I felt defensive, combative. Listening was the last thing I wanted to do. I stared at his upraised hand, wanting to slap it away and remind its smart-assed owner who the authority was here. But then I realized my pride was getting in the way. I wasn’t here to suppress these kids but help set them free.
If Jason sensed my discomfort, he wasn’t letting on. “We’re not sharing ourselves. We’re not sharing our stories.”
“The mask project was a prelude to that.”
“I know,” he said with a shake of his head. “But we’re still wearing masks…for you.”
“For me?”
“And for this class. Even though it keeps us after school and is more talk than action, we don’t want it to fail.”
More talk than action? I must have looked pretty silly standing there with my mouth hanging open, because the way Jason was eyeballing me, it seemed he wanted to shake me. “I know some things can’t be rushed, Ms. V, but we don’t have much time.”
All was silent, except for Bruce Springsteen singing from the CD player in the background. “Trouble in Paradise,” of all things. Why was everyone in such a damn hurry? “Next year someone will come in to replace me. Hopefully, someone more experienced and—”
“Is that why you won’t allow yourself to care?”
“Care? What are you talking about? Of course, I care. I’m putting my life on hold for you.” Jeez! I turned and took several deep breaths, embarrassed at my outburst and the silence that followed.
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Luke said.
Road to hell? Good intentions?
Jason observed me as a teacher observes a dense student. “You need to enter our world.”
My eyes ached the way they always do when my brain tries to absorb more than it can handle. They floated in their sockets like blue marbles in zero gravity. Enter their world? No way. Theirs was a world I meant to avoid—the constant fear of having a serious mental illness, of losing one’s mind. Maybe we could join forces and escape together.
“What upsets you says a lot about you,” Luke said, throwing one of my class rules back at me. Currently a sore subject. Be the rules, don’t just talk about them.
I turned back to the students and took a deep breath. “Okay, time for me to shut up and for you to explain what’s going on.”
“We need to deal with some real problems, now,” Jason said.
I’d agreed to keep my mouth shut but couldn’t help asking, “Like what?”
“Angelina’s dying.”
Dying? I gasped like a chain smoker after years of abuse. “How do you know?”
He rubbed his temples with the fingertips of both hands. “I just do.”
Bubbles rose in my airways and made a crackling sound in my throat when I realized Angelina wasn’t in the room.
“And then there’s Tessa Lambe,” Jason said.
I grabbed the edge of the table in front of me for support.
“Someone you’ve ignored until now.”
Jason might as well have punched me in the gut. I felt like the loser in a round of amateur boxing.
“It’s not all your fault, though. She did a number on you.”
I looked at Tessa, really looked at her, for what seemed like the first time. She sat like a rag doll, hands folded on the table, her face expressionless, her aura a bright emerald green. The word apathetic came to mind, and I realized apathy was worse than hate. Her apathy and mine. She’d asked for nothing, and I’d given her nothing. We hadn’t engaged at all. I smiled at her. She did not smile back. You can’t play the game if you’re missing a card. Eight of Spades, healer, enormous spiritual energy.
“How about you, Jason? Did you do a number on me, too?”
The look he gave me was that of a fifty-year-old. I should know. My birth father had given me a similar look when he’d admitted to being an alcoholic, a look of pity for the clueless. “We just don’t want to screw up,” Jason said.
“Okay. As I told you before, we’re all in this together. Guess it’s time for you to share.”
Jason’s gaze followed my hands, which had crept to my chest. “Remember what you said the day you started telling us about your mouse totem and we waited for you to tell us more?”
When I didn’t answer, he answered for me. “You said, ‘Maybe someday I’ll tell you about it.’”
“Wait a minute. This isn’t about me.”
“Are you afraid that if you share your story, we’ll lose respect for you?”
Again, I didn’t need to answer. He already knew. My story, like the stories of all the others in the room, was one not easily shared. On the one hand, it was too unbelievable. On the other, I wasn’t proud of my role in it—a reactor, instead of an actor, a walk-on, a placeholder. I was performing a bit part in my own life story.
