The Guidance (28 page)

"Becca," I say, trying to get her to focus. "How is Granny Gama's death your fault?"

She takes a staggered breath. "B-b-b-because for all she did for me, I couldn't do
one
thing for her."

"Stop, precious," her granny says. "Don't let her go on."

"She has to go on," I say. "This has obviously festered for too long." To the point that the multitalented beauty queen Rebecca Asiaf had turned into a Goth girl named Bulldozer Becca to remake the image she had of herself.

Becca buries her dark head into her folded arms. "I killed her."

"How?"

"It was the day before a pageant and she was finishing up an outfit for me. She could sew sequins and pearls and fringe like a pro. She asked me to pick something up for her. No big deal. Just a quick errand. I didn't do it, though. I was so caught up in myself and winning the next crown, practicing longer hours, that the store closed before I could go. So what, I'd get what she needed tomorrow." Becca looks up at me. "There was no tomorrow for her."

"What happened?"

"Granny was in the kitchen making dinner for Daddy and me when she had a heart attack. I got home just when it was happening. I rushed to her and held her, asking what was wrong. All she could do was fumble around in the pocket of her housecoat."

"Pills," Granny says. "I was looking for my nitroglycerin."

Suddenly, the whole scene plays out for me in my mind's eye. "Oh no ... the errand?"

"I was supposed to pick up her prescription." Becca sniffs. "I didn't know it was that important. I didn't know she had heart problems enough to demand emergency pills."

"How could you know, precious," Granny says. "I never told you."

I place my hands on Becca's arms, trying to let Granny's love flow to her. "You didn't know. Not even your dad knew."

Tears shining in her eyes, she says, "No, he didn't."

"You didn't kill her, Becca. It was a mistake."

"I shouldn't have let my prescription run out," Granny tells me.

Becca lets out a silent scream of pain that I feel in my bones. "I let her down. I couldn't take two seconds from my important life to go to the drugstore and get her pills. There aren't words to describe the guilt I've been living with."

But I understand. Her ache ebbs across the gap between us to wash me in her sorrow.

"Is that why you dyed your hair and pierced yourself and hide behind the black makeup?"

She nods her head. "I don't deserve to be looked at admiringly anymore. I'm a freak who killed her grandmother. I'll keep piercing body parts to punish myself for the pain she went through."

"Oh, Becca..." I glance at the apparition that watches with such concern. "Speak to her. Let her hear you. Use my energy if you have to."

Granny smiles. "You tell her for me, child."

I listen to the woman, so full of love for the granddaughter she raised.

"Becca, Granny Gama is here and she wants you to know that she's so proud of you. You had nothing to do with her death. She had a weak heart and had had 'episodes' early in the week. She knew she needed her medicine and shouldn't have put the responsibility on you."

"I let her down."

"No, you didn't."

"She's still here, though. She's not at rest. Not at peace."

"Yes, I am," Granny says. "I just check in on my precious every now and then. I'm so proud of her grades and how she helps her father, and I know she's going somewhere with her music."

I relay this to Becca, who sits up and listens. "Really, Granny Gama?"

"Tell her I'd forgive her, but there's nothing to forgive."

My voice catches before I can repeat everything. "She says that she died in the arms of the person she loved the most."

"Oh my God." Becca puts her hands to her heart. "I loved her sooooo much. I still do!"

"Tell her I love her too," Granny says. Then she moves forward and lays a see-through hand against Becca's cheek. My friend startles, like she can feel the touch.

"I miss her more than she can ever know," says Becca.

"I know, Becky."

A tear slips down my cheek; I'm missing my own grandmother. "She wants you to continue being you and doing what makes you happy. Most of all, she wants you to forgive yourself and live life to the fullest, like she did."

Becca cries again, only this time, it's happy tears. "I will, Granny Gama! I promise."

And then the spirit vanishes—just like that.

Becca slumps against the door and reaches out for the used Kleenex I've been holding. "Holy crap. Where did that come from?"

"She came when she thought you needed her the most."

Blowing her nose, Becca says, "That was remarkably intense."

"Welcome to my world," I say, laughing.

