But, still. If this boy liked me from afar, that was one thing. But to hide in the darkness, snap the photo, and then leave it here for me to find … that was creepy. A plan formulated in my mind. I was going to, as Tiffany so helpfully suggested, do my psychic mumbo jumbo. If it worked this time, I’d find out who this boy was. Then he and I would have a little talk about manners, social norms, and what are and aren’t appropriate ways to express your feelings for a girl you’re crushing on.
I closed my eyes and breathed, deep and slow. I focused on the photo, my fingers sliding across the glossy paper.
And then I saw it in my mind’s eye. The photograph, in hands that were not mine. Someone was holding it, fingers slightly trembling, feeling a bit nervous. Then the person began to hook the photo into my locker vent, the blank side facing up, like how I found it.
I started to panic, not wanting to lose the image before I could find out who it was. But my visions were from the point of view of the other person. I needed him to catch a reflection of himself in a mirror. Or for someone to walk by and call out his name.
Come on, I thought. Before it’s gone.
But then something did pique my interest. He had a silver ring on the thumb of his right hand. A hand that was decidedly not masculine after all.
A girl was doing this to me?
The photo was now lodged in place, but before the girl let go, she looked down. I caught a quick glimpse of bright purple leggings.
I jerked back in surprise, my eyes snapping open, the vision gone.
It was Mallory.
My stalker was Mallory.
I AVOIDED EVERYONE THE REST OF THE DAY. THE next morning, Mallory tried to talk to me at our lockers, but she must have seen the fire in my eyes when I glared at her. She backed away and kept her distance until the end of the school day.
I wandered outside, waiting for Gabriel. We were supposed to meet to go to the police station. I hoped he hadn’t forgotten. I was about to pull out my phone and call him when someone started yelling.
A little shouting in the parking lot wasn’t all that unusual. But this person wasn’t playing. That voice was mad. Spitting mad.
I peered around a giant SUV and saw Cody pacing back and forth by his truck. His arms flailed in the air, and a stream of expletives poured from his mouth. A small group of people had formed around him, all shaking their heads in what looked like mock sympathy.
“He is so pissed,” Kendra said, strutting up to me. “He loves that truck.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“Someone keyed the side and flattened his tire.”
“Oh.” I tried to drum up some empathy. I’d been in the victim position enough to understand. But I couldn’t manage to feel anything for Cody.
I was reminded of the cockroach in Tiffany’s locker, and a tiny smile crept onto my face. Cody had been bullying kids like me since preschool. I wasn’t about to feel sorry for him when he got a little taste of it.
“Can I talk to you?” someone asked.
I pulled my eyes from Cody’s meltdown. Mallory stood beside me, waiting for an answer, her eyes a bit glassy. Kendra flipped her hair over her shoulder and rushed off, as if unpopularity were contagious.
“What do you want?” I said, my voice flat.
With Kendra gone, Mallory moved closer to me. “I just want to know what I did wrong. Why you hate me all of a sudden. You’re acting just like …”
Her voice trailed off, but I figured she was about to insert the name of one of the blondes.
“I know it was you, all right?” I snapped.
Mallory blinked rapidly. “Me what?”
“You’re the one who’s been sending me notes. You took the picture of me and stuck it in my locker.”
“What?” Her face was pained. “Why would you think that?”
I put my hand up. “Don’t even bother lying. I saw it. Okay? Saw. It.” I pointed to my head so she’d understand I got a vision.
“No. It wasn’t me. The photograph, yeah, I held it. But I wasn’t the one who took the picture.”
“Su-ure.” I turned to walk away, but she grabbed the sleeve of my jacket.
“I found it on the floor. It must have been stuck in the vent of your locker and fell. So I picked it up, realized what it was, and stuck it back in the vent.”
Her eyes were wild, desperate for me to believe her.
“Why wouldn’t you just tell me, instead of pretending you hadn’t seen it before?” I asked.
“I figured you’d think it was me who took it. It was obviously taken when you were alone in your yard, right before I showed up. You know I’m interested in photography.”
She didn’t look like someone who was lying. And her story didn’t contradict my vision in any way. But still … I shook my head.
“This!” She pointed at me and raised her voice, catching the attention of a couple kids walking by. “What you’re doing right now … is why I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d suspect me. I knew better than to trust you. And I was right.”
Those words hurt. I didn’t want to be one of those judgy people. Like the kids who called me freak without even getting to know me.
Mallory started walking away, head down.
“I want to believe you aren’t the person who’s been messing with me,” I called out.
She stopped and turned. “Just … do the same thing to the other notes, then. You’ll see it wasn’t me.”
“I have.”
“And what did you get?”
“Nothing.”
“So.” She crossed her arms and jutted her chin out. “Your line of thought is that I went out of my way to wear gloves or something so you wouldn’t get a vision from my creepy notes, but then I just bare handled the photograph? Come on. I’m not that dumb.”
She was right. It made no sense. Whoever left the first two notes knew about my gift and did something to hide their imprint. They’d obviously do the same with the picture. But it fell from the locker vent to the floor, and Mallory had the bad luck to pick it up.
