Confessions of a Teenage Psychic (25 page)

“But what would I do?”

“Well, for starters, return one of those phone calls. Let the reporter come interview you with me sitting by your side, and we can put this all behind us. Believe me, honey, your fifteen minutes will be up before you know it.”

There’s a strange kind of logic to what Mom is saying. If I give just one interview— with Mom right there— maybe I can get this all to go away with the least amount of damage to my reputation. School is almost over anyway, and I’m sure kids will forget over the summer.

I let out a huge sigh. “Okay, I’ll do it. Which one do I pick?”

“How about the newspaper reporter? That might be less threatening than more TV exposure.”

I nod and give her a big hug. But before I grant any interviews about my psychic abilities, I have to do one thing.

“I need to call Dad, to tell him about what happened today before he sees it on YouTube or something.”

Mom smiles and hands the phone to me so I can dial his number. It rings three times, and just as I figure it’s going to voice mail, my father’s voice is on the other end.

“Hi, Dad,” I say, tears welling in my eyes again. “You won’t believe what happened at school today!”

I don’t usually read the newspaper in the mornings— okay, never— but the neighbor across the hall subscribes, and his paper is lying open in front of his apartment door when I leave for school this morning. I can’t help but see the glaring headline: “Showdown At The Ol’ Rosslyn Corral! Rosslyn High School Wranglers stage protest rally!”

I shudder and walk to school just hoping to get this day behind me. The newspaper reporter agreed to meet me this afternoon at Mom’s store, so I’ve got all day to worry about that. In the meantime I have to make it through the day at school, hopefully with my nerves and reputation intact. My stomach is all butterflies as I walk in the main entrance, but no one seems to notice me.

What they
are
doing is standing around in clusters, talking in hushed whispers. And it doesn’t take a sixth sense to know they’re talking about yesterday’s walkout and today’s fallout. I briefly worry that I might be in trouble, since being on camera could make it seem like I was in on the whole conspiracy. But I ignore that thought and head to my locker. My goal is to get to Mrs. York’s class as quickly as possible and hide out.

Quince is standing in front of my locker.

My heart skips a beat, or two, or three. I hesitate, wondering if I should just go to my locker like it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to be standing there, or say something, or—

“Hi, Caryn,” he says before I can decide. “I was afraid you weren’t coming to school today.”

“Um, really? I, uh… ” Why am I always so tongue-tied around this guy?

“Yeah, and before you say anything”— (like I could get the words out anyway)—”I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you about Kensi. Maybe I was just too stupid to see who she really is, but you were right and I messed up big time. We— you know, the team— we got back late last night from our game and when I went home and turned on TV, there she was on the eleven o’clock news. Man, I couldn’t believe it. A girl I thought I knew! Well, anyway. So I called her right then and told her it was over between us, and she said it wasn’t her fault, it was Megan’s, or yours, or the TV crew, or whoever. Kensi can’t ever take responsibility for herself, and now she’s trying to blame everyone else.”

Quince stops for a breath, and I can tell he’s hurt. My heart goes out to him, so to speak, because of course he already has my heart. But what I mean is that he looks so pitiful about being stung by Kensi yet again.

“So can you forgive me for being such an idiot?” Quince smiles at me sheepishly.

It’s more words at once than I’ve ever heard from him— even better than one of my dreams— and I can’t think of a thing to say. Can this be for real? Is Quince telling me without a doubt that he finally broke up with Kensi?

“Okay, you’re still mad and I get it,” he says, with a shrug. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“No, that’s not it, I… ” Quince is looking at me expectantly, so I’d better spit something out and quick, before he walks away. “I never was mad at you. I just hated to see Kensi hurt you.”

“I wish I’d listened to you way back last winter. Could’ve saved myself a lot of grief.” He looks a little better after getting all that off his chest. “Anyway, I’m glad we’re still friends, and I was wondering if you’d go to Peterson’s with me after school one day.”

Quince smiles at me, and I suddenly realize he’s just asked me for a date. After all these months— finally! I feel like I’m floating on a cloud.

“I’d like that.” Now
there’s
an understatement.

“Great,” says Quince, heading off toward class. “I’ll call you.”

