PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  Ricky stares at me with bleary brown eyes. He looks dumbfounded. He must think I’m crazy.

  The fuzzyheaded blondes crowd close. They push me away. “She’s drunk,” one of them says.

  “Leave our brother alone,” says the girl with the 343 tattoo. “He’s off limits to bimbos.”

  I stare at the tattoo on her arm. 343 of Ricky’s comrades who died.

  I can’t help myself. I lean in and hug Ricky with all of my might.

  He hugs me back. “Yo, babe, this must be my lucky night.”

  I don’t mind his words. I now know who he really is—the haunted man inside. His sunburned face, gold chain, and macho swaggering are all cover for a broken man. I want to take his agony away, to do something to help him. I want to tell him he’s wrong, that he’s the bravest of the brave. I saw—felt—how he walks through the pain daily, without choice. What could be braver than that?

  One of his sisters yanks me away. “Get away from him!”

  “She’s shit-faced out of her mind,” says another.

  “What a freak,” says the tattooed girl. “Typical Californicator.”

  Ricky stares at me with those eyes, and I can see that on some level he knows I’ve seen into his soul. His swaggering macho is gone.

  I touch his face. He steps back, clearly unnerved. He obviously doesn’t know what to make of me. A chick with mascara running down her face is not exactly booty-call material.

  “You are a hero, Ricky,” I say, “You’re a hero to me.”

  I walk to my car, sobbing. Ricky’s pain is in my soul, flooding through me like a thick, black, suffocating poison.

  I don’t know how he can bear it.

  I drive home, trembling so hard I can hardly steer. I got the information I wanted. My fears have been confirmed. I can indeed hear the thoughts of guys who kiss me. Not only do I have a freakishly abnormal power to read minds, I can now see behind the masks people wear.

  It’s my new gift.

  And curse.

  3

  Miranda and I are jogging along The Strand. The boardwalk is crowded with early morning runners and rollerbladers getting their exercise before long commutes to UCLA or downtown Los Angeles for work. The waves crash with a thunderous yet comforting sound as the sun peeks over the horizon. The lifeguard towers sit like California monuments, tall and white and demanding respect.

  “This is too early for me,” Miranda gripes. “I hope it’s important.” Her blonde hair is swept back in a peppy ponytail. She’s wearing a green and red jogging suit and bright red running shoes. She looks like a Christmas ornament.

  “It is important,” I say. The early morning air tingles in my lungs as my body sweats off the stress of the last few days. “I’ve discovered something about myself, something exciting and terrifying. Something hard to believe.”

  “You finally discovered you’re an alien? I’ve been telling you that for years,” Miranda says, her tone playful.

  “Almost,” I reply in a serious voice. “I can read minds.”

  Miranda bursts into laughter. “So Ethan was right? You’re messing with me.” She shakes her head, snickering as we trot along. “C’mon, tell me what’s really going on.”

  “I’m serious.” I look over and meet her eyes. “I’m not kidding.”

  Miranda stops dead on the concrete path, causing a bike rider to swerve around her, cursing. “What the hell do you mean, you can read minds?”

  “Shh, not so loud!” I spot a group of guys from the track team jogging toward us. “People will think we’re crazy.”

  “You are crazy if you believe this.”

  I grab Miranda and yank her off the boardwalk. “We need to talk in private.” I steer her toward the beach. We climb over a low concrete wall that separates the boardwalk from the sand and head toward the water. We find a place to sit, next to a pile of washed-up seaweed.

  “What is going on?” Miranda leans in, studying me intently.

  I take a deep breath and describe what happened with Ethan at the movies and my experiment at Malone’s. I give her every detail of Ricky and 9/11. I describe the pain I felt through his thoughts and how his memories haunt me. I tell her how I haven’t been able to sleep from fear of having this strange ability.

  When I’m finished, Miranda is speechless for the first time in her life. She looks skeptical, one eyebrow lifted while she chews on her bottom lip. I know she wants to believe me, but something is obviously holding her back. Finally she says, “Do you think you should see a doctor or something?”

