Uncanny Day (2 page)

“You all right, Nolan?” a familiar voice said. Dean stood behind Trent, having easily locked him into a full nelson.

I stood. “Yeah,” I answered.

Trent didn't seem worried about Dean and kept his eyes fixed on me.

Dean leaned in, whispered into Trent's ear, “Get lost,” and spun him around, back out into the hallway. I spit on the floor, my breathing returning to normal.

“Thanks.”

Dean looked at me and smiled. “Hey, what are brothers for?”

I smiled back at him, although a question swirled in my head. Was Trent just messing with me, or was the school bully trying to warn me?

Chapter Three

DEAN MITCHELL WAS TWO years older than me, a senior, and on his way out of high school. He was All State in baseball, had straight A's, he was the current senior class president, and the subject on just about every girl's mind throughout the entire school.

Trust me, I knew.

I never expected in a million years to be calling him my brother, but after his parents took me in, he gained what was left of my dangling thread of trust. He's the only one I had enough confidence in to share my secret, and although he didn't fully agree with my business, he let it slide on the account that I provided clients with just the facts.

“How'd you sleep last night?” he asked, knowing full well my insomniac tendencies.

I made a pinching motion with my fingers as we walked together down the hallway. “I was this close, man.”

“Did you try that technique I found online?” he asked.

Dean had made it his mission to help find some sort of a cure for me. The latest remedy was something called Roman Room Mnemonics, a mind-conditioning technique that preserves memory and thought but can also toss out unwanted items—sort of like the trash bin on a computer. For it to work, a person had to capture the unwanted memory, thought, or whatever, and seal it away. The mental cleanup was supposed to bring a sense of peace and calm to the mind. I think those silent monks you hear about use it. And it would have worked just fine, but I dealt with something that fought back.

Another trick Dean suggested was to plug my nose and drink a glass of room-temperature milk just before bed. I hadn't tried that one yet and wasn't about to.

“It didn't work,” I said, “although there is something else new.”

Dean's expression changed from curious to concerned. I went on. “It was a nosebleed, I think.”

Dean shook his head firmly and said, “Nolan, that sounds serious. Maybe it's time you got some professional help—you know, went to a doctor or something.”

“No way,” I returned, trying to keep my voice down. “How would I explain myself?”

I mimicked being in a doctor's office. “Yeah, Doc, I can read people's minds, and I hear strange voices that keep me awake at night.”

Dean arched an eyebrow and gave me a reassuring smile. I didn't even have to read his mind to know what he was thinking. About a month ago, Dean had convinced me to give up mind reading for a week. I did, but the ominous voices continued at night and I think I got even less sleep than usual.

“I tried that already, remember? And it didn't work.”

A bell sounded in the hallway.

“Well, keep trying that containing idea, and I'll keep looking for new stuff.”

We bumped fists and parted ways.

Chapter Four

THE RUN IN I'D had with Trent threw off my whole train of thought. I needed to refocus. Quickly stopping by my locker to grab my books for my next class, my mind made a checklist: Find Stephanie, tell her that Laura was going with Greg to the dance, get paid, and then finally this mess would be over. I had to move if I wanted to catch Stephanie before our next class together started.

Slamming my locker door shut, I began to turn around, ready to merge into the sophomore hallway traffic, but instead collided with someone. We connected like hockey players.

I knew it was her. Kate Huddy, the editor of the school newspaper, the
Weekly Beak
, and major pain in my butt. She'd been trying to discover my secret ever since I started dishing out private information. She had probably timed it perfectly for us to run into each other. The girl was relentless, and even worse, I had a crush on her.

We'd known each other since the fourth grade. I couldn't be sure what drew me to her. Maybe it was her self-confidence or outgoing personality, things I lacked. She always had that going for her, that and her fascination with the weird. Conspiracy newspapers, Hollywood gossip magazines, and comic books, to name just a few of the items I helped her pick up off the floor.

“Hey, better watch it there, Muddy,” I said. Kate had inherited the nickname “Muddy Huddy” due to the fact that she got deep into the dirt of people's personal lives. One time she was on to a few teachers at school. Those articles never made it to print in the school newspaper, but they surfaced in other mediums, such as her online blog of the same nickname. She had run into trouble a few times with instructors when some of the stories turned out to be fact. She was good at investigative reporting, I'd give her that, but she'd never crack my secret.

I stood. Kate was still collecting a few more of her things. On the floor under a comic book, I spied a thin black notebook flipped to an open page. Among the words written, I saw Dean's name. Bending back down again, I scooped it up. Kate and I might have been friends, but she wasn't very fond of Dean.

“Hey, what's this?” I asked as I tried to read more. She made a move and snatched it from my grasp quicker than a ninja.

“None of your business,” she said.

I held up my hands in surrender. “Whoa, Moody.” I stretched out the long vowel on the word, egging her on. “What's a matter? No insane questions for me today?”

She brushed back a few short strands of auburn hair from her face. Curling them behind her ear, she rose to meet me.

“Actually,” she started, “I wanted to see if you'd be interested in doing an interview with me.” She produced her cell phone and started thumbing over it. “I'd have to fit you after Greg Wilkins.”

That guy was becoming popular fast. I changed my surrendering hands into pistols and pointed them at her. “Um, no thanks.”

I leaned forward to get around her. Kate sidestepped into my path. I could smell her perfume.

“Oh, come on, what's it going to hurt?” The glow from her screen brightened her eyes. I knew what she was doing. The puppy-dog look had always been a tactic with her. Next she would use reverse psychology. I began to back away.

“All right, fine,” she said. “I don't need you to confirm what Dean already told me anyway.”

