Phoebe Kitanidis
Whisper
For my best friend and mad, long-standing crush,
Robert Brydon
Contents
1
My sister showed me how to Hear a Whisper when…
2
Finally the kidnappers arrived.
3
“You guys—let’s go!” I shot from my chair, but in…
4
I hobbled down the sidewalk after my friends, a white…
5
Ten years, one month, and three days ago, my first…
6
At first after Icka left, I stood alone by the…
7
The wind teased my hair as Waverly Lin’s gleaming white ’66…
8
An hour before the party’s official start, Parker burst into…
9
Parker gazed down on us from the doorway, her beauty…
10
Seconds after the last guest left, Parker kicked off her…
11
Maybe I was spoiled. Okay, so I was definitely spoiled.
12
“Joy? Hello?”
13
I froze. How the hell could he possibly know how…
14
Gross Businessman was still leering down his latte, Whispering his…
15
I shot off the bed. “What’s going on?” I yelled.
16
I never thought I’d feel relieved to see Jamie Williams on…
17
Jamie offered to let me wait at the Denny’s table…
18
The fingers on Aunt Jane’s left hand were intertwined with the…
19
Confessing my secret to Jamie felt like flying down a…
20
I Heard a frantic Whisper, I hope it’s not the…
21
We stepped into the clean, crisp air outside just in…
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
1
My sister showed me how to Hear a Whisper when I was three. “All you have to do,” she said, “is touch somebody else, and if you don’t Hear one right away, just hold on.” She’d grab my wrist, encircling it with her bigger hand, and I’d listen to the Whispers, desire stacked up on desire: I want to discover new planets…. Hope I’ll kiss a boy someday…. Wish I could fly over the Grand Canyon like a hawk. Even at six, Jessica was full of bold wishes and longings.
Now, at seventeen, her mind was often silent as a shadow…and while I could Hear most people’s Whispers from across the room, she was the only person who could sneak up on me.
“Last-minute primping before the apocalypse?”
I spun away from the bathroom mirror, sliding in my socked feet, dropping my half-finished braids. “What’s up, Icka?” My palms were already turning to ice at the sight of her dreadlocked silhouette slouching in the doorway, slim arms folded across her EVOLVE TO VEGAN hoodie. Now I was trapped, a helpless victim of whatever conversational attack she was in the mood for. Frantically I Listened in, hoping to pick up even the softest Whisper from her. Psychic radio silence. Would it be her classic Humanity Is Evil rant, her tailored-to-me You’re a Mainstream Sheep rant, or something worse?
“I brought you a birthday present.” Hall light glinted off the half dozen metal rings in her weary face. “Sort of.”
“Uh, thanks?” I glanced at her open, empty hands. Black-polished nails bitten down to the quick, raw red fingertips. The idea of her anxiously biting her own skin made me feel a twinge of pity. Living with her was tough enough, but I couldn’t imagine what it must be like actually being her. I should be nicer. Try harder. “What kind of present?”
“Information.” She shrugged. “Call it a warning.”
Goose bumps prickled my arms under the sleeves of my flannel pj’s, and a familiar throbbing sang out in my temples. Another tension headache…and no wonder. Was my own sister threatening me? Mom and Dad had promised nothing bad would happen this year. They’d keep a close eye on her, keep her away from my party….
“Whoa, Joy. Forget about your birthday already—what are you, five?” Damn it, how come it seemed like she always Heard me when I could almost never Hear her? “Wake up, you’ve got real, serious problems now,” she went on, pointing to the bottle of Tylenol on the sink next to our toothbrush holder. “I know why you’re getting all those headaches lately.”
“Huh?” I stopped tugging at the loose strands of hair. What was she playing at now? True, ever since high school started, a month ago, I’d had a few pounding tension headaches. (Like the one looming now.) But that was all they were—not some medical mystery. “Those are from stress,” I said. “Dr. Brooks said I need some more downtime is all.” Which I was totally planning to schedule…one of these days.
“Please.” Icka rolled her eyes. “That’s such a cop-out. It just means Brooks couldn’t find anything wrong with you. Medically,” she added, “because what’s wrong with you isn’t medical. It’s the curse you and Mom call a superpower!”
I sighed. So we were back on that debate. Didn’t take long. “Hearing is a gift,” I said automatically. “I really like being able to help people.” Understatement. I didn’t know who I’d be without my Hearing.
“That’s the spirit, honey!” Icka sang in a breathy falsetto that in no way resembled our mother’s voice. She clasped her hands together and fluttered her lashes. “Girls—let’s make this world a brighter, happier place!”
Because that’s such a horrible crime? I felt like saying. Wanting to make the world better? Sometimes I’d have given anything just to understand what planet Icka was coming from, whether she even believed half the things she said, whether she cared about anything other than driving me crazy.
She had to be Whispering something, didn’t she?
I stood still, waiting for her words to flow into my mind, but of course none did.
“The pain’s only going to get worse if you ignore it.” Her bloodshot blue eyes met mine in the mirror. “Believe me, I know.”
