by Stacy Juba
Tell him the truth, the voice in her mind said. He will be on your side.
I can’t. He’ll think I’m a freak and Mom will be upset if I tell him.
Dawn stood and replied, "They do always call around dinner time."
"If you’re not into psychic stuff, why did you visit a fortuneteller today?" Ken asked, his face deadpan. "I saw you going into that cottage with Candace and Jamie on my way home from school. That place is bad news."
Dawn rested a hand on her chest to calm her growing anxiety. "We thought it would be fun to get our palms read. You didn’t tell my mom, did you? She’d think it was a waste of money."
"No, but she knows about the witch rumor. Dad heard about it and called home to see how you were doing. Your mom talked to him on the phone and she didn’t sound happy."
"Great," Dawn muttered. "Don’t mention the fortuneteller, okay? She’ll blow it out of proportion. It was no big deal, really."
Ken sighed. "I won’t say anything, but you shouldn’t go back there. I wouldn’t hang around with those girls, either. You think your reputation’s in trouble now, wait till people find out you’re hanging out with Pan Fry and the Bride of Frankenstein."
"Thanks for the advice." Dawn escaped into the house. Computer keys clicked in the office, her mother working on a project. Dawn inched toward the stairs, but before she could flee, her mother strode down the hall.
"Can we talk?" her mom asked.
Shoulders caving, Dawn hung her backpack around the banister and joined her mother in the office. A three-column brochure layout glowed from the computer monitor on the mahogany desk. Models of clipper ships and schooners with dusty white cloth sails were docked on a dark wood bookcase. Dawn sank onto the sofa.
Her mother loomed over her, the frightened LOOK etched on her face. "I’m sorry about Scott. It makes me sick to think about what happened to him. But Dawn, are the rumors true? Did you really tell Scott about a premonition? Is that why you had a difficult first day?"
"Mom, I had to warn him. What if I’d been able to save him? I’d never forgive myself."
"Honey, you have to stop interfering with fate. It’s not natural. If God had wanted you to help Scott, don’t you think he’d be alive? Why can’t you let yourself be happy?" Her mother started pacing in the sneakers she used to walk the beach with Jeff. Dawn wondered how many calories her mother had burned over the years from pacing after a psychic incident.
Dawn’s throat swelled. It was bad enough feeling like a freak in front of her classmates. Now she’d disappointed her mother. Again. "You don’t understand. If you knew someone was in danger, wouldn’t you feel obligated to help?"
"Not when my premonitions don’t give me peace. I’m proud of you for being so caring, but it’s not healthy to place all this responsibility on yourself."
Her mother stopped walking long enough to save her work on the computer. "I just want high school to be better for you than it was for me," she said, turning back to Dawn.
Wonderful, a guilt trip. Dawn had heard this sob story a gazillion times, about how taking care of her younger half-brothers and growing up with an alcoholic mother had killed her mom’s social life. Not that she didn’t sympathize, but it wasn’t Dawn’s fault her mother had a lousy childhood.
"I want you to be happy, Dawn. I’m not saying you have to be Miss Popularity. I know you’re introverted, and that’s fine, but everyone needs friends." Her mother shrugged. "Even if you had one close friend, I wouldn’t worry so much. How will you get to know anyone with those rumors flying around? You could be normal, but I’m afraid you’re choosing not to be."
"I didn’t choose anything," Dawn snapped. "Besides, I made friends and they don’t care about the rumors. They like me for myself."
"You made friends? Really?" Her mother’s mouth hung open in shock.
"I’ll bet that’s hard for you to believe, that someone likes me for who I am." Dawn stalked to the door.
"No, honey, that’s wonderful," her mother said. "I’d love to hear more about them."
Yeah, right. No matter what her mother claimed, she wanted Dawn to have the right kind of friends. Somehow, Dawn doubted Jamie and Candace would live up to that hope.
Dawn paused at the door and glared over her shoulder. "By the way, I acted on a premonition once and you’re lucky I did. Remember how you almost chickened out of your blind date with Jeff? You were all set to say you were sick until I talked you into going. I knew you’d fall in love with him, and that even though it would be tough on me, it was the right thing for you."
