Supernatural Summer

by Skye Genaro

  I hurried to Physics looking like a demented hobbit, my eyes darting at every shadow, my shoulders hunched.

  That uneasiness hit me again when I got to class. The air in the room was heavy and dark, and the short walk to my desk felt like a slog through wet sand.

  I looked around, wondering at the source. Mr. King shared a joke with a student. Raquelle gossiped, and Becca was an island of calm. The rest of my classmates looked bored. I took out my notebook and tried to ignore my growing discomfort.

  Half way through class, a glimmer in the window caught my eye. When I turned to look, I sucked in a breath of air. The glass wavered as though it had dissolved into liquid.

  I elbowed Becca. "Look at the window," I whispered.

  She craned her neck, then shrugged.

  "You don't see it?" I asked.

  "See what?"

  Mr. King shot us a look.

  I focused on my textbook until he turned his back, and then looked at the window again. The watery edges rippled and took shape, until a phantom reflection hovered above the sill. I blinked hard, sure this was a delusion. But the image became clearer. I made out faint facial features. And a pair of piercing green eyes.

  Then, as quickly as it appeared, it dissolved.

  "You look like you're going to hurl," Becca whispered.

  I made a fist to stave off the prickling in my fingers. The image could have been caused by light playing off the wet glass. Or maybe it was an illusion created by Mr. King's reflection. I was willing to tell myself any number of lies to stay calm. None of them worked.

  As if on cue, cell phones around the room rang. My textbook quivered and flipped open. I smacked my hand down on the riffling pages.

  "Echo, you seem to know the material so well that you don't need to pay attention. So please solve this equation for us." Mr. King's mouth turned down in irritation.

  "Right. Sure," I mumbled.

  I ached to steal a glance at the window, but kept my eyes glued to the whiteboard.

  "D equals, um, velocity times time? Plus point five…"

  The air next to Mr. King began to shimmer. My voice trailed off and I gawked at the form taking shape.

  First, a pair of jeans. Then a long sleeved black t-shirt. They floated there for a moment, without a body to hold them up. Nobody saw this except me.

  Fear is not a polite emotion. All the blood whooshed right out of my brain and icy dread filled my chest. I moved my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Just when I thought I’d reached the peak of panic, the chilling scream that I remembered from my dream in the hospital rang through my head.

  "Miss Bennett, is everything all right?"

  I managed a nod. Next to my teacher, a fuzzy human image filled the shimmering clothing. Olive skin on hands and arms. Black hair. And those green eyes.

  It was the guy from my dream.

  The translucent phantom scanned my classmates. He began at the opposite end of the room and searched each face with cold intent. Calmly, methodically, up one row and down the other.

  "Can you finish the problem?" Mr. King followed my gaze to the space next to him but he saw nothing. My classmates snickered. No one noticed the thing next to my teacher.

  "Um," I stuttered. At the sound of my voice, the phantom's eyes locked on me. He raised his chin slightly. Drilled me with his glare. Assessing. Scrutinizing.

  "Thirty-six. Just say thirty-six," Becca whispered.

  "Miss Bennett?"

  I glanced between Mr. King and the apparition.

  "Thirty-ssssix," I stuttered.

  "Is there something else you’d rather be doing, Ms. Bennett?"

  "Uhm…"

  The bell rang and I slapped my textbook closed. I leaned down to grab my bag and when dared to I look up again, the phantom was gone.

  Becca caught up to me in the hallway.

  "I hate to crush your vibe, but you’re starting to steal my reputation as the school freak. What happened back there?"

  "I feel sick. I’m going to the nurse’s office."

  Without further explanation, I left Becca outside the cafeteria and turned down the corridor leading to the office. A chill ran the length of my body and I cupped my hand next to my eyes to avoid seeing anything that might be reflected in the window. Or maybe to keep 'him' from seeing me.

  I dropped onto the bench outside the nurse's station. Three girls waited ahead of me.

  My panic diminished to a dull stomachache. There had to be a rational explanation for what I thought I'd witnessed. The high cheekbones forming above a harsh jawline. Veins prominent on forearms. Probing eyes that made me want to flee. This had to be a figment of my imagination. But if it wasn't real, why was my reaction so visceral?

  I rested my fingers on my temples. Surely this was a side effect of the concussion. Maybe I'd developed a brain tumor from the fall. And that dark mass was cutting off the blood supply and causing hallucinations. This gave me a glimmer of hope. I wasn't going insane. It was just a brain tumor!

  While that theory worked to calm me down, I doubted it would hold any sway with the nurse. I tuned into the girls sitting next to me to find out their stories. Even though the tele-chaosing made my life miserable, I found some value in the other ability I'd gained from the fall, the ability to read auras. Right away, I could tell the girls faked their illnesses. Their energies reminded me of diving into a swimming pool. Crisp. Clean. Effortless.

  The kid that just exited the office was definitely ill. His aura clogged the hallway with its dense, depressing weight.

  My headache was back, but just barely. I wasn't a good enough actor to convince the nurse I was in any real pain. I listened to the girls next to me—they decided to go with a migraine, a sore throat and a stomachache.

  Migraine Faker flashed me a death ray look. "You got a problem?"

  I smirked at her and she looked away.

