Clarity

by Kim Harrington

  Not because I was ugly. I figured I wasn’t hideous by the way the boys looked at me when the girls weren’t watching: their sideways glances in the hallways, the casual peeks over their shoulders while they pretended to adjust their book bags. But none of them had the guts to stand up to mob mentality and date the freak.

  Except Justin. He saw me with his own eyes, not through the judgment of others. He didn’t care what the other kids thought or said. He didn’t mind that I was different; in fact, he later told me it was what had attracted him to me in the first place.

  One day last summer, he stopped by for a walk-in appointment, claiming he was curious about the whole “psychic” thing. But really, he’d been curious about me. He’d seen me in school and heard all the talk and instead of being freaked out, he’d thought it was cool. We started dating and by the end of the summer I was completely charmed by him. Places I’d been to a thousand times before — the beach, Yummy’s, the movies — were much more fun with him. I’d never laughed so much in my life. Though I worried about what would happen when school started. But that was when I saw how brave he was. He stood up to anyone who taunted us and stayed by my side, even though it might have destroyed his own popularity.

  But it seemed to have the opposite effect. The guys respected him, maybe for doing something they didn’t have the courage to do. And the girls let up on me, for a little while. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t invited to parties or anything like that, but I wasn’t tortured on a daily basis, either. It was the best time of my life.

  But then everything changed.

  Now Justin stood in our reading room, leaning up against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He was tall, with a wiry athletic build. Usually, he was Mr. Ultra-Casual, with sun-kissed blond hair that he kept out of his eyes by pushing his sunglasses up on his forehead. Today, that messy blond hair was clean-cut, and he’d traded his typical board shorts and loose T-shirt for a striped shirt and khakis. His father, the mayor of Eastport, was running for re-election. Since the campaign started last month, Justin had become the mayor’s sixteen-year-old sidekick. I’d heard he was spending the summer working for his dad down at the town hall, which would explain the nice clothes. What sucked for me was that the new style fit him. He looked even better, the jerk.

  “I heard you and Tiffany got into a catfight over me at Yummy’s,” Justin announced with an overconfident grin that pissed me off.

  I slammed the door behind me. “First off, I dumped a soda over her head. That was it.”

  “Damn, a catfight sounded much hotter. I was picturing ripped shirts, exposed skin.”

  I rolled my eyes. “And second, it wasn’t over you, egomaniac. You can date every girl in town as far as I’m concerned. I hate you. I pray every night that you’ll fall victim to some strange and unusual castration accident.” I pointed to the door. “So get the hell out.”

  His lips twitched, fighting a smile.

  Ugh. I was going for “crazy ex filled with hate” not “isn’t she cute when she’s mad?”

  “Feel better after getting all that out?” He walked around the table and pulled out a chair. “My father paid for the hour. So why don’t we both have a seat.”

  I sighed and slumped into the chair. “Fine. What do you want?”

  He sat opposite me and clasped his hands on the table. “Did you hear about the murder at King’s Courtyard?”

  “Who hasn’t? It’s huge news. My mom is freaking out that all the tourists are going to leave.”

  He nodded fervently, like I’d said the right thing. “Everyone in town is worried. Especially my father. He wants this case solved as quickly as possible …”

  He let his words trail off like I was supposed to know where he was going with this.

  “So?” I said.

  “So, I’m here to ask for your help.”

  I laughed out loud. After what he’d done, here was Justin asking me for help. He could go screw himself.

  “Before you tell me to go screw myself,” he added, “just listen.”

  I had to hand it to him. He knew me pretty well.

  “The police haven’t released any details to the press yet, because they’re contacting the girl’s parents. But I’ll tell you what the police have told my father.”

  At the mention of parents, I was reminded again that the murder victim was young. I felt a terrible weight in the pit of my stomach.

  Justin took a deep breath. “Her name was Victoria Happel. She was eighteen, a tourist from Boston, here for a few days. She checked into the room alone. They’re trying to figure out if she was meeting someone.” He paused dramatically. “She was shot in the head in her room at the motel.”

