Farsighted (Farsighted Series) (14 page)

“Okay, teacher. What do we do?” I ask, drumming my hands on the table.

“I’m not exactly sure. I’ve never had to train anyone before, and our gifts are different.”

“How did you learn?”

“In some ways I’ve kind of always known. See, Mummy has powers, too. She can communicate with animals. I grew up watching—”

“Wait, your mom has powers, too?”

“Yeah, psychic powers are often hereditary, but that’s not always the case. Like with you. If your parents had powers, you’d know. They’re not easy to hide. I think you know that from experience.”

Heat rushes to my face. “Right, sorry. Go ahead with your story.”

“Well, I grew up watching Mummy and trying to be like her. When I was eight or nine years old, my gifts emerged. My parents were really impressed, because usually powers don’t surface until puberty, sometimes even later. I was an early bloomer, which they thought meant I would be especially strong. Ever since, they’ve had me training with various psychics around Delhi. When we moved here, Miss Teak was the only choice, so I began to train with her. But the thing is, training hasn’t really helped my powers and I’m not getting any stronger. We can’t figure out why, so I just keep practicing and hoping things will change.”

“So you know a lot, then?” I hope she doesn’t question my newfound eagerness to learn.

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Teach me.”

“Erm, where should I start?” Simmi asks herself.

While she’s thinking, I take a rune out of my pocket and begin turning it over in my palm. A nervous habit.

“Oh, I have an idea for where we can start,” Simmi exclaims. “Give me that.”

I hand over the rune that’s shaped like an
H
.

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never studied the runes, but I do have an idea about how they can help. Are the rest here with you?”

“Sure.” I unzip my backpack and take out the Ziploc baggie full of runes. My hand also brushes over my Dax notes while I’m in there. I always keep this stuff close so my parents don’t find it by accident.

“Thanks,” Simmi says as I slide the baggie across the worktable to her. “So, if I were the one practicing, I’d probably try to make the runes feel like cotton or something like that. Since it’s you, we’ll try to get you to see them.”

I sigh, but Simmi is undeterred. This new brainchild excites her too much. She unzips the plastic bag and takes one out.

“Which rune is in my hand?” Simmi asks, matter-of-factly.

“Beats me. Hand it over, and I’ll tell you,” I respond, while leaning forward across the table to grope at the object.

“No,” Simmi says, pulling her hand out of reach. “Not like this.”

“How am I supposed to tell you what it is unless you let me feel?” I ask, trying not to show Simmi I think her training method is a waste of time.

“I don’t know how your gifts work. Just use them and tell me which one it is.”

I jut my lower lip forward and exhale, blowing my hair upward. “Um,” I stall, letting the names of the runes flash through my mind. “The one that looks kind of like a flagpole or the letter
P
,” I guess.

“Nope. That’s not it,” Simmi says, placing the rune to the side and extracting another from the bag. “Which do I have now?”

I sigh, but keep going. “The one that looks like an
F
?”

“No.” Simmi puts this rune next to the other one I incorrectly identified. She extracts a third from the bag. “What about this one?”

 “Uh.” I crack my knuckles. “The
X
?”

“Good job. That’s right.” She keeps going without the slightest pause, placing the rune on the other side of the table and starting a new pile and takes a fourth from the bag. “Which one is this?”

We continue on in this way until we’ve gone over all twenty-four runes.

“You got four right. Think you can do better this time?” Simmi uses her hand to sweep both piles back into the bag, shakes them up, and begins again.

“It’s the—” I begin.

“Wait,” she interrupts me. “That last time was the baseline. Now I’ll give you some ideas and see if you can do better using my advice. Your first hint, use your sense of touch to find the answer.”

I reach forward like I did when we first began, but Simmi pulls away.

“Not your physical sense of touch. Use your psychic one.”

“Like you do?” I ask.

“Yes, like me.”

“What makes you think I can do that? I have second sight, not clairsentience, remember?”