  Before I could settle on a symptom I realized I had another dilemma. If the nurse set me free, who would pick me up? My dad was away on business. Kimber would be at the Rose Club, lunching and getting a massage. If she found out I was sick she'd break land speed records to get here. Then she'd hover over me with noodle soup and a thermometer, and search WebMD until she attributed my symptoms to either schizophrenia or pneumonia.

  I dragged myself off the nurse’s bench, choosing phantom hallucinations over an overbearing stepmother.

  The rest of the day, I alternately watched the clock and obsessed over the phantom. He'd looked familiar, like someone I'd seen in a movie, or a student that I passed every day but never really noticed. I thought back to my Seattle neighborhood, and mentally ticked through the faces of all the people I'd known. None of them resembled the vision I saw in Physics.

  *****

  On our way to the parking lot, Becca pulled a glass vial from her backpack and chucked it in the garbage can.

  "What was that?" I asked.

  "Failed potion. HunkaLove Number Two. I've been wearing it all day and not one guy talked to me. The next batch, though, that'll be one. Help me out and try it when it's ready?"

  Just thinking about going on a date made me feel so…normal. But dating wasn't a luxury I could afford as long as my energy broadcasted my every emotion.

  I shifted my backpack uneasily, and tossed it in my car. "Guys are too much hassle."

  "Roger that. But one I can't live without."

  When I pulled to the curb in front of my house, Becca pulled her pack from the backseat and flung it over her shoulder. As she did she glanced at the stairs rising to Kimber’s mansion. Her voice rose an octave. "Oh my god. Who is that?"

  I followed her stare, past the iron fence and the perfect lawn to the guy leaning against the porch column. Black t-shirt. Dark hair. It was him.

  "You can see him?"

  My question sounded comical but Becca just lifted her sunglasses to get a better look. "Can I ever."

  He was far enough away that he couldn't hear us, but near enough to spark my instinct to
flee. His t-shirt stretched across a sinewy, muscular chest. Aggressive green eyes stood out against olive skin. His stance was guarded. A cowlick of dark hair curled across his forehead, a soft touch that did nothing to ease my anxiety.

  I was at once captivated and shocked at his human form. Becca summed up his impact pretty well. "He’s so gorgeous, he could make a nun give up the convent. Thankfully, I’m not a nun." And she strode up the walkway to the house.

  I parked the car and ran after her.

  "We don’t know anything about this guy," I said in a low voice.

  "He seems to know you."

  "Well, he doesn't." But a voice inside my head whispered "yes."

  My street smarts, that calculating edge that kept me safe when we lived in dangerous neighborhoods, told me to get back in my car and keep driving, or spend the night at Becca’s. And yet, I was magnetically pulled toward him.

  I followed Becca to the porch. "Can we help you?" she asked.

  He ignored her and locked eyes with me. A shockwave rippled down my spine and against my will, my defenses started to peel away. The corners of his mouth curved into a tiny smile.

  Becca held out her hand to shake his. Instead of meeting her half way, he took a step back. There was something unsettling in his manner, a rigidity in his expression that made me think he was as wary of us as I was of him.

  "My family might be moving in around the corner and my dad's inspecting a house. Do you have a flashlight he can borrow? He wants to take a look at the attic."

  His voice was deep and disturbingly alluring. I couldn't get an energy read on this stranger, but my B.S. meter was throwing up red flags.

  "Oh, really. A flashlight?" My voice quivered with sarcasm.

  Becca nudged in front of me. "Pardon my friend, she was just released from a mental institution and is readjusting to civilization."

  He smiled at this. "I’m Connor. Connor McCabe."

  "Hellooooo Connor. I’m Becca. I live across the street. See that house? The blue one with the Mercedes in the driveway?"

  We all turned to admire the house overlooking the city.

  "I bet you have a great view," he said.

  "It’s even better from the pool. Come on, I’ll show you."

  "Maybe some other time." He turned to me. "And you are?"

  My energy swirled. The shrub flanking the stairway shook. Next to it, a stem from the potted vine strained to touch my arm. Great. Here I was shaking with fear and yet my aura was pulsing with attraction.

  I stepped away from the plants. Narrowed my eyes and lifted my chin.

  "Echo Bennett," I said, and I swear relief crossed his face.

  "It’s nice to meet you." Under his piercing gaze I dropped my eyes and shuffled my feet. "Both of you." I got the impression he added this to take the pressure off me.

  "Where are you moving from?" Becca asked.

  "South of here. Califor…nia," he stumbled over the word.

  "L.A.?"

  "Yes."

  "So, you'll be going to Lincoln High?"

  "As a senior," he said.

  While Becca flirted, the guy stole long glances at me, like he was soaking in my every detail. I checked him out, too. His tennis shoes were a brand I wasn't familiar with. My chest fluttered at the way his faded jeans skimmed along his strong thighs.

  My eyes drew upward. And my jaw dropped.

  Where he'd appeared solid before, parts of him were fading. I gaped at his hand. It had become transparent and I could see right through it.

  *****

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  *****

  About the Author

  Skye Genaro's fascination with psychics and other gifted individuals was sparked when her own clairvoyant and clairaudient abilities began to grow. She is writing a series of short stories and novels featuring characters with paranormal gifts.

  Skye lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, and takes every chance to escape the city and visit the ocean. She has written movie scripts, one of which is working its way through that entertainment industry labyrinth called "development."

  You can find her online at skyegenarobooks@gmail.com or http://skyegenaro.com/.