The Guidance

by Marley Gibson

  "She came when she thought you needed her the most."

  Blowing her nose, Becca says, "That was remarkably intense."

  "Welcome to my world," I say, laughing.

  She wipes at her eyes again. "Don't tell Celia and Taylor anything. We'll just tell them I'm on my period or something."

  "Whatever you say." Then I add, "So much for not investigating in your house, huh?"

  Becca takes my hand. "It wasn't an investigation, Kendall. It was an intervention. I think you just saved me."

  "Anything for a friend. And you're one of my best."

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  On Monday afternoon, I approach physiology class with great trepidation, not knowing what I'm in for with Courtney. Will she have returned to her old ways, calling me Ghost Girl and sneering at me over our project? Or will she cut me some slack and see that I'm just a teenager like her, trying to fit in and survive high school? No matter how much I try to tune in to the energy around me, I can't predict what's going to happen.

  My purse vibrates, alerting me to a text message. It's from Celia.

  >Where were u @ lunch?

  >Mom took me to The Loft.

  The Loft is a cute little bistro-type place in the Square. Mom thought it would be fun to sneak me out of school for some girls' time. It was a blast to hang with her and eat the smoked Gouda and spinach omelet that was absolutely to die for—nummsies.

  >Sweet! U'll never beeleeve CL.

  I sigh hard and move my thumbs over the tiny keyboard.

  >Got her bitch back on?

  >No. Invited me and TT to sit w/her.

  >Serious?

  >As a heart attack.

  >Almost 2 class. Talk l8r!

  I walk into Ms. Pritchard's classroom, full of students milling about before the late bell sounds. I make my way over to my seat and try to calm the nerves that have sprung to life inside of me.

  Soon, Courtney bounces in, clinging to Jim Roach's arm. She's all smiles and laughs, and the sullen pallor is gone from her cheeks. She seems well rested and ... back to her popular self. Oh, boy. With a wave to Jim, she eases down the aisle between desks, stepping over Sean's still-cast leg. She sits right next to me.

  "Hey," she says, not making eye contact.

  I bite my bottom lip. "Hey."

  Courtney pulls out a book and notepad from her Prada messenger bag and then picks through a plethora of pens before selecting a specific blue uni-ball.

  All right. This is stupid. Why am I shaking like a leaf? What do I think she's going to do, draw on me? I have nothing to fear but fear itself. Course, Franklin Delano Roosevelt never dealt with the likes of Courtney Langdon.

  Here I go. "Are you ... okay? You know. From Saturday?"

  She waves her hand in the air, as if dismissing everything that happened at Stephanie's. "Everything's fine. I'd rather we not ever discuss that. Like, ever."

  I sit up tall. "Umm, sure. I just thought..."

  Thought what? That she'd apologize for the last two months of torture? That we might be friends somehow? That she might actually thank me, now that she's not under the influence of a spirit or exhausted after expelling it? I guess some people just never change.

  Then Courtney knocks the earth off its axis. She withdraws a report; it's sheathed in a clear cover, black binding, and a nice vinyl backing. The best work from the Radisson Staples down the street. She plops the report on my desk, then claps her hands together like it's first-and-ten.

  And she actually smiles at me.

  "What's this?"

  "So I had some time on Sunday and I thought I'd put together all of our notes on the piglet."

  I thumb through the report and see that all of our forms are filled out, as well as the discussion questions on our findings during the dissection. What is this? Courtney finished our project on her own. "This is ... amazing."

  She tosses her long hair over her shoulder. "I thought so too. We're totally going to get an A on this project. Did you see the charts I did in the back, where we cataloged everything? Nothing like a little extra effort, huh?"

  I hand it back to her. "I can't take credit for this. You did all the work."

  She frowns; her perfectly plucked eyebrows form a V on her head. "We both did the work. I just put it all together. No big."

  "But you did everything."

  Courtney passes the report over to me again. Her eyes tighten and she focuses on me. "No, Kendall. You did everything."

  I don't have to be a psychic to understand the meaning of her words. This is Courtney's way of thanking me for helping her. She's, like, making that grand gesture without having to goo or gush over it.