“So, what makes it different for us?” he asked, nostrils flared. “What do we risk when we spill our guts in front of the class? More than loss of respect, Ms. V. Much more. Anyway, Shawn reads you like a book.”
“And you?”
“I mostly sense things, like that you’re healthy and Angelina’s not.”
“How about Codi?” I asked, aware she was listening and could speak for herself. “Does she have problems, too?”
Jason gave her a lopsided smile. “She’s a different kettle of fish, but, yeah, I’d say so.”
“How about Ethan?”
After studying my face for what seemed a full minute, Jason said, “Do you really want to know about us?” When I nodded, he asked, “Are you sure?”
“You mean, I have a choice?”
“Oh, you have a choice all right, but choosing means upsetting some apple carts, especially your own.”
Before I could react, Jason turned to Luke, who nodded and said, “As you told Codi during our lesson about totems, ‘You are not a victim, unless, of course, you insist on sabotaging your life. Your mind can do that easily enough, if you let it.’”
Luke was a walking, talking video camera, recording and replaying what I’d said with complete accuracy, down to my smallest gestures and expressions. I responded to the words as Codi had, with a deep shaky breath.
Jason stood, guided me to his seat at the base of the U, and turned to the rest of the class. “Show time.”
Shoot! Sitting in the direct path of a tornado-force storm, I was truly starting to wonder about choice and consequences.
Jason took on the role of class spokesperson as if born to it, and none of his peers seemed to mind. Maybe they’d discussed this beforehand, or maybe they shared a psychic connection.
“We’ll start with Tessa,” he said.
She rose from her seat next to Codi like a shadow—gray, featureless. Then, like a Polaroid picture, she sharpened and took on color. The girl I’d hardly noticed until now had blonde hair, a thin pointy chin, a small nose, and blue eyes. She wore faded denim jeans and a hooded gray sweater. I recalled how upset I’d been when Dr. Matt told me that Shawn could fade into the background to the point where you didn’t even know he was there. It wasn’t like me to ignore a child, especially one who’d been in my class for nine days.
“During our lesson on masks,” she said, “we had a visitor.” Her little girl voice was soft, yet forceful, like the storm I imagined headed my way.
I thought of our class guest, Brad, Brave Puppy, and the memory brought a smile to my face. He and his mother had so loved the lesson on masks they’d precipitated a reprimand from Dr. Matt. But his tongue-lashing had been worth it. I would do it again in a heartbeat. In fact, I would invite the entire school to take part if they could fit into the classroom. I relaxed my grip on the seat of my chair.
“Not Brad,” Shawn said softly.
I blinked. Not Brad?
“She looked just like you,” Tessa said, “except for the birthmark on her face.”
“Oh God.” I stood and my chair tipped on its side. “Oh God.” I
dropped my face into my hands and started to shake. Maya.
Someone straightened my chair and eased me back onto it. “It’s okay, Ms. Veil.”
I eyed the door leading to the outside corridor, fighting the urge to escape.
“Trust me,” Shawn said. “It’ll be okay.”
Trust?
“Only Angelina and I could see her,” Tessa said.
This ghost of a girl, this chameleon, had seen my sister, when I had not. Her voice sounded like it was coming through a long, narrow tunnel, distorted by the loud pumping of my heart. Why hadn’t I sensed Maya’s presence? I’d been able to do so before.
“She said you’re no longer open to her messages. Or to your mother’s.”
I thought I heard accusation in Tessa’s voice, but her next words proved me wrong.
“Which, in my opinion, isn’t so bad. Why should dead people be telling us what to do, anyway? They had their chance while they were alive and should leave us alone to live ours. That’s how we learn. Right?”
I nodded, wracking my brain for a reason why I’d lost contact with my sister. The consciousness that had survived her death would know of my attempt to help others and that I needed her now more than ever.