I’d treated her like dirt for something she didn’t do. And the reason she wasn’t honest with me from the start was because she knew I’d act this way.
I looked up, ready to apologize, but she was gone. I reared my foot back and kicked at a rock on the ground, watching it skitter across the pavement. It didn’t make me feel better.
“What did that poor pebble ever do to you?” Gabriel swaggered over. His bag was slung over one shoulder. Normally just the sight of him in his black fleece and low-slung jeans would be enough to turn my day around, but it wasn’t working.
“Bad day,” I explained.
He tilted his head to the side. “Maybe some detective work will help.”
I sat in a chair in the police station’s reception area and stared at the discolored linoleum floor. Gabriel had gone through the large metal door and down the hall to his father’s desk. And now I waited to see if he could convince Detective Toscano to let me have a minute with Sierra’s note.
Other than the dispatcher, who doubles as the receptionist, I was the only one in the room. During the summer the building was busier, the station bustling with seasonal officers the town added to deal with the influx of tourists. But this time of year, things were relatively quiet. I spent a minute or two staring down the artificial plant in the corner. For the season, it was adorned with a fake spiderweb, spread from leaf to leaf. A giant decorative spider sat in the middle, smiling with its fangs.
A hand landed on my shoulder.
I startled and looked up into Phil Tisdell’s worried face.
Phil was a fellow townie about my mom’s age, and a really nice guy. He’d been crushing on my mom for years. I pitied him. Mom flirted with him enough to keep him hanging on, even though she never dated anyone. I think she was still waiting for Dad to walk through the front door.
“Is everything all right, Clare? Why are you here?” Phil asked.
“I’m fine, Ph
il,” I said. “I’m here with a friend.”
“Oh.” His hand lay over his heart.
I realized how it must have looked, me sitting in the station waiting room, a somber look on my face. “You working today?” I asked. The town hall, where Phil worked, was housed in the same building.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, loosening up. “I came down here for some paperwork.”
“Okay.” I smiled. “I’ll let you get back to it.”
He gave a little wave and started to walk away, but then stopped. “Uh, Clare?”
“Yes, Phil?”
He shuffled his feet back and forth. “I was thinking of asking your mother to accompany me to my sister’s wedding next month. Do you think that’s a good idea?”
Oh, poor lovesick Phil. “I think that’s a great idea.” His face started to light up before I added, “But I don’t know if she’ll say yes. You know how she is.”
His whole body seemed to sag.
“It’s worth asking, though, right?” I said cheerily.
“Sure, sure,” he mumbled. He walked away as Gabriel strode up to me.
“What was that about?” he asked, eyeing Phil.
“He’s in love with my mother.”
“Uh, okay. You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
I followed him down the hall and into the station’s one and only interrogation room.
“Dad’s bringing it in here,” Gabriel explained.
A moment later, Detective Toscano walked in, looking a little worse for wear. I wondered why he was so tired. It wasn’t like they were working around the clock on the Sierra Waldman case.
Then I remembered. Mrs. Toscano was back in town. And that was obviously having an effect on Gabriel’s dad.
The note was in a clear baggy. He placed it on the table and said, “The mother confirmed this is her daughter’s handwriting. We’re probably going to return it soon since there is no case at present.”
“I came at the right time, then,” I said, feeling slightly uncomfortable, knowing Detective Toscano’s true feelings about psychics.
We all paused a moment and I shot a quick look at Gabriel. I really didn’t want his dad here, watching over my shoulder. That might mess with my mojo.
Gabriel caught on. “Can we have a minute, Dad?”
He blinked quickly. “Of course. I’ll come back.” He backed out of the room and closed the door.
I let out a long breath, hoping my unease would go with it. Gabriel and I sat on opposite sides of the table. He nudged the bag toward me with a finger. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I slid the note out and grasped it with both hands. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths through my nose. Even with the door closed, I could hear the sounds of the station — the phone ringing, loud conversations, a boisterous laugh. But after a few moments, I felt that familiar buzzing in my body, and the interrogation room faded into the background while a different room appeared before my closed eyes.
She was holding a pen in her right hand and keeping the paper still with the palm of her left. She wrote each word slowly, in large looping letters. I could feel her excitement, but also some anxiety. She was wondering if she was making the right choice.
I felt a hand on her shoulder, urging her on.
She finished the note and folded it up.
“So I’ll leave this for my mom, grab some stuff, and come back.” It sounded like a question.
I was hoping the person Sierra was with would reply before she stuffed the note in her bag. I pleaded with the vision, with Sierra, to hold on to the paper a bit longer.
But she didn’t.
All I got before the vision was lost was a quick glance up … at a desk. A dark, perhaps cherry wood desk. Plain, with no pictures or anything else on it. Very unlike that of a teenage girl.
I WAS DISAPPOINTED WITH WHAT LITTLE I GOT from the vision. Gabriel said it was a big accomplishment, though. I’d reaffirmed that Sierra had written the note and obviously voluntarily run away. She was a legal adult. Therefore, no case. But still … something inside me wouldn’t settle. Wouldn’t accept that. Maybe it was that layer of anxiety I’d felt under Sierra’s excitement when she wrote the note.
