Discovering

by Wendy Corsi Staub

  No.

  She doesn’t have a sister.

  Maybe she did once.

  But she’s dead, along with both her parents.

  “Wow . . . how much did your dad figure out?”Evangeline glances at the sky, then holds out her hand to see if drops are starting to fall.

  “Everything. About your aunt and my grandmother being mediums . . . along with pretty much everyone else in town.”

  “Including you.”

  “No. Not including me.”Calla feels a raindrop land on her hand and flips up the hood on the fleece jacket she pulled on this morning. The temperature must have dropped at least thirty degrees overnight. So much for Indian summer.

  “I thought you said he knew everything,”Evangeline reminds her, flipping up her own hood.

  “Yeah, but not that.”

  Not about Mom, either. But it’s only a matter of time.

  “Why didn’t you just tell him about yourself?”

  “Because I’m afraid to,”she says simply. “I mean, he’s surprisingly okay with the two of us living here with all of this stuff he doesn’t understand going on around us. But I think he’d be a lot less okay if he realized that I’m directly involved.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “The other thing is, he’s decided he’s taking me away this weekend to go looking at colleges—including Cornell.”

  “Doesn’t your ex- boyfriend go there?”

  “You got it,”she says grimly. “I just saw him in Florida, and he kind of wanted to get back together.”

  “You told him no?”

  “Of course. He broke my heart. No way am I putting it out there again with him, especially now that . . .”

  “Now that you have Jacy. It’s okay. You can say it.”

  “It doesn’t bother you?”

  Evangeline shrugs. “If he had to fall in love with one of us— and it couldn’t be me— then I’m glad it’s you.”

  Calla can’t help but grin at that, even as she protests, “He’s not in love with me.”

  “Oh, yeah, he is. I saw you guys walking together the other day, and it was totally obvious. I’ve never seen him look that comfortable ever, anywhere, unless he was running.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. But listen, about Cornell—just because your old boyfriend is there doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go look at it.”

  “True.”

  “Or that you shouldn’t go there, if you want to. I mean, it’s a huge school.”

  Also true. But . . .

  Hearing tires crunching on the road behind them, she turns to see Blue Slayton in his BMW.

  “Want a ride?”he calls out the window.

  “Definitely!”Evangeline answers for both of them. “It’s going to start pouring any second.”

  Then, with a belated glance at Calla, she asks in a low voice, “You don’t mind, right? I left my umbrella at school the other day. Unless you have one?”

  “No. It’s okay, we can ride with Blue.”She hasn’t seen much of him since they mutually, and without discussing it, concluded they’re better off as friends.

  He leans over and opens the passenger- side door. A pair of crutches are propped in the backseat. Evangeline scrambles in beside them, leaving Calla to sit in front with Blue.

  “How’s your leg?”she asks, thinking she probably should have called to ask him about it when she got back to town.

  He was injured a few weeks ago in a soccer game, the night before she was supposed to go to the homecoming dance with him.

  “It’s better. How was your trip to Florida?”

  “Great,”she lies, not wanting to get into it.

  “What’d you do?”

  “Oh, you know . . . the usual Florida stuff.”

  “The weather was great, right?”

  Was it? That was so far off her radar, given what happened, that there could have been a hurricane and she probably wouldn’t remember.

  “Sure,”she agrees, because it’s easier that way. “The weather was great, and I hung out with my old friends.”

  “Yeah. I kept seeing you there.”

  Seeing her?

  Oh! He means in a psychic vision, of course.

  “What did you see?”she asks cautiously, aware that now he’s going to ask her about Sharon Logan, and about her mother, and maybe even about the baby.

  And then she’s going to have to explain it all to Evange-line, too.

  Life was so much less complicated when she wasn’t surrounded by people who know as much— or more— about what she’s been doing than she does.

  “You know, you were in the water—couldn’t tell if it was a pool or the Gulf,”Blue says.