She wipes at her eyes again. "Don't tell Celia and Taylor anything. We'll just tell them I'm on my period or something."

"Whatever you say." Then I add, "So much for not investigating in your house, huh?"

Becca takes my hand. "It wasn't an investigation, Kendall. It was an intervention. I think you just saved me."

"Anything for a friend. And you're one of my best."

On Monday afternoon, I approach physiology class with great trepidation, not knowing what I'm in for with Courtney. Will she have returned to her old ways, calling me Ghost Girl and sneering at me over our project? Or will she cut me some slack and see that I'm just a teenager like her, trying to fit in and survive high school? No matter how much I try to tune in to the energy around me, I can't predict what's going to happen.

My purse vibrates, alerting me to a text message. It's from Celia.

>Where were u @ lunch?

>Mom took me to The Loft.

The Loft is a cute little bistro-type place in the Square. Mom thought it would be fun to sneak me out of school for some girls' time. It was a blast to hang with her and eat the smoked Gouda and spinach omelet that was absolutely to die for—nummsies.

>Sweet! U'll never beeleeve CL.

I sigh hard and move my thumbs over the tiny keyboard.

>Got her bitch back on?

>No. Invited me and TT to sit w/her.

>Serious?

>As a heart attack.

>Almost 2 class. Talk l8r!

I walk into Ms. Pritchard's classroom, full of students milling about before the late bell sounds. I make my way over to my seat and try to calm the nerves that have sprung to life inside of me.

Soon, Courtney bounces in, clinging to Jim Roach's arm. She's all smiles and laughs, and the sullen pallor is gone from her cheeks. She seems well rested and ... back to her popular self.
Oh, boy
. With a wave to Jim, she eases down the aisle between desks, stepping over Sean's still-cast leg. She sits right next to me.

"Hey," she says, not making eye contact.

I bite my bottom lip. "Hey."

Courtney pulls out a book and notepad from her Prada messenger bag and then picks through a plethora of pens before selecting a specific blue uni-ball.

All right. This is stupid. Why am I shaking like a leaf? What do I think she's going to do, draw on me? I have nothing to fear but fear itself. Course, Franklin Delano Roosevelt never dealt with the likes of Courtney Langdon.

Here I go. "Are you ... okay? You know. From Saturday?"

She waves her hand in the air, as if dismissing everything that happened at Stephanie's. "Everything's fine. I'd rather we not ever discuss that. Like, ever."

I sit up tall. "Umm, sure. I just thought..."

Thought what? That she'd apologize for the last two months of torture? That we might be friends somehow? That she might actually thank me, now that she's not under the influence of a spirit or exhausted after expelling it? I guess some people just never change.

Then Courtney knocks the earth off its axis. She withdraws a report; it's sheathed in a clear cover, black binding, and a nice vinyl backing. The best work from the Radisson Staples down the street. She plops the report on my desk, then claps her hands together like it's first-and-ten.

And she actually smiles at me.

"What's this?"

"So I had some time on Sunday and I thought I'd put together all of our notes on the piglet."

I thumb through the report and see that all of our forms are filled out, as well as the discussion questions on our findings during the dissection. What is this? Courtney finished our project on her own. "This is ... amazing."

She tosses her long hair over her shoulder. "I thought so too. We're totally going to get an A on this project. Did you see the charts I did in the back, where we cataloged everything? Nothing like a little extra effort, huh?"

I hand it back to her. "I can't take credit for this. You did all the work."

She frowns; her perfectly plucked eyebrows form a V on her head. "We both did the work. I just put it all together. No big."

"But you did everything."

Courtney passes the report over to me again. Her eyes tighten and she focuses on me. "No, Kendall.
You
did everything."

I don't have to be a psychic to understand the meaning of her words. This is Courtney's way of thanking me for helping her. She's, like, making that grand gesture without having to goo or gush over it.

"Oh. Oh! Well, you know. I do what I do," I say with a half smile.

"You do what you're destined to do," she adds. Then she lays her hand on mine and kind of squeezes. It's not an eternal bond of friendship and we'll never be BFFs; however, an understanding passes between us, like a whispered secret.

