Farsighted (Farsighted Series) (6 page)

***

It’s Monday. At last, I’m allowed to return to school after my three-and-a-half day suspension. Dad’s driving me today, since he had to be up early for an interview anyway. He’s been on at least twenty interviews over the last few months, but still no job. I’m beginning to suspect he wants it that way. Somebody should’ve hired him by now—he’s been looking long enough. I wonder why he doesn’t just suck it up and take a position at a fast food place. Mom has to work so hard to support the family, while Dad drifts back and forth between interviews, wasting money on gas and carrying that stupid locked briefcase while accomplishing nothing. Not fair.

Nothing more than a few words have passed between us since my fight with Brady. I really hate Dad lately. As he drives the car in silence, rigidly shifting between gears, I reposition my body to face the window—as far from him as possible—and think. I think about facing Brady at school today. I think about Simmi, which is easy. She’s such a straightforward person. And beautiful. The sound of her voice, the smells of her hair and skin, that’s what beautiful is to me.

I think about Shapri and Miss Teak and the weird stuff that’s been happening these past few days, which is a bit more of a challenge. I’m still not sure whether I like Shapri. She seems to be all over the place, moving around too much, going from happy to mad and then back again. I know how I feel about Miss Teak though—completely and utterly intimidated. From her telling me not to run away from my gifts and about the hard journey I’ll face, to how I see but not like others, it’s all too much.

“You’ve been going to that psychic’s shop,” Dad says out of nowhere. How would he know?

“No,” I lie.

“I know you have. Don’t listen to anything she says,” he scolds. I’m in trouble now, apparently.

“I won’t. She freaks me out.”

“Good. And stay away from her daughter, too. She’s just like her,” he warns, with a flare of his Bostonian heritage thrown into the mix.

I don’t say anything. Now I want to hang out with Shapri to spite Dad. Maybe I can talk to Shapri at school or invite her over to Sweet Blossoms.

Dad’s really worked up. He keeps talking. “Don’t put any stock in what those cards say. A bunch of shit, if you ask me.”

“How do you know about the cards?” I ask. I never told Dad about my drawing the Chariot.

Dad struggles for a moment, making a series of guttural noises but not saying anything. The temperature in the car rises a degree or two. Anxious heat.

“Okay, your mother told me. Don’t tell her, okay? I shouldn’t have said anything,” he says at last, bringing the interior temperature back to normal.

“I can’t believe she told you,” I say, feigning anger. I didn’t tell Mom about the Tarot. I didn’t tell anybody, but I don’t want to reveal this information to Dad. He’s always had a knack for knowing what I’m up to, but lately he’s keeping too close of an eye on me. Like he’s secretly following me everywhere I go.

“Well, here we are. At last,” Dad says, parking our van at the school’s curb.

“Bye.” I jump out, not wanting to waste any time getting away from him.

“Bye,” he says as I slam the door. A second later, he speeds off toward what I can only assume is yet another in his string of botched job interviews.

***

I get through English just fine. Brady doesn’t say a word to me. Nobody does. People must take me more seriously now that they understand I’ve got the potential to retaliate. I’ve got a weapon, too—one the school will never take away from me. I think that scares them a bit.

At lunch, I take a seat at the end of a bench table at the far side of the cafeteria. As I’m unpacking my grape jelly and apricot jelly sandwich, Simmi comes and sits down across from me.

“Hi, Alex,” she says. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks,” I say, sinking my teeth into the sweet, gooey goodness of my sandwich. I think I can now officially consider Simmi a friend.

“I’m glad you’re back.” Simmi takes the top off of a Tupperware box. The strange scent of an unknown food escapes. “We’re starting labs today in Mr. Brown’s, and I need my partner with me.” She removes a starchy-smelling bread product from a baggie and tears off a piece.

I smile a dashing Odyssean smile—Athena, be with me now—and take another bite of my sandwich.

Somebody is standing nearby, lurking just beside us. I smell cherry candy.

“Simmi, quit bugging me. Shut up!” yells the voice that sounds like Brady, but isn’t Brady.