  "Oh. Oh! Well, you know. I do what I do," I say with a half smile.

  "You do what you're destined to do," she adds. Then she lays her hand on mine and kind of squeezes. It's not an eternal bond of friendship and we'll never be BFFs; however, an understanding passes between us, like a whispered secret.

  My skin heats and my nerves finally relax. "Thanks, Courtney. We're gonna be just fine."

  Right before class starts, she leans over and says, "So RHS homecoming is in a week."

  Intrigued, I say, "I've heard." I don't think she'll necessarily be on the homecoming court, after her last couple weeks of performances and disappearances at school.

  "I'm having a hay ride after the pep rally and bonfire on the Thursday before the game." She hesitates for a minute and then clears her throat. "You and Jason should, like, come along with us. Okra's bringing his guitar, and we'll roast corn on a spit and just hang out."

  The pounding of my heart picks up, only not in anxiety this time. Instead, it's the adrenaline rush of being asked to do something fun with one of the popular girls in school. Of fitting in. Of belonging. "Yeah. We'd like that"

  She adds, "Of course, Celia, Clay, Taylor, Ryan, Becca, and that weird guy she dates can come too."

  "Dragon," I say.

  "What?"

  "His name is Dragon."

  "Oh. Right."

  "He's a good guy. You'd like him if you got to know him," I say, referencing myself at the same time.

  Courtney smiles. "Sure, why not. The more, the merrier."

  And just like that, everything seems like it's going to be okay for the new girl at Radisson High School. I've never been more relieved.

  "It sounds like 'all's well that ends well,'" Loreen says to me after school.

  "Ahhh, a woman after my Shakespearean heart."

  "I've been learning from you."

  I plop down on Loreen's sofa and scarf down one of her homemade brownies. "No one's more relieved than I am that Courtney's back to normal and isn't treating me like dog-doo, let me tell you what."

  Loreen throws her hands up. "That reminds me! I have a present for you to give to her."

  She turns to rummage through a shipping box and then pulls out a bright red T-shirt. She flips it around to face me, and I almost gag laughing at the slogan: "333—Only Half Evil."

  I hold my middle tightly. "That is the funniest frickin' thing I've ever seen. I've got to have one of those for every member of our team. And you'll let me actually buy them."

  Loreen tosses it at me and waves me off. "Thought you'd like it. Tell Courtney to wear it with her cheerleader uniform. And no more tackling opposing players."

  "Although we did win that game," I note.

  Loreen and I laugh together for a minute, and it feels good. Better than good—fantastic! For the first time since I moved to Radisson from Chicago, I'm just Kendall again. I'm not a psychic. I'm not a freak. I'm not Ghost Girl. I'm not an insomniac or a disrespectful child. I'm just a girl with a boyfriend and good friends—and a peculiar hobby. We do good things for people who need us, and we'll help even more in the future.

  "But don't ever forget how special your gift is, Kendall," Loreen says, interrupting and reading my thoughts.

  "I know."

  She pats me on the leg. "I was very proud of the way you handled you
rself through all of this ordeal with Courtney. Especially the other night at the Crawfords'. It was very grownup of you. You could have just left that girl to her own devices, but you stepped up."

  I pick at a brownie crumb on my left boob. What a slob! "I didn't feel grown-up. I felt cornered and bullied and sad and grateful, all at the same time."

  "I know, sweetie," she says. "I can't tell you how impressed Evelyn was with you."

  "She was?"

  Loreen's smile spreads wide. "She called me this morning and told me that she contacted her ex, Joel, and they had a wonderful conversation. She said they haven't been that relaxed with each other in years. Evelyn wants to meet up with him and talk about reconciling."

  My hand covers my mouth as I gasp. "That's phenomenal. Oh my God, how awesome will that be for them and for Stephanie?"

  "It's all because of you, Kendall."

  I don't know what to say. Imagine that, I'm speechless.

  "I had an idea too," Loreen adds.

  "What's that?"

  "Why don't you hang out a shingle, so to speak, here at my shop? You can do tarot cards and psychic readings and whatever else you want to do."

  "Are you for real?" Whoa. That would be—well, it would be some extra scratch in a teenager's pocket! "I have to ask my parents first."

