Uncanny Day (3 page)

Slipping back into my own head, I saw that Stephanie was now just eight feet away from me. She was a cute girl, with an oval-shaped face, brown hair, matching deep-brown eyes, and cheeks that puffed into an equally cute smile, but she was no Laura Hartman. (Ah, I'm just kidding.)

“So?” she said, shooting the friend she had been walking with a sideways glance. I did the same out of pure awkwardness. The girl suddenly made a shocked expression as if she had just accidentally interrupted Stephanie and me in a deep conversation. The girl turned, creeping into the classroom next to us.

“What did you find out—who is she going with?”

Okay, when it comes down to it, crawling around inside people's minds, discovering secrets, can get to be sort of…Oh, what's the word …
troublesome
? Just as this job had become. I was really ready to be done with it, get myself out of these two girls' minds and move on. I had bigger problems to deal with.

I held out my hand, saying, “We agreed on fifteen.”

She rolled her eyes and let her shoulders sag. Hefting her books into one arm, she reached around to her back pocket.

“Here.”

Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Lincoln were securely placed into my open hand. Once I felt the money touch my fingers, I said, “Greg Wilkins.”

That's when I saw Kate Huddy pass behind Stephanie and drift effortlessly into our classroom. I took that as my lead-in and followed her, not wanting to see the expression on Stephanie's face when the treadmill in her mind came to an utter and complete stop.

Chapter Six

I HATED FIRST PERIOD, hated it with a passion. Not only was it world history, taught by none other than Mrs. Pearot, or the Pirate, as everyone called her, but Kate had somehow made it a priority to be assigned the seat across from me and used every minute of class to mess with me. The late bell hadn't even rung when she started in.

“So, what were you and Stephanie talking about?”

I tried to busy myself with all things history, but crazy as it sounds, I'd almost rather be in a chokehold from Trent.

The late bell rang, and the Pirate closed the classroom door. Just like the scourge of the seven seas, she had her own way of torturing us. Once the classroom door was shut, a person had to knock, wait for her to open it, and then answer a history question aloud in front of the entire class.

Ack. “Give me liberty or give me death!” Patrick Swayze?

I had only been late to history class twice. Everybody knew the Pirate's closed-door policy, and every once in a while somebody would be late, but this had never happened to Stephanie until that day.

The Pirate hadn't taken four steps when a small knock sounded on the other side of the door. Then, as if she had already known she'd have a victim today, she wrinkled her mouth into a grin and grabbed a dry erase marker, going to work on the board at the front of the room. Once she finished, she opened the door. In walked Stephanie, hugging her books tightly to her chest. She looked different somehow.

“Your question.” The Pirate revealed it as if this were some kind of game show.

Where in Europe did the Renaissance originate?

Stephanie looked at the board as if her obituary had just been posted for all to see. Even though she played second fiddle to Laura, Stephanie was no dummy and pulled her own high marks in class. This should have been cake for her.

Shrugging her shoulders and slightly shaking her head, Stephanie took her seat. Even the Pirate noticed something off about her but let it go, opening the question up to the rest of the class. “Anyone else?”

A guy on the other side of the room raised his hand.

The Pirate called on him.

“Florence.”

“Thank you, Steven,” she said.

I was going to answer Florida, but was glad I hadn't.

“And that leads right into our chapter today. Please open your texts.” The Pirate went on lecturing. I shot a glance at Stephanie, who seemed to be back to herself, paging through her own book and readying herself to take notes.

The problem with reading people's minds is that I know things everyone else is oblivious of. It's those types of things that weigh on me, sort of like malicious voices that keep you awake at night, or random nosebleeds.

It was about halfway through history class and I had only a few doodles in my notebook to show for it. Even though I wanted to, I didn't dare drift off to sleep—you don't want to know the Pirate's rule for that. A piece of paper flopped in front of me. I should have ripped it up, but I opened it instead.

Heard you had a nosebleed today. Dork!

Want to work that into your interview later?

– Kate

I honestly had no idea how she knew that! I'm telling you—she was ruthless, ol' Muddy Huddy. She and I'd been doing this sort of back-and-forth dance for a while. She would show up in odd places or be waiting for me outside the guys' locker room while I secretly read the quarterback's mind. She was sort of like a gnat. Real awkward.

I was just about to write down a sarcastic reply when I was interrupted by a moaning cry from across the room. It sliced right into the Pirate's rant on the Black Death.

It was Stephanie. Distressed wrinkles in her forehead, mascara-stained cheeks, and a quivering lip disfigured her face. She covered her mouth and tried to regain her composure, but it was no use. She already had every head in class turned her way.

“Ms. Daniels—Stephanie? Are you all right?” the Pirate asked, rare compassion in her voice.

All Stephanie could manage was to shake her head as oversized tears dropped from her chin. Picking herself up from her seat, she rushed out. The room fell into ambient silence.

Another note fell in front of me.

