Intuition (14 page)

I nod, afraid to say anything. Just thinking about Griffon is enough to make me start bawling like a baby.

“You know you can always come and talk to me about things like that. I've been around a while. I might even be able to help.”

“Thanks,” I whisper. “We broke up.” I blink back the tears that form just from saying those words.

Mom leans over and puts her arms around me. At first I pull back—Mom and I don't hug that much anymore—but then I relax into her and feel more relieved than I have in days.

“Want to talk about it?” she asks.

“No,” I answer. “It's over. I just have to move on.”

Mom pulls back and puts one hand on my cheek. “Oh sweetie, nothing is ever over.”

“You don't know that.” I sniff and run the back of my hand over my eyes.

“Maybe I do,” she says, and this time I'm content to let her have the last word.

We sit quietly until Mom straightens and takes a deep breath. “Dad's coming down for brunch. Are you about done practicing?”

“Dad's coming here?” Despite the fact that he lives in the apartment above ours, he's rarely shown up for a meal since the divorce.

Mom holds my gaze steady, like she's daring me to say more. “Something wrong with that? He
is
your father.”

“Nope. Nothing wrong with that. Let me just put this away and I'll be right in.”

I set the cello in its case, trying to ignore the heaviness that settles in my chest every time I touch it. I know it's stupid, but I haven't polished the wood in weeks, because I think that maybe some of the fingerprints on it might be Griffon's. We've had no contact at all since the last time at his house, and I know I'm being ridiculous by trying to hold on to even dusty traces of him, but I can't help it.

The table is set for three like it always used to be, but instead of Kat sitting across from me, Dad is shaking out his napkin. Kat hasn't even been gone a week, but since that first outburst, Mom hasn't said too much about it. My contact with Kat has been limited to four texts and two status updates, so I guess her fabulous new life in London is taking up a lot of her time. I always knew that she'd be moving out anyway at the beginning of the school year, but it's still weird, like more than one person is missing from the house.

“Well, this is nice,” Dad says, breaking the silence.

Mom shoots him a glance. None of us are supposed to acknowledge that nice, normal family meals aren't what we do every day. “It is. Can you pass the bacon, please?”

“Sure.” For a few excruciatingly long minutes the only sound in the room is the clinking of silverware on the plates.

“How's it going at the studio?” Dad finally asks me.

“Fine.”

“Did I hear you practicing earlier?”

“The improvement is amazing,” Mom answers for me. “I'm not saying she should start booking recitals anytime soon, but we might want to look at getting back into the Conservatory before school starts.”

“I'm right here,” I say irritably. “And I'm nowhere near good enough to even think about the Conservatory at this point.”

“You're wrong,” Mom says. “And you're going to be a senior this year. We need to start making some decisions about Juilliard or continuing with the Conservatory program once you graduate.”

“I have been making some decisions,” I say, although that's a complete lie. “I've been thinking about applying to Cal and maybe UC San Diego.” I've pulled those two schools completely out of thin air, but I get a feeling of satisfaction from just saying them out loud.

“To do what? Neither of those schools has a music program worthy of your talent.” Mom puts her fork down on her plate; the pretense of actually eating is over. “We've talked about Juilliard since you were a little—”

I cut her off before she can say any more. “Mom, face it—Juilliard is completely off the table, and so is the Conservatory. I was thinking I should look into something else. History maybe, or English lit.”

“Why? So you can waste your gift teaching?”

“Is that so bad? I teach music now. What's the difference?”

Mom starts to speak again, but Dad puts his hand on her arm. To my total surprise, she shuts up. “What your mother is trying to say is that it isn't time to give up yet. Applications are still six months away, and a lot can happen in that time.”

A knock at the door saves me from having to try to explain myself again. “I'll get it,” I say, tossing my napkin on the table. Maybe I should bring Kat up in order to take the heat off me.

I'm totally unprepared to see Drew at the front door. “What are you doing here?” I quickly step out onto the porch and close the door behind me. I try hard not to notice that the vintage Doors shirt he's wearing is just tight enough to show off the muscles in his chest.

“You didn't give me your phone number last night,” he says. “So I had to come over and see you in person.”

“How did you know where I live?”

“I heard Kat tell Francesca once,” he says.

I should have known that no random fact would go unnoticed. Or be forgotten. I lean against the door frame. “I agreed to one dinner,” I remind him.

“And I appreciate that,” he says. “This is an invitation, not an order. There's someone I want you to meet, but it's going to take longer than an hour.”

“Who?”

“It's a surprise.” The corners of his eyes crinkle up as he smiles.

I hesitate. An hour-long dinner is one thing, but this sounds suspiciously like a date.

Drew's face turns serious, but his eyes focus on mine. “If you don't want to see me again after this, then I'll go. I'll leave you alone. I promise. But you don't want to miss this.”

I look at Drew and then down at the ground. I've spent so much time running away from him, but now I'm wondering why. What else do I have to lose? “Okay,” I finally agree. “When?”

“Friday. Eight o'clock.” He glances toward the window, and I know that Mom and Dad are watching. “Can I pick you up?”

“I'll meet you.” By now, that kind of answer is almost a reflex.

“Cole, let me pick you up,” he says, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “I have a car, and it's easier.” He hesitates, and I don't fill the gap left by his silence. “The minute you want to come home, I'll take you. I promise.”