I can barely breathe over my heart palpitations, and then he calls over his shoulder, “Hey, Caryn, you looked cool on TV yesterday!”

My literature book slips out of my hand and bounces off my foot and I don’t even care. Quince saw me on television in my biggest moment of shame, and he still wants to go out on a date with me! I must be the luckiest girl on the planet.

Attendance is pretty light at school today. As I look around Mrs. York’s classroom, I notice quite a few empty chairs. Kensi is absent, for one, and Salissa and Megan aren’t here either. The seniors are gone anyway, since graduation is coming up and they’re pretty much finished for the year. I’m wondering how bad things are going to be after the walkout yesterday, but Mrs. York clearly has more important things on her mind.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she says, rapping on her desk. “I know everyone is still reeling from yesterday’s activities, but I’d like to make an announcement of a different nature.”

She’s going to tell us about the baby!

I absentmindedly wonder why she picks today of all days to talk about it, but Mrs. York’s face is glowing and it’s impossible not to smile back at her.

“This is my last school year here at Rosslyn.” There’s a murmur in the room, and all the kids look puzzled, including me. “My husband has accepted a new job in Chicago, and we’re moving right away.”

Moving? Not coming back next year? That’s not what she’s supposed to tell us.

Before I can stop myself, I ask, “But what about the baby, Mrs. York?”

She looks surprised at first, but then she smiles at me. “I started to ask how you knew that, but then I remembered your TV appearance yesterday.” To the whole class she says, “Yes, Mr. York and I are expecting our first child, and
he
will be born next December. The doctor has suggested that I rest as much as possible, so I plan to take it easy once we’re settled into our new home.”

There’s a great deal of giggling and chatter among the kids, with various shouts of “cool” and “congratulations” and stuff like that. Mrs. York blushes with pride and happiness.

“Mrs. York?” interrupts one of the school secretaries over the PA. “Could you please send Caryn Alderson to the principal’s office?”

Everyone turns to look at me, and I want to hide under my desk. Me? Why me? Even Mrs. York seems surprised that I’ve been summoned, but she nods at me to go. Quince gives me a big grin, so at least he’s still in my corner if I’m in trouble.

I swallow hard as I pick up my book bag and head out the door.

Everything seems pretty normal in the principal’s office— phones ringing, the secretary working at her computer, kids coming in for late passes. I sit in the waiting area trying not to fidget. Just a regular day, almost like yesterday never happened. But my internal radar is going off and I know there’s more going on than just being questioned by the principal about the walkout.

“Caryn,” says the principal’s secretary. “You may go in now.”

I muster up all the courage I have (which isn’t much), and open the door to the principal’s office to see— Mrs. Renfrow! The head of the English Department is sitting in Principal MacGregor’s chair, and looking very comfortable behind his desk. She smiles warmly at me and motions me to a chair opposite the desk. I hesitate, wondering what’s going on.

“Caryn, I’m sure you’re confused at the moment,” Mrs. Renfrow says.

She can say that again
.

“Where is Mr. MacGregor?” I ask, dropping into one of the room’s vinyl chairs.

“He’s been reassigned,” she says in a neutral voice.

I instantly get an image of a tiny building in a rundown part of town. “To an elementary school?”

“Well, yes,” Mrs. Renfrow answers with a surprised frown. “The superintendent was displeased about yesterday’s activities in general and Principal MacGregor’s handling of it in particular.”

What she means is
mis-
handling, but for once I keep my mouth shut. Someone coughs and I realize Megan, grinning widely, is sitting on a sofa on the back wall next to Ms. Benedict, who doesn’t look happy at all. A frowning man in a pinstripe suit is sitting on the other side of Megan, studying the screen of a large phone.

I’m wondering who he is when Mrs. Renfrow claims my attention. “I’m the acting principal of Rosslyn High School now, Caryn, and I’d like to begin by assuring you that you’re not in trouble. I’m just looking for answers.”

So why am I here?

As if in answer to my unspoken question, Ms. Benedict says, “I know you were accidentally caught on camera, Caryn, but I also know you weren’t really involved. I’ve told Mrs. Renfrow that yesterday’s activities were Megan’s choices, not yours.”