  "Of course you do."

  The phone rings. "Divining Woman," says Loreen. She pauses for a moment and then smiles into the phone. "Well, thanks, Massimo. That would be nice. Sure. Sure. See you then." She hangs up the phone and barely dares to meet my gaze.

  "What was that all about? You and Father Mass having an actual calm convo?"

  "More than that."

  I lift an eyebrow at her.

  "He sort of asked me to dinner," Loreen says, a deep crimson blush staining her cheeks. "You don't mind, do you?"

  "Mind? I think it's awesome!" Not to mention I already picked up on the tension between the two of them. It'll be good for Loreen to get out and socialize a little bit.

  "Only thing," I say with a frown, "don't wear one of your sayings T-shirts. You do own, like, grown-up clothes, don't you?"

  She laughs hard. "I won't embarrass myself, Kendall. I promise, I clean up real nice."

  I hug her hard, knowing how lucky I am to have her in my life. "Well, I better get going. I want all the dirty details."

  With a smirk, she says, "Well, maybe not all of them."

  "Thanks, Loreen. Love ya! Mean it."

  At home, I burst in to see Mom shucking ears of corn over our kitchen garbage can. Kaitlin barrels through in full lacrosse garb, tracking grass into the dining room.

  "Change clothes now, Kaitlin!" Mom shouts out.

  The back door opens and Dad walks in. He plants a kiss on my forehead and then grabs an apple from the bowl on the table. "Hey, kiddo. How's everything?"

  "Great, Dad."

  "David, don't eat too much. We're having barbecued chicken, corn on the cob, and coleslaw," Mom says.

  "Why, Sarah, I do believe you're becoming Southern."

  We all laugh together and then Dad grows serious. "I'm sorry I've been so preoccupied at work lately," he says to me. "I wish I could have gone to Atlanta with you and your mom. I knew you were in good hands though." He blows a kiss across the room. Mom winks at him.

  "It's okay, Dad. You're wicked busy, I know. I haven't felt slighted at all."

  He adjusts his glasses. "I'm extremely proud of you, though. You're accepting all of this change in your life like a real trouper."

  "Thanks, Dad."

  While I've got them both together, I tell them about Loreen's idea for me to do some readings at her store. Mom wipes her hand on a dishtowel and thinks for a moment.

  Dad takes a bite out of the apple and says, "So, Sarah?"

  Mom comes around the counter and sits at the kitchen table. "Sure, Kendall. If that's what you want to do."

  "I think it could be fun. Especially since Loreen will be there with me."

  "I really like her," Dad says. "She's got character."

  Mom looks at him funny, but then says, "It's great that you have her as a mentor. I just want you to continue to be safe and careful."

  "I will, Mom."

  She waggles her index finger at me. "The minute something demonic or evil or anything like that happens to you, you have to tell me and immediately stop what your—"

  I stop her with a hug. "Don't worry about me, Mom."

  "I'm your mother. It's in my nature to worry."

  Dad shakes his head and laughs. "My girls..."

  I'm the luckiest girl in the world. I have plenty of people guiding me: Mom, Dad, Loreen, Father Mass, my friends, and even Emily ... although she hasn't been around lately. She'll come around when she's ready. She always does.

  My cell phone rings. It's Jason.

  I take a deep breath and smile. Now it's time for the "u + me" time!

  * * *

  Epilogue

  I awaken with a start, my throat dry and aching. My heart is thumping in my chest like Flea banging it out on the bass for the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

  And speaking of red hot...

  I throw the covers off me, realizing I'm tangled up in the sheets and drenched from head to toe in a sticky sweat. It's not even warm in here, but something has my adrenaline pumping and my body attuned to the static charge in the air.

  Rubbing my eyes as they adjust to the dark room, I try to recall what I was just dreaming. Something strange and almost sinister. A mishmash of images flashing at lightning speed through my brain. A psychotic slide show that I can't stop long enough to decipher.

  I sit up with a start and catch my breath.

  Emily is sitting at the foot of my bed, staring at me.

  "Emily, where have you been?"

  "I've been around."

  Has she? "What are you doing here now?"