"Come on, Dawn, I didn’t even know I loved Jeff till we’d been dating a month," her mother said shakily.
"I had a vision of him proposing in an Italian restaurant as you were eating dessert. He pulled the ring out of a blue velvet box and you got teary-eyed. There was an older couple at the next table. They overheard and congratulated you."
"I’m sure I told you all those details afterwards."
"Will you stop kidding yourself and acting like my abilities don’t apply to you? If I hadn’t acted on my vision, neither one of us would be in this room right now." Dawn turned on her heel and slammed the door.
That decided it. She was visiting Serina again. There, she’d be with people who appreciated her talents and didn’t view her as a time bomb that could throw their lives into rubble at any second.
Dawn trudged upstairs and passed Ken’s open doorway. Ken was lying on his bed, listening to his iPod. Something drew her toward his room. She tapped lightly on the door. "Hey," she said.
He nodded, as if giving permission to enter. Dawn had never been in Ken’s room before. She stayed near the door, afraid to intrude. A pile of rumpled laundry towered on his desk chair. Posters of athletes, music groups and actresses plastered the walls.
"How’d it go with your mom?" Ken asked, turning off the music.
Dawn shrugged. "Not too good. You know mothers. They can be a pain."
He didn’t answer and Dawn wished she could snatch back her words. Of course he didn’t know. His mother had died when he was a child. She looked around for something, anything, to help her change the subject.
"Those are nice paintings." Dawn gestured toward two canvases propped against the wall in the corner. One depicted a fire truck with a Dalmatian sticking his skinny head out the window, and the other a firehouse. Dawn stepped further into the room to see them better. Funny, these paintings seemed more fitting for a little boy.
Then it clicked why Ken had held onto them, why he wanted them in sight. "Your mom painted those, didn’t she? I heard she was an artist."
He raised his eyes toward the pictures. "Yeah. At our old house in Maryland, she had murals all over the place. Clouds on the ceiling, animals, a train, the fire station. Mom knew we’d move after she died and copied a couple of them for me."
A photograph of a slim woman sat on his dresser. Blonde curls cascaded all the way down to her wraparound skirt. Oversized hoop earrings glinted in her ears and bangle bracelets shone on her wrist. Dawn thought of her own mother, who used her artistic skills on the computer rather than with paints. Jeff had married two artists, but Ken’s mom looked more free-spirited. She had a vibrancy that came through even in a picture.
Maybe Dawn would have been happier with a mother like her. She pushed aside the thought and said, "That was wonderful of your mom. It was hard moving away from my apartment and leaving behind things that reminded me of my dad."
Like the den where he used to do bills and her bedroom where he tucked her in at night. She would never see the inside of that apartment again. Worse, her mother had a furniture sale and got rid of the puffy recliner chair where her dad would read books. Dawn winced as a sharp pain jabbed her heart. Since moving to Maine, it felt as if she’d lost what little she had of her father.
"She would have copied more of the murals if she’d had the energy," Ken said. "She didn’t."
Dawn bit her lip. Her mother had told her a little bit about Ken’s
mom, and the months before her death sounded terrible with seizures and strokes all resulting from a change in a lifelong mole. Dawn didn’t know what to say other than, "I’m so sorry."
"Melanoma’s curable if it’s caught in time, but her doctor didn’t have a clue. She showed him the mole and he told her not to worry about it. He still gets to see patients, while my mom..." Ken sat up and gripped a rolled-up sports magazine in his fist.
Suddenly Dawn saw herself at age seven, eating macaroni and cheese as the phone rang. Her mother answered it, expecting a friend to be calling back. A minute later, her mother dropped into a chair in a daze and Dawn’s world collapsed around her.
"I don’t know what’s worse, having it happen suddenly like with my dad, or watching someone you love suffer." Dawn curved her back against the doorframe, the wood cold through her shirt.
"Stinks either way," Ken said. "My friends gripe about their parents getting divorced and hardly seeing their mom or dad. At least they can pick up the stupid phone."
"I know." Dawn turned her head, so Ken wouldn’t notice as she wiped her eyes. This must be why he had been acting friendlier lately. They had a lot in common.