Thank you, Ms. Gloom and Doom. “Come on, it’s just a headache.” Not that I’d ever admit this to her, but the pain was getting worse. A tender spot pulsed at the crown of my head, as if someone were prodding it with a skewer. Please go away, stress. Go away, Icka.
I turned away from her, yanked open a sink drawer, and pulled out a mass of rubber hair bands. “If Hearing had anything to do with it,” I said, “don’t you think Mom would know?”
“Joy-Joy.” Icka’s voice was soft as she pressed her palms against the doorframe’s sides and leaned toward me. “Isn’t fifteen a little old to get all your info prechewed by Mom?”
That stung. “I think for myself.”
“Right, you just happen to be a carbon copy of her.” She pinched the bridge of her nose as if I were giving her a headache. “I swear, you are so scarily naïve. Part of me wonders if there’s even any point trying to talk to you about…well, your Hearing problem.”
I swallowed. Hearing problem? Okay, what was that supposed to mean? That I was going Whisper-deaf, like Aunt Jane had? All because of a few stupid headaches? I concentrated on tying off my braids. Ignoring Icka’s relentless gaze and the pebbles suddenly lodged in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t want to give her any ins, any idea that I cared. But she must have Heard my curiosity, because her permascowl flipped up into a smirk.
“You know, maybe I should have waited.” Her tone went all smug suddenly. “Let you try to work this one out all by yourself. Until you have to come crawling back to me for help. You’d be the one begging me to be friends again…” She cringed.
I wish
I hadn’t said that part.
Aha! Finally, a Whisper—the first I’d picked off her in weeks. And she’d given away her game: Icka was just trying to trick me into getting close to her again. Scaring me, to make me think I desperately needed her. As if she could turn back the clock and change me back into the little girl who’d idolized her big sister. Of course she had no valuable insights—she never did—just the usual lies and conspiracy theories. Anger covered the pity I’d felt earlier. She’d played on my greatest fear. Losing my Hearing. Turning into Aunt Jane. All alone. A recluse. Why did I keep giving Icka the benefit of the doubt, when all she did was lash out at anyone in target range? The only way to be safe was to stay away from her. “I should go help Mom in the kitchen,” I said.
“Listen to me.” Icka blocked the door.
I hesitated. In some ways, nothing had changed in all these years. It didn’t seem to matter that I was five inches taller than her, that I was stronger, or happier, or had made more friends in a month of high school than she had in three years. All that mattered was that she wouldn’t let mere social custom (like, say, not blocking a door when someone wanted to leave a room) stop her. She’d always find a way to get to me.
“Listen,” she said again. “You are so screwed, beyond your wildest nightmares. I’m worried for you.”
I shook my head, as if to stop her words from taking hold. Don’t believe her. She’s just trying to scare you, to get you to need her again.
“I thought this day would never come, but the signs are all there. You’re not losing your Hearing, dummy. You’re gaining more of it. More than you ever wanted, and I bet it’s more than you can take.”
I took a chance and pushed past her.
“Fine, go plug yourself back into the mother ship!” she screamed after me. “But get ready. You’re about to turn into me.”
From the bottom of the stairs I could see the glow of the kitchen light, and by the time I reached the front hallway I could even feel the oven’s warmth and smell cinnamon sugar, orange, and vanilla in the air.
Mom stood by the sink, looking a little like a fairy in her old blue satin robe, dark blond hair falling in gentle waves to her shoulders. Her left hand held open a book, Creative Cupcakes for Any Occasion, while her right was busy wiping down the already spotless white countertop. “Cute braids!” she said, and stifled a yawn—it was, after all, midnight. “So, are we all cam-ready for tomorrow?”
“Almost…I still have some tidying.”
“Your friends think they’re surprising you,” she reminded me, letting the cookbook snap closed. “Your room doesn’t have to be squeaky-clean.”
“You mean like that?” I indicated the immaculate counter she was scrubbing.
“Fair enough.” Mom grinned. “I’m afraid we both inherited Granny Rowan’s perfectionism.”
Carbon copies. The phrase just popped into my head.
Mom stopped wiping and regarded me over her reading glasses. “Honey, are you okay?”
I hesitated. “Yeah. Well, no.” There was no point in lying to a Hearer that you were okay when you weren’t. “I was talking to Icka upstairs.”
“Oh.” Mom blinked and examined the sponge up close, a tiny furrow forming on her brow. I knew what she was going to Whisper before I Heard it: I wish you girls talked to each other more often.
I squirmed. Whispers about me—or worse, addressed to me directly—were hard to ignore. It’s not like I had some cosmic responsibility to make desires come true. I just hated the thought of letting people down. I mean, imagine you had to know about it every single time you failed someone.
I must have looked pretty lost, because Mom flipped the switch on the electric kettle. “You look like you could use a hot cup of tea.”
“Maybe…with some milk and honey?” I knew I sounded like a little kid, but as much as I hated to admit it, Icka’s “warning” had shaken me up. “My Hearing—it’s not going to…I don’t know, change or something, is it?”
“Change?” She sounded puzzled. “Your Hearing finished growing when you were in elementary school, just like Jessica’s.” Mom was the only person who still called my sister by her full first name.