  A lump lodged in my throat. She was only two years older than me. This was probably her first vacation without her parents. Maybe she headed down here with a boyfriend or some girlfriends, ready to have fun, swim, soak up the sun, have a blast before college started in the fall, with no idea that she’d never make it there. What had happened?

  Justin was still talking, so I shook my head to clear my thoughts.

  “Motel guests reported a loud bang at midnight, but it wasn’t looked into. With all the action this weekend, there’s a lot of loud music, fireworks, and drunks slamming doors. The next morning, the housekeeper went to the room and knocked. When no one answered, she figured it was a good time to clean the room, entered, and found Victoria. Dead.”

  My heart ached for this girl. “The police are working on it, right?” I asked.

  “Of course. But they don’t have much to go on.”

  I leaned back in the chair. It was strange having this serious, matter-of-fact conversation with Justin. It was the most I’d spoken to him since last spring, when that one vision had ruined everything.

  One April night, Justin had come to pick me up for dinner. He’d said he had a surprise for me. When he walked through the door, he looked so fine. I reached my hands up and pulled on the lapels of his leather jacket to bring him to me. But before our lips could touch, an image stopped me cold.

  A vision of Tiffany Desposito playfully grabbing the very same jacket and working it off his shoulders. In the vision, Justin was obviously hammered, swaying in place with a lopsided grin. I saw Tiffany pull him into a sloppy, messy kiss. I saw her push him down onto a couch. I saw her climb on top of him.

  I screamed.

  I slapped Justin, who was bewildered by my sudden outburst. Then I pushed him backward again and again, screaming, “How could you?”

  I wanted to tear him apart, and he would have let me without even so much as raising a hand to defend himself. But Perry came running downstairs when he heard me scream and pulled me off Justin and calmed me down. After a while, I was ready to ask some questions.

  Justin was honest. He’d hooked up with Tiffany the night before. Some senior was having a house party and I hadn’t wanted to go. Despite dating someone as well liked as Justin, I would never be one of the cool kids and never felt comfortable with that crowd. So I stayed home. Justin ended up drunk and with Tiffany. And they’d gone all the way.

  I asked him if he’d slept with her because I had refused him. I wasn’t ready yet. He insisted that wasn’t the case and he didn’t mind waiting for me.

  He said he didn’t know what came over him and had been so drunk he didn’t even remember it happening. It was the first time he’d ever drank and he obviously didn’t know his limit. The next morning, he’d woken on the couch in Tiffany’s basement, and she’d filled him in on the details. He said he’d never cheated before and it would never happen again. He regretted it, blah, blah, blah. But it happened, and I considered it unforgivable.

  After we broke up, Justin followed me all over school, full of apologies and overtures, trying to win me back. After a month, he got the picture, but still tried now and then, mostly by phone or email. When I’d first seen him standing in the reading room, I’d assumed this was a last-ditch effort.

  Now I realized this wasn
’t a social call. Mostly, I was relieved, but a tiny, stupid, irrational part of me was … disappointed. Despite the venom with which I spoke to him and the verbal daggers I hurled in my constant attempts to hurt him as much as he’d hurt me … I didn’t want Justin to disappear from my life. I wanted to witness his guilt and his groveling … because they were the evidence that what we had was real. We had loved each other. I wished my feelings for him were as clear-cut as I outwardly presented them. But they weren’t.

  “Will you help?” Justin asked, bringing me back to the present.

  “I don’t see how I can.”

  He grabbed my hand. I wanted to recoil, but didn’t. “Your gift.”

  “You want to use me and my ability to catch you a killer? ”

  “You were born special, Clare. I’ve always appreciated that.”

  I knew he did. Justin had always believed in me, and my being different didn’t scare him, it enthralled him.

  Justin looked around the room. “Day to day, this is nice. Using your gift to entertain people. But, Clare, did you ever wonder if you were made for something more?”

  I jerked my hand away. “I’m not going to let you use me to help your father get re-elected.”

