7

  Rei would leap over tall buildings to get me to eat healthy stuff, so my brilliant plan to change the subject is to suggest we get some fruit salad from his parents’ store. Yumi is at the cash register ringing up one of her infamous Bento boxes for a girl named Chelsea, who is in my chemistry class. “Hey, you two!” she calls out to us in her singsong voice that’s laced with only a trace of an accent.

  Yumi’s store is a gold mine. Not only is it an easy walk from the high school, but Yumi is a fantastic cook, she’s very artistic, and she knows what kids like to eat. We like to eat food that is kawaii. Even I will eat raw fish as long as it’s cute. Yumi makes these adorable Bento boxes where she shapes rice, chopped vegetables, nori, fish, all kinds of things, into adorable little animal faces. Who wouldn’t want to eat a happy panda rice ball?

  “That’s three dollars and twenty-nine cents,” Yumi tells Chelsea, “from five.” Cha-ching!

  Rei immediately heads around the counter and helps himself to a disposable but still environmentally safe bowl, then fills it with fruit salad.

  “You want chopsticks or a fork?” he asks me.

  “Surprise me,” I tell him.

  He grins and reaches for the chopsticks.

  We have successfully changed the subject. During the ride home, Rei plugs his iPod into the car speakers and we crank up the volume. Yumi does make the best fruit salad. While Rei drives, I chopstick up chunks of pineapple and honeydew and feed them to him because those are his favorites.

  “I’ll call you tonight,” he tells me when he drops me off in my driveway.

  “Okay, thanks. Have fun in class.”

  * * *

  My father is on his recliner, collecting dust. The bottle is down about six inches, which means that he’s still fairly sober by my standards, but I know better than to tickle the dragon. I slip past him, unnoticed, grab a can of soda from the fridge, and lock myself in my bedroom. It’s three-thirty. I’m pretty sure the note said she’d meet him at four o’clock.

  I didn’t tell Rei I wouldn’t go. There were no promises requested and no promises offered. He just didn’t think it was a good idea. Okay, so maybe he said it was a bad idea. But still …

  I change into a pair of gym shorts and my favorite black T-shirt, the one with the puddle bunny on it, and I pull out the hair tie that holds my ponytail. My door is locked, and I push the desk chair up under the knob. My alarm clock is set just loud enough to remind me that I need to return before my mom gets home from her business trip, but not so loud it would draw my father’s attention. The entire conversation with Rei has sucked away the joy that usually accompanies me on my trips. I punch at my pillow to get it just right, and shimmy around until I’m comfortable. There’s a water stain on my ceiling that’s shaped like a turtle. I stare at it for a while to relax.

  Within about ten minutes, the tingle has spread from my bare toes up through my legs and into my back. As soon as I hear a slight buzzing sound, I know I’m ready. I feel myself detaching, releasing, lifting, and I’m free, floating over my body. If anyone ever walked in on me, it looks like I’m peacefully sleeping. Before I leave, I check around my house: the stove is off, and my father is in his usual catatonic state. Rei’s just got me paranoid, I remind myself. Everything will be fine. It’s time to see what Taylor’s up to.

  Scientists claim that the fastest thing in the universe is light, which travels at about 186,282 miles per second. I’ve never clocked myself, but I know I’m faster. All I really have to do is think of a place and I’m there. The water
falls are still rushing wild with spring runoff, so loud it sounds like a supersonic jet is flying ten feet over my head. Nobody’s here except the trees and the bushes, which have stood patiently, year after year, glowing in their own soft blue aura.

  I backtrack down both trails until I find Taylor parading down the path in strappy gold sandals with sparkly faux gemstones. Well, at least she’s smart enough to leave her high heels at home. In order to avoid the last dregs of mud from ruining her shoes, she walks along the edge of the trail, through long grass intermingled with patches of shiny green leaves. Part of me would like to materialize and tell her to get the hell out of the poison ivy, but it’s too late for that now.

