Confessions of a Teenage Psychic

by Pamela Woods-Jackson

  Finally we hear sirens in the distance.

  I’m shaking all over and tears are coming to my eyes. I can’t believe I didn’t see the danger to Kensi ahead of time too. To my immense relief, Kensi is finally able to get her door open and stumble out of the car. I don’t like the girl, but I don’t wish her any harm. She hugs Quince and he walks her around to the passenger side where the door is completely bashed in. Salissa doesn’t look too good, blood everywhere, but I hear her muttering something, so at least she’s conscious.

  “Wow! If that had been Quince riding shotgun… ” Megan doesn’t finish the sentence. She turns to face me. “What was that you said about keeping Quince from getting into Kensi’s car?”

  I can’t find the words to answer her. I just thank the Universe that no one was killed or seriously injured in the accident. We wait while the paramedics pry the door open, place Salissa onto a stretcher and ease her into the ambulance. Lights and sirens go screaming down the street, and the crowd finally begins to disperse. I say a silent prayer for Salissa’s recovery and start walking home.

  Mom and I live in a two-bedroom apartment about three blocks north of our store, which makes it about six blocks from school. All the lights are off when I let myself in, except Mom has thoughtfully turned on the lamp next to my bed. I tiptoe across the hall and peek into her room, but she’s fast asleep. I sigh, wanting to tell her what’s happened, but I decide it’ll keep till morning. Still, I wish I had someone to talk to right now.

  I can’t even e-mail anyone. My mother says she doesn’t believe in high-tech stuff. Well, okay she believes in it, she just doesn’t want it in our house. She claims all those electronics suck the energy out of the room, but I know it’s really because that stuff costs a lot of money. Neither of us has a cell phone, but we do have a landline with an answering machine. We have a microwave, because it came with the apartment, but there’s no computer so I have to either use one at school or go to the public library. And we have one old TV hooked up to the cable line that came with the apartment, but no DVD player. Mom says it’s important for both of us to be in touch with the Universe, and we can’t do that if something is beeping or ringing 24/7. I let her pretend her reasons are spiritual and not financial.

  So at a time when most kids would send an e-mail or text someone about what just happened, I’m faced with silence. I flop down on my bed and try to think my way through all the evening’s events on my own, but I can’t focus. Something is distracting me. I look over at the nightstand next to my bed and see a letter propped up against the lamp, addressed to me. It’s from my dad!

  I eagerly rip open the envelope and begin reading.

  Dear Care Bear:

  Things are pretty busy here, but I miss you and hope you are doing well up there in the frozen north. (Ha ha! Just my little joke!) I’m now working the day shift at the country club, earning good tips from the “ladies who lunch,” so I have my nights free for acting gigs. I just got a small part at an Equity theatre in downtown Houston, and I’m doing all kinds of radio voice-over spots, which helps pay the bills. It’s a good thing Michael has a real job and is willing to support me in my dream, because I’d never make it on my own as a waiter/actor.

  We both hope you’re making new friends and feeling more at home in Indianapolis. Your room here with us is always ready for you, should you want to come for a visit. Know that I love you and wish you well.

  Love, Dad

  Tears come to my eyes as I read and reread the letter. Michael teaches high school biology and my dad’s acting career is just starting to take off, so they won’t be able to come up here for a visit any time soon, if at all. They’ve made a good life for themselves in Houston despite being total opposites of each other— Michael so practical and Dad so creative.

  I carefully fold up my father’s letter and put it back in its envelope. Since I can’t send e-mail anyway, I don’t think there’s anything more special than getting snail mail with my name on it and an old-fashioned stamp on the outside. I set the letter on my nightstand and, promising myself I’ll write him back tomorrow, turn off the light and go to sleep.

  Chapter 4

  Trick or Treat

  Kensi’s car accident was all anyone at school could talk about that next week. The two cheerleaders in the backseat had been wearing their seat belts, so they weren’t seriously hurt, but they were seriously scared. Kensington had a concussion and some bruises, but basically she was okay. Salissa was the one hurt the worst, suffering a broken leg and collarbone, but she came back to school on crutches three weeks later to a hero’s welcome.