  Now he’s going to tell me someone was trying to drown me, and he’s going to ask why . . . unless he already knows.

  “You were wearing a bathing suit, and you looked great in it, of course— and you were really relaxed, and there were palm trees, you know, and a bunch of people. You were having a great time.”

  “Really?”Calla doesn’t dare look at Evangeline, who now knows the truth about what happened there.

  Calla hasn’t worn a bathing suit in ages.

  And her time in the water was hardly relaxing.

  “Yeah, really.”Blue flashes her his familiar, flirty smile. “I like to keep tabs on you, you know?”

  Uneasy, she watches the wipers’ rhythmic arc across the rain-spattered windshield. “Well, anyway . . . thanks for picking us up. I thought your dad didn’t like you to drive to school.”

  That’s because Blue got a speeding ticket one morning, doing sixty in a school zone.

  “Yeah, well, he doesn’t have much choice. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Hobble down the road on crutches?”

  “He could drop you off,”Evangeline points out.

  “Yeah, he could . . . if he were around. But he’s not.”

  Typical. Blue’s father, David Slayton, is a celebrity medium who spends far more time in front of television cameras in New York and LA than he does with his son in Lily Dale.

  Calla has only met the man once, and was unnerved by his warning that she was going to find herself in a dangerous situation. He didn’t specify water, as others had, but somehow, his warning left just as great an impact on her.

  But . . . what about Blue?

  Why is he talking about things that didn’t happen, as if he’s trying hard— too hard— to convince her of his psychic abilities?

  Maybe because he doesn’t have any, she realizes, and her stomach turns a little.

  Maybe, living in his father’s larger-than- life shadow, Blue feels obligated to live up to a larger-than- life reputation. And maybe he thinks that the only way he can do that is to lie.

  Sitting beside him, driving toward the school, Calla is certain she made the right choice when she chose Jacy over Blue, the guy all the Lily Dale High girls want.

  With Jacy, what you see is what you get.

  He doesn’t play games, and he doesn’t pretend to be someone he’s not.

  They pull into the crowded school parking lot, and Blue instantly finds an empty spot close to the door.

  “This is a miracle,”Evangeline declares, as he turns off the engine. “I thought you’d have to park in, like, the next state. How’d you manage this?”

  “Guess I was born under a lucky star. Hey, Calla, can I talk to you for a second?”

  Uh- oh.

  “Sure.”

  As Evangeline scrambles out of the backseat, she raises her brows at Calla, who shrugs.

  She has no idea what Blue wants to talk about, but she has a feeling it’s not the weather.

  “See you later, guys. Thanks for the ride, Blue.”

  “No problem.”

  Evangeline closes the door behind her, leaving them alone in the car to watch her splash off through the rain toward the redbrick school.

  “Calla . . .”

  She turns toward him reluctantly, wondering what to say if he asks h
er out again. She can tell him she can’t because of Jacy, though she and Jacy haven’t exactly discussed whether they’re free to see other people. She knows she doesn’t want to, and she’s pretty sure he doesn’t either.

  “What’s up, Blue?”she asks breezily, as if she’s expecting him to ask her what the cafeteria is serving for lunch today.

  “Before my dad left for London last night, he asked me if I’d seen you lately. I kind of . . . told him you were away.”

  Puzzled, she says, “That’s okay. I was.”

  “No, I mean . . . I told him you were still away last night. And that I didn’t know when you were coming back.”

  “You lied? Why?”

  “Because I didn’t want him bugging you.”

  “Bugging me?”she echoes. “Why would he bug me?”

  “He can be really pushy. I wasn’t even going to tell you about this, but . . . well, he called again this morning to ask if you were back yet. He hardly ever calls when he’s on the road, especially from overseas. I told him you were coming back today and that I’d let you know he wants to talk to you.”

  “What about, though?”

  “Something that I’m sure is none of his business,”Blue says with a scowl.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m not sure, exactly. He wouldn’t tell me. All he said was that it’s about your mother.”

