Underneath (18 page)

They can talk. All the words I'd been planning to say have dribbled away. It's one thing to underhear Uncle Randall thinking awful things. It's another to actually hear him say them aloud, to have his words thunder and echo in the air between us.

I follow, mutely.

A few nights later, between bites of rice, Auntie Mina says calmly, “I've scheduled a phone call with Randall for Sunday. We're going to talk things over.”

“What do you mean, ‘talk things over?'” I say, putting my fork down. “He's had his say.”

“Sunny,” my dad says sharply.

Mom looks at me, frowning a little. “Sometimes you have to give people a chance to talk, that's all.” I look at Dad. He's not looking at anyone, just eating mechanically and staring at his plate.

I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to give Uncle Randall any more chances.

I look at Auntie Mina. A slight smile is fixed on her face, and I have no idea what she's thinking. Is she going to go
back
to him? She'd be nuts to do that. Especially with her new job starting in two weeks; her chance at a new life.

I wish I knew for sure. I could try to talk her out of it somehow, try to prove to Auntie Mina that she wants nothing more to do with him. I could make her promise.

Things have changed so much. When I was little, they used to seem like a fairy-tale family to me. But fairy tales, like promises, are just words.

seventeen

That night, I pick up my cell phone and scroll down my list of contacts, my fingers twitching nervously. When I reach the C's, I linger for a second on Cassie's name. I never quite managed to delete her from my phone book. I don't know why. It's not like we've talked. But deleting her entry would feel like there's no going back, ever.

I sigh and scroll down to the number I was planning to dial. Cody.

Yesterday at school, we talked again about what happened over winter break, this time without Mikaela or the rest of the group potentially eavesdropping. He said that he'd been doing a little research and had some ideas about how I could try to get control over my underhearing. I think he might actually still feel bad about what happened. I know
I've
been wishing it never happened.

No matter what I do, though, I can't change it, any more than I can change what happened to Shiri. Still, I wake up every morning and go to bed every night trying to underhear something, anything, that could help Auntie Mina. Seeing her haggard face every day, her aimless puttering around the kitchen waiting for her new job to start, is almost too much for me to bear, so I keep trying.

But I can't do it alone.

The phone rings only once on the other end of the line before Cody picks up. “Hello.” He sounds abrupt and distracted. I can hear voices in the background.

“It's Sunny,” I say, my stomach doing flip-flops. I rush on before I lose my nerve. Just like a race—I just have to keep my eyes on the other end of the pool. “Look, I've been thinking about what you said. So … tell me more about what you found out.” My palm is sweating and I grip the phone more tightly in my hand.

I'm not sure how far I can trust him, but I don't want to be scared anymore. I want to be in control. I almost tell him that, but he jumps in, sounding a lot more enthusiastic now.

“Oh! Okay. Yeah. Wow,” he says. “I wasn't sure you would want to, but—no, it's awesome.”

“Well, good.” I can imagine him pacing back and forth in his fidgety way, and I smile a little.

“You know, I had a feeling you were going to call. I'm really glad you did.” His voice is low, as if he wants to talk to me and only me. A tiny shiver travels up my arms at the sound of his voice … even though I know he's into witch chicks with flowing skirts and big candles.

“Me too,” I say. “So what's this advice you were talking about?”

“Oh, man. I've been reading a
lot
of stuff, books from Rennie and some articles on the Internet, and I think there's—” Cody stops mid-sentence. I hear a woman's voice muffled in the background, impatient and a little angry.

Cody says “O
kay!
” to whoever was talking and then makes a frustrated, wordless noise into the phone.

“Sorry about that. My mom. I have to wrap it up in ten minutes.”

“I can call you back,” I say.

“No, that's okay. I'm just on phone restriction until to-morrow night.”

“Phone restriction?” I refrain from asking for details, but I'm curious. Maybe the Magic 8 Ball incident came back to haunt him. “Okay, we could talk about it at lunch tomorrow.”

“I was kind of hoping we could get together outside of school. Like maybe at your place?” He sounds eager. I can't believe he just asked that. I jump up from my bed and walk over to the window, looking out at the drizzle that coats the lawn with a wet sparkle.

“Sure,” I say, but in the back of my mind I think of Mikaela and wonder what she'd say. “I'll just have to tell my parents. When were you thinking?”

“Saturday? I'm going somewhere with Andy and David at four, but I can drive over before that. I'll be off restriction by then, so I should be able to borrow the car.” He snorts, then adds in an undertone, “Like they really care anyway.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, Mom and Pop are into the whole authority thing. But it's all talk.” He laughs, but it doesn't sound like he's really that amused.

“Okay.” I'm not sure what to say. My parents sure aren't into the “authority thing,” whatever he means by that.

“Anyway, I'll see you on Saturday.”

I pause, then ask, “What do you want me to …
do
on Saturday? Should I get candles, or something?”

