“Insensitive much?” I said.
“You know I’m only kidding,” she said, and she reached across the table and squeezed my arm, meaningfully, and released it.
“Anyway, don’t be ridiculous.” I tried another bite and thought about maybe asking Chiara whether she believed in any of that kind of paranormal stuff—she was certainly more likely to than Aiden—but then Aiden slid his tray onto the table. He said, “If Chiara ceased being ridiculous, she would cease to exist.”
Chiara said, “Ha. Ha. Ha.”
“Whatcha talking about?” He sat down.
Chiara said, “Using evil mind tricks to get Bennett to like her.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I don’t think it works that way.”
“He already likes me,” I said. “He just hasn’t admitted it fully yet.”
“Why not, pray tell?” Aiden said.
“Because it’s easier to stay with her than to break up with her and deal with the drama.”
“Ah, but if it’s twoooo love,” Aiden said, “he should want to do anything to be with you. I’ve never even seen you talk to him.”
I took a sip of my water and half shrugged.
“Oh my god, you’ve never even talked to him?” Aiden said.
“Keep it down!” I said, then I said, “Of course I have,” and got up. “I’m going to the bookstore after school. You guys coming?”
“Nah,” Aiden said.
“You bailing, too?” I asked Chiara.
“Have you met me?” she said. “I’m all in.”
•••
What if one day, when I was maybe eight or nine years old, we were at the swim club, the same one where I’m lifeguarding this summer? I’d learned how to swim there and had a dolphin badge sewn onto a hoodie of mine to prove it.
What if it was adult swim?
What if it was painfully hot out and I wanted the grown-ups to get out of the pool?
What if the crowd of moms, my own included, annoyed me the most? They weren’t even swimming. They were just standing there, water up to their hips, yapping about summer camps and back-to-school supplies and divorces and useless crap. In another section of the pool, also annoying but not as much so, a group of seniors were doing water aerobics. Their instructor had a shrill voice as she called out silly moves that probably didn’t even qualify as exercise.
What if I wanted them out so badly I could taste it?
And what if I started to think about what kinds of things might get them out of the pool? Like if a toddler strolled over and fell in, because his mom got distracted for a second. Or if one of the old people—like maybe that smug-looking sack of wrinkles wearing the swim cap, like her head was even going to get wet—had a heart attack. Or if a dead bird landed in the middle of their circle. Or it wouldn’t even have to be a dead bird . . .
It could be a . . .
What if in the field beyond the pool a bunch of kids ran around with soccer balls and Frisbees? Beyond them was the shuffleboard court. What if a disc hissed across the pavement and the world got slow and I watched a Frisbee go up and up, like climbing invisible stairs and then come down and down?
What if it hit the aerobics instructor right on the bridge of the nose?
What if she screamed?
What if blood gushed?
What if I’d rushed into the slick-floored bathrooms and threw water on my face and wondered, Did I do that?
•••
What if you could make someone trip and fall by thinking about it?
•••
Chiara went straight to the table of new YA releases and started picking up books and reading their back covers. I said, “I’ll be back in a minute.”
She nodded, put a book down, and picked up another one. I was pretty sure she’d already read half of them. That’s how she was.
I wandered the aisles in search of Bennett’s book.
All I needed with him was an in. Something to get the conversation going. Then we’d realize how much we had in common and how easy it was to be with each other and how Princess Bubblegum was all wrong for him.
Turns out, his book of choice was a graphic novel, which was perfect because it meant I’d be able to read it in like a day. Chiara could blow through actual novels that quickly, but I honestly didn’t know where she found the time. She was taking a creative writing class this semester and was all fired up about it.
Back at the register, I remembered I’d read down that wormhole that someone had written a book about Crystal.
“I’m also looking for a book called The Force,” I said.
“Star Wars thing?” The woman at the register looked at me funny.
“No, it’s a biography I think? The author’s last name is Snyder.”
She punched some stuff into her computer, then squinted at the screen. “Poltergeist thing?” she asked after a minute.
“Yes,” I said.
“Out of print,” she said.
“Oh, okay,” I said. “Thanks. I’ll just take this.” I slid the graphic novel onto the counter.
Chiara came over with a book to buy and a day planner that said “I AM VERY BUSY” on the front. I picked up her book and read the back while she paid. An asteroid heading toward Earth. A group of teenagers waiting to see if the world would end. The cover showed four of them lying on a blanket, staring up at a menacing moon and stars.
I put it down.
“What?” Chiara said.
“I didn’t say anything!”
She shook her head at me.
“You’re cute is all.”
“Please stop,” she said.
“I’ll totally grab a blanket and huddle with you if that ever actually happens.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” she said.
“I totally would!”
“No, you wouldn’t,” she repeated. “You’d be off trying to do something to stop the asteroid. Or you’d be looting in town, collecting bottled water and canned goods for if you survived.”
“You might be right,” I said, smiling. “I’d share my beans with you, though.”
