Instinct (3 page)

“Ok, everyone,
quiet,” Ms. Sullivan orders, her voice carrying to the corners of the room.
After a few moments, the hubbub dies down and she welcomes us to her class and
passes out a syllabus. She stops and talks to a few students as she passes,
asking about their Christmas breaks, but most students eye her warily. I can’t
help but be relieved that I’m not the only one new to this class.

“Everyone here
will be assigned a partner. You will complete class projects together, and if
your partner misses class, you will be responsible for collecting their
assignments.”

Excitement
stirs in me. This is more like it. I wonder who I’ll be paired with and try to
resist the urge to look around the room. I don’t want to seem too eager.

Ms. Sullivan
wanders around the room pairing people together. When she reaches me, she
gestures to whoever is sitting behind me and smiles. “The two of you can work
together,” she directs before moving on.

There are a
few grumbles as everyone shifts to greet their partners. My pulse picks up and
I put a pleasant smile on my face as I turn to meet a clear green gaze. I feel
my smile widen as I take in the boy I’m paired with. With dusty blond hair that
grazes his cheeks and falls into moss-colored eyes, high cheekbones and a
strong jaw, he is the living, breathing embodiment of the high school hero I’ve
read about and watched on TV. I wonder if he’s the captain of the football or
basketball team.

“Hi, I’m
Phillip Bennett. You’re new here, right?” the hero asks, his voice low and
pleasant. But I don’t notice that.

I don’t hear
the truth.

I stare at him
for a moment, baffled, resisting an urge to touch my ears and make sure that
they’re still attached. He watches me attentively and I struggle to find my way
back to normalcy and answer.

“Um, hi. Yeah,
today’s my first day,” I reply, absently clicking my jaw to try and pop my
ears. “Oh, and my name is Derry.”

He smiles and
I flinch slightly at the dazzling gleam of teeth. He could be in an ad for
toothpaste with that grin.

“Derry, that’s
an unusual name,” he says, tilting his head slightly and letting his eyes
travel over me.

My heart is
pounding furiously and my skin itches. What’s wrong with me? I always hear the
truth when someone first speaks to me, always. I try to focus, not wanting to
seem weird.

“Yeah, it was
my grandmother’s maiden name.” My fingers are clenching and unclenching at my
side and my stomach twists uncomfortably.

“Well, it’s
nice to meet you, Derry. Has anyone shown you around yet?”

I force myself
to concentrate. I will figure out what’s wrong with me later. “I had a tour
when I registered a couple weeks ago,” I answer.

Phillip gives
me a pitying look. “With Mrs. Hayworth, right?” I nod. “Well, I’d be happy to
give you a tour. One from a student’s perspective,” he offers, blinding me with
that smile again.

My pulse picks
up for an entirely different reason. “Yeah, that’d be great.” Up front Ms.
Sullivan calls the class to attention again.

“I’ll show you
to your next class,” he whispers and I give him a quick smile and turn around,
not really sure how I feel about that. It’s odd. Earlier I would have been
thrilled about a cute boy offering to walk me to class; it fits in perfectly
with my daydreams. But I am completely off-balance. For as long as I can
remember, the first thing anyone says to me is a hidden truth. I always have to
ask people to repeat themselves, or guess at what they might have said. I’ve
never heard just a regular introduction. 

I rub my arms
absently and then stop. The low-level buzz under my skin, like feathery wings
beating against my veins, is fading, but it is unmistakable now that I’m paying
attention. It’s the buzzing that warns me when someone is lying, and it was
sounding alarms the entire time I was talking to Phillip.

I look over my
shoulder at him. He is reading the syllabus, tapping his fingers on the desk in
a light, repetitive drumming. Sensing my scrutiny, he glances up and the
corners of his mouth turn up slightly, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. I
turn around hurriedly and stare down at my hands. Something is wrong. First the
boy outside the school looks at me and I feel like I’m dying and now I can’t
hear Phillip’s truth, but my entire body screams that he’s lying. I take a deep
breath and try to slow my pulse. After a moment the hum under my skin is gone
and I can focus.