“Friday. Eight o'clock,” I confirm and slip back through the door, my heart pounding for no good reason.

“Who was that?” Mom and Dad are standing by the door when I walk back in.

“God, you scared me! What were you doing? Spying?”

“Nice try. Who was that?” Mom repeats.

“Just a friend. He used to work with Kat. At the store.”

“What's he doing hanging around here?” Dad asks, his lips set into a thin line that tells me he's more upset than he's letting on. He glances toward the window. “How old is he, anyway?”

I bite my lip. They're not going to like the answer, but it doesn't really matter after all. “Twenty.”

Mom crosses her arms in front of her chest, and I know immediately this is not a good answer. “He's a
man
! Nobody that age has any business hanging around you. You're just a child, for God's sake!”

“Child! Seriously? I'm almost seventeen!” I shout back. It's not like I want to go out with Drew, but this kind of treatment is really getting to me. If they only knew what I've experienced in the past couple of months, how much I remember about being an adult, they wouldn't treat me this way. But of course, I can
never tell them. “Who I hang around with is none of your business.”

“After what your sister pulled, it's completely, one-hundred-percent my business.”

My frustration boils over. I knew this would happen. “Just because Kat got out of here early doesn't mean you have to punish me for it!” I glance up at the clock and reach for my bag. So much for happy family meals. “I have to go.”

Dad steps into the hallway, blocking the door. “Where? I meant what I said. I don't want you seeing that guy. I'll get the police involved if I have to.”

I walk up to Dad, trying hard not to cry. He's always been the one on my side, but now he's just parroting her talk. “If you do, then you're going to have an empty house a lot sooner than you think.” He can't meet my eyes, so I reach around him to open the door. Mom starts to say something else, but I close the door behind me before I have to listen to her.

“Have you been practicing?” Janine asks, taking a bite of her salad as we walk toward the Faculty Glade behind her office.

I grin, finally feeling better after my fight with Mom and Dad. Janine sounds just like I do when I question Zander. “Sort of,” I say. “Sometimes, if I'm not paying attention, it feels like other people's emotions are shooting at me from all directions. Other times, when I'm really concentrating, I can't get anything at all.” It's a little weird to talk to her now. Like the subject of Griffon is just under everything we're saying, like a death we're not ready to acknowledge.

Janine nods thoughtfully. She's either really good at hiding it, or it doesn't bother her at all. “I've read about that happening to other empaths. You have to be careful not to take on the emotions of those around you.”

“How do I avoid it? I can't seem to control any of it.”

“From what I've researched, it's a matter of controlling the magnetic field that the brain generates from neuronal activity. That's what you're feeling when you read people. And that's what you're going to have to learn to block as you get more sensitive.”

“Mom just thinks I'm an emotional mess,” I say. I squeeze my eyes shut. That's coming way too close to Griffon territory. “I mean, I just wish I could tell her about all of this.” I think about how it felt to have her arms around me. “It feels like there's so much separating us now. So much I can't say to her.”

“Maybe you can someday,” Janine says. “I told Griffon's father about us, and he's been able to keep our secret for almost twenty years. You just have to be pretty selective. And the consequences aren't as high as they were in the old days. Not many people get burned at the stake for being witches anymore.”

That's what Griffon said the day he told me about being Akhet—that the person who helped him was executed for sorcery. “How's Griffon?” I ask, regretting the question the minute it leaves my lips.

She grins. “He's fine. Busy setting up the lab in the South Bay.” She pauses. “He was asked to give a big speech at an energy symposium the other day. It's on the Internet—you should take a look. It's a side of him you don't get to see often.” I can hear the proud mom in her talking and see how hard she's
trying to keep the conversation neutral. Janine looks around at the grassy area. “How about we sit under that tree over there?”

The sun is blazingly bright, so we settle onto the soft mat of redwood needles at the base of the tree. I take a bite of my apple and watch three women in brightly colored saris walking on the path. The one in the middle is wearing one of emerald green, and the silk is so shiny I can almost feel it on my fingertips.

The darkness is total, complete and unwavering. I suspect I'll get used to it—at least, that's what they tell me. I wonder if someday I'll forget about sight altogether. If one day I won't be able to remember what Mum's face looks like, or the bright green color of her favorite sari. If someday, things will be as dark inside my head as they are beyond my useless eyes.

Spicy breakfast smells drift through the air and I roll over, wondering what time it is. I can hear Mum and Daddy whispering in the other room, even though they think I'm still asleep; if I listen, I can hear what they're saying.

“We can't have Ramesh begging in the streets for the rest of his life,” Daddy says. “What other choice do we have?”

“But he's still a child! How can you think of sending him away? Especially in his condition?”

Daddy sighs and I know this isn't the first time they've had this conversation. “He's not a child, Hamsa, he's almost twelve. And it's precisely because of his condition that we have no choice. There are no facilities for blind people in India. His best option for the future is to go to school in England. They can teach him how to get around with a cane and to read with his fingers.”
They're quiet for a moment, and I can picture Daddy taking Mum's hand, trying to convince her.

“Read with his fingers? Can they really do that?”

“They can,” Daddy says. “I've heard all about it from Vikram's cousin, who knows someone who saw it firsthand. The war is over, and I'm told that the Germans' bombs did very little damage to that part of the country in any case. If he's to have any chance at all, we have to take this opportunity.”