  “Tell me, Calla, how is everything going?”asks Mrs. Erskine, an attractive thirty-something blonde who has a framed, recent wedding photo on her desk.

  How is everything going? You mean other than the fact that my mother’s dead, my father’s here, someone tried to kill me over the weekend, and I have no idea what I want to do next year?

  “Everything’s going great!”She smiles so brightly her face hurts.

  “I’m glad.”Mrs. Erskine opens a manila folder. “Your transcript shows that you were a straight- A student back in Florida. And your grades are very good so far this term . . . other than math, I see.”

  She waits for Calla to reply.

  What am I supposed to say to that?

  “I’m kind of having a hard time getting used to how it, um, works here.”

  As if math works differently in this part of the country.

  Yeah, right.

  Mrs. Erskine sort of nods, and Calla can tell she’s thinking that’s no excuse. A formula is a formula.

  She looks away, at the rain-spattered windowpane and the gray world beyond.

  “I can recommend some tutors so that you can—”

  “Oh, I don’t need a tutor. Willow York is my study partner, and my dad is helping me, too.”

  “Your father?”Mrs. Erskine glances quickly at the folder, then up again. “But he’s in California, and it might be more helpful for you to work with someone who’s—”

  “No,”Calla interrupts again, “actually, he’s here now.”

  “For a visit?”

  “To stay.”She pauses. “For a while.”She pauses again, conscious of the woman’s intent stare. “Or maybe for good.”

  “I’m glad. It’s a good idea for you two not to be separated after . . . all you’ve been through.”

  Mrs. Erskine doesn’t know the half of it.

  Uncomfortable, Calla looks at her watch. “Um . . . you had said you wanted to see me about college applications?”

  “Yes, and there’s no time to waste. Did you make your list for me?”

  Calla is already digging in her backpack for the sheet of notebook paper she hastily filled out last night before bed.

  She hands it across the guidance counselor’s desk and watches as she scans the list, nodding. “Penn State, Colgate, Cornell . . .”

  “Those are my reach schools,”Calla says hastily. “My father is going to take me to see the campuses this weekend.”

  “All great places.”Mrs. Erskine gives her an approving smile.

  Yes, they are. But they’re only on Calla’s list because her father mentioned visiting them.

  “Northwestern,”Mrs. Erskine continues, and Calla nods.

  The counselor seems to be waiting for her to say something about it.

  “My father’s family lives in Chicago,”she says. “He grew up there, so he thought . . . you know, that I might want to go to school there.”

  “Do you?”

  “Um . . .”

  Mrs. Erskine lowers the list and looks at her. “Calla, you’re the one who should make the decision about where you want to go. Don’t apply to schools that don’t interest you. Really. It’s a waste of everybody’s time.”

  “I guess you can cross off Northwestern, then.”

  It’s not as if Dad will mind. He was merely making suggestions. She wrote down most of them for lack of anything better.

  “How about Florida? You’ve listed a few schools there.”

  “I know . It’s where I’m from, so I thought . . .”Again, she hesitates.

  In truth, Lisa urged Calla to apply to the same schools on her list. She wants to be roommates, maybe even sorority sisters. It’s what they had always planned on, from the time they were little girls.

  But a lot has changed since then.

  “Do you want to go back to Florida, Calla?”Mrs. Erskine asks.

  “I’m not sure. Not really.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  To her horror, she feels hot tears spring to her eyes, and looks down quickly to hide them. “I don’t know . I guess I don’t really want to go anywhere.”

  “You don’t want to go to college?”

  “No, I do, but . . .”She takes a deep breath and forces herself to look up, trying not to blink and release the tears. “It’s coming up so soon, and . . . I like it here. That’s why I stayed for the school year. I never got to spend time with my grandmother, and I’ve never been to Lily Dale until a few months ago. It’s where my mother grew up. I guess now that I’m here, I don’t really want to leave.”