“Thanks,” she said wryly, hand to her heart. “Means a lot. Anyway, I’m writing a YA novel.”
I tilted my head. “For real?”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised.” She seemed annoyed.
•••
Maybe the podcast was my own personal asteroid and Chiara was right that I wasn’t the kind of person who was going to just sit around and wait for it to hit me. At dinner, I said, “I want to do the podcast interview.”
I was about to say, And I’ve decided that I’m ready to see Crystal, but my father said, “Kaylee,” and his tone made me pause.
He put down his fork and placed his elbows on the table on either side of his plate, then folded his hands. Was he about to say grace?
My mother managed, “I just don’t think . . . ,” then only shook her head.
I tried to ignore those cracks forming under me again. How could I explain to them how badly I needed this to happen now? That there was no turning away from it, not for me, not anymore.
I did some quick calculations to decide exactly how much I thought I could get away with. I said, “At the very least, call the woman and let’s talk to her and then decide?”
My father looked at my mother, who responded with a resigned shrug, which was pretty much how she responded to most things involving me lately. Then he said, “Fine.”
•••
Liana was at our front door again within forty-five minutes of my father’s call. She came in with only her car key in her hand, wearing a cardigan that was half-on, her hair in a messy ponytail.
“I want to be clear that we haven’t decided anything yet about an interview,” my father said as he showed her into the living room, which my mother was still tidying frantically. “We want to know more about the podcast. About your . . . intent.”
“My intent,” Liana said, “is to get to the bottom of things.” She
sank back into the couch like this was going to take a while. “I want to prove that it was a hoax. Or, if it wasn’t, prove that Crystal actually has special gifts. I’ve been interviewing experts on neuroscience and paranormal activity. I’m interviewing witnesses to the events reported in the papers, the photographer who took the famous photo. I’ve spoken with her defense attorney in the murder trial, and the prosecutor.”
“But,” my mother said, “why?”
Liana sighed. “Because it’s what I do. Because it’s a story that sunk its teeth into me when I was a teenager and that I’ve never been able to let go of. I mean, isn’t the idea that a teenage girl could be in such turmoil that the physical world around her behaves differently a pretty astonishing idea? That’s what people who believe her suggest.”
“If by astonishing, you mean ludicrous, then yes.” My mother wasn’t exactly the barb-delivering type, so she looked like a different person, like her own wittier twin, as her words hung in the air.
“Educated people disagree on the subject.” Liana sat up. “You don’t have to—”
“You’ve met her?” I interrupted. “Crystal.”
Liana nodded. “We’ve been speaking on the phone weekly. And e-mailing.”
“She has e-mail?” My mother couldn’t hide her surprise, or was it disgust?
“Supervised, yes.”
“But you’ll be going there?” I pressed. “To the prison to interview her?”
“We’re waiting on visitation permission approvals, but yes.”
“I just don’t see why you need Kaylee,” my mother said. “She has nothing to do with the whole Telekinetic Teen hoax.”
“Well, we’ll be looking at the trial, too, of course. And the allegations that maybe Crystal didn’t get a fair trial because of poor representation.”
“Again, not seeing what that has to do with my daughter,” Mom said.
“If you don’t mind my saying it”—Liana looked nervous for a flash—“she’s your daughter, yes, but she’s also Crystal’s daughter, so she’s part of the story.” Liana looked at me then. “I’m sure this is all surprising to you and I understand your reluctance to jump at this without asking questions and sharing your concerns, but I’m telling you: I’m only in this for the truth. No shenanigans. No one’s getting rich or anything. It’s just a story I want to explore. I’d love for you to have a part in it.”
For a second I struggled to find my voice. I said, “I really want to do it.”
My father said, “Your mother and I need to speak to Liana in private.”
“But—”
“Kaylee!” he snapped.
I grabbed my bookstore bag on my way out the back door.
•••
My parents had had a granny pod put up in the backyard a few years ago, but then my grandmother—Dad’s mom—decided not to move in to it after all. It’s a prefab “wee house” that has a kitchenette and bathroom, a seating area, and a bed. It’s designed for old people in that it has two-way radios to communicate with the main house, sensors that detect falls, and panic buttons always within reach.
After I started spending most afternoons out there, my mother took to saying, “It’s not your private clubhouse, you know?” but eventually she gave up. Because it was my private clubhouse. To solidify my claim, I’d moved my snow globe collection out there, one at a time, whenever I had a free hand and thought of it. Now all sixteen of them—about half from places I’d been (Disney World, Vermont, etc.) and half from places my parents had gone without me (Belize, Paris, etc.) while I stayed with my grandma—took up space on two shelves above the couch.
I settled into the chaise below them to read while I waited.
The graphic novel was about a small college campus under attack by aliens. I never would have picked it up on my own, but I dug in and it turned out it was funny and a little bit moving, too. I took it to mean that Bennett was everything I had hoped he was, deep down. Quirky. Smart in an off-kilter way. A guy who felt things, who had a soft side despite his cool exterior. People like us just didn’t wear our hearts on our sleeves.