“Leave it all to me,” Cody says, this time with a real smile in his voice. “No spectators, though, don't worry. And you might want to do a little practicing in the meantime. I read that relaxation really helps.”

“Like in what way?”

“Try lying flat on your back and tensing each muscle individually then relaxing it, until all your muscles are totally relaxed. Then, if you just concentrate on the sound of your breathing, for like five minutes or so with your eyes closed, you're supposed to reach a state of heightened awareness. Rennie says it works for her.”

“Oh,” I say. It sounds a lot like what I tried with Mikaela, but maybe it's something I need to practice alone for a while. It doesn't hurt to try. Even though I don't like the idea that he's still talking to Rennie about me.

I hear an exclamation in the background again, the same voice I heard earlier.

“I've gotta go,” Cody says. “But let me know tomorrow if Saturday works.”

“Sure. Talk to you then.”

“Later.”

I press the disconnect button a little reluctantly, though I know he's already gone. I almost can't believe that phone call really happened. I have a crazy feeling in my stomach, and sort of a buzzing in my head … and it's not entirely bad.

Except that I know I should tell Mikaela. I don't want there to be secrets in our friendship. At the same time—I want to keep this to myself. So help me, despite knowing how she feels about him, and despite not quite trusting him, I want to keep this side of Cody to myself.

Thursday at lunch Cody walks up to me while Mikaela's in the bathroom and hands me a stack of Internet printouts.

“These should help you out. They're about reaching that state of heightened awareness I was telling you about.” He gives me a sly smile.

“Thanks.” I try for a cool smile back. “Saturday's fine with my parents. They've been wanting to meet you.”

That's when Mikaela walks up.

“So your parents want to meet the man in black?” she asks, looking at me steadily.

I remind myself that I haven't done anything wrong. She didn't exactly stake a claim on Cody.

Of course, neither did I.

“Cody wanted to help me with the … you know. Practicing,” I say, all too aware of David and Becca sitting just a few feet away. “He found some information on the Internet.” I wave the papers Cody gave me.

“
Ohh.
” Mikaela relaxes visibly. “Good for you. Cody is a fountain of obscure information.” She bumps his arm with her shoulder.

I can't tell anything from her expression, but what does it matter? Mikaela was the one who kept encouraging me to talk to him, saying he'd understand.

“It can't hurt to try,” I finally say.

“Damn straight,” she answers.

I think of our awkward truce, the fight that preceded it, the realization that she likes Cody, too. I try again to read what's behind her enigmatic smile, but I can't.

That night, I look at the printouts Cody gave me. “Opening Your Chakras, Step-by-Step,” says one. A laugh slips out, but I did promise to give this an honest effort. The other printout has a drawing of the body's meridian lines and talks about things like
chi
and the flow of energy along invisible pathways.

There's something about the drawing that strikes me: a simple black-and-white line diagram of a person's head, but the line representing the top of the head is dotted rather than solid and there are wavy arrows labeled “energy” radiating in and out of the top of the head. The expression on the person's face is serene, their eyes half-closed as if they're at peace with the universe.

I know it's just a drawing, but that's how I want to feel.

I close my door, sit on the floor next to the bed, and light my black-cherry candle. The printout says to try to focus on something simple and hold it in your mind, something like a candle flame flickering or the sound of the breath. I concentrate on feeling my lungs fill, then empty, over and over. I start to relax, my eyes closing. I can still see the image of the flickering candle flame against the backs of my eyelids, dancing. It absorbs my attention; the pale yellows and richer oranges, the tiny dark heart of the flame.

I try to release the tension in all of my muscles, still breathing evenly, focusing my attention on that one spot in my mind's eye with the slowly fading candle flame.

Then, on impulse, I try something completely new. It wasn't exactly mentioned in any of Cody's printouts, but it seems right. My eyes still closed, I picture the top of my head as … less than solid, open to the universe, to whatever feelings or images or sensations might flow in and out. When I inhale, I imagine energy is flowing in through the top of my head as well as into my nostrils and lungs; when I exhale, I picture those wavy lines in the diagram and feel almost as though I'm breathing through the crown of my head.

I get a strange, light tingling sensation in my scalp, traveling down to my eyes and ears. I almost imagine that the top of my head … isn't there, somehow. There's a slight humming in my ears, like electricity through wires.

And then the humming grows louder, and it becomes a voice, just out of the range of my hearing; but my room is quiet, and I know it's not the sound of somebody speaking out loud. It feels familiar, though, and there's a crackle, almost a smell, that's sharp but not unpleasant, like pine needles. It's a male voice, and I feel something like frustration? Exasperation? Is it my dad? Who else would be close enough for me to hear? Then it all fades. I open my eyes.

But I'm not unhappy. More like jubilant. Amazed.