My skin heats and my nerves finally relax. "Thanks, Courtney. We're gonna be just fine."

Right before class starts, she leans over and says, "So RHS homecoming is in a week."

Intrigued, I say, "I've heard." I don't think she'll necessarily be on the homecoming court, after her last couple weeks of performances and disappearances at school.

"I'm having a hay ride after the pep rally and bonfire on the Thursday before the game." She hesitates for a minute and then clears her throat. "You and Jason should, like, come along with us. Okra's bringing his guitar, and we'll roast corn on a spit and just hang out."

The pounding of my heart picks up, only not in anxiety this time. Instead, it's the adrenaline rush of being asked to do something fun with one of the popular girls in school. Of fitting in. Of belonging. "Yeah. We'd like that"

She adds, "Of course, Celia, Clay, Taylor, Ryan, Becca, and that weird guy she dates can come too."

"Dragon," I say.

"What?"

"His name is Dragon."

"Oh. Right."

"He's a good guy. You'd like him if you got to know him," I say, referencing myself at the same time.

Courtney smiles. "Sure, why not. The more, the merrier."

And just like that, everything seems like it's going to be okay for the new girl at Radisson High School. I've never been more relieved.

"It sounds like 'all's well that ends well,'" Loreen says to me after school.

"Ahhh, a woman after my Shakespearean heart."

"I've been learning from you."

I plop down on Loreen's sofa and scarf down one of her homemade brownies. "No one's more relieved than I am that Courtney's back to normal and isn't treating me like dog-doo, let me tell you what."

Loreen throws her hands up. "That reminds me! I have a present for you to give to her."

She turns to rummage through a shipping box and then pulls out a bright red T-shirt. She flips it around to face me, and I almost gag laughing at the slogan: "333—Only Half Evil."

I hold my middle tightly. "That is the funniest frickin' thing I've ever seen. I've got to have one of those for every member of our team. And you'll let me actually buy them."

Loreen tosses it at me and waves me off. "Thought you'd like it. Tell Courtney to wear it with her cheerleader uniform. And no more tackling opposing players."

"Although we did win that game," I note.

Loreen and I laugh together for a minute, and it feels good. Better than good—fantastic! For the first time since I moved to Radisson from Chicago, I'm just Kendall again. I'm not a psychic. I'm not a freak. I'm not Ghost Girl. I'm not an insomniac or a disrespectful child. I'm just a girl with a boyfriend and good friends—and a peculiar hobby. We do good things for people who need us, and we'll help even more in the future.

"But don't ever forget how special your gift is, Kendall," Loreen says, interrupting and reading my thoughts.

"I know."

She pats me on the leg. "I was very proud of the way you handled yourself through all of this ordeal with Courtney. Especially the other night at the Crawfords'. It was very grownup of you. You could have just left that girl to her own devices, but you stepped up."

I pick at a brownie crumb on my left boob.
What a slob!
"I didn't feel grown-up. I felt cornered and bullied and sad and grateful, all at the same time."

"I know, sweetie," she says. "I can't tell you how impressed Evelyn was with you."

"She was?"

Loreen's smile spreads wide. "She called me this morning and told me that she contacted her ex, Joel, and they had a wonderful conversation. She said they haven't been that relaxed with each other in years. Evelyn wants to meet up with him and talk about reconciling."

My hand covers my mouth as I gasp. "That's phenomenal. Oh my God, how awesome will that be for them and for Stephanie?"

"It's all because of you, Kendall."

I don't know what to say. Imagine that, I'm speechless.

"I had an idea too," Loreen adds.

"What's that?"

"Why don't you hang out a shingle, so to speak, here at my shop? You can do tarot cards and psychic readings and whatever else you want to do."

"Are you for real?" Whoa. That would be—well, it would be some extra scratch in a teenager's pocket! "I have to ask my parents first."

"Of course you do."

The phone rings. "Divining Woman," says Loreen. She pauses for a moment and then smiles into the phone. "Well, thanks, Massimo. That would be nice. Sure. Sure. See you then." She hangs up the phone and barely dares to meet my gaze.

"What was that all about? You and Father Mass having an actual calm convo?"