“Let me ask you this, how do you experience your visions? Do you see them? I mean, with your eyes?”

“No, I
see
them the same way I see everything else.”

“With your other senses, right? Not vision? So, you actually do have a psychic sense of touch if you think about it like that. Just use yours to see the future or the remote present rather than to manipulate people and objects.”

“I guess that makes sense. So, how do I use it to figure out which rune you have?”

“Enter a psychic trance, and then when all the other clutter is out of your brain, focus on solving this problem,” she instructs.

Embarrassed, I admit, “Um, I don’t know how to enter a psychic trance.”

“Right, I keep forgetting you’re new to all of this. Don’t worry it’s not hard to do. Just relax your eyes or whichever senses you use to see things, relax your mind, and let your gifts take over. When you’re in a trance,
you
have the power over your gifts rather than the other way around. Now try.”

I relax my senses, but my mind doesn’t cooperate. I’m too busy thinking about this trance stuff. If I get good at it, I can control my visions and avoid being embarrassed by them. Even more importantly, I’ll be able to seek out Dax, rather than waiting for him to come to me. That’s what I need to do in order to save Simmi.

“Tell me which one’s in my hand,” Simmi says.

“The
I
?” A complete guess.

“No,” Simmi groans. Her patience is wearing thin. “Did you use your clairsentience?”

I swallow and try harder. I want to do a good job for Simmi. This time, it works. I ease into a trance, turning off all of my senses but one, like I did in English class when first trying to figure out the runes. I reach my hand toward Simmi without actually attempting to touch her. My fingertips hover inches from her outstretched palm. I imagine them disconnecting and continuing to travel forward until they can touch the rune. A deep line is etched down the side; two shallower lines at the top connect to form a
P
.

“
P
,” I say, recognizing the shape instantly.

“You’re right,” Simmi says with excitement, placing the rune aside and grabbing another. “And this one?”

I focus hard, enter a trance, and attempt to disconnect my fingers again. This time, it doesn’t work. I try over and over again, but can’t figure out which stone she has. Finally, in exhaustion, I decide to just take a guess. “
R
,” I say.

“Nope,” Simmi answers. She sounds really disappointed in me. Crud.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I say with a yawn. “Too exhausting.”

“C’mon, Alex. How do you expect to get any better if you don’t at least practice? Finish off this set with me, okay?”

I reluctantly agree, and we finish our round. Sometimes I’m able to do the trick with my fingers, and sometimes I’m not. When we’re finished, Simmi announces I’ve gotten six out of twenty-four correct. She says this is very good progress, but it sure doesn’t seem that way to me. I tried really, really hard and barely manage a twenty-five percent success rate.

We sit and chat about other things for a while and then Simmi’s mom comes to pick her up from the school. She offers me a ride to Sweet Blossoms, which I eagerly accept. I’m just too tired to make it back there on foot.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, jingling into the shop, and plopping down on my window bench.

Nobody answers.

“Mom?” I call a bit louder.

Still no answer.

Uncertain, I pull my body up to a standing position and make my way around the shop searching for Mom. After checking almost everywhere else, I find her inside the walk-in cooler where she keeps all the fresh-cut flowers. She’s crying almost soundlessly—from the height of the noise, she’s crouched on the floor.

“Mom?” I say, bending down and wrapping my arms around her. I’m not used to her being like this. She’s the happiest, most upbeat person in the world. “What’s wrong?”

She wipes her eyes with her shirt sleeve and drops her head onto my chest as if it’s too heavy for her to support alone. “It’s your dad,” she whispers between sobs. “He’s leaving us.”

Chapter 10

The traveler has strayed from his path, resulting in an imbalance between his needs and desires. He must turn within for the push he needs in order to continue his journey.

Some people use the expression “seeing red” to convey anger. Whenever I’m over-the-top furious, a shrill whistle rings inside my ears like the sound a tea kettle makes when ready to be removed from the burner. So many strong and violent thoughts hit me at once, my brain can’t hold them all in. Needing to alleviate the pressure somehow, the overflow leaks out through my ears.