But as much as Ken tried, he would never understand Dawn the way her new friends did.
***
The next day, Dawn sipped mint tea in Serina's dim sitting room, the warm liquid comforting her. She and Candace sat cross-legged on the loveseat with Jamie perched on the matching chair. Dawn closed her eyes, the tranquil forest sounds and soothing music washing over her. The music, bubbling tabletop fountain, candles and cinnamon-scented incense lulled her, made everything surreal.
"You like it, don't you?" Candace asked.
Dawn's eyes shot open. "What?"
"The tea."
"Oh. Yeah, it's good."
A smile hovered on Jamie's lips. "Is Ken Magnuson really your stepbrother?"
"You know him?" Dawn asked.
"Sort of. He's way cute, and he's a sweetie-pie too. Ken helped me open my locker once. You’re so lucky."
Candace made a gagging sound. "He’s practically her brother. What do you think, they’re gonna fall in love?"
"I saw a movie about that once," Jamie said a little defensively.
Dawn laughed. "Sorry to disappoint you, but trust me, it won’t happen. My mom’s married to his dad. How gross is that? It is almost like we’re related."
Serina drew back the sheer curtains and entered in a tan blouse and flared black skirt. Her rose perfume scented the air. "Hello, Dawn. I'm delighted you're back. I hope you find this exercise enlightening."
"Thanks for inviting me," Dawn said.
Serina smiled. "Before we start, we're going to get centered. Meditation is the foundation of psychic abilities. It’s a time to recharge your battery and clear your head of debris. Our minds like to jump around and must be told to sit still. It will help your intuitive voice, your will and your highest energy become available to you."
Dawn noticed the others had closed their eyes and were breathing long and deep. She imitated them, trying not to feel self conscious.
"Fill your lungs, hold your breath for a second or two, then let it out, emptying your lungs." Serina walked over to Dawn, her skirt sweeping across her sandals. "Allow your conscious mind to rest. This isn't anything paranormal. It's simple meditation that can benefit anyone."
"Okay." Her chest rising and falling, Dawn listened to Serina's quiet instructions.
"Become aware of being in your body, your bones, your internal organs, your skin and muscle. The beating of your heart."
Heat radiated from Dawn's toes to her forehead, fuzziness that wrapped around her like a swaddling blanket. Serina had them imagine warmth tingling through each body part, from their head to their toes. She then told them to envision a cool green forest under a canopy of trees. Dawn didn’t know how much time had passed when Serina steered them back to reality.
"You might open your eyes a little and become aware of your surroundings," Serina said. "Notice that you feel much better than you did before. Now you’re back completely and are totally calm."
Warm peacefulness enveloped Dawn. She hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time. If ever.
"Dawn, let me give you some background." Serina remained standing in the middle of the room, hands on her hips. "As we’ve discussed, we have four psychic senses, even though you hear them all grouped together under the ‘sixth sense.’ We’re generally stronger in one or two of them. You said that you’ve picked up people’s thoughts. That means your psychic hearing is well-developed."
"What does that mean, exactly?" Dawn asked with a shiver.
"It’s so close to your own thinking, you may not have realized you were hearing psychically," Serina said. "It’s not just hearing people’s thoughts. In fact, that’s unusual. It’s asking a question of the universe and getting a response from our spirit guide. As we do these exercises, try to become aware of which senses seem the most natural. You can improve the others, but they won’t be as reliable."
Dawn nodded. She understood what Serina meant. Kind of. She’d heard a voice of reason her whole life, but assumed it was her own intuition. Having a personal spirit guide sounded cool.
"I see you nodding, Dawn," Serina said. "Do you communicate with a spirit guide?"
Dawn sneaked a glance at Jamie and Candace, who were listening with interest. Speculating about spirit guides didn’t faze them in the least. Unlike the rest of the world, they wouldn’t think she was crazy if she admitted that Serina’s words struck a chord.
"I do get this gentle voice in my head giving me advice," Dawn said after a hesitation. "I figured it was just my own thoughts, or my mind playing tricks on me. Once in awhile it’s really loud, like when I had to call an ambulance for Mrs. Frazier or when Scott ran out into the street."