  I can only see someone’s aura when I’m out of my body, so I’ve never seen Taylor’s colors before. I’ve always pictured her to be a powerful, confident red, like a chili pepper, but instead, she is surrounded by a murky hot dog pink. Other than her aura, she does look very pretty. She’s wearing a full skirt in a kaleidoscope of colors that catches the breeze and flutters just below her knees as she walks, and a gauzy black blouse fastened by a dozen silver buttons up the front. Her fingernails are so long they have to be fake, and they’re painted with shiny gold polish.

  Peeking out from beneath those golden fingernails, I spy Seth’s phone.

  As soon as she steps onto the ledge, it’s apparent she’s not here on a sightseeing tour. She ignores the falls, concentrating on where she should sit for maximum exposure. She considers both paths that merge onto the ledge, one from the right and one from the left, and chooses dead center to sit down, a spot that’s easily facing both paths. Alternating between several provocative poses, she settles for one where her legs are tucked to the side and she’s leaning back on one hand, her hair draped over her shoulder. She tucks the phone under her skirt, out of sight, then slips her sandals off and tosses them to the side, making sure her golden toenails are peeking out from under the skirt.

  It sounds like a wild animal is stampeding down the path, crushing dead leaves and snapping twigs under its heavy hooves. Taylor cocks her head, listening, rearranging her face into a wide, innocent smile. I wait to see if it’s a bear or a moose, but no, it’s only Seth, surrounded by the color of boiled lobster.

  “I figured it was you,” he snarls.

  “Hi…”

  “Where’s my phone?”

  “… Seth. Can we just talk for a minute, please?”

  “No! Give me my phone.”

  “Seth, please…” but Seth cuts her off.

  “Look! You stole my phone; you left that stupid note on my locker. Well, here I am. Give me my phone!”

  “I know it was wrong to take your phone, but I couldn’t think of another way to get you to talk to me. Can’t you at least give me a chance?”

  “A chance for what?”

  “I just…” she squirms where she sits, and the pinkness around her pales. “I want us to get to know each other better.”

  “I know you well enough,” Seth charges up to her and holds out his hand. “Give me my phone. Now!”

  She stands up slowly and, clutching the phone behind her, takes a step backward. Her eyes are calculating.

  Seth makes a grab for her arm, but she scoots back three steps. She is just two steps away from the slippery edge, and the mist from the falls is coating her bare feet. Get away from the edge, you idiot! I shout at her even though she can’t hear me. If Rei were here, he would be having a heart attack.

  “Why don’t you like me?” Taylor demands to know.

  “Because I don’t.” Seth is eyeing the distance between them, and I cross my ethereal fingers he’s not stupid enough to do what I think he’s going to do.

  “Are you…” A nasty little smile narrows her eyes. “Do you like any girls?”

  It takes Seth a few seconds to process this question. I’m expecting a big, bad, four-letter reaction from him, but he surprises me with a short, bitter laugh. “You think because I’m not interested in a slut like you I must be gay … why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  Her expression morphs into something sinister and underneath her murky pink aura, a layer of olive green rises up from her skin like a fog. Now I expect her to provide the four-letter reaction, but she’s so furious that nothing but, “Fffffffffffff,” fizzles from her mouth. She winds up to hurl Seth’s phone into oblivion, but time slips into slow motion.

  She swings around too quickly and loses her footing on the slick stone. Her eyes and mouth pop open, arms pinwheel. As her feet slide off the ledge and gravity begins to suck her into the falls, Seth grabs the first part of Taylor he can reach. His right foot steps back hard to balance himself, and I can tell by the tightening of his mouth that he’s got her weight secured. The gauzy shirt he’s grabbed is not up to task, though, and silver buttons snap off in quick succession. As the last button pops free and her shirt splays wide open, she drops even farther toward the rocks and screams bloody murder. All of her weight dangles from this one wet clump of fraying cloth in Seth’s fist. She swings like a pendulum, clawing frantically at Seth’s slippery arm. Her acrylic nails leave deep bloody gouges down his arm to his wrist.

  “Give me your other hand!”

  It looks like she’s trying, but her arm seems paralyzed. “I can’t!” she whimpers.

  Seth goes down on one knee, leaning back to give himself some leverage. He has no problem handling her weight; it’s the spray from the mist and the blood that he’s fighting against.

  “You wanna die? Give me your hand!” he yells harshly.