“What I’m trying to say is that Angelina and I sometimes hear and see the dead. We thought you should know this as our teacher.”
“Thanks, Tessa.” Jason turned to Ethan. “You’re on.”
The smoky white aura swirling around Ethan’s body indicated a lack of harmony in mind and body, possibly some kind of artificial stimulation. “I can see into the future, but usually, I don’t know it’s the future until it’s already happened and it’s too late to do anything about it. Maybe what’s going to happen is set. Or maybe there are a bunch of outcomes, like in one of those pick-your-own-ending books.” He eyed the cabinet holding his ceramic totem. “My vision, or whatever you want to call it, tells me that my owl’s going to crash and burn, and I can’t stop it, because” —he grimaced as if there were a sudden bad taste in his mouth— “I don’t know which ending to choose.”
I looked at the trophy case, where his owl stood safe and protected, then back at Ethan.
He gave me a smile accompanied by drooped shoulders and the shake of his head. “The cabinet won’t help.”
“You can make another,” I said.
He sat down. “That’s not the point now, is it?”
“Codi,” Jason said, moving things right along.
She stood slowly and leaned on the table in front of her like an eighty-year-old granny with a weak heart. “I get into people’s heads.” Her aura was confusing, a bright lemon yellow with pockets of violet, as though she were struggling to maintain power and control in a relationship.
“Like in Ms. Goldsberry’s class,” I said. “You were the one who warned me, right? ‘Watch out Ms. Veil, the party’s about to begin.’”
She shrugged and dropped back into her seat. “Yep, that was me.”
“Not so fast.” Jason frowned as though he were her teacher instead of a peer. “Codi can plant thoughts into your head, Ms. V, and influence what you do. Sometimes I feel like wearing a bicycle helmet when she’s around to keep her from messing with my mind.”
Codi’s smile vanished, and her posture straightened from granny pose to superhero. “I don’t mess with people’s minds unless it’s important. It makes my head hurt.”
“Good.” Jason turned to Shawn. “Shawn reads minds, but he can’t mess with them like Codi can.”
Shawn didn’t agree or disagree, just shrugged, his demeanor so calm you’d think he lived in a monastery under a vow of silence.
“Luke’s specialty is trivia,” Jason said. “Like Sherlock Holmes and inspector Nash Bridges, he has near perfect recall. Except he’s alive and breathing instead of a fictional character. They call his talent eidetic memory, which more or less makes him a walking, talking encyclopedia. I’d go nuts if I remembered everything, but there you have it.”
Luke hung his head. “A lot of good it does. Crowds out all the important stuff.”
“Tessa is our healer,” Jason said. “She’s trying to—”
“You promised not to tell,” Tessa said, her voice a plaintive kitten meow. “I don’t work miracles and you know it.”
“Depends on what you call a miracle, but, okay, I promised not to tell. As Tessa said, she and Angelina can sometimes see and hear the dead. And you already know about me. I move stuff with my mind. Usually not very well.”
“Show her,” Codi said. “Show her what you can do.”
He gave her a sour look then held up a pencil. With the flair of a stage magician, he flicked open his fingers and the pencil disappeared.
“Where did it go?” I asked, finding it hard to believe what I’d just seen.
“I don’t know,” Jason said.
“Magic?” I asked.
“Not magic, but real. I let my mind go blank, so it doesn’t interfere with my hands, and then things just disappear. I don’t see the openings they disappear into, but my hands know there’re there. It’s kind of like breathing. You do it without thinking. Sometimes I pull weird things out of the pockets surrounding me. Things I don’t want and can’t return. Like a bad purchase.”
I shook my head, gaining a new understanding of why Jason’s father expressed concern. For now, Jason could masquerade as a magician, but at some point, if only for his own mental health, he would have to reveal his abilities. And then what? How would people react if they knew the extent of his powers?