“I just want you to tell me in your own words what happened,” says Mrs. Renfrow. “We’re trying to piece together the events leading up to the activities and see to it that the appropriate persons are held accountable.”

I can’t figure out why all the grownups keep calling the walkout “activities” like it was a field trip or something. But Mrs. Renfrow is looking at me expectantly, and unfortunately I can’t form a single coherent thought. Why is she asking me? The silence in the room is eerie. And something else is distracting me. Who’s that man?
OH! Of course! Megan’s father!
He’s here to make sure Megan doesn’t get into too much trouble.

I realize Mrs. Renfrow is still waiting for my reply. “Well, I… I… ” Seriously, I’ve got nothing.

“No one blames you for anything, Caryn, but somehow you managed to attract a great deal of media attention, and naturally I’d like your version of things. As the new administrator, I must make students aware that walking out of the building in the middle of a school day is an inappropriate way to address certain issues.”

“Well, sure, but I… ”

Mrs. Renfrow closes a file folder on the desk in front of her. “Why don’t you just write down your version of the activities, Caryn— in correct essay form mind you— and turn it in to me by tomorrow?”

I cringe. Mrs. Renfrow’s not only expecting a detailed account, but she’s going to be grading my spelling and punctuation.

“What about the uniforms?” Megan asks.

Mr. Benedict shoots his daughter a warning look. “That’s quite enough, young lady.”

But Megan just shrugs. “Dad, it was just a question.”

“I’ve spoken with Superintendent Pruitt,” Mrs. Renfrow tells her. “And a decision will be made soon concerning the school dress code. In the meantime, Megan, I believe you have something you need to say to everyone.”

Megan grins at me, gives me a subtle thumbs-up sign, and says, “Hey, Caryn, any psychic predictions about uniforms?”

Ms. Benedict groans and Mr. Benedict looks like he’d like to throttle his daughter.

Megan seems to have won this round.

Summertime

Today’s the last day of school! Just counting down the minutes till the final bell makes me giddy with anticipation. Still, I’ve learned more in the last week than I did all year, except it wasn’t lessons from a textbook, it was stuff about the real world.

Lesson #1: Being psychic isn’t all that bad.

After the episode in the acting principal’s office last week, I went to Mom’s store to meet
Indianapolis Star
reporter Serena Farrell. She turned out to be a young woman fresh out of college and eager to impress her boss with a good human interest story. The Rosslyn High School walkout was still big news, so Serena said she felt lucky to get the interview with me, considering all the offers I’d had.

Serena had a bubbly personality and I felt comfortable with her, but once she turned on her tape recorder she was all business.

“How were you involved in yesterday’s protest march against Rosslyn High School?” Serena began.

“I really wasn’t involved at all. I just got caught on TV by accident,” I said, while Serena scribbled notes on a pad, which kind of freaked me out.

“You were seen on camera predicting a phone call from the superintendent, correct?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

She looked up from her note-taking, almost like she was surprised at my answer even though the whole point of this interview was my psychic coming-out. “Is that something you do a lot?”

I looked over at Mom and she nodded encouragement.

“I’ve been doing it since I was a little kid.”

“And your friend Megan Benedict told the Channel 2 news reporter that you’re a psychic. Is that true? Are you psychic?”

“Yeah, it’s true,” I mumbled.

“Can you speak up, Caryn? I don’t think the recorder will catch that.” Serena moved the device closer to me.

I remembered that the reason I was here in the first place was to finally admit who I am, so I sat up straight, looked Serena directly in the eye, and spoke in a firm tone. “Yes, it’s true. I’m psychic.”

“So, predicting phone calls— is that the only thing you do, or are there other things?”

“Oh, yeah, lots of other things. I get strong feelings or sometimes pictures in my mind.” I didn’t mention talking to dead people. I figured she was getting enough ammunition as it was.

“And Ms. Alderson,” Serena said. “What’s it like living with a psychic daughter?”

Mom paused a moment. “Well, I suppose it was a surprise at first, when she was so little and started making predictions. But now it’s just a part of who she is and I don’t think about it very much. Sometimes her abilities come in handy.” Mom winked at me.