  Her bare feet backpedal against the side of the slippery rock, doing nothing more than loosening her grip on Seth’s wrist and his grip on her shirt.

  “Stop kicking! Give me your other hand!”

  But she can’t stop kicking. Some feral instinct has taken over and her feet are fighting for her life. Seth reaches out farther with his other hand, careful not to get pulled in himself, but the slippery mist mixed with his blood makes their hands slip-slide against each other, inch by inch.

  I wish there was something I could do, but without my body, I’ve only ever managed to lift very small things. I try to grab her other hand, just in case I can lift it up high enough for Seth to grab, but she just thrashes right through me.

  When their grip breaks, she screams and her eyes bulge wide as gravity sucks her down toward the rushing water. There is a terrible silence when her head hits the first rock. The bright colors of her skirt tumble merrily over flailing arms and legs as her body is flung erratically over the boulders by the rushing water. And then she’s gone, swallowed up by the river below.

  Time stops. Except for a sudden chilling breeze rustling through Seth’s hair, the omnipresent roar of the falls, and the ragged rattle of Seth’s breath, everything is static. The only witnesses to Taylor’s accident are the birds and the trees.

  And me.

  I wish I could remember what the symptoms of shock were. Seth’s skin has faded to the color of tapioca pudding; his pupils are huge; and his sweat suddenly smells like raw onions. All that boiled red surrounding him is gone, replaced by a shadowy gray. Is that shock?

  I wish Rei was here. I’m mentally kicking myself now for talking him out of coming, because I know with all certainty that if Rei had come, none of this would have happened. Rei would have figured out a way to defuse this. He would never have allowed Taylor to stand so close to the edge. He would have picked her up and carried her to a safe place if he had to. Yes, if I hadn’t talked Rei out of coming, Taylor would be alive right now and Seth would have his phone tucked safely in his pocket.

  Seth stands up shakily and looks downstream. The river elbows off to the right, and the view is obscured by newly sprouted leaves. I feel the familiar tug at my stomach, telling me it’s time to get back. The alarm clock must have gone off, but thankfully, the volume is low, so I buy a few extra seconds to look downstream for Taylor’s body. About a quarter mile past the bend, I find her body bobbing in a calm, shallow spot
by the shore, her skirt caught fast on the branch of a fallen birch tree. I feel that tug again, more insistent this time, but I can’t stop staring. Her buttonless shirt undulates to the rhythm of the current, exposing her badly scraped torso. Her hair drifts on the surface like undrained spaghetti, framing a deep purple gouge just above her ear that has been washed clean by the moving water, revealing splinters of crushed skull and what can only be brain matter.

  Surprisingly, the rest of her face is unmarked. Her arms and legs are bent at unnatural angles, covered in deep slashes. Three of the acrylic fingernails on her right hand are bent backward, no doubt from clawing onto Seth’s arm. All traces of makeup have been washed off her face, and she looks younger, more innocent than the Taylor I had known. I feel an overwhelming sadness for her. Nobody deserves such a brutal ending.

  I feel another, more insistent tug, but I just want to check on Seth before I go back.

  I wonder how many of her girlfriends knew she was meeting Seth here today. Probably all of them. I zip back to the ledge and find Seth flinging Taylor’s sandals into the falls, followed by a long string of swear words that end in one raw sob.

  Poor Seth. I’ve seen him rage, but I’ve never seen him cry before, not when he was a little kid or even when his mother left. I’m not sure if he’s crying because he’s genuinely sad that Taylor Gleason is dead or because he can read the graffiti on the rocks and it says, You are screwed, boy.

  One of the silver buttons from Taylor’s shirt catches the sunlight and winks up at me from a crack in the rock. Evidence. I summon up enough energy to flick it into the water. I hate to leave Seth like this, but I really have to get back. The tugging sensation seems to have given up on me, but my mom will be home soon; plus, I need to talk to Rei. I am the only human eyewitness. If Taylor’s girlfriends talk to the police, I am the only one who can vouch for Seth’s innocence. He tried to save her. He really did.

  Seth is no longer crying. He’s just sitting there surrounded by a despondent shade of gray. “Go home, Seth,” I tell him, even though he can’t hear me.