I stopped cold in my tracks. A scary thought popped into my head. I tried to laugh playfully.

“You talked with Dean? About me? Nice try, Muddy,” I said, trying to sound confident.

My thoughts flipped back to seeing Dean's name in Kate's black notebook. Maybe she was somehow gathering evidence against me. I knew she wasn't above trading secrets with enemies to crack an even bigger one. I guess I never realized it till then, but I was her biggest competitor in terms of news and gossip for the newspaper. Maybe she saw me as a scoop threat. And we were friends, right?

“I could even get Trent off your back,” she said.

Either that was a shot in the dark, or she'd seen the three of us leaving the guys' bathroom. She was good, I'd give her that, but I was the one who did the mind-reading at River West High School. I wish I'd had more time to talk to Dean, get things straight. Or, ha! I could just read her mind. Duh.

There was one rule in order for me to read someone's mind. All I needed to do was make eye contact, just as I had earlier with Laura. But before I could do that, Kate turned, just as if she knew the eyes were the key. What did or didn't she really know?

Chapter Five

WHAT I FIND FASCINATING about secrets is how people use that newfound information—information they previously would never have known or would have found out too late to do anything about. It's almost poisonous, but for me, it's business. A business that creates a sort of traffic of information that puts cash into my pocket, and that's what I'm out to get. Call me selfish or call me coldhearted, but I've promised to only provide the facts. The rest is up to them.

I strode down the opposite side of the main hallway, my mind set on delivering new secrets to my client, getting paid, and finishing this job, and although I would have liked to take my time, I was late and began to jog. I'd rather not look like I'm in a hurry. Since people know I carry information, I'm constantly being watched for whom I talk to and even whom I don't talk to. Sometimes it drums up clients, but on the flip side, it also shoos them away.

A little out of breath, I made it to the entrance of my classroom, and my timing couldn't have been more perfect. Walking toward me was Stephanie, chatting with another girl—maybe her new future best friend?

But then I focused on Stephanie and began to feel bad for her. She played backup to Laura in almost every category. Like when Laura was appointed captain of the cheerleader squad, Stephanie got co-captain. Stephanie received the part of understudy when Laura won the main role in last year's spring musical,
Grease
. And it didn't stop there—in a shared art class, Laura's exhibit took first place in a school-wide vote. Guess who came in second? The worst was when school dances came up.

Every autumn, River West held the annual Fall Ball (impressive name, I know). And Laura and Stephanie were at it again. Even though they were best friends, I knew they constantly battled in secret.

This time it was over the new guy in school, Greg Wilkins. Greg had just started attending school that Monday, and the two girls had been fighting over him ever since. What is it about girls and new guys? Fresh meat? I wondered if Greg had any idea two girls were fighting over him. The real problem here was that Stephanie actually liked Greg. I'd been in her mind—I'd seen it. Greg, I assumed, just wanted to be with the most popular girl. Girls had too much drama. I wouldn't complain, though. I didn't care enough, and it kept a steady stream of cold, hard cash in my pocket.

Stephanie was ten feet away. I wanted to be sure about her, so I held my eyes on her until she glanced up and into mine. I jumped inside.

Having been back and forth in both of the girls' minds the better part of that week, I felt like I was returning to some vacation spot my dad had never taken me to.

Yet this was no vacation. Stephanie Daniels' mind was much different from Laura's. Stephanie's mind was a tiny, one-room gym, although her gym had only one exercise machine in it—a treadmill. Strange, I know.

I spotted canned lights above that coated everything in a yellowy hue that shone off a set of mirrors lining the wall in front of the treadmill. Stephanie's current train of thought was a stereo in the corner of the room. Her thoughts just kept repeating, as though the song was skipping.

Please let it be somebody else. Please let it be somebody else. Please let it be somebody else.

My official synopsis of Stephanie was that she was on an unending cycle of playing catch-up. The treadmill itself ran at normal speed and beeped every so often. I had half a thought to do a few miles on it just to see what would happen, but for some eerie reason, I didn't want to step foot on the thing.

On its rubber track, a name kept revolving around and around. Written in huge white letters and surrounded by a giant heart, as if someone had painted it there, was the name “Greg Wilkins.” Yep, same name as on the dance flyer I had found inside Laura's dryer. Stephanie's was in plain sight because she openly had a crush on Greg. Laura's was more secretive; thus, I had to search for it. Just one more thing I've learned in the mind-reading business.

The bizarre thing was that in Laura's mind, below Greg's name, was the third word “lies.” This was absent from Stephanie's. People's minds were puzzle boxes. Yes, I could read them, and most of the time information was easy to get, but sometimes I came across little trip-ups like this.

All Stephanie wanted to know was who Laura was going to the Fall Ball with. I had my answer and then some. Why would the additional word “lies” be in Laura's mind? Did she know something Stephanie didn't? Was she protecting her friend from a betrayal Greg would later inflict on her? I'd been messing around too much inside Laura's mind to even bother looking for more clues. Then again, I wasn't getting paid to decipher Laura's thoughts, just to find out whom she was taking to the dance.

Just the facts.

In Stephanie's mirrors, I was again faced by my tired reflection. It complemented the appearance of the jeans I'd been wearing—rough and faded. I rubbed my eyes. I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept for a period longer than a couple of hours.

Suddenly, one of the can lights above me flickered. I turned to look at it as it abruptly popped and fizzled out. That was strange. The treadmill began to rev up, moving faster now. I bit my lower lip, quickly searching for more clues. I guess it didn't matter. I had the information Stephanie wanted and my job was done. It was getting weird in there, and I wanted out.