“Hey,” I stand up to face the intruder, swallowing my bit of sandwich. The taste of jelly stays on my tongue. “Leave her alone. She hasn’t done anything to you.”

He ignores me and continues. “Simmi, shut up, or I swear I’ll—”

There’s a crash. Broken glass. A scream. It all happens so fast.

“Get down!” I cry, “Simmi, get down!” But my warning comes too late.

She’s choking, gasping for air, clawing frantically at her throat.

I rush to perform the Heimlich maneuver, but I can’t get to her. “Simmi,” I sob.

“Simmi?” the voice asks. Hurried footsteps cross the cafeteria. “Simmi!” He sounds even more frightened than I am. “Simmi, Simmi, Simmi,” he cries over and over. He’s holding her, jerking her body around in a useless attempt to wake her. “Come back,” he cries, “come back, Simmi!”

Suddenly, he’s gone. A chorus of laughter rises around me. Brady and his friends chant, “Simmi, get down!” They’re making fun, but this is a serious situation.

“Shut up!” I yell, panting, resisting the urge to break down in tears. “Can’t you see she’s hurt?”

They laugh even louder.

Then Simmi places a hand on my shoulder from behind. “No, I’m not, Alex. I’m okay.” A wave of relief crashes into me, followed by an even bigger wave of anxiety. I just heard her die. How can she be all right?

“Alex, calm down,” Simmi says, kneading her fingers into my collarbone. “It’s all right.”

I should be upset, confused, mortified. But I feel okay. Simmi makes me okay.

“C’mon, Alex. Let’s go to the guidance counselor’s office. Everything will be fine.” She uses her hold on my shoulder to lead me out of the cafeteria.

There’s still laughter from the other students, but less now. They don’t know what’s going on. Maybe they think I’m dangerous, that I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. Simmi leads me down the hall, while my brain is bombarded by scary thoughts.

What just happened? Did it even happen? Am I going crazy? I’ve heard about people with sensory hallucinations because of a mental disorder. Am I one of them? The doctor said the measles didn’t affect any part of me except for my eyesight—was he wrong? Is my brain defective? Oh God, I hope not.

“It’s okay, Alex,” Simmi coos like a dove.

Simmi. What if what I experienced was real, but it hasn’t happened yet? What if I witnessed the future? Is Simmi in trouble? If she is, I’m the only one who knows. I need to protect her, to keep her safe from the future.

As much as it unnerves me, I know I need to seek out Miss Teak. If anybody can help me, it’s her—what with all that talk of destiny, gifts, and not running away, she’s got to know something. Luckily, I know exactly where to find her.

Chapter 4

The traveler has survived his first taste of hardship and now understands that, if he is to continue, he must seek out the guidance of one who knows what he does not.

“Why did you become upset during lunch?” Ms. Miller, the school’s guidance counselor, asks me, tapping a box of tissues lightly on my knee.

“I…I wasn’t upset,” I say, refusing to take the box.

“Your friend, Simmi, says you were screaming. Is she not telling the truth?” She softly drums her fingers on the desk and waits for a confession.

“No, I’m okay.” I repeat for the millionth time. This is a school, not a jail—why are they trying to force a confession from me?

“Alex, we need to discuss your issues, so they don’t become worse. Please let me know what’s wrong. Maybe I can help.”

I scoff and sink back into the rolly chair. I use my tiptoes to maneuver the seat back and forth like the swaying tail of a perturbed cat.

Ms. Miller sighs and tears a piece of paper from a spiral notepad. “If you won’t talk to me, perhaps you’ll talk to a therapist.” She hands over the folded paper. “This is the address and number for Dr. Fischer. He’s a psychologist specializing in sensory disorders. Perhaps he can help.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, stuffing the scrap into my pocket. I’ve got no intention of visiting Dr. Fischer.

“Okay, but I still need to give your parents a call. They need to know what happened.”

“Why? Nothing happened!” I protest. “And even if something did, this has nothing to do with my parents.”