  “I don’t need to see a doctor!” I say in exasperation. “There’s nothing wrong with me except I can hear a guy’s thoughts when I kiss him.”

  “That’s all? Oh, okay.” She stares me down. “You need a doctor.”

  “What good would that do? A doctor won’t believe me. He’ll send me the nuthouse or put me on anti-psychotics. Is that what you want? And by the way, this can’t get back to my mom. You know how she is. Even when I’m having my period, she thinks I’m on drugs.”

  “Are you on drugs?”

  “Come on!”

  Miranda rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure your mom doesn’t find out you’ve gone bonkers.” She grins. “Anyway, if this is true . . . ” She pauses to scrutinize me. “And I’m not saying I believe you, but if it is true, you’ll have to be careful. We can’t chance you getting confiscated by the federal government for lab experiments or something.”

  I nod. It’s already crossed my mind that the government might love to get their hands on someone like me. A power like this would be coveted by presidents and gamblers alike. My life would be ruined if this secret got out. I want to remain a normal teenage girl. Miranda is the only one I can trust.

  “Have you tried it on a female, or only guys?” she asks.

  “I haven’t tried it on girls, no,” I say in annoyance. “I prefer to kiss guys, thank you very much. C’mon, Miranda, don’t you know me at all?”

  “But how do you know it doesn’t work on everyone? Why don’t you try kissing me to find out?”

  “Gross! You’re my best friend. That’s disgusting!”

  Miranda bursts out laughing at my expression. “Thanks a lot.” She gives me a shove. “Trust me, I don’t want to kiss you, either. Or any girl for that matter. But how else do you plan on convincing me you haven’t lost your mind?”

  “And what if I can’t hear your thoughts? Then what?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. But first, let’s see if you can hear what I’m thinking right now.”

  Miranda grabs my neck and yanks me forward for a pursed, tightly closed peck.

  I hear nothing.

  She stares. “So?”

  I shrug, trying not to let doubts niggle me. “Sometimes it takes a second to kick in. We’ll probably need to do it for a bit longer.”

  “Okay.”

  “But no open mouth or you’re dead!”

  Miranda comes at me again with her pinched fish lips. I press mine to hers and hold them there for a second. We hear hoots and hollers from the boardwalk. Some guys are getting their jollies at seeing two girls kiss.

  If she’s crazy, then I’ll still be there for her. I’ll visit her in the loony bin and bring her soup. I don’t know what to believe. But I’d better think of something original if she’s really going to read my mind. I wonder if I should think about the fact that Billy and I had sex for the first time the other night.

  Then, images.

  Billy’s face is above mine as he pants and gasps, his eyes rolled back and mouth lolling open. It’s not a pretty image.

  I gasp. “Ew! Omigod! You had sex with Billy?”

  Miranda looks sheepish. “I couldn’t help it.”

  “I thought you were going to wait until marriage.”

  “It happened so fast. After our walk on the pier the other night, we kicked back in his car listening to music. He reclined the seats and we started making out. One th
ing led to another and before I knew what was happening, we were doing it. The weirdest part was that Beyonce was singing the ‘Single Ladies’ song on the radio and Billy was moving in time to the beat. Not the most romantic experience.”

  “Was it . . . okay besides that?” I’ve heard a lot about sex and seen it advertised everywhere, so I’m curious if it’s as great as it seems. I’m a virgin and want to wait for a very special guy or marriage, whichever comes first.

  Miranda shrugs. “I guess. It was over quick. He just sat up and pulled on his pants. Totally overrated, if you ask me.” A sad look passes across her face. “He wanted to go home right after. I felt sort of used.”

  We sit in silence for a moment. Then Miranda gasps. “Do you realize what we’re doing right now? We’re discussing something that you saw in my thoughts, as if it’s no big deal. Oh my God! You read my mind!” She stares at me wide-eyed, her mouth dropped open.

  Seeing Miranda’s expression, the enormity of the situation hits me. I truly have a supernatural ability. I can’t explain how I got it or why, but there’s no denying I can read any person’s mind—male or female—as long as our lips touch. A kiss will never be just a kiss again.

  My chest constricts at this twist of fate.