One of Serina’s eyebrows lifted higher than the other. "Be careful not to trust it too much as not all spirits are watching out for our best interests. Some like to play games. We often pick up psychic trash, equivalent to a radio between stations. Just because you intuit something with your psychic senses doesn’t mean it’s of value."
Was that what she was tuning into? Psychic trash? A slow flush heated Dawn’s face and neck. She stole another look at her friends, hoping they weren’t amused by her naiveté, but Serina owned their attention.
Serina picked up a wooden antique box with a metal latch and scalloped metal trim from the table, rose and handed it to Jamie. "I think we're ready. All of your personal items are inside, holding the energy of their owners. Why don't you go first and concentrate on the object that Candace brought?"
Squeezing her eyes shut, Jamie traced circles over the carved walnut finish. "I don't know. I'm not getting anything."
"You're trying too hard, not using your unconscious."
"I see … a ring?" Jamie asked.
"Tell us about it." Serina's tone didn't change.
"I can't."
Relief flowed over Dawn that Jamie was faltering. It shouldn’t have been a surprise since Jamie had confessed to her lack of ability, but seeing it firsthand eased the pressure a bit.
"You’re trying to visualize," Serina said. "Remember, your strength is feeling. You need to accept and analyze even the most fleeting impressions. Does the object feel new? Old? Does it give you a sense of happiness? Sadness? Don’t limit yourself to Candace. Perhaps you can get a better read on what Dawn brought."
"I feel sad, I guess," Jamie said. "But that’s all I can tell you."
"That’s okay. It was a fine start."
"I’ll get the hang of this stuff, Serina. I promise." Jamie hiked her chin in determination.
Sympathy stirred within Dawn. How amazing that Jamie could want to be psychic when for so long Dawn had wished she could throw her abilities away.
"With time, you'll improve," Serina said. "It's a matter of unlearning what you've been taught since childhood, which isn't easy. I started training when I was only eleven, and h
ad a series of teachers during my teens. I didn't reach my maximum potential until I was in my twenties."
"How did you find a teacher so young?" Jamie asked. "I thought your parents didn't like your abilities."
"I did it behind their backs. My first teacher was a friend of my late aunt's. But that's ancient history. Let's give Dawn a chance to guess Candace's object."
Jamie passed over the box and Dawn stroked the metal studs. She got nothing.
"Feel the vibration," Serina said. "Don’t try, just feel."
Dawn gulped. Please, let me do better than Jamie. She mentally imagined herself raising the lid. Sudden warmth seeped through the box, as if someone had lit a candle inside. A series of images flashed in her mind, one after the other. Oh, thank God. She kept her voice even, though she wanted to shout with glee.
"It's a glittering rhinestone clip with teal in it. I see a jewelry store at the mall. I think Candace bought it to go with a dress she has. I see her looking at earrings, too."
Serina clapped and Dawn relished her pleased smile. "You're doing beautifully, my dear. You must be highly visual. Remember that visions go hand-in-hand with symbols. Images might not always mean what you think. Do you know where she wants to wear the dress?"
"To the Homecoming Dance," Dawn said automatically. "There's a boy in English class she likes. I see the letter T white against a black background. I think his name starts with T."
Oops. Maybe Dawn had revealed too much. Candace looked stunned, as if she hadn’t expected Dawn to probe so deep.
Serina’s smile shifting into a frown, she glided forward until she was looming over Candace. "That wouldn't be Tim Travers, would it?"
Candace picked at a piece of lint in her lap. "Maybe."
"The same Tim Travers who’s dating your sister?" Serina asked, her voice dropping an octave. "The guy who chose you last in gym and called you a klutz until he started going out with her? He's who you want to ask to the dance?"
Sister? Vicky was dating Tim Travers. She and Candace couldn't be sisters. Dawn squinted at her friend, searching for a resemblance, but they weren't anything alike in appearance or personality. Vicky was pretty, popular and kind, while Candace was ... well, Candace. Boy, had her psychic receptors been off. She never would have paired up those two.