Unlike Shiri, lost in the face of her unwanted ability, I feel powerful.

I can't help the huge grin that spreads across my face. This time, it almost worked.

From Shiri Langford's journal, June 15
th

Our backpacking trip is already almost over. I can't believe it's been two weeks. Last night we sat at the edge of the lake, all seven of us just watching the night sky, talking, laughing. I'd been so scared that something would go wrong while I was there, that THAT would happen while I was in the tent with Brendan and I'd have to explain why I went so still, why I was shivering and exhausted afterward.

But every night was like a party. We'd drink, get high, and stay up until the sun came up again and it was time to go, or until we were so tired we just passed out. THAT didn't happen once. I didn't even need my medication.

Sometimes I would just walk out into the woods, so different from the hills and shrubs, beaches and deserts back home, and lose myself for a while in the complete silence. I wish my head were silent like that all the time.

eighteen

Cody saunters into my front hall, wearing his usual black coat and smiling slightly. He takes in the old photos of me on the walls, the shiny brass vase on the hall table, a few pairs of shoes lying haphazardly on the floor, in fidgety, quick glances. His eyes finally settle on me, and my stomach jumps.

“How goes it?”

“I'm good,” I say cautiously. “Listen, I think we should do this … somewhere else.” I glance furtively into the kitchen, where Auntie Mina is busy going over paperwork for her new job. Her stuff is everywhere, and the house has seemed too full the past few weeks, like I can't get any privacy.

“Okay,” Cody says, agreeably. “Whatever works.” After a rushed explanation to my parents, something completely made up about a writing assignment that has to be done outside, I hurry us back toward the front door.

“I was thinking we could go over to the park,” I tell him, grabbing my backpack. He nods. I don't explain to him that I'm not ready to underhear my family yet. But I do have a plan.

I lead the way out, hyper-conscious of Cody behind me and the unfamiliar tread of his boots on my front steps. We walk most of the four blocks to the park in edgy silence, dodging four of the eight Abronzino kids playing a game of tackle football in their front yard, and then getting chased half a block by somebody's loose Chihuahua.

I'm shocked Cody's being so docile. I'd expected at least one crack about my house being smack dab in the Land of the Clones.

“Here we are, home away from home,” I say as we walk onto the damp grass of the small neighborhood park across the street from Spike's house. There are a couple of bundled-up toddlers with their parents in the playground area, and two girls are kicking a soccer ball around, but nobody's at the picnic table under the trees. We go over there and I deliberately sit facing away from the Doherty house. I look at Cody, feeling awkward, shy. He perches on the edge of the table, smiling at me.

I can't help smiling back. “I have to tell you something.”

“Uh-huh.” Cody drums his fingers against the table, sort of like he's anxious to get started. He eyes me, looking down from his perch and making the butterflies start all over again. I wonder if he notices I'm wearing the necklace he gave me, the little sun charm.

“I tried last night. Some of the stuff you printed out for me. It … ” I swallow. “I think it almost worked.”

“It did?” Cody sits up straighter.

“Yeah. Well—at least, I heard something. A voice. Maybe my dad. I couldn't make out the words. But I think … I think I'm almost there.” I'm a little awestruck at the thought. I describe what happened, from the visualization exercise to the moment I heard the elusive, not-quite-there voice, the moment I felt the ghosts of emotions passing through me.

Cody gets up and starts to pace back and forth in front of the picnic table. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.” I can practically see the gears turning in his brain. “So, I think what we should do is repeat the conditions of however you did it last night. As closely as possible. If you want, I can try to prompt you, you know, verbally.” He takes off his jacket and tosses it carelessly onto the table. “And I think we should try for somebody you know really well.” He looks at me expectantly.

“I guess that's why I picked the park,” I say slowly. “I thought we might see someone I know, someone from the neighborhood.” I swallow, feeling disloyal as I say, “And Spike lives around here.”

“Yeah? You used to hang out with him all the time, right?”

“Yeah.” Then my heart sinks. Since it's Saturday, there's every possibility that not just Spike will be at his house but also the rest of the Zombie Squad, hanging out in the backyard, jumping in and out of the hot tub. Including Cassie.

I have no desire to underhear Cassie ever again.

“What?” Cody says.

“He might have friends over,” I say reluctantly. “I don't know if I can pick and choose who I hear.”

He smiles. “That's okay. If it works, it works, right?”

I don't quite smile back. He's right, of course. I need to just get over it. If I want to be able to control this—instead of it controlling me, instead of spinning out of control like Shiri did—I'm going to have to set aside my fears.

“Okay. I'll try,” I say, settling my legs into as comfortable a position as I can manage on the hard bench. “Can you light this?” I reach for my backpack and pull out my black-cherry candle. Cody takes his Zippo out of his pocket and lights the candle with a soft
tink
of metal.