  Miranda and I stare at each other for a long moment, the waves pounding behind us with a dull sound that mimics the hollow thudding in my brain. We can both read each other’s thoughts at this moment, without a kiss, as all best friends can. She’s thinking, Omigod, what does this all mean?

  And I’m thinking, I’m scared.

  ***

  As we jog back to our cars, Miranda seems lost in thought. I ask what’s on her mind.

  “I was thinking how lucky you are to have this kissing power,” she says. “You’ll be able to filter out jerks. You’ll be able to discover a guy’s character before you get serious with him.” She looks sad, the edges of her rosebud mouth turned down.

  “Do you regret what happened with Billy?” I ask gently.

  She nods, blinking hard. “Sorta.”

  “Maybe he just got freaked out,” I say. “It was probably his first time too.”

  “I’d just always hoped my first time would be more romantic. It felt like wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am.”

  I look at her petite, athletic body and pretty face and think Billy Timmons should feel lucky to have someone as great as Miranda. Instead, he always dismisses her. I’ve never understood what she sees in him. He might be cute in a slouchy-pants-and-backward-baseball-cap sort of way, but he always seems distracted, looking around at everything but Miranda. I wouldn’t put up with that in a guy. When I have a boyfriend, I want him to be completely into me.

  “I doubt Billy used you,” I lie. “You’ve been together six months. I’m sure he cares about you. He probably just felt weird and needed time to himself. Guys have a harder time with intimacy, you know.”

  “That’s what I hear.”

  “I hope you . . . used protection?”

  Miranda bites her lip and shakes her head. “We didn’t plan on it happening. He said he pulled out in time and that I didn’t need to worry.”

  “Be careful, okay? You’re too young to have a baby.”

  She nods. It’s weird to see Miranda’s usual animated self so subdued. We jog the rest of the way in silence until we reach our cars. Miranda’s red convertible BMW glistens in the sun next to my old Honda. It must be nice to be so rich.

  Despite our differences, I’ve never been jealous of Miranda. How could I be? She’s such a sweet, genuine person that you can’t help but love her. We’ve known each other since preschool. Our mothers aren’t close because they’re from such different walks of life (my mother is raising me on her own and works full-time, while Miranda’s mother attends charity events and gets her nails done), but that hasn’t stopped Miranda and me from becoming lifelong friends. She’s an only child, too, so we’re like sisters. Her money—or my lack of it—has never gotten in the way of our friendship.

  She stands by her car, keys in hand, looking contemplative.

  I give her a hug. “Don’t worry.”

  She hugs me back. “You don’t worry either, 'kay?”

  I force a nod. Easier said than done. I don’t know how I’m going to come to terms with my new power.

  “Hey,” Miranda says suddenly. “I have an idea.” Her eyes have that familiar mischievous glint in them.

  “What?”

  “Let’s have some fun before you leave.”

  I assess her skeptically. She always has something up her sleeve. Whenever she gets that look, it usually means trouble. For example, there was the time we tee-peed the head cheerleader’s house with mud-smeared toilet paper and had to run down the block in our nightgowns when her father came out with a flashlight. Another time we put an egg up the tailpipe of Kirby Cahill’s truck in the school parking lot. Kirby is the cutest guy on our track team, but an arrogant jerk. The egg blasted all over Principal Lang’s car, and Kirby had some ‘splaining to do. We still laugh about it.

  “What kind of fun?” I finally ask.

  She points at a middle-aged man in a suit, standing by his car and talking on a cell phone. “I want to know what he’s thinking,” she says, her cornflower blue eyes twinkling.

  I shake my head, suppressing a smile. “No. Absolutely not. Are you nuts? I’m not going to kiss a total stranger.”

  Miranda grins. “You did at Malone’s.”

  “That was different.”

  “Come on, just for fun. What’s that man thinking? I want to know.”

  “I won’t be used in this way,” I reply. “You can’t make me.”

  “How ‘bout if I bribe you? I’ll take you to Forever 17 and buy you whatever you want.”

