Farsighted (Farsighted Series) (16 page)

“But, Alex—”

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la la la la la!” I sing as I search my room for Grandma’s sweater. It’s not in my closet, then where? Remembering the storage bin under my bed, I get down on my stomach and swipe my arms under the bedframe. My hand makes contact with a small leather box. What’s this, a Christmas present? I pull it out for further examination.

The box is more like a rectangle with a handle. It has two clasps and twisty dials along the top. I stop singing, as the realization of what I’m holding hits me like a linebacker. This is the briefcase I tripped over on the first day of school. How did it wind up under my bed? I thumb the dial mindlessly. Still locked.

“Alex,” Mom calls. “Are you coming back?”

Oh, crap. I shove the briefcase back under the bed and pull out the long plastic storage container. “Yeah, just a sec,” I call back, popping the lid off the storage box. This one’s easy to open. I run my hands over the jumble of fabric inside, clothes I’ve grown out of mostly. My hand stops when it finally locates the dead sheep sweater—lots of itching in store tonight. I pull the sweater over my head and trot back out to Mom.

“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way!”

Mom laughs. The first laugh in a very long time.

“How do I look?” I turn around in a slow circle with my arms out to either side.

“Like Christmas, my sapling.” Mom hugs me and kisses my shoulder—I’m too tall for her to be able to kiss the top of my head like she used to. “Now how about those gingerbread men?”

***

Mom remains cheerful for a few days longer, but then Christmas arrives. I wake up around seven and crawl into bed beside her. I whisper “Merry Christmas” to her and she rolls over to offer a weak pat on my shoulder in exchange.

“I don’t feel like getting up early today, okay?” Her voice is hoarse. “You can go ahead and open your present though.” She squeezes my arm and pulls the quilt over her head—the mothball smell is almost completely gone now.

I pad out of the room, understanding I shouldn’t try to convince Mom otherwise. The longer she sleeps, the less she can think about Dad and how he’s missing Christmas. I pour myself a gigantic glass of orange juice and make my way to the living room. One present lies under the small tree. Just one. Usually, Dad gives me twenty dollars to buy Mom’s present, but what could I do this year? A rush of regret sweeps over me. I should’ve shoveled the neighbors’ driveways, bagged groceries at the store, something—anything to earn enough spare cash to buy Mom something nice. She needed it this year, more than ever.

I place my hands on either side of the big box on the floor. The wrapping paper crinkles happily to my touch, like a cat purring when its owner stoops to offer a pat. I hesitate and decide not to open the gift, not without Mom. Any other day, I’d go back to my room, return to sleep, browse on my talking Web, or even read a book. Today, none of these activities feel right. On Christmas, you’re supposed to spend time with your family and friends. Well, I haven’t got any of those now. Only Mom, and she needs her rest. I can’t remember a single Christmas in history not starting with me tearing into my presents first thing in the morning. It’s weird not opening gifts with my family. I just can’t do it alone this year.

Then I remember. I do have something to open. That pesky briefcase living under my bed. It’s locked, but if I keep trying, I might be able to figure out the combination. I push my body up from the floor and return to my room. I grab the briefcase from under my bed and place it on top of my comforter before me.

Now think. What could the combination be? This is Dad’s case so the numbers must mean something special to him. I try Mom’s birthday and my own. Of course, neither of those works. Neither does Dad’s birthday, our house address, or the address to Sweet Blossoms. I start turning the dials at random, running my thumbs over the three-dimensional digits, searching for any grouping of numbers that make even the slightest bit of sense. Maybe I’ll get lucky and land upon the correct combination by chance.

I wish I could use my powers to figure this out, but that would never work. For starters, controlling them is exhausting, and usually, I’m not able to anyway. I’ve basically given up on developing them. Why should I continue when Miss Teak is a traitor, Simmi and Shapri won’t talk to me, and anyway Simmi will end up choosing to be with Dax no matter what I try to do?

I continue to turn to random numbers on the dial, then for whatever reason, I decide to enter today’s date. Christmas. Twelve. Twenty-five. I’m caught off-guard when the case’s lid pops open. I take a moment to catch my breath and brace myself for whatever is inside. Could be anything. Most likely a stack of Dad’s resumes or some other boring business thing. I mean, what are briefcases used for in the first place? But Dad wouldn’t forget something so important, and he also wouldn’t leave it under my bed.

My hands reach down and open the lid the rest of the way. A smell of inky paper wafts out. I prepare to pull out those resumes, but find something larger instead. The paper crinkles as my hand makes contact with a book-sized object. On top is a tag printed in braille: 
From your great-great-grandfather. Merry Christmas. Love, Dad.

Immediately, my spine stiffens and I drop the present onto my bed. Dad left in October, and he’s not the one responsible for buying my gifts anyway; Mom is. How would he know I’d even be able to get into the briefcase in the first place, let alone on Christmas? Even the combination corresponds to today. I shudder. Might as well see what he left me.

Leaving the present lying on the bed, I remove the paper carefully, like I don’t fully trust it. Inside is an audio book. Running my index finger across the plastic casing, I find another little braille note from Dad. It simply says,
The Crucible
. I’m pretty sure this is the same book students read in junior year English. I have absolutely no idea why Dad would give this to me; it doesn’t even tie into our heritage.

I sigh and stuff the book under my pillow. I relock the case and shove it back under the bed. Something slides around inside, piquing my curiosity. I reopen the case and grope about until I find the object. There are two. One is the same size, shape, and texture as the runes Miss Teak gave me. Odd. Well, I guess not, since she and Dad are having an affair. I grunt in disgust and toss the rune aside.