With an effort
I return my attention to Mrs. Sullivan’s opening spiel. She goes over the
syllabus and tells us her expectations. I’m a little surprised at how spread
out the material is. Our first assignment is to read ten pages of the first
chapter tonight. Much less than I’m used to.            Studying with Mom, I’ve
always had to cram a lot of info in a very short time. At our old store, I used
to work every day and then spend a few hours in the evening doing school stuff
with mom. I love her, but she can be kind of flighty sometimes, and having a
steady schedule of homeschooling is not always her top priority, so I have
gotten used to reading whole books in a day or several chapters in a night.
Plus, I usually have to read them twice in order to get past the lies.

I open my text
and look down at it glumly. Tiny, cramped print glares back at me. It’s going
to be an ugly semester.

“I’d like to
get some perspective on what you already know. For the rest of the class, write
an essay based on one of these questions.” Ms. Sullivan gestures to the board.
Three questions are written, and I sigh as I learn more about Ms. Sullivan
without wanting to.

1. Every year teaching gets more difficult and the students are more
ungrateful.

2. I’m going to default on my mortgage if I can’t find a second job.

3.
I’m so tired of looking out and seeing these apathetic, uneducated faces.

I blink and
the words reform themselves into the intended questions, asking about certain
periods in American history. I close the text and prepare to write without it.
I’ll have to read ahead tonight so I can get through the rest of the week.

After a few
moments I lose myself in the work and stop worrying about why I heard exactly
what Phillip said and not some deep dark secret, the buzzing under my skin, or
the boy who ran into me outside of school. For me, writing is cathartic,
natural, and one of the rare times that I don’t have to worry about honesty.
Anything I write goes down exactly as I mean it. No matter what anyone says,
you can’t lie to yourself; not really. So I can read anything I’ve written with
no problem. It’s one of the reasons I first developed an interest in
journalism. I can wield my uncanny talent to find out what people are hiding
and then write the truth for everyone else to read. 

The rest of
the period passes quickly. Everyone is involved in their assignment and only
the occasional whisper or snap of someone breaking pencil lead disrupts the peace.
For a while I feel perfectly at ease, comfortable with this new world that I’ve
entered, and the knot between my shoulders unwinds a bit.

“I’m not
looking forward to reading these,” Ms. Sullivan says and I jump in my seat. I’m
back to hearing the truth again. What happened with Phillip must have been a
fluke, a once in a lifetime mistake. As much as I sometimes hate always knowing
the truth, as much as I wish I could be normal, it’s part of me and always has
been.

I glance
around, wondering what Ms. Sullivan said, and my eyes meet with the
pinched-faced girl. “What did she say?” I whisper and she hesitates before
answering.

“I’m going to
be all alone this semester.”

I sigh
inwardly. This is going to get really tedious.

“I’m sorry, I
didn’t catch that?”

The girl rolls
her eyes and leans closer. “She
said
to pass the papers up front. Geez, open
up your ears.”

I’m beginning
to understand why this girl is worried about being alone. Charm is not her
middle name. I laugh awkwardly and lean back in my chair, putting my name on my
paper and hand it to the girl in front of me. I smile at her, but she doesn’t
seem to notice.

Pinched-face
girl is still looking at me. I smile tentatively and wait to see her reaction.
Her lips turn up at the edges.

“You said
you’re new, right?” she asks quietly. The rest of the class is talking in low
voices so I lean forward to answer.

“Yeah. I’m
Derry.”

“I’m Nicole.
Sorry I was rude, I just…I hate the first day, you know?” she says, dropping
her eyes.

I feel my
heart twist in sympathy. “Yeah, I do. This is my first day of school. Ever,” I
admit, feeling a little foolish.

Nicole raises
her eyebrows. “Ever? What does that mean?”

I lower my
voice, not really wanting anyone else to hear. “I was homeschooled. I’ve never
been to school.”

Her eyes widen
as she looks me over. “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed. You look so…normal.”
She grimaces. “Sorry, that sounded bad. I just meant…”

“You meant
that I don’t dress like I’m in a cult or have weird hair. It’s ok.” Nicole
blushes and I find myself warming to her. At least she says what she means. “I
kind of figured people might think that.”