  She sees a flash of understanding—and sympathy—in Mrs. Erskine’s blue eyes. “That makes sense.”

  “But I feel like such a baby— like I’m afraid to leave home.”

  “Calla . . .”The counselor reaches across the desk and touches her hand. “You’ve already left home. Under circumstances much more difficult than most kids your age will face in a lifetime. You’re not a baby. You’re one of the bravest young women I’ve ever known.”

  She’s never thought of it that way.

  Now the tears are rolling down her cheeks, and Mrs. Ersk-ine hands her a tissue.

  “Look, maybe you should just focus on local schools. If you want to transfer down the road, you can, but . . .”She reaches over and opens a desk drawer. “I’m going to give you some information on Fredonia State University. Ever heard of it?”

  Calla nods. Her mother went there, for undergrad. She told Calla that she was desperate to go away but couldn’t afford to.

  “It’s just a few miles down the road, and it’s an excellent school.”Mrs. Erskine rummages through her drawer, plucking things from folders. “There are a few other good schools in Buffalo— not all that far away, either.”

  “Thank you.”Calla gratefully accepts the packets the counselor hands her.

  “Look them over, and talk to your father. I think you should go see the schools he wants to show you this weekend, too. You never know— you might fall in love with one of them.”

  Yeah, that, or fall in love— all over again—with my old boyfriend who goes to one of them, Calla thinks grimly.

  Cornell is out of the question for her. With Kevin there, she’d only be asking for trouble.

  That reminds her. She never did check her e-mail. Lisa said he sent her one. She probably has a bunch of others, too.

  Later tonight, she decides, she’ll pull out the laptop again.

  Just to take care of her own business.

  Not to stick her nose further into her mother’s.

  FIFTEEN

  New York City

  Thursday,
October 11

  8:41 a.m.

  According to Liz Jessee— the world’s friendliest landlady— Hell’s Kitchen, in the heart of Manhattan’s West Side, was once a desolate stretch of the city.

  Now, Hell’s Kitchen— and thus, Liz Jessee’s no-frills five-story brick building—is in a desirable location, entirely conve-nient to restaurants, theaters, and midtown office buildings.

  Laura is headed toward one of them right now, having just received a new short-term assignment from her temp agency.

  As she descends the last flight of steps from her top floor studio apartment, she consults the address she scribbled on a scrap of paper when the assignment came in twenty minutes ago.

  She’s been in New York long enough to know that she’ll have to head uptown, and east, to get there.

  She’ll walk, of course. She doesn’t take the subway unless an assignment takes her all the way down to the financial district. Not just because Laura finds the subway unnerving, but because she can’t afford it. She still has three more days until payday, and she’ll be lucky if she can scrape together enough money to eat.

  When Geraldine, her supervisor at the temp agency, told her that today’s assignment was at a company called Overseas Corporate Funds, she expected it to be downtown near Wall Street, too. Midtown was a pleasant surprise.

  She arranges her shoulder bag in a cross-chest, mugger-proof position and steps outside to find Liz Jessee sweeping the stoop.

  A pleasant woman in her midsixties, she looks up with a smile. “Good morning, Laura.”

  “Hi, Liz.”

  “It feels like July out here, doesn’t it?”

  Laura realizes that the sun is already beaming warmly from a clear blue sky and wonders whether she should have worn her other suit. She only has two, and she wore the other one yesterday. But this one is wool.

  “So it’s going to be hot again today?”she asks Liz, who has a way of knowing these things. She’s plugged into the weather, the news, even the neighborhood gossip.

  “Near ninety. Of course, where I grew up, that’s nothing.”

  “Where did you grow up?”

  “Florida.”

  Florida.

  An image flashes into Laura’s head: palm trees, the ocean . . . and, standing in the sand, an attractive, brown-haired woman wearing a charcoal gray business suit with shiny black buttons, carrying a briefcase.