  He blanched. “You really think that’s my top priority here? I want the killer caught quickly to make Dad look good? This isn’t about my father. It’s about this town and the people in it.”

  I shrugged, regretting what I’d said. Despite his less than faithful past, I knew Justin would never put me in danger. And he and his father loved this town. Though I would never admit it out loud, Justin was a good guy, with a good heart. He’d just made an unforgivable mistake.

  “The police are doing all they can,” he said. “But with your help, I think the case will be solved faster.” He gently took my chin in his hand, forcing me to look into his eyes. “You could save lives, Clare.”

  I pulled away from his familiar touch. I had to admit, I was curious about the case. And feelings of obligation and duty swelled up in me as I thought about Victoria. If my gift could in any way help find a girl’s killer, I should at least try. “Okay. What do you need me to do?”

  He sighed with relief. “Obviously you can’t work in any formal way with the police. The new detective doesn’t believe in any of this psychic stuff and didn’t even want to work with you on the sidelines, but my father insisted. So they compromised. You’re going to work with a summer part-timer.”

  My ears pricked up. “Who?”

  “The new detective’s son. His name’s Gabriel Toscano.”

  I felt my spirits lifting. “When do I start?”

  “Come by my father’s office tomorrow morning at nine.” Justin opened the door to leave, then stopped. “Just one thing. Be careful. I hear this Toscano kid’s a bit on the tough side.”

  I smiled. “I’m a big girl.”

  SIX

  PERRY WAS LOUNGING ON THE COUCH WITH A novel open on his chest. I snatched the book away and knocked him in the head with it.

  “Ouch!”

  “Be glad you’re reading a paperback.”

  “What was that for?” he asked, sitting up.

  “Why didn’t you warn me that the client waiting for me was Justin?”

  He smirked. “Maybe because you were too busy mocking my new friend?”

  Mom came into the room, scrunching her damp curls with her hand. “Justin spoke to me on his way out. His father has offered to pay us for any appointments lost by your working with the police.” She hesitated. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  I lifted my chin and straightened my shoulders. “Yes. It’s the right thing to do. And, to be honest, it feels good to use my gift for something more than a cheap tourist thrill. No offense.”

  Mom rubbed my arm. “Well, if you want to do this, it’s all right with me. Justin assured me that you will be taken care of and not put in harm’s way. He’s such a nice boy.”

  “Nice?” I snapped. “He cheated on me!”

  “One time,” Perry said. “One mistake.”

  “I’m not getting into this again.” I turned to leave. Mom blocked my way. She grabbed my hand and reached out to Perry with her other. “Come, fruit of my loins, we’re going for a walk.”

  “Where?” Perry whined.

  “Down the boardwalk. We’ll grab something to eat for dinner.”

  I wagged a finger at her. “You’re going to check her out, aren’t you?”

  “Whatever are you talking about?” Mom replied sweetly.

  “Madame Maslov. You want to spy on her.”

  She threw her hands up into the air. “Fine. Guilty as charged. You coming or not?”

  Perry and I exchanged a look.

  “We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said, chuckling.

  The first thing that hits the senses when you arrive at the boardwalk is that classic scent: a mixture of salt water, sunscreen, cotton candy, and Monty’s pizza by the slice. The Eastport boardwalk stretches across three blocks, and includes one arcade, two bars, and a handful of shops and restaurants. The only children’s activity is the old carousel and the line for that is always long.

  Tonight, as the sun lazily sank toward the ocean horizon, the boardwalk was bustling. Crowds were darting in and out of shops and eateries, and there were a few rollerbladers and cyclists, as well as two street performers. There wasn’t usually this much action on Monday nights; the weekenders would be back home by now. But it was the week of July Fourth, making this an extended weekend for most, and the boardwalk businesses were booming.

  Including Madame Maslov’s.

  The storefront’s large plate-glass window featured a pink neon sign advertising PSYCHIC READINGS. A line of people trailed out the door, waiting to get in. I took a peek through the window, but saw only a long red curtain. Madame Maslov’s so-called readings probably took place behind that.

