Gifted Touch (12 page)

She hesitated. Neither solution felt right.
You have
to do
something, she ordered herself. Then she heard the bathroom door swing open. If she ran, he would see her. If she darted to the closet, he would hear her.

Footsteps started down the hall toward her room.

127

A figure started past the open door. Rae didn’t think.

She just let out a howl that was half terror and half fury and hurled herself at the guy. He hit the ground with a thud, and she heard his breath come out with a wheeze.

“Who are you?” she demanded, voice shaking.

Then she realized the guy was smaller than she thought at first, just about her size. Rae roughly flipped him over onto his back. She recognized his face immediately. It took a second longer to come up with his name. “Jesse,” she cried. “Jesse Beven, from group. You did this? Why would you do this?” Jesse started to struggle to his knees, but Rae shoved him back down. His face was so white that she could see every freckle.
He’s as scared as I was,
she thought. “Answer me,” she barked.

“I don’t have to tell you anything.” He jerked his body to the left and managed to scramble up before Rae could grab him again. He took off down the hall.

“Hey, Mensa boy, I know your name,” Rae called after him as she shoved herself to her feet. He stopped. “Ms. Abramson knows where you live and your phone number,” she continued. “By the time you get home, the police will be waiting for you.” Jesse turned around. “Fine. Get me sent to the detention center with Anthony. I’d rather be there.”

“So that’s what your little painting on my wall 128

was about. Anthony,” Rae said. She let Rufus fall to the ground.

“Duh,” Jesse muttered. He jerked up his chin, and his red hair fell away from his face.

God, he was a baby. Barely thirteen.

“Look, my dad will be home in a few hours. Clean up my room before he gets here, and I might be able to forget this ever happened,” Rae told him. “You can pay me back for the stuff you trashed. A little every week,” she added.

Jesse stared at her for a long moment. Then he walked over, picked up Rufus from the ground, and handed him to her. He stepped past her into her room without a word. Rae followed him. She put Rufus on her bed, feeling overwhelmed by the amount of damage Jesse had managed to do. “I’ll get some garbage bags,” she said, hurrying to the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

She opened the polished doorknob of the little supply cupboard, a closet she and her dad rarely bothered going into since most of their cleaning involved paper towels and water, and pulled out a box of the jumbo lawn trash bags—

/need to pick up candles/

—then rushed back to her room. She didn’t want to leave Jesse alone too long in case he thought about bolting again. Not something she wanted to have to deal with.

129

“Here.” She lobbed the box of trash bags at Jesse, who was crouched on the floor, gathering up pieces of comforter stuffing.

He gave a grunt that she decided to take as a thank-you.

Might as well help,
she thought. She grabbed some turpentine and some rags from a box in her closet, letting the not-her thoughts—although these were of the variety that felt
more
like her—buzz on through her brain, then started working on getting the paint off the wall. Her father would freak if he saw it.

Forget about a live-in housekeeper; he’d probably hire an armed guard.

They worked in silence, without looking at each other. “Can I open a window?” Jesse finally asked.

“Yeah. It reeks in here,” Rae answered. “And by the way, you’re going to have to cough up some major bucks for the perfume.”

“I will. It was stupid. It’s just—you don’t know Anthony,” Jesse blurted out. “I do. He would never have set off that pipe bomb. There’s no way.” He was saying what Rae had been thinking. Make that what she’d been hoping.
Are we both delusional?

Rae wondered. She turned to face him. “How long have you known Anthony?”

“Couple of years,” Jesse answered. “And I know he wouldn’t set off a pipe bomb. When Anthony 130

gets pissed, he just starts throwing punches. He doesn’t stop and plan, like you’d have to do to set a bomb.”

“So you’re saying he’s violent. But too hot tempered to take the time to plant a bomb?” Rae asked sarcastically, even though a part of her, a big part of her, wanted to believe Anthony was innocent. She just didn’t want to be an idiot about it.

“Forget it,” Jesse mumbled. “You don’t want to hear it.” He tied one of the garbage bags closed with a tight knot.

Rae crossed the room and sat down next to him.

She opened a fresh garbage bag and started picking up pieces of her perfume bottles, fragments of thoughts popping up in her head every few shards. “I do want to hear it,” she finally said. “I just don’t want to be played.”