  As for Quince, he was pretty shaken up. If he’d been in that car his football season and maybe his scholarship chances would be over. I was sure everyone was still thinking I was a big dork for spilling that soda on him, but my clumsiness was seen as a lucky coincidence. All the kids were saying that if I hadn’t doused poor Quince… well, you get the idea.

  Now I’m really starting to like it at Rosslyn. Most of all I’m in awe of the way the seasons actually change in Indiana. In Texas, it’s just warm all the time, but in mid-October here, the air is cool and the leaves are changing into gorgeous shades of red, yellow, and brown. Halloween is coming, and I really can see the frost on the pumpkin, like the poem says. I’m thrilled at the sight of my breath in the cool air, and revel in the fact that I need to wear a light jacket to school.

  “What are you doing for Halloween next weekend?” Megan asks me after school, a couple of weeks after homecoming.

  “Nothing that I know of.” I’m searching my increasingly cluttered and messy locker for my English book. “What’d you have in mind?”

  I find my book and yank it out, knocking two other books onto the floor along with it, narrowly missing Megan’s toes.

  “Oh, sorry.” It seems I’m doomed to be clumsy.

  Megan, when she’s got something on her mind, doesn’t pay attention to little things like tumbling books, although she does pull her feet out of the line of fire.

  “The PTA is having a carnival in the school parking lot Saturday afternoon. It’s a fundraiser, but it should be lots of fun and everyone’s going to be there. My mom got roped into taking tickets at the gate, so she’s making me run one of the booths. Wanna help?” Megan’s eyes are all lit up with excitement.

  I think about it for a minute. Running a dunking booth or apple-bobbing contest doesn’t sound too bad.

  “What would I be doing?”

  Megan now looks embarrassed, and I don’t think that’s a good sign. “Well, really… ” she begins, and then hesitates.

  Megan isn’t meeting my eyes, which is setting off alarm bells in my head. Oh, no, she wants me to do something really stupid, like be the bearded lady.

  “We need someone to be Madame Wilhelmina. She’s the fortuneteller. Would you mind?”

  I’m leaning down to pick my books up off the floor and the shock of that question causes me to trip and land on top of them.

  “Ouch!” I say.

  “Are you okay?” Megan asks as she helps me up.

  The look on her face says she thinks I’m the biggest klutz in school, and frankly I’m starting to agree. As I get to my feet and attempt to compose myself, I realize I need to do some fast talking to get out of this one.

  “Fortuneteller?” I mean, really. “Why ME?”

  “I just think you’d be good at it,” she says with a shrug. “You kinda look the part anyway, what with that long dark hair and green stripe in it. All you need is a flowing caftan with a turban and you’re set.”

  “Megan!” Visions of me dressed like some crazy gypsy lady reading a crystal ball pop into my head and make me cringe. “The fortuneteller? Couldn’t I be in charge of the dunking booth or something?”

  “All the other booths are covered, but no one wanted to do this one.”

  I wonder why. Duh.

  “So can you do it?”

  Okay, this might just be some weird coincidence, but Mom a
lways says there are no such things as coincidences, that things happen for a reason. I’m really confused, so I stall for time.

  “I need to talk to my mother about this, but I’ll let you know.”

  I gather my books and jacket and hurry out the door. I hope Megan doesn’t think I’m rude, but this is a pretty uncomfortable spot to be in.

  Fortuneteller? No way. I might as well announce to the world that I’m a psychic freak and be done with it.

  I walk down the sidewalk outside of school, stop at the intersection and push the Walk button. I need to talk to Mom and get her advice on how to gracefully decline this offer without alienating Megan. It’s chilly outside and I realize in my rush to get out of the building that I haven’t even put my jacket on, so I hurriedly slip into it. The light is taking forever to change, and my only thought is to get to Mom’s store and plead for help.

  I guess I’m pretty distracted with both the jacket and the stoplight when out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of a good-looking young man in an olive-drab T-shirt standing on the street corner. He looks familiar, although I’m certain we’ve never met. He waves at me and I half-heartedly wave back. I tap my foot, impatient for the light to change.