“Yeah, well.
Um, do you want to…” she breaks off as the tone sounds, signaling the end of
class. Chairs scrape as students jump to their feet, and I stuff my book in my
bag. Phillip steps up next to me and smiles, turning his back on Nicole, almost
as if on purpose.

“Ready to go?”
he asks. I glance over at Nicole, wondering what she was about to ask.

“See you
later,” she mumbles and hurries away, holding her book close to her chest. She
reminds me of a frightened rabbit, always looking around for the next attack.

I shake my
head and turn back to Phillip, realizing that once again, I heard what he
really said the first time around. A light hum whispers under my skin. There’s
no doubting that there’s something different about Phillip. It’s like my talent
goes haywire around him.

“Yeah. Thanks
for doing this,” I say, fighting the urge shake all the confusion out of my
head. He smiles, teeth flashing, and leads the way out of the room.

“So what class
do you have next?”

I glance over
my schedule again. “Biology with Mr. Keckley.”

“Oh, I had him
last semester. He can be a little…off-putting. Just don’t sit too close to the
front. He tends to spit,” Phillip informs me conspiratorially.

“Oh. Thanks.”
My throat seems to be closing over. I’m not sure if my reaction to Phillip has
something to do with my ability or if it’s just because he’s really cute. I
decide to go with the latter for my own peace of mind.

“So where are
you from?”

“Williamsburg,
Virginia. I grew up there,” I say, glad to get on solid ground.

“Oh, I’ve been
there, when I was a kid. It’s near Busch Gardens, right?”

I laugh. You
can tell someone’s age by how they identify Williamsburg. It’s either the
colonial town or that place near the amusement park. “Yeah, that’s the place.”

“That’s nice,”
he says and we lapse into silence. In my mind, I am this great
conversationalist, bubbly and vibrant, drawing people to me just by the sound
of my voice. In reality, my tongue seems to have swollen up to twice its size
and my brain is sputtering like a stalled engine.

We round a
corner and Phillip points to a door. “Well, that’s Mr. Keckley’s room.
Remember, stay in the back,” he reminds me jokingly.

“Thanks
for…um.”

“No problem.
Do you know how to get to the cafeteria from here?”

I wonder if
I’ve really come off as that dense. “Yes.”

“Good. Well,
it was nice meeting you. If you need somewhere to sit at lunch, just look for
me.”

“Oh, thanks. I
will.” I scratch my arm, electricity surging beneath my skin.

“Ok. Good
luck,” Phillip says, tossing another brilliant smile over his shoulder. As he merges
into the quickly moving mass of students my skin quiets, the buzzing
dissipating until I’m not sure it was there to begin with. I square my
shoulders and head into the room.

Mr. Keckley
doesn’t offer me any help or ask if I want to be introduced to the class. He
signs my paper with a grunt and gestures broadly at the room. I take a desk
near the back, following Phillip’s advice. The last students to come in grumble
as they take the front row seats. No one speaks to me. I barely rate a glance
from the people sitting next to me.

This period
moves slowly. Once Mr. Keckley is finished droning on about how his class is
run, he puts in a mind-numbing National Geographic film about photosynthesis. Halfway
through the movie I’m blinking rapidly to stay awake, letting the half-truths
the narrator utters pass through my ears without really listening.

Someone taps
me on the shoulder. Startled, I glance around and catch the eye of the girl
behind me. She is holding out a folded piece of notebook paper to me with a
bored expression on her face.

“I stole a
hundred dollars from my brother,” she whispers impatiently, shoving the paper
into my hand. I close my fist around it and open my mouth to say something, but
the girl stares studiously at the TV screen, obviously not interested in
striking up an acquaintance.

I peer
anxiously at Mr. Keckley, but he is looking at something on his computer and
doesn’t seem to notice that anything has happened. With a thrill of
anticipation, I open the folded paper and read the note.

“You don’t
belong here. You’re going to be miserable.”

Tears sting my
eyes as I stare down at the paper. The words flicker and reform into what the
author meant me to see.

“Welcome to
Harpers Ferry. You’re going to have fun here.”

I glance
around, wondering who wrote the note. My eyes meet those of a girl two rows
over. She winks at me and tosses gleaming blond hair over her shoulder. If I
didn’t know her true intention, I would think she was being friendly.