“I’m not playing you,” Jesse answered as he gathered some pieces of glass in one cupped hand.

“Anthony gets in fights when people piss him off.” He dumped the glass into the bag. “Like when this guy at the 7-Eleven was busting on me, Anthony broke his nose. Blood geyser.”

Jesse sounded way too impressed. Rae shook her head.

“He totally backed me up, with no questions.

That’s what you’d get if you knew him. You should 131

see the garbage he does for his little brothers and sister. He even wore a Backstreet Boys T-shirt one day so he wouldn’t hurt his little sister’s feelings.” So that was why he’d worn the stupid shirt. She picked up another piece of glass, and a tiny sliver jammed itself into her finger. She carefully began pry-ing it out with one fingernail, trying not to get all gooey over the picture of Anthony being that sweet to his little sister.

“So if Anthony didn’t do it, who did?” Rae asked, pulling the glass sliver free. She sucked lightly on the cut, which was barely bleeding—just a couple of drops. She was curious to see if Jesse had any theories. She’d love some hard info instead of her thoughts and feelings, which she’d be crazy—literal-ly—to trust.

Jesse shrugged. “I just know it wasn’t Anthony,” he answered, without a hint of doubt or deceit in his voice.

“The stuff was in his backpack,” Rae reminded him.

“Then somebody set him up,” Jesse shot back.

Gonna find out who did this
. She remembered how good it had made her feel when she’d held that blue cup and heard that thought the first time. That Anthony-flavored thought. It had made her feel kind of warm inside. Safe. Like someone was looking out for her. And from what Jesse said, Anthony
was
the 132

kind of guy who did that—looked out for people.

You can’t start believing your Looney Tunes
thoughts,
she reminded herself. But she felt almost positive that Jesse was telling her the truth. And her own instincts, or whatever you wanted to call them, agreed.

“Maybe you’re right,” Rae said softly.

“What?” Jesse exclaimed.

“I said, maybe you’re right about Anthony,” Rae told him. “Now, keep cleaning.”

133

Chapter 8

“Rae. Over here!” Yana called. Rae smiled as she spotted Yana in the school parking lot, leaning against her beat-up sunshine yellow VW Bug.

“Nice pants,” Rae said as she hurried over.

“Just the pants? What, you don’t like the shirt?” Yana asked. She adjusted the collar of her turquoise bowling shirt. Rae noticed that the name Betty was embroidered over the pocket.

“No, I like. But python pants, high-heel boots, and bowling shirt.” Rae shook her head. “One of these things is not like the other.”

“That’s me. Full of surprises,” Yana answered.

“And the pants are faux, by the way. No actual snakes died to make me a fashion superstar.” She opened the 135

car door and slid behind the wheel. Rae took the shot-gun seat, some of her own special Muzak playing in her head.

“Thanks for taking me,” Rae said. “I could have bused it, but—”

“Oh, shut up,” Yana interrupted. “We’re friends, remember?”

Rae could feel her smile widening into something that was probably ridiculous looking. The casual way that Yana used the word
friend
—it made her feel all toasty inside. Which was pathetic but true.

Rae’s cell phone rang, and she pulled it out of her purse and answered it, trying not to let the not-her thoughts popping up in her head distract her.

“Hi, Rae. It’s Ms. Abramson. Your dad gave me this number. I hope that’s okay with you,” she said.

“Yeah. Fine,” Rae answered, although she wished he hadn’t. It was hard to feel normal when your group therapy leader could call you anywhere, anytime.

“I just wanted to let you know we’ll miss you in group this afternoon,” Ms. Abramson continued.

“Um, thanks,” Rae said, not adding that she wouldn’t miss Ms. Abramson or anyone else. Not having to sit around and emote with the other sickos was the one bonus of having to go to the police station and give a statement. Plus she got to hang with Yana.

“I know it’s probably a little scary for you to talk to 136

the police. But all you have to do is tell them what you saw,” Ms. Abramson said, her voice filled with concern. “Call me afterward if you want to talk things through.”

“Okay. I will. I have to go, but thanks.” Rae hung up without waiting for Ms. Abramson to say good-bye, then stuck her phone back in her purse.