“But what about after that?” I reached into the cupboard and pulled out twin pale blue Laura Ashley mugs. “Did Ick—Jessica mature more than me, somehow? Did she have a growth spurt and get to the next level or something?”
“Ah,” Mom said as if understanding, then shook her head. “Your ability doesn’t work that way.” She pushed up her glasses to fix her gentle gaze on me. “There are no secret levels and mysterious growth spurts. There’s nothing to worry about or be scared of. Your Hearing’s fully matured, it’s healthy and stable. And just as strong as your sister’s.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Icka was full of it; what else was new? But one thing still bugged me. The same thing that had bugged me on and off since seventh grade, when I first noticed it. “How come it seems like she can always Hear me,” I said, “but I can’t always Hear her?”
“You’re still worried about that, huh?” Mom smiled. “Remember, the world is full of Whispers. Too many for any of us to catch. It’d be like trying to count every grain of sand on the beach at once. Or every star in the sky.”
“True.” I nodded at the familiar metaphors. They made sense, just as they always had. More sense than Icka’s doomsaying anyway. I quelled the strident little voice in my head—the Icka voice—that suddenly wondered what the heck counting had to do with Hearing. And how was sand (cold, dead sand) anything like a human Whisper? Icka could overanalyze a McDonald’s menu and find the cracks in its logic, but where had overthinking gotten her? Nowhere I wanted to go.
“No two Hearers pick up all the same things,” Mom went on. “But if you look for the good in people, you’ll almost always find it.”
“Then why does she only look for the worst?” My vehemence surprised me.
Evidently it surprised Mom too, because she shot me a look. “Sometimes a person can get stuck,” she said slowly. “Looking at the world through dark glasses, reading the worst into every Whisper. It’s a hard way to go through life, because the more you come to expect darkness, the more you find it. From Jessica’s point of view, people are out to hurt her. She’s never had your knack for fitting in, she’s never found a place for herself the way you always do.”
“She, um, doesn’t seem to try very hard though.” Why was Mom always defending Icka? “It almost seems like she wants to be unpopular.”
Mom winced at the word, and I felt guilty. “That’s just how she protects herself, sweetie,” she said. “Think how lonely she must feel. Making friends comes naturally to you, but she just doesn’t know how.”
Because she spends all her time locked in her room feeling superior, I thought. And talking to her is like being tortured. “I hate to say it,” I said, “but I can sort of see why no one wants to be her friend, you know?”
The electric kettle trilled sharply. Mom turned it off and began pouring water into our mugs, while I rummaged for decaf Irish Breakfast tea bags, milk, and honey.
“It wasn’t so long ago,” she said softly, “that the two of you were best friends.”
I dug two teaspoons out of the silverware drawer and stayed silent. What could I say? It sure seemed like long ago.
I was relieved when I heard footsteps on the back porch. The kitchen door opened and my father walked in, the full moon behind him, his arms full of brown legal folders, his U of O coffee mug balanced on top.
“Hey, gang.” His drooping eyebrows seemed to perk at the sight of our steaming mugs. I’d love a cup of coffee.
“It’s tea,” Mom said, standing. “But let me fix you a pot of fresh—”
“Oh, no, Kell. Don’t get up. I should hit the sack anyway.” He set his folders and mug down on the kitchen table. “So what are we all talking about here?”
I glanced at Mom for help. There was no way Dad would understand our conver
sation.
“Just girl stuff,” she said cheerfully.
“Right, I get it.” He held up his hands. “Hearing stuff.”
As he passed us and headed toward the hall, his shoulders seemed to slump. He didn’t say anything about my birthday being tomorrow—technically today. I wondered if he even remembered.
Poor Dad. It couldn’t be easy, living with three women who could Hear your Whispers when you couldn’t Hear theirs. Three women who were all part of a club you could never join. He didn’t complain about it, but for a while now I’d been aware that this must be part of why Dad was so involved with his work. Law was an escape, another world with its very own language he’d mastered the way he could never master ours.
It hadn’t started that way. In fact, he’d started out working so hard for us, putting in fourteen-hour days so Mom could afford to stay home with two small girls. Girls who cried and curled up when confronted with crowds, or even small groups of people. Their combined desires overwhelmed us back then. We Heard them as one relentless hum, an incoherent psychic rumbling that drowned out all other sound…nothing like the crisp Whispers that came through when we actually touched someone. Mom kept saying by the time we each started school it would be different, little more than a distraction. And anyway, in a few years our Hearing would be fully grown and strong enough to pick up clear Whispers all the way down the street!
Mom was our family’s cheerleader, speaking with the confidence of experience, as well as wisdom passed down from her mother and grandmother and all the women in the family stretching back to forever. I doubt it had ever occurred to her that one of her daughters wouldn’t want her Hearing. Would resent the gift. And would take out her anger on the rest of us.
A kitchen timer beeped, and I jumped. Mom grabbed a pot holder I’d made back in third grade and opened the oven door to pull out a pan of steaming-hot cupcakes.
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