The Guidance (12 page)

Celia turns to look but obviously can't see what I'm observing. "I so wish I could do what you do," she says.

"Apparently, so does Courtney." I look again as the pink atmosphere around her shifts, becoming deeper, almost angrier. "I'm seeing a light form of red that means immaturity—"

"Duh."

"—and someone of a dishonest nature."

"Double duh," Celia says. "Was there a picture of Courtney in the book next to that definition?"

I lift my eyebrows in recognition. "This isn't going to end well."

Celia quotes one of my favorite sayings: "I don't have to be psychic to figure
that
out."

While we've been discussing Courtney's aura, Taylor's been engaged in verbal fisticuffs. I need to get her under control. I don't know if she's protecting me or simply lashing out at Courtney for how she treated Jason after he broke up with her. He's protective of his sister, but she's as defensive of him. Must be a twin thing. I don't feel like this is the time for such a confrontation—I mean, I'm holding myself back—but Taylor is hell-bent on contention, literally shaking her fist at Courtney.

"Shame on me?" Courtney asks. "I think it's shame on you, Taylor. Shame on you and all of the dirty little secrets you and your family are keeping from everyone in town."

Taylor freezes in place and I grab her hand. Her pulse drills rapidly underneath her skin, so I squeeze tightly so she knows I'm here for her.

"Wh-wh-what do you mean?" she asks, her bottom lip quivering.

Courtney lasers her eyes at my friend. "Why don't you tell everyone how your mother went crazy and drove your father out of town and now she's seeing a shrink in Atlanta so she doesn't completely lose it?"

Taylor gasps so intensely that I think she's going to pass out cold from the intake of so much air.

Is what Courtney is saying true? I never picked that up. Neither Taylor nor Jason told us about any of this. How in the world does Courtney know it? Can she be for real? Certainly not! After reading one book? It doesn't work like that.

Though ... judge not, lest you be judged and all of that, right?

Taylor's eyes fill with tears and she turns and rushes off. Becca runs after her, probably to keep from beating hell and four dollars out of Courtney.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," she says with a contemptuous laugh. "Now, who's next?"

I slink away as Courtney continues her "reading" with one of the guys from the wrestling team. Celia's eyes connect with mine and she wrinkles her nose.

"You know how I'm a true believer in the paranormal?" she asks.

I nod wordlessly.

Celia sneers in Courtney's general direction. "This is total horseshit."

We turn to go back into the caf when Courtney shouts out at me, "Hey, Ghost Girl!" She flips her hair away from her face, revealing her Bluetooth. "Guess you're not so special now."

"'Let every eye negotiate for itself,'" I mutter to Celia.

"Yeah, that might be from
Much Ado About Nothing
," she says, "but this Mean Girl is making much ado about everything. We're going to get to the bottom of this."

I slip away from the girls, debating how to investigate what Courtney's up to, and find a quiet spot in the back of the library so I can gather my thoughts and meditate some. Loreen did a shaman cleansing for me a few weeks back and taught me some good breathing techniques. I need to use them now to focus on Courtney's energies and find a way to battle her without losing my cool.

I picture the air rushing into my lungs and then being expelled as I breathe out. I concentrate on my chest rising and falling, letting my stress and nerves unknot with each inhale and exhale. In my mind, I go to a peaceful, relaxing place. A beach, where my toes can dig into the warm wet sand. A sea bird flies by and squawks. The horn of a departing cruise ship sounds in the distance. The waves break over one another, splashing to the shore in fingers of salty foam.

Yes. This is working. I can feel my pulse slowing, the pressure in my chest easing.

She's using her phone ...
Emily breaks in abruptly.

"Good God!" I say, then clamp my hand over my mouth. "I had the whole relaxation thing going, Emily!"

Mrs. Langstein, the librarian, peeks around a stack of books and places her finger to her lips. I mouth
sorry
and close my eyes again.

Emily ... I was trying to relax
.

I'm trying to help you figure out what Courtney's doing
.

I know what she's doing. She's being an ass. She's not psychic at all
.

She's not and I know it. Courtney's not pure of heart and she certainly has no appreciation for a gift such as the one I have. All she's doing is making light of my God-given ability for her own entertainment. I twirl my hair around my pinkie and stare at the book cart in front of me. Suddenly, the mist in my brain clears, and I know what I have to do.