  She's paler—okay, I realize she's a flippin' ghost, but still—than usual. "Tell me about the dream, Kendall."

  "My dream ... yeah." Slowing my rapid-fire pulse, I try to halt the crazed reflections in my mind. Concentrating even as I'm still trying to wake up, I stare ahead at Emily's whitish silhouette in the dark of my room.

  Then everything clicks into place; the dream feels almost like a memory of sorts. Only whose? Certainly not mine.

  "I, umm, I think I was seeing you when you were alive or something like that."

  The picture in my mind morphs into the scene. It's Emily. She's young and happy and alive. I can't tell the time period, but it's not too long ago since she's wearing jeans and clothes that could easily fit in with today's fashion. She's driving in the rain. Wait, no, she's the passenger. There's a guy driving. He's really cute, and I can tell that he totally digs her. They're holding hands and listening to ... the Commodores—whoever they are.

  "Tell me, Kendall."

  "You're alive, Emily. In my dream. And so happy." Then, suddenly—flash! Bang! A collision. An explosion. Twisted steel, crunching metal, and flames. Fire everywhere. Burning out of control. My pulse is sprinting out of control as I recall this image, my blood pressure rising with each challenging breath. "Oh God, Emily! What happened? The guy ... he's..." He's slumped over the steering wheel. No pulse. "He's dead? And you?" I shift my eye to view the image more. Emily's stuck in the car as it burns around her. Blood cascades down her pretty face and onto the shirt covering her bulging belly. "Holy shit! You were pregnant in my dream! I was there, and the baby was starting to come, so I called to my mom, 'cause she's a nurse, you know? But then it started raining so hard and I couldn't get to you. And you were bleeding so bad."

  Tears stream down my face as I remember the dream. "I see myself moving toward the car to help you, but when I get to the door, it won't open. Crap! It's stuck. I look through the window to see how you are. But something morphs in the image. It's not the inside of a car at all. You're not there. I am, instead. Not in the car, but I'm on the floor of a house in a heap. Did I trip? Am I listening for something? N
o ... I'm not ... moving. There's so much pain. So much. Searing and hot and stabby all over." I lift my hands to my mouth, remembering what happened just before I woke up in a sweat. "Oh God, Emily. In the dream, I'm bleeding. Like, wicked bad. Jason's with me and he can't do a thing. Celia and Taylor are crying. Becca is screaming. What happened? Where are we?"

  I gulp down the inflammation in my throat. Never have I had such a vivid dream. Okay, well, maybe when I dreamed about Jason Tillson before I ever met him. And that one came true. I gasp sharply and spout out, "What does this mean, Emily?"

  "It's just a dream, Kendall."

  "Like hell it is. Tell me!"

  She lowers her eyes, not meeting my gaze. "I've tried to stop this, but I can't."

  "Stop what?"

  A sigh escapes her. "Your visions."

  "It was just a dream," I say in a harsh whisper.

  Emily focuses her stare at me. "No, it wasn't."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Kendall," she says. There's a dramatic pause, then: "You've just witnessed my past."

  Startled, I want to reach out to her. "You were killed in an awful car wreck? All that blood and the fire and—"

  She shakes her head. "I've tried to block you from seeing it."

  "But the part about me in that house on the floor, bleeding? Like it was a life-or-death situation. What was that?" Every muscle in my body is tense, awaiting her response.

  "I'm still trying to stop that part," she says.

  I can't take any more. "What are you talking about?"

  "Kendall, you've just seen your future."

  To be continued ...

  * * *

  Disclaimer

  The thoughts and feelings described by the character of Kendall are typical of those experienced by young people awakening to sensitive or psychic abilities.

  Many of the events and situations encountered by Kendall and her team of paranormal investigators are based on events reported by real ghost hunters. Also, the equipment described in the book is standard in the field.

  However, if you are a young person experiencing psychic phenomena, talk to an adult. And while real paranormal investigation is an exciting, interesting field, it is also a serious, sometimes even dangerous undertaking. While I hope you are entertained by the Ghost Huntress, please know that it's recommended that young people not attempt the investigative techniques described here without proper adult supervision.