  Perry sat on a bench, busy stuffing his face with blue cotton candy and watching the girls walk by. Mom paced back and forth in front of the shop. I had a horror movie Netflix double feature waiting for me at home, but now I felt my night slipping away.

  “Well, we came, we saw, what else do you want?” I asked Mom, my hands in the air. “She’s doing a great business. We can’t compete with her location. Our coupon is making the rounds. That’s all we can do at this point. Let’s stop stalking and go home.”

  Mom wrung her hands and stood still. I hoped she was seeing it my way so we could walk back. Then Maslov’s door opened and a familiar face looked out.

  It was Stephen Clayworth, the only child of insanely rich Cecile and Dallas Clayworth. Whereas most guys his age were wearing T-shirts and flip-flops, Stephen went for labels rather than comfort. He was head-to-toe preppy, from his linen, button-down Ralph Lauren shirt to his leather sandals.

  Stephen was not one of my biggest fans and I couldn’t blame him. He’d graduated with Perry this year, but almost not, thanks to me. He’d started a fight with Perry over some girl. And despite Perry telling me not to get involved and my solemn oath to only use my power for good … I may or may not have tipped off a teacher that Stephen had cheated on a final. Okay, I did do it. But he deserved it for messing with my brother. A dropped pencil had given me the vision and it took a sizable donation from Dallas Clayworth to keep Stephen’s spot at the Ivy League school he was headed to in the fall.

  The Clayworths own half of Eastport and can trace their heritage back to the pilgrims. Dallas Clayworth, the town’s golden boy, is Eastport royalty and was now running for mayor against Harry Spellman. Dallas Clayworth’s father had been mayor in his younger years and used it as a stepping-stone to the U.S. Congress. I assumed that was dallas’s plan, too. And eventually Stephen’s. Must be nice to have your life mapped out.

  Despite how well Justin’s dad was doing as mayor, some people in town felt he was undeserving of the office. He hadn’t been born and raised in Eastport. He didn’t come from money or a well-known family. He didn’t have a
law degree like Dallas. He’d been an elementary school teacher before he became mayor. But he was a great guy, loved the town, and didn’t want to use the position for higher aspirations. Mr. Spellman had always been nice to me when Justin and I were dating.

  It was funny. If Justin and I were still together, I’d probably be helping out, holding signs, and passing out bumper stickers. Instead, I was staking out the new psychic in town and about to be accosted by the junior Clayworth.

  “Checking out the competition?” Stephen sneered.

  I crossed my arms and looked the other way, but he walked up to me and kept jabbering.

  “Madame Maslov can tell the future, you know. That’s something you can’t do, Clare.”

  “No one can tell the future,” Mom said, stepping closer to me. “We have free will and the future is constantly changing due to the decisions we make every moment. You should know that, Stephen.”

  He narrowed his eyes at my mother, then focused back on me. “Madame Maslov told me something about my future. Wanna hear it?”

  “Sure, Stephen,” I muttered, humoring him.

  “She told me a little redhead was gonna bring me trouble. I told her you already had, but she said you weren’t done with me yet. What do you think of that?”

  I shrugged and put my hands in my pockets. “I think it’s a load of bull.”

  “You know what I think is a load of bull?” he asked, raising his voice. “That Mayor Harry Spellman is letting this town fall apart.”

  Oh no, here we go. A pompous rant. Perry rolled his eyes, and I sighed loudly. I could be home watching zombies in high-def.

  People walking by slowed their pace and some stopped completely as Stephen’s hands flailed in the air and his monologue went on.

  He bent over to pick up a candy wrapper. “Like this litter on the boardwalk,” he said. “And most shocking of all, a tourist getting killed! Tourists have never been killed before in this town.” He poked my shoulder as he asked, “What is your beloved Mayor Spellman going to do about this disgrace?”

  That snapped Perry out of his disinterest. He bolted over to us and shoved Stephen aside.