The other item is the bracelet Simmi gave me for my birthday.
If you ever think you’re alone, this bracelet will remind you that you aren’t
, she said. I slide the bangle onto my wrist without a second thought. How did this get in the briefcase? I stopped wearing it the day of my fight with Simmi and Shapri. And we fought because of Dad’s leaving.

It doesn’t make any sense. Dad would’ve had to sneak back into the house after he left to place the bracelet inside the case. Why would he do that? What’s so important about the bracelet? And why can’t he at least say “hi” to Mom while he’s doing all this sneaking around? In anger, I turn the bracelet around on my wrist, first slowly then quicker and quicker, feeling the cool silver glide across my skin, imagining the circle spinning so fast it disappears, focusing on nothing but the feeling of the bracelet and the winding motion. Then something weird happens.

They say right before you die your whole life flashes before you—a medley of your own personal greatest hits. If this is true, I must be about to live, because a series of events that haven’t yet happened push themselves through my head. First, my lips become moist as another set presses up against them. “I missed you, Alex,” Simmi purrs. Before I can even begin to contemplate this momentous event, it’s gone. Another comes to take its place.

“I never left you. I’ve been right here all along,” Dad says as a car zooms by and a siren sounds in the distance. All of a sudden, the background of the busy street is gone, replaced by the stillness of Miss Teak’s shop. The scent of sandalwood incense drifts by.

“It’s not true, you know? Those things you said. About me, my mom, my dad. None of those things were true,” Shapri utters, lighter than I’ve ever heard any line of speech come from her. Her skin is under my fingertips—a pulsing, buttery softness. Miss Teak’s shop turns into a cold outdoor setting. Everything is silent, too silent. All I can hear is the voice.

“You can’t stop me. Nobody can stop me! This is my game now. It’s my world,” Dax roars from above. He kicks me—I instinctively grab my ribs to ease the pain. This small movement is enough to break my focus and bring me out of the trance. The reel of visions stops and the pain in my side leaves with them.

I’m left with a million questions, like what just happened to me? Will all the things I sensed actually occur in my future? How far into my future? Were they in order of how they’d happen? At some point, I return to Miss Teak’s shop. Shapri and I become friends, maybe even more—yuck, don’t even want to think about that. Dad contacts me. Dax and I fight. In person. But most of all, Simmi kisses me. I knew she didn’t really think of me as her brother.

One thing’s for sure, I need to stop hiding from my powers and my friends, leave my anger behind me, make amends. I need to be as strong as possible if I’m going to fight that maniac Dax. Besides, the sooner I rejoin the group, the sooner Simmi can tell me she missed me, and well…

Chapter 12

The traveler’s patience and ingenuity is rewarded as he is propelled forward. The harvest will come, and it is for the traveler to reap the fruits of his journey.

Christmas break trickles by. I spend it all with Mom, trying to make the season bright for her. During the days, we do all the stuff we used to do when I was little—build snowmen, bake cookies, play games, sing songs. All of this seems to help for a little while, but as soon as the sun goes down, Mom retires to her room and lies in bed crying. I don’t know what else I can do to help her.

While Mom has her dark moments, I hang out in my room, listening to music through my headphones, since I don’t want to hear her cry. I work on learning my runes and even try the trick Simmi taught me on the day Dad left. I put a sock on my right hand and use it to pick up one rune at a time, trying to use my psychic touch to figure out which one I’m holding. I do this over and over again and make a fair amount of progress. I can now guess the correct rune about one in three times. Still, this activity is exhausting. Seems I’ve got to choose between psychic strength and physical strength. To fight Dax effectively, I’m pretty sure I’ll need both. So I continue to train, hoping the imbalance will shift.

New Year’s Eve passes uneventfully. Mom and I watch the ball drop in Times Square, our own little New Year’s tradition. The great thing about the ball drop isn’t the ball itself—from what I understand, the visual end is pretty lame. I get excited by the countdown.
Ten, nine, eight…
Everyone screaming the number at the top of their lungs, eager to bring in the New Year, channeling all of that enthusiasm into counting makes me shiver with anticipation. They truly believe this year will change their lives for the better. I wonder how many of them are right. My resolutions for the year are to make Mom happy, to get an
A
in chem, and to figure out what Dax is up to so I can stop him. I’d also love for this year to be the year I get a girlfriend, but that’s not really something I can resolve to do.

Still, my heart pounds as I get ready for the first day back to school. Simmi’s going to kiss me. I just need to apologize and play nice, so she can tell me how much she missed me and plant a big wet one on my mouth. While Mom is making breakfast, I sneak into her room and follow my nose to the dressing table, looking for something musky and manly, something to make me smell nice for Simmi. Cologne in a cylindrical glass container catches my attention; I spray the chemical mist on my shirt four times and shake out my arms to spread the scent around. Perfect.

I walk into the school with confidence. Not even Brady can spoil this high by making fun of my cologne. Simmi’s and my schedules don’t intersect until lunch, so I spend the first few periods planning what I’ll say to patch things up with her. When the time arrives, the words are laid out perfectly before me. I pass up the hot lunch line to save time and visit the vending machine instead. My random button-pushing results in a lunch of beef jerky and Twizzlers—not too bad.

Simmi and Shapri are already at the table when I slide onto my seat. Their animated chatter stops as soon as I join them.

“Hi,” I say with a smile, flourishing my hand in an enthusiastic greeting. “Is it cool if I eat lunch with you today?”

Simmi clears her throat.

Shapri says, “Sure, whatever.”

“Great,” I continue on to the planned portion of my speech. “So the holiday season got me thinking. It’s a new year, time for new beginnings. Seems like a good time to let go of our arguments and move on, start anew. All of our chem grades should improve if we begin talking again.” I laugh. “And besides,” I say, facing toward Shapri briefly and then shifting my full attention to Simmi. “I missed you.” I smile and wait for Simmi to kiss me and say she missed me, too.