Wednesday after school, I tried to lose myself in homework. I finished all my assignments and caught up on my reading, but still felt tense. I looked up the Waldmans’ phone number and dialed quickly while I still had the nerve.
It rang several times and eventually went to voice mail.
I cleared my throat. “Hi, Mrs. Waldman? This is Clare Fern. I just wanted to let you know that, um, if you’re still interested, I would love to help out any way I can. I could come and try reading Sierra’s room. If you’d like. Okay. Thanks. Bye.”
Ugh, I was awful at leaving messages.
I hung up, doubting she’d call me back. She probably still thought we were useless frauds. But I felt a little bit better after reaching out. At least I was trying.
I groaned and went downstairs for a soda and chocolate fix. I also hoped Mom would be around, since I wanted to go for a drive.
Mom was at the kitchen table, surrounded by bubble mailers, working on some project of hers. I watched her from the doorway. She was always home, working, supporting her family. She never went out with friends or dated or did anything wild and crazy. Her thoughts were always on Perry and me, never on herself.
There’s a story Mom likes to tell about one time when I was three. She was organizing photographs, and I found one of her as a teenager, at an amusement park with friends. I stared at the picture and asked, “Who was babysitting me and Perry?” When Mom explained that I hadn’t been born yet, I’d had the realization, for the first time, that Mom had lived a long life before me. Without me. It was startling for a three-year-old.
Even now, it sometimes seems strange to think about. Mom, Perry, and I were like the Three Musketeers. We fought, sure, but always remained close-knit. Always loved and lived for one another. Things were changing, though. Perry would be, hopefully, shipping off to college soon. And I would, too, in a couple of years. And Mom would stay here, alone.
For most of my childhood, I was delighted that Mom never remarried or even dated. First, because of my fantasy that Dad would return to re-sweep her off her feet. But also because I was selfish. Mom lavished attention on Perry and me. I hadn’t wanted some random man to come in and take that away. To steal my time with her.
But now I chided myself for those old selfish feelings. My mother was a telepath. Of course she’d heard me thinking those thoughts once or twice when I was younger. And she’d sacrificed her own happiness for my aversion to change.
Now, as I watched her at the kitchen table, I worried about what would happen in two years. Because if Mom was left here, sad and lonely, it would be my fault.
Mom noticed me in the doorway and smiled. “Would you look at this?” She gestured to the chaos on the table.
“What is all that?” I said, walking to the fridge and grabbing a Diet Coke.
“Orders, my dear. Tons of orders.”
“For those ugly muumuus you made?”
Mom closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose. “They are called tapestry dresses, and they’re obviously not ugly since I sold each one I put up on eBay.”
“Really? Congratulations.” I cracked open the soda and took a gulp.
Mom narrowed her eyes at me.
“What?”
She tapped her fingers on the table. “I’m waiting for your compulsory sarcastic remark.”
I laughed. “Seriously, Mom. Congratulations. I think it’s cool. You always said you wanted to start a little side business selling those things you make.”
She beamed. “Thank you, Clarity.”
“I still wouldn’t wear one if you paid me, though.”
Mom pinched the bridge of her nose. “Don’t you have homework to do? Boys to pine over?”
“Actually, I was hoping you’d take me out driving. My learn
er’s permit is getting dusty.”
“I can’t right now.” She patted the chair next to her. “Chat with me for a minute while I organize these orders. Do you see a pink dress anywhere?”
I sat beside her and riffled through a stack of neatly folded dresses. I held one up. “Is this it?”
“Yes, thank you.” She took it from me and then began searching for something else. “So what’s new in your life, honey?”
Mom wasn’t exactly gung ho over my desire to help the Waldmans. And since my trip to the station had resulted in a big nothing, I didn’t feel the need to go into it. I was even more reluctant to tell her about the secret admirer. She’d just flip out and put me under house arrest. And there was no reason for it. The person was creepy, but it’s not like he’d threatened to kill me or anything. And Mom would completely overreact and make my life a living hell.
“Nothing much,” I lied.
“I like that girl Mallory, who came over to help you with the Halloween decorations.”
I frowned. “How could you like her? You didn’t even meet her.” Then I realized what she’d done. “Oh, Mom.”
She shrugged. “I heard you outside talking to someone. You seemed a little nervous at first, so I listened in a bit. It was harmless.”
“Mom, you can’t do that to every friend who comes over.”
“She was a stranger, talking to my daughter outside at night,” she said indignantly. “I could either go outside, introduce myself, and embarrass you, or peer out the window and listen in to her thoughts for a minute.”
“In that case, thanks, I guess.”
“She’s a nice girl. She likes you.” Mom paused. “A lot.”
“That’s great, Mom,” I said unenthusiastically.
Her tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth as she concentrated on peeling an address label off the backing. “I would really like for you to put yourself out there more. Go do normal teenager stuff. Especially during the school year when we’re not busy at home. I know you’ve been invited to things this year and haven’t gone.”
I watched a drop of water trickle down the side of the soda can. “Those girls at school aren’t real friends. They’re just interested in what I can do.”
Perception Page 8