“Okay,” I say. “I think I'm ready.” I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

He's quiet for a minute. I crack my eyelids a tiny bit and peek through. He's staring at the candle, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sits on the bench opposite me and leans his arms on the table. I close my eyes all the way again.

“Are you sure?” he says.

I say yes. A trickle of sweat rolls down the back of my neck.

Cody starts by prompting me to relax certain muscles in turn, and then, after a few minutes of this, he tells me in a soft, hypnotic voice that I am now completely relaxed and aware. At first it's hard to concentrate, but gradually, his voice fades, and all I can hear are birds in the trees and the faint laughter of the girls playing soccer. The crown of my head is light, airy, and I have a sense of floating, like I'm not quite touching the bench even though I can feel the hard boards under my butt in a sort of distant way.

Think of Spike
. I'm not sure whether the words were spoken out loud or in my head, but I comply, my thoughts drifting, bobbing erratically as if they're on an ocean or a breeze. There's a memory of one of Spike's beach barbecues, the summer after freshman year, his dad manning the grill and handing out hot dogs as soon as they cooked. Biting in and tasting the smoky richness, the slight dryness of charcoal, the grit of sea salt.

It's vivid, but it's just a memory. So I keep trying. I think about his house, right there across the street; his mom's soft accent.

But the harder I try, paradoxically, the more the idea of Spike seems to slip out of my grasp, like trying to grab water. He's there, but I can't keep hold of him. I breathe slowly, hold my desperation and eagerness down somehow, and then someone does come clear in my mind: Cassie.

Bitterness surges inside me. I don't want to underhear her. Is she at Spike's house? My breath catches when I realize that I'm sort of hovering beside her, my thoughts floating in a formless space next to her head. Her voice sharpens, clarifies, a wisp or memory of the acrid smell of permanent hair dye ghosting through my nostrils.

—
Why did I ever go to that stupid party with James?
Elisa wasn't even there—she—and then—

—the bedroom with Damion, he brought me
in there, I was drunk, and I don't even remember
what happened—and I heard that he told his friends we—did we? God what if—

And then it's over. Except that I can feel tears sliding down my cheeks, stinging my wind-chapped skin. Horror and revulsion and regret slither through me. Hers? Or my own? I'm over her, so why am I crying?

I breathe raggedly, and I'm about to open my eyes when I hear Cody say softly, “Not yet. Try again.” I don't really want to keep going, but I have trouble focusing enough to snap out of it and tell him so. It's easier to just let it go, to follow wherever my mind leads. My thoughts slide along again.

—party with James? Elisa wasn't even there—

—Elisa wasn't even—

Echoes of Cassie's thoughts spin in fragments around me and then disappear, fading into that increasingly familiar feeling of openness in the crown of my head. Almost too soon, soon enough to surprise me, I hear another voice. Is Spike having a party? My brief flare of curiosity fades and I'm distracted by the sound of crackling, tearing paper in my head, a phantom smell of something slowly burning, smoldering down to ashes.

It's another familiar voice.

—I can't tell him what happened with Marc,
how he told me he'd always wanted—no—
why did Marc kiss
me?—why did I—

—have to get rid of this letter—

—can't tell him, can't tell James, can't tell James can't tell can't tell can't tell—

I feel like I'm drowning. The words smother me and colors well behind my eyes, intricate patterns laced with swirling strands black as Elisa's dark hair. My heart races with panic. I try to breathe. I remind myself where I am: the park. Outside. Safe. I remind myself
who
I am.
The swirling eases, and the smell of burned paper turns into a faint tendril of black-cherry fragrance. I can feel my hands again, and I flex them.

My eyes fly open, and I start to shiver. Cody jumps off the bench and asks, “Did it work?” And then, when I don't say anything, he adds, “Are you okay?”

I nod, but my teeth are chattering too hard to respond. He slides onto the bench next to me but I hardly react, even when he puts both arms around me and hugs me until I stop shaking. That's when I realize I'm still crying, that my cheeks are wet and my nails are digging into my palms. My breath hitches, knowing all of these things that I'm not supposed to know.

Cody just sits quietly, holding my hand in his, his thumb slowly stroking mine. He gazes at me steadily, his expression serious.

I can't keep my feelings inside. I can't be alone with this secret. I'll burst.

Slowly, I start to tell Cody what I heard. Who I heard. What I felt. The more I talk, the more my resentment and anger grow—anger that I can't seem to get away from Cassie; anger at Elisa for never having the guts to talk to me at school; frustration at Spike for being able to stay friends with them; fury at Shiri for not being able to cope, and at the universe for causing this gift, this curse. The emotions are raging out of me, and the words just keep spilling out.

Cody inches his body a little closer. He puts his arm around my shoulders again and pulls me into him. I can feel the warmth radiating from his arm like it's a burning branch, and right now it feels like the most solid thing in the world to me.