  You know how you can just feel it when someone is staring at you? Well, I sneak a look again and sure enough the guy is still there, grinning at me, like we’re long-lost best friends or something.

  Who is that guy? Do I know him?

  I start getting goose bumps all over. Uncle Omar! No way, it couldn’t be! Uncle Omar?

  I swallow hard, blink, look again, but this time he isn’t there. Did I imagine it? I look up and down the street, behind me, and back again where I just saw him, thinking whoever the guy is must still be close by, but he’s gone. No one could disappear that quickly, but there has to be a logical explanation. The light finally turns to Walk and I’m so freaked out I run all the way to Mom’s store, arriving breathless and stuttering.

  “Caryn, what’s wrong?” Mom is busy reorganizing some sale items on a shelf near the front window, pushing the hard-to-sell items forward and arranging them in an attractive display. She looks up in alarm as I hurry in and shut the door so hard the bells jangle wildly. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I… I… ” My heart is beating so fast I could be getting a great cardio workout if I weren’t standing still.

  “Calm down, Caryn. Take a deep breath.”

  I try, but it doesn’t help. “I saw Uncle Omar!” I finally sputter.

  Mom looks way too calm. “Caryn, that’s nonsense. Omar is dead.”

  “I know he’s dead, but I swear I just saw him. Just now— on the street corner. He waved at me!” I’m jumping up and down, hugging myself with nervous jitters.

  “Caryn, you must be mistaken. Your Uncle Omar died before you were born. You never met him.”

  “I’ve seen pictures! And I know what I just saw! It was Uncle Omar!”

  I desperately need for my mother to believe me, or at least to convince me for sure that I’m hallucinating.

  Omar Alderson was my mother’s much older half-brother. She was just a little girl when he enlisted in the Army during the Vietnam War, and then he died in combat six months later when he stepped on a land mine. He was only twenty years old. There were lots of pictures of him in photo albums that I looked at as a little kid. He was a tall blond with brooding good looks, who resembled Mom a little. My favorite picture is the one Mom keeps in her bedroom— Uncle Omar grinning into the camera as one of his buddies snapped a photo just before they shipped out. He’s wearing Army fatigues and a green T-shirt, with his dog tags prominently displayed on a chain around his neck.

  “MOM!” I gasp as the realization hits me full force. “It was him, just like in that picture on your dresser!”

  “Omar?” Mom looks perplexed as she tries to make sense of what I’m saying. “But he’s been dead for years. How can you have seen him today?”

  I don’t know. My long-dead uncle? It’s just my imagination. It has to be. Or is it?

  “Now I’m seeing DEAD people? What’s wrong with me?” I cover my face with my hands like I’m really going to be able to shut out the visions.

  Mom pulls my hands away from my face. “There’s nothing wrong with you. But I can’t understand… ” Her voice trails off as she drops my hands and stands lost in thought. “Is it possible you really did see him?”

  “If I did, I’m being haunted!” I wail, throwing my hands in the air.

  “I don’t think ‘haunted’ is the right word. Did he talk to you?”

  “Ohmigod, are you crazy, Mom? It’s bad enough I’m seeing ghosts, but please tell me I can’t talk to them!”

  “I don’t know, Caryn. You’re pretty psychic. But this is definitely a new development.” Mom gives my shoulders a squeeze.

  “Am I gonna be hounded by ghosts like that lady in the TV show? You might as well commit me to the loony bin right now, because everyone at school will think I’m nuts! I think I’m nuts!” I bury my head on her shoulder, shaking, as tears come to my eyes.

  “Caryn, I don’t think— ” she starts, but just then the bells over the door jingle.

  Mom releases me and I turn away, hurriedly trying to wipe away the tears as Megan and her mother walk into the store.

  “May I help you?” Mom stands up straight, smoothes her work apron and is immediately back in store-owner mode.

  I remember she hasn’t met them yet.

  I swallow hard, making sure I don’t sound like I’m still blubbering, and force myself to smile.

  “Mom, this is my friend Megan Benedict from school, and her mother Ms. Benedict who teaches at Rosslyn High.” I motion toward Mom. “This is my mom, Bethany Alderson.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Benedict,” my mother says, offering her hand.