  “Anything? A whole outfit, shoes, and accessories? I’ll need a banging outfit for the homecoming dance.” I’m giggling now, and so is she. Miranda always convinces me to do crazy stuff.

  “Everything. I’ll even throw in a purse.”

  “The silver one with the big flower that I’ve had my eye on?”

  “Done.”

  I look over at the man on the cell phone. It’ll be a trip kissing an older dude in a suit. I suppress a shudder. Little does he know what’s coming. I jog toward him with purpose, stop, and grab his head away from his conversation. I plant a big kiss on his flabbergasted, shocked face. He drops his cell phone.

  Flash!

  I see him shaking his boss’s hand. “Congratulations. You are now the youngest vice president of our company.” Suit-Guy is overwhelmed with joy, elated. Then he’s choosing an engagement ring for his girlfriend, a sparking solitaire set in platinum. He plans on proposing in a hot air balloon with champagne and chocolate-covered goji berries, her favorite.

  The man shoves me away. “What the hell!”

  Heat rushes to my face. “Sorry,” I say. “I . . . uh, thought you were someone else.”

  Miranda hoots. I look over to see her shaking with laughter, her hand to her mouth. I can tell she’s shocked I actually did it. This act of bravery even puts crank calling Miranda’s prissy cousin at Berkeley to shame, when we said she was on the plagiary list. Miranda had to deal with some angry relatives over that one!

  Suit-Guy’s face darkens. “Goddamn crazy teenagers.” He wipes his mouth with an angry gesture, his features twisted in disgust. He picks up his cell phone. “You’ll pay for this if it’s broken.”

  I race back to Miranda and tell her what I saw in Suit-Guy’s mind. She doubles over in gales of laughter.

  The man drives by, glaring at us through the open window of his SUV.

  “Congratulations on your promotion and engagement and the goji berries!” Miranda shouts after him.

  He brakes abruptly and backs up, sticking his head out the window. “Do I know you?” he asks, staring at us.

  We shake our heads.

  “No, sorry, wrong person again,” I say. Beside me, Miranda’s shoulders shake with laughter.

&nbs
p; The man’s eyebrows furrow into a sharp V and his nostrils flare. He floors the accelerator with a roar of the engine and races out of the parking lot, sending swirls of dust in our direction.

  Miranda and I dissolve into laughter. We hold on to each other, giggling so hard that it’s hard to catch our breaths.

  “Did you see his face?” Miranda says, grabbing her side. Her cheeks are pink from laughter. “He’s going to be wondering about this for months.”

  “He’ll probably get paranoid, wondering who put us up to it,” I say, and Miranda bursts into more giggles.

  Then a sober thought crosses my mind.

  “We need to be more careful with this,” I say. “We can’t let on to people that I know their thoughts. It could get us into huge trouble. As it is, Ethan from the mall knows.”

  “Don’t worry about him,” Miranda says, snorting. “He’ll forget about it after his next bong hit with the bros.” She twirls a strand of hair. “But you’re right. I wasn’t thinking back there. We should be careful. We can play and have fun but not let people know.”

  “Let’s make a pact. This is our secret only.”

  “Deal.”

  We pinky-swear, which means we’ll never break the promise. Then we hug and climb into our cars. We roll down our windows, idling side by side.

  “This is so bizarre,” Miranda says, grinning. “I can’t believe you have this . . . gift. Just think of all the fun adventures we’re going to have with it.”

  Right. Firefighter Ricky crosses my mind. I swallow hard as a trickle of anxiety makes its way down my spine. How am I going to handle this ability? It’s not all fun and games.

  “The world is lucky it’s me with the power and not you,” I say. “Or we’d all be in trouble.”

  She laughs, tosses her ponytail, and cranks up her music. She winks impishly at me as she pulls away. Normally her expression would’ve made me laugh. Instead, as I pull out of the parking lot, I’m hit with dismay. Miranda doesn’t get it. What I’m facing is so much bigger than a good time.

  4

  School starts in a few weeks, so Miranda and I go register. We won’t have any classes together but have both signed up for track again, just like last year. While we’re standing in line, Miranda whispers, “You need to start using your power to find a good guy. What a great way to filter out dicks.”