It was hard to concentrate. Why were my parents being so stubborn?
I put the book down and spotted the Yahtzee box on a high shelf—it was Grandma’s favorite game—and reached for it. I remembered doing this years ago and concluding I had no powers at all.
I needed to be sure.
I got the box down and got a die out and held it in my hand.
I chose the number two and thought hard about it—two, two, two—and rolled . . .
. . . a one.
Then I rolled a five, then another five. Then a three and another three. Then a four and another four.
Obviously, I was being toyed with. What would be next? Six?
Sure enough.
So I’d rolled every number but the one I’d set out to roll.
I took the die in my hand and held it there a longer time than I had with the other rolls. I looked at it and shook it around in my palm and watched the red and white blur and I thought, Wouldn’t it be just the thing if this time I actually got a two?
And I did.
So the experiment proved nothing.
Or did it?
•••
I got up to head inside, figuring the coast was probably clear back at the house. But before leaving, I did this thing I sometimes do. I picked up each of the snow globes and shook them, then sat back down and watched until every last piece of fake snow and glitter had fallen. And for the first time, really, I liked the idea of shaking things up. In a big way. In real life.
Paris, where I’d never been, was last to settle, and then the world seemed even stiller than it had before.
My phone shook.
•••
•••
I said, “Oh no. No no no,” and texted Chiara.
Because I thought he’d been acting weird lately. Lingering looks, an uptick in casual touching. Ever since we’d both started lifeguard training a few months ago.
But I also thought I was maybe imagining it. Because it was Aiden. My best friend. Aiden, whom I’d known for, like, ever. Or at least since the summer after eighth grade, but it felt like forever because even on the first day we met it was like we’d always known each other. It had been at a pool party—someone’s birthday—and all the boys were running toward the water and doing cannonballs and screaming “Oh yeah!”
All the boys except for Aiden.
“I don’t envy you” had been the first words he’d ever said to me.
“What do you mean?” I’d asked, having no idea what he could possibly be talking about.
“If, when you’re older, you choose to marry and choose to marry a male person, these are your choices.” He nodded toward the pool.
“Well, hopefully not just these,” I said as three of the boys did a coordinated cannonball run.
He said, “But you have to figure this is a representative sample.”
“How come you’re not out there?”
“Same reason you’re not over there?” He nodded toward the girls, who were all lying out, primping and talking about how awesome high school was going to be.
“Can you hold these?” I’d said, and I’d handed Aiden my sunglasses and oversized T-shirt and took off toward the pool, yelling “Oh yeah!”
He was smiling at me when I surfaced after my cannonball. He said, “I give it a ten.”
•••
•••
He’d get over it. It’d pass. It had to. Bennett was the one who was in love with me. That was the way I wanted it.
•••
“Well?” I said to my parents. Liana was, indeed, gone, and they were loading the dishwasher.
“We don’t think it’s a smart idea,” my mother said. “To get involved.”
“Why not?” I felt like stomping my feet, felt my fingers tighten to fists.
“We said no, Kay,” my father said. “You’ve got enough going on right now. We
don’t need the attention. That’s the end of it.”
“I want a better reason.” My nails pinched my palms.
“It’s just not the right thing for our family,” my mother said, with an air of finality.
“You haven’t used that one in a while,” I said. “But I’m not asking for a puppy anymore. I’m asking for something that matters.”
“We’re not going to up and change our whole life because someone with a podcast rang our doorbell,” my mother said. She went to dump a glass of water out in the sink and caught the edge of the granite countertop. The glass shattered. “Goddammit,” she said, going against her own belief that taking the Lord’s name in vain wasn’t classy.
“Go take a breather, Chris.” My dad started to pick up large shards. “I got this.”
•••
What if they couldn’t stop me?
•••
I finished the alien book upstairs and then lay there imagining talking to Bennett by the lockers again, but this time he’s friendlier, more intense. I say something smart or funny about the book (“The chicken nugget thing!”), and he looks at me in a new way and says, “Hilarious, right?”
Then I am about to brave saying, “We should hang out or something.”
Only he says it first.
Then fast-forward the daydream. We are at the movies. Maybe there was a film made of the book and we hadn’t known it until now. We’re in the theater alone and his hand creeps over to my knee, then finds my hand, and starts to caress my palm.
By the end of the movie, we’re dying for each other.
He cradles my head and kisses me and says, “Hey, would you go to prom with me?”
I say, “Yes.”
•••
I crept downstairs after my parents had gone to bed. Liana’s card had been on the kitchen counter. Now it was gone. I looked all around, on the side of the fridge, in the junk drawer. Finally, I found it in the trash, pulled it out, wiped coffee grounds off it with a paper towel. I put the number into my phone and saved it as Liana’s.
•••
•••
When I turned off my overhead light I crossed the room in the dark to turn on my night-light; the bulb tick ed dead.
The Possible Page 3