  “Please, call me Susan.” She and Mom shake hands.

  Mom smiles at her. “I’d be glad to show you around the store. Is there something in particular you’re looking for?”

  Megan has already wandered off, finding her way to the display case toward the back of the store.

  “No, thank you,” Ms. Benedict says. “I just came to speak to you about the Halloween Carnival next Saturday. Caryn, did you get a chance to talk to your mother about it?”

  I clear my throat, hoping Mom will get my hint. “No, not yet,” I mutter. I try conveying a NO! look to Mom, but she doesn’t pick up on it.

  “The school PTA is having a fundraiser and we need help staffing some of the booths. Megan thought Caryn would be a good choice for the fortunetelling booth.” Ms. Benedict shifts her large overstuffed leather handbag, which probably doubles as a briefcase, to her other shoulder. She’s tall, slender, mid-forties, and with such dark brown hair I wonder how Megan turned out blonde.

  Mom gets an amused look on her face but says nothing, which I guess Ms. Benedict mistakes for hesitancy.

  “Of course, the PTA would provide all the costuming and props,” Ms. Benedict is quick to add.

  Mom has to turn aside to keep Ms. Benedict from seeing her snicker. In spite of myself, I’m almost laughing too.

  “Caryn,” Mom says with that telling smirk still on her face. “Is this something you’d like to do?” I have to admire her restraint.

  I look from Mom to Ms. Benedict and realize I’m stuck. “Sure,” I say reluctantly. “I guess. What would I have to do?”

  “Oh, it’s all just for fun,” Ms. Benedict reassures us. “All you need to do is show up and the carnival committee will take care of the rest.”

  “Hey, Mom, look at this!” Megan calls from across the room. “Aren’t these necklaces gorgeous?”

  She’s pointing to the crystals in the glass display case. For the first time, Ms. Benedict looks around the store and realizes this is not your regular type of bookstore.

  “Interesting place you have here,” she says politely. Then it dawns on her and she blushes. “Oh, you must find it amusing, me ask
ing Caryn to play the part of the fortuneteller. I suppose you already have an interest in… ” She pauses, still taking it all in. “I mean crystal balls and such. I hope you didn’t think… ”

  “No, Susan, of course not. You haven’t been in here before, so how could you know?” Mom has a really cool way of putting people at ease.

  “Have you been in this sort of business long?” Susan asks, carefully sniffing an aroma-therapy candle.

  Mom gives her a friendly smile. “My business partner and I moved our store here from Houston just last month. Business has been good so far.”

  Ms. Benedict nods and smiles as she continues to look around. She puts down the candle and picks up a music box and I get a sudden visual of her at an elementary school art fair, Megan on stage accepting first prize, Ms. Benedict applauding proudly in the audience. I don’t see Mr. Benedict anywhere. I snap out of my head when she puts the music box back on the shelf and looks around for Megan.

  “Well, I’m sure Caryn will be an outstanding Madame Wilhelmina.” Ms. Benedict turns to where her daughter is still browsing and calls out, “Come on, Megan, we’ve got to go home and let the dog out.”

  Ms. Benedict opens the door. “Nice meeting you, Bethany.”

  “But, Mom, can’t I buy… ” Megan begins, but her mother gives her a stern look so she shrugs and waves goodbye to me as her mother hustles her out of the store.

  After they’re gone, I turn back to Mom. “How am I supposed to pull this off?”

  “Just keep in mind that no one actually expects you to predict futures.” Mom pats my shoulder.

  “But what if I accidentally say something that’s really gonna happen?”

  “Then they’ll think it’s a lucky guess.” Mom smiles at me. “Relax, Caryn. Like Susan said, it’s all just for fun. You might even enjoy yourself!”

  I roll my eyes and gaze out the window that faces onto the street, lost in thought. Suddenly I do a double-take as I could swear Uncle Omar is strolling by, waving and grinning at me. As I watch in surprise he slowly disappears.

  I pull my jacket hoodie over my head, look away, and decide to think about something normal. Pizza. That’s pretty normal.