“Nice cell,” Yana commented.

“Nice tracking device,” Rae corrected her. “It was a present from my dad. I think he thinks if he can be in touch with me at any moment that somehow I won’t have another psycho fit.”

Yana shot Rae an irritated look, her green eyes narrowed, as she pulled to a stop in front of a red light.

“Okay. Here’s the deal. The next time you use the word
psycho
or
freak
about yourself, I’m going to slap you. And I’m talking hard,” Yana warned.

“What about if I just say”—Rae leaned toward Yana and lowered her voice to a whisper—“that I’m not quite my old self.” She returned her voice to a normal level. “I heard someone saying that about me when I was in the bathroom today. Doesn’t anyone bother to check under the stall doors anymore?”

“Clearly whoever said that has no life,” Yana answered. “If they did, they wouldn’t be hanging around in the bathroom, talking about
you
.” She gunned her engine at the Jag next to her. The guy 137

behind the wheel grinned.

“Yana, that guy has to be, like, thirty,” Rae protested.

“But damn cute,” Yana answered as the light changed and they started across the intersection. “So what’s the scoopage on you guywise?”
Thank God Yana volunteered to drive me,
Rae thought. If she’d been on the bus, she’d be thinking about Anthony nonstop. Actually, she still sort of was, with an underlayer of her brain. But at least part of her attention was on the conversation with Yana. Her friend. Rae couldn’t stop the dopey smile from appearing again.

“From the look on your face, I’d say guywise you’re doing okay,” Yana teased.

“Oh, sure. Except for the little fact that my old boyfriend dumped me. Not that he actually ever bothered to say so. He just appeared the first day of school with this girl Dori Hernandez surgically attached to him,” Rae answered, the words coming out bitter. Big surprise.

“Yowch,” Yana said with a grimace.

“Yeah. But I met this other guy. Jeff,” Rae added quickly, not wanting to seem like a total loser. “We’ve only hung out a few times. Just at lunch, you know.

But—”

“But you looove him,” Yana said. She made a 138

right turn so fast, Rae’s seat belt cut into her side.

“He has his good points,” Rae admitted. “One of the big ones is that he’s new. So even though he heard about me losing it last year, he didn’t actually witness my psy—”

Yana held up one hand. “I’m warning you.”

“He doesn’t act all weird around me,” Rae amended, avoiding the slap.

“So give me the stats,” Yana said.

“Um, okay. Tall. Light brown hair. Nice hands, you know?” Rae began.

“Boring. What about his butt?” Yana asked.

“That’s also nice,” Rae answered.
Last year this is
exactly the kind of conversation I’d have been having
with Lea,
Rae realized.

“We’re almost there. Are you starting to get worried about talking to the cops?” Yana asked. “It’s not going to be a big deal. You say what happened. They write it down. Badda-bing. Badda-boom. It’s over.”

“Except for Anthony,” Rae said.

“Not your problem,” Yana answered.

Yeah, but if I’d kept my mouth shut, Anthony’d be
out shooting hoops or whatever right now,
Rae thought.
Which makes it my problem in a way.

Yana pulled the Bug into the parking lot of the police station and found a parking place right in front of the building. “And anyway,” she continued. “It’s 139

not like what you have to say matters that much. They found all that bomb junk in his backpack, right?”

“Right,” Rae replied. “Right,” she repeated.

But that was just circumstantial evidence. It didn’t prove anything. It didn’t make the accusations against Anthony true. What felt true was Jesse’s belief that Anthony wasn’t capable of the kind of cruelty it would take to set off the bomb. What felt true was Rae’s own belief—based on pretty much nothing—

that Anthony was innocent.

“I’ll be waiting for you when you’re done,” Yana told her. “We’ll get ice cream.”

Rae nodded. “Thanks again, Ya—”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up about it?” Yana interrupted. She gave Rae’s shoulder a shove.

“Okay, okay. I’m going. See you in a little while.

At least I hope it won’t take long.” Rae climbed out of the car and slammed the door.

/need better ID/

Then she headed up to the glass front door and pushed it open—

/why did he/
can’t be here again
/
so wasted
/

—and headed over to the cop at the front desk.