She's using her cell phone to get her information
.

Exactly ...
, Emily says.

That's it! It's easy enough to prove. All I have to do is view Courtney's call list and see who's calling her and feeding her the information. It's not like spirit guides have caller ID, so it's got to be one of her minions.

I reach for my phone and scroll over to the address book to pull up Celia's information, where I text:

>I no what she's up 2. More l8r!

At my locker, I tug out my physiology textbook and notepad and rush to lab. Ms. Pritchard has our fetal piglets in place—
ewww, why do I have to do this after lunch
—so I wash my hands in the lab sink, dry them on a paper towel, and then slip on my plastic gloves. Poor little piggy.

I need to do something to separate Courtney from her phone without it being obvious. How to ... how to...

As I'm thinking all sorts of dubious thoughts, Celia texts me:

>Heard CL tell Stephanie she's not feeling well. Sense trip 2 b'room.

Just then, Courtney flounces in and tosses her backpack haphazardly onto the counter. She goes over to talk to Jim Roach, and that's when I get my idea.

>I'm on it.

I pull out the sheet of directions on fetal pig dissection and wait for my lab partner to return. Eventually, she quits flirting and returns to the stool opposite me, where I stare her down with a smile on my face.

"What?"

"Nothing," I say sweetly. "Just ready to get to work."

She flips her hair over her shoulder and reaches for the plastic gloves. "What do we have to do?"

Reading from the sheet, I say, "Today, we're working on the abdominal cavity. We've got to work on and label the large intestines"—I pick at the pig—"oooh, they're like big coils all fused together. And it's right next to the other thing we need to take care of, the small intestines."

If I can believe my eyes, Courtney's usually rosy complexion is starting to turn green. Time for me to administer the final blow. Using my scalpel, I point out, "This must be the small intestines 'cause it's this wicked gnarly mass of coiled tubes here in the bottom of the cavity. The workbook says it's held in place by a tissue called the mesentery. Oh, wow, Courtney, check this out!"

She holds her breath and pinches her nose with her gloved fingers. "What?"

"That mesentery thing looks just like the spaghetti they had in the caf at lunch. Did you eat it?"

With that, Courtney covers her mouth and nose with her hand and I hear her smother a gag. She stands up hastily, knocking her stool off balance. Then she tugs her Bluetooth off her ear and throws it onto the counter next to her bag.

She says, "Tell Ms. Pritchard I'm gonna be sick" and quickly retraces her steps out the door, no doubt to rid herself of caf's said spaghetti special.

Well, that couldn't have gone more perfectly. I know it's not exactly the classiest thing I've ever done, but the beeyotch had it coming after the way she treated poor Taylor. The only way to exact revenge for—or at least answer—her actions is to find out what's behind her sudden "powers."

The silver shine of her Bluetooth phone beckons to me. I know it's, like, an invasion of privacy and stuff, but it's just sitting there on the black countertop. I grab it and pull it under the table so no one can see what I'm doing. How does this even work? There's no readout, no display, just a button to turn it on. How do you make a stupid phone call on this?

I frantically text Celia of all things techie and impatiently wait for her response.

>That's only a receiver!!! Check her actual cell.

I am so not cut out for the world of intrigue. I feel like all eyes in the room are on me, but in actuality, everyone is busy with the pigs. Luckily for me, Courtney's cell phone is in the side pocket of her book bag. Gritting my teeth, I slip it out and sneak it under the table. Flip. Light. Ahhh ... I thumb through the sections to find Recent Calls. There are three numbers, so I jot all of them down. One has the ID F. Lewis, which is undoubtedly Courtney's cheering partner Farah. The other two have no names. No worries; Celia can find out later who they belong to.

Just as I put the cell back in its pocket, a very pale Courtney returns to the classroom. Ms. Pritchard checks her status and excuses her for having to leave class so abruptly.

Phew!
Maybe I
can
get used to this secret spy stuff!

In study hall the next day, I meet up with Celia, Becca, and Jason.