When I find Mom crying on the floor of her flower cooler, my ears whistle so loudly that I can’t even hear her explanation. I already know what happened. Dad is having an affair with Miss Teak, and he decided to leave us for her.

“I can’t believe him,” I fume, still hugging my distraught mother. “I just can’t believe him.” I hold her to my chest and we rock back and forth. The repetitive motion soothes us both, gradually allowing Mom to stop crying and my ears to stop whistling.

“I never saw this coming,” Mom says, blowing her nose into a stray bit of tissue paper.

“Me neither,” I say. I should’ve seen this coming. I knew Dad was acting strange. I should’ve looked into the reasons more, rather than avoiding him this whole time. I could’ve warned Mom before it happened; she could’ve been the one to dump him—that’s the way it should’ve been.

“What are we going to do without him, Alex?” I can feel her neck strain in the crook of my arm as she turns in to look up at me and begs for a solution to this problem.

“We don’t need him,” I utter, trying to remain calm for Mom’s sake. “You’re the one who makes all the money for the family, anyway. We’ll be better off without him.”

Mom pulls away from our embrace but stays near. “How could you say that? He’s your father.”

I contemplate telling her about Miss Teak and the event I walked in on earlier this afternoon. I decide not to. If she doesn’t know already, the information would only serve to upset her more. Instead I say, “Because I’m pissed at him for doing this to you.”

“To us, Alex. He left both of us.” Mom rises to her feet and brushes off the parts of her body that were touching the floor. She lends me a hand and helps me to my feet. Turning to leave the cooler, she pauses and turns toward me again. “Oh no, your schoolwork.” She begins to cry and shake in hysterics again.

“Mom, Mom…” I hold her face in my hands and use my thumbs to rub away her tears. Her skin is hot despite the fact we’re in the cooler. “It’s okay.” I try to make her better through my touch, the way Simmi does to me. “We’ll manage. Everything’ll be okay.”

She squeezes me and forces a laugh. “Oh, my big brave oak tree. You’re right. We’ll get through this. Together.”

***

When we get home, most of Dad’s things are already gone. So are the two big suitcases we use whenever we go to visit Nana and Gramps Kosmitoras in Boston.

“I’m going to tuck myself in a bit early tonight,” Mom announces, drifting toward the bedroom she and Dad have shared ever since I can remember.

I sit down at the kitchen table, bury my fingers in my hair and scratch at my scalp. Little bits of dandruff get stuck under my fingernails. A few of my hairs are pulled loose, but I can’t feel any pain. A while later, soft movements come from the living room. I get up and walk over to Mom.

“I couldn’t sleep in there all alone. At least not tonight,” she explains. She’s sitting on the couch with a quilt that smells like mothballs flung over her shoulders.

I snap with both hands to show my double support and reach around to give her another hug. I kiss her on the forehead and tell her I love her. After waiting a little while to make sure she’s not going to start crying again, I head to my bedroom for the night.

Of course, I’m completely unable to sleep. Too many thoughts race through my mind. My ears continue to whistle on and off, giving me a pulsing headache. What am I going to do now? I want to save Simmi more than anything, but I can’t let her know about the danger involved, and I can’t bring myself to train with Miss Teak now. She’s the reason my family’s been torn apart in the first place. Makes me sick knowing her shop is just next door to Mom’s. It’s probably only a matter of time before Dad turns up and hurts Mom all over again. I shudder and notice I’m grinding my teeth. Now I’ve got a headache and a toothache, both of which add to my anger.

Eventually, I do fall asleep, but it’s not a good sleep. I keep dreaming about Dad and Miss Teak together, talking, laughing. They’re celebrating something, which I can only assume is their successful destruction of our family. What I can’t understand is why, in every single one of these dreams, I’m there, too. Laughing and celebrating like nothing is the matter.