“It’s sort of like the hidden portals in Earth’s magnetic field called X-points,” Luke said, “that open and close to other dimensions dozens of times a day. They’re located thousands of kilometers from Earth, but Jason discovered something similar here, like the Bermuda Triangle, except smaller, and found the invisible entry points.”
“My God, Luke, do you have a scientific explanation for everything?” Codi asked.
“In this case, NASA does,” he said, unperturbed by Codi’s question. In fact, he seemed to thrive on her attention, as though aware that his knowledge secretly impressed her.
“Sometimes I hide my hands in my pockets,” Jason said, “so it’s hard to get things done, especially at school. It’s at the point where I’m afraid to touch anyone, and I don’t like to be touched. This bugs Mom and Dad to no end, makes them worry I’ll never get married and have kids. As if that would be the end of the world.”
The ache of imagining his pain settled deep in the walls of my chest. I wished I could fly away like those crazy, dive-bombing birds on the other side of the windows. These kids didn’t need me; they needed a frigging miracle worker. I could be married to Morgan right now, my biggest concern what to fix for dinner and pack in Joshua’s school lunch. Morgan would take care of my every want and need, provide peace and security, but…
How long before boredom set in?
I could get a job as a regular teacher and hand over this assignment to someone else. But who? If I with my emerging psychic abilities had zilch to offer, who would?
God, I felt helpless. Just like the kids.
“Um, Ms. V?” It was Jason again. “What mold are you pouring your thoughts into?”
I shook my head, rolled my eyes.
He grinned. “Now might be a good time to practice what you preach.”
Smartass!
Chapter Twenty-one
“NOW MIGHT BE A good time to practice what you preach.” Jason’s words raced through my mind long after the students had left for the day. I sat, elbows on table, forehead cupped in hands, unable to dispel images of Angelina sick, maybe dying, and Jason living his life afraid to touch or be touched. As if to mock me, Bruce Springsteen crooned the lyrics to “The Price You Pay” from the CD in the distance.
Damn. Why was it so cold in here?
The warmth of someone’s hand seeped through the yoke of my blazer and traveled to my heart, which fe
lt like a bruised fist. Instead of tensing at the intrusion, I relaxed into it. The warmth was more than physical; it exuded care and concern.
“Bad day?”
I nodded, wondering how Granny Max had entered the room without notice.
“I brought all the fixings for oatmeal raisin cookies, dear, thought I’d give one of the old kitchens a try.”
When I didn’t respond, she withdrew her hand. “Are you okay with that?”
I twisted around and studied Granny Max’s face, glad her aviator sunglasses were propped on her head instead of covering the serenity of her brown eyes. “Sure, why not?”
“Let’s go then. I preach better with my hands busy.”
I followed—comfort food, like the warmth of a hand, an irresistible draw.
“Sit,” she said when we reached one of the dated but fully functional kitchens. “No assistance required.”
I sank onto a chair at the small table in the kitchen’s dining area, tempted to lay my head down and take a nap.
“Looks like you need some refueling. Consider this your pit stop.” Granny Max pulled bowls, measuring spoons, and cookie sheets out of cabinets and drawers as if this were her kitchen instead of one in a chilly old classroom. “Maybe we should give this place a modern twist by calling it a ‘food lab’ where kids can learn some basic life skills… Like how to put out a kitchen fire.”
While she measured butter and sugar into a large plastic bowl and creamed them together, I watched mesmerized, as if this were the first time I’d ever seen someone bake cookies. And when she beat in the eggs and vanilla and started singing, “Shake, Rattle, and Roll,” she could have been waving a magic wand and singing “Bibbidy Bobbidy Boo” as far as I was concerned. She blended in the dry ingredients and, when done, lifted the wooden spoon to her lips, microphone style, and swayed her hips. “Baby, let’s shake, rattle, and roll.” Then finally, while stirring in the oats and raisins, her voice quivering with the effort, she said, “Your kids may be unique because of their Indigo status, but basically all kids are alike. Could you handle another thousand?”
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