Oh yeah, the boyfriend. I have so neglected him. He is soooo damn gorgeous, sitting there in a blue button-down that matches his eyes and a pair of black cargo pants. After this Courtney brouhaha is over, he and I are going to need some serious alone time. Together. No ghost huntress team. No EMF detectors. No anybody. Just us.

"So what did you get?" Celia asks me, bringing my mind back to said brouhaha. She reaches her hands forward like a child grabbing at a new toy.

"I think you should maybe pursue a career in the FBI instead of in parapsychology," I suggest and then give the phone numbers to her. She flips open her laptop and boots it up.

"I was right. The Bluetooth is the key to Courtney's abilities," I say.

"I'm on it," Celia says.

Across the table, Becca cracks her knuckles and frowns. "Why don't you just have me and Dragon let the air out of her tires?"

"Classy, Asiaf," Celia says. "Real classy."

Sitting back, Becca snickers. "I'm into class. It's a brand-new thing for me."

We all laugh until the study hall monitor shushes us.

While Celia's hacking a nearby Internet connection, I fan some textbooks out in front of me, but I can feel Jason's stare on my face. I glance over, and he seems worried.

I thread my fingers through his. He puts his other hand on top of our joined ones and rubs softly. He's so warm and caring ... I just want to put him in my pocket and take him home. (Oh man, these Southern sayings are already rubbing off on me!)

"Is Taylor okay?" I whisper while still holding on to him. He rests my hand on his upper thigh—
hello!
—and lets out a pent-up sigh.

"No, she's embarrassed like nobody's business and is rip-shit mad at Courtney. So am I."

"Did you tell her that, about your mom ... you know, being in therapy?"

"No!" he says, too loudly.

Celia puts her index finger to her lips. Becca could care less as she listens to her MP3 player with the headphones on.

"Why didn't you tell me about things at home? I knew some of it, but not all of it."

He laughs, his blue eyes sparkling to life. "Right. 'Hey, Kendall, will you be my girlfriend even though my mom's a nutjob and my dad split and my home life is totally fu—"

"Jason! Don't say that! Like I've got this perfect life? Ghost Girl?"

He rolls those beautiful eyes. "That is
not
your nickname."

"In some circles of RHS, it is," I say sadly. "This isn't about me right now. Is your mom okay?"

His shoulders lift and then fall. "I reckon. I mean, she just sort of lost it one day and totally shut down. Dad couldn't get her to talk to him, and Taylor and I just stayed out of the way. Next thing you knew, Dad left, and Mom was making sure her insurance would cover some pretty serious psychotropic drugs. She's bipolar and was even suicidal for a while."

"Is she okay now?"

"The medicine's working," Jason says.

And here I've been worried about what my mother might put me on when Mrs. Tillson's getting along fine with her chemical dependence.

"What gets me," he says, "is how the hell did Courtney know? Mom's been so paranoid about what people in town would think. That's why she's been going to Atlanta to the doctor. And she's been filling her prescriptions up there instead of at the drugstores here in Radisson." He lifts his free hand to run it through his blond hair. "I've tried so hard to protect her."

"You can't, Jason.
She's
the parent. You can only take care of yourself."

His hand moves over mine, rubbing softly. "And Taylor. And you."

I shake my hair. "You don't have to take care of me."

"Yeah, I do," he says with a half smile and his head cocked to one side. "You're my girlfriend."

I smile too and I swear I feel a blush spread from head to toe. "I like being that."

"Me too." Then he leans over and kisses me fast, before anyone can comment or tell him not to do it.

"I've got it!" Celia sounds out.

"Shhh!" comes from behind us.

I slant down onto the table. "Spill it!"

Celia places her black hair behind her ears and takes out a pen. "Okay, well, you know that Bluetooth is this wireless protocol that utilizes short-range communications technology to facilitate data transfers over short distances from fixed and/or mobile devices, like a BlackBerry or a—"

Becca interrupts. "Jesus, Nichols!Who gives a shit! Get to the point. When can I kick Courtney's ass up around her nose?"

I hold my hand up."'Be comforted:/Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge,/To cure this deadly grief.'"

"Huh?" Becca asks.

Celia reaches over and high-fives me. "Good one, Moorehead! Ahh ...
Macbeth
, act four, scene three."