“Since you’re a minor, it is your parents’ business. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t inform them.” She picks up the phone on her desk and the dial tone drones loudly. “I’m going to give them Dr. Fischer’s information, too. In case you happen to misplace it.” She positions the receiver between her ear and her shoulder and dials with one hand while searching through some papers on her desk with the other.

Following the vibrating energy source, I lean forward and click the tab on the base of the phone to disconnect the call.

“Mr. Kosmitoras,” the counselor huffs indignantly. “You have no business…”

“Yes, I do. And this is it.
My
business. Let me call them myself.” I hold out my hand and wait.

She reluctantly hands me the receiver and turns the unit around so I can dial.

I punch in the number to Sweet Blossoms.

Mom picks up on the first ring. Must be a slow day. “Sweet Blossoms floral shop,” she answers in a chipper voice. I hate that I’m about to make her worry over nothing.

“Mom, it’s Alex. Can you come pick me up from school?” I ask, trying my best to sound innocent.

“Alex? Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine, but can you come get me? I’ll explain everything in the car.”

“Okay, we’ll be right over.”

I begin to put the phone back down, but then bring the receiver back up to my face and say, “just you, Mom. Don’t bring Dad,” but she’s already hung up.

Mom arrives five minutes later to sign me out from school. I’m none too pleased to see she’s brought Dad along.

“What happened?” Mom asks, kissing my shoulder—that’s as high as she comes up on me—and tussling my hair with her hand.

“I’m not feeling well,” I say vaguely. Not a total lie.

“Don’t worry, my brave little oak tree. We’ll take you home. You’ll take a nice nap and be better in no time.” She squeezes my shoulder.

A passing student sniggers.

“No, Mom,” I say, pushing her away gently. “It’s not the kind of rest-and-recover sickness. I’d rather come to Sweet Blossoms. Besides, you shouldn’t close up shop for the day.”

“Are you sure, Alex?” Mom asks, pressing her hand to my forehead to check for fever.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay then,” she says. I hear her reposition her purse over her shoulder. “But if you change your mind, tell me right away. I’ll take you home and tuck you into bed.”

“I’m not going to change my mind,” I promise.

Mom leaves the office, and I follow her out. As I’m going through the door, I pass close by Dad. I’d almost forgotten he came, too.

“He’s fine, Susan. He should just tough it out. Missed too much school already,” Dad grumbles.

“Nonsense,” Mom answers. “I trust Alex and prefer to keep an eye on him in case he needs me.”

Dad takes a deep breath and follows us outside without exhibiting any further protest. The air grows heavy, not with humidity but something else.

The three of us drive back to Sweet Blossoms, while Mom talks about the ideas she has to get the shop ready for Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. That same thick air continues to hang around us. Apparently, Mom hasn’t noticed.

Dad pulls into the parking lot and waits for us to get out. “I’ll see you both later at home. I’ve got something to do.”

“Okay,” Mom chirps. “See you tonight, Greg.” She kisses his cheek and hops out of the car. Why doesn’t she ever ask questions?

“Bye, Dad,” I say as I get out.

He doesn’t answer, just speeds away. The air weighs less now that I’m free of the van. I sit in my window seat, scanning
The Odyssey
for about an hour but don’t connect with the words on the page. The wheels in my head are already busy turning in another direction. I’m biding my time until I can make a move.

The doorbell jingles and a customer comes inside. This is my chance. I slide off my seat, pick up my cane, and head toward the door. “Hey, Mom. I’m gonna go get a little fresh air. I’ll be back in a bit,” I announce as I make my escape. She’s too preoccupied with the customer to respond.

I walk around the back of the building in case Mom is watching. Instead of continuing in that direction, I make a circle around the building and come back in front and slide through the door of the All-Seeing Miss Teak’s shop. I’m not sure why, but my heart tells me this visit must be kept a secret.

“Alex Kosmitoras.” Miss Teak’s voice drifts from the far back of the room. I wonder if she’s even able to see me from all the way over there. “I had a feeling you would be back.”