You've got to tell me what you two were talking about!!

I couldn't help but feel responsible; it had been my fault.

Chapter Seven

STEPHANIE DIDN'T RETURN TO history class that hour. Nor did she show up in third period, although a few people said she went to the nurse's office and was back to herself by fourth period. Nobody knew why she had become so emotional and broken down except for me.

It was times like this that I regretted my business, and my abilities felt like a curse rather than a blessing. My actions nagged at me, weighing heavily, but I had to remember that girls would be girls. Strung out on emotions and feelings, Stephanie would get over it, and I had bigger things to deal with. It was lunchtime, and being fifteen dollars richer, I was free to get as many slices of pizza as I wanted.

I walked to the usual spot in the lunchroom. Dean was already there, crushing some pizza of his own. He spotted me and gave a nod. Nobody was at the table yet, and that was just the way I wanted it. We were lucky to have a whole five minutes before being surrounded by Dean's friends. I wanted at least a few minutes to get to the bottom of things between him and Kate.

I knew I could easily read his mind, but there were two issues with that. First, the fact that Dean knew my secret was also his secret. No surprise there. Secondly, I'd sort of made a pact with myself that I would never read Dean's mind. This was a rule I practiced with my business as well. It was cool having your foster brother be the most popular guy in school, although it had its complications. Simply put, people wanted to know his secrets most of all.

I was living with the guy, and I had to trust him as much as he trusted me. Dean had that easy nature about him. You could just ask him anything and he'd tell you straight up. The people who came to me looking for dirt were scared, shy, or female.

Setting my tray down, I was ready to talk. Dean beat me to it.

“Hey, I invited somebody to sit with us.”

I figured he was referring to Ron Sutting, the co-captain of the baseball team, and he wanted to talk season strategies with Dean.

A guy with dark, gelled hair and a nervous but cool demeanor approached us.

“Nolan, this is Greg Wilkins, our newest shortstop for next spring,” Dean said. I just about spit out my Mountain Dew. Greg extended his hand to me. I shook it and gave him a nonchalant eyebrow raise. He took the seat across the table from me.

I had no doubt Stephanie was watching me at this very moment, on the verge of making another giant scene. She probably thought the whole thing was a setup. She had no idea that I'd read Laura Hartman's mind to get her information.

“Hey, man, you look a little tired,” Greg said just before he dove into a slice of pepperoni.

“Yeah, the voices in my head wouldn't let me sleep last night,” I replied.

Greg gave Dean a quizzical look. Dean shook his head slowly. My mind was still having a hard time accepting the fact that two girls were fighting over this one guy. Greg was just as average-looking as I was.

“Are you guys going to, um…that one dance on Saturday?” Greg asked as he manhandled his crust. What kind of question was that? He asked it as if he didn't even remember the name of the dance, and he knew he was going with Laura. He had asked both of us the question but kept his sights on Dean, waiting for his answer.

Dean nodded, explaining that he was taking Celia Moser. But then again, of course Dean was going—how could he not? He was practically the official mascot of the thing. Just about every girl in school had tried their hand at getting Dean as her date.

I, for one, didn't answer the question. No need to. Greg had the answer he wanted.

Dean spoke up, clearing the dead air. “So you're from up north. What made you move down to our neck of the woods?”

Greg swallowed and answered, “Parents got a divorce. My mom is originally from River West, so we moved back.”

“Oh, sorry, man,” Dean replied.

“It's cool—my dad was jerk. My mom works for the government doing top-secret stuff, stuff my dad tried to sell to international terrorists, but I caught him late one night and turned him in for the safety of our country.”

Hold it. Yeah, I know what you're thinking.
He's got to be lying
. Well, I was thinking that very same thing. But why? It didn't settle things for me. I wanted to take a closer look inside Greg's mind and was about to—that is, until Laura came over and sat down right next to him.

Chapter Eight

“HI-YA, BOYS,” LAURA SAID.

My stomach suddenly dropped and I lost my appetite. Laura, on the other hand, pulled at her earring playfully, as if Dean had invited her to sit with us too. Manipulation was the name of the game, and if that meant betraying her best friend, Laura would do so. I'd seen it before—heck, I had even been a part of it. River West was like a regular daytime soap opera, yet maybe without the evil twins. Dean kindly introduced Greg to Laura. I rolled my eyes.

I did my best not to include Dean in my cases, although sometimes I could really use his perspective. Then his original advice flashed in my head—“Just the facts.” But in this situation, “just the facts” had torn someone's heart in half. Forget soap operas—this was some crazy reality TV show where I had the unique specifics the contestants didn't know about. Like how Laura knew Greg “lies.” Yeah, reading Greg's mind might take a few seconds, but it would be difficult not knowing what I was looking for. Dean's advice entered my thoughts a second time. I decided to take myself out of the equation physically. I didn't need any further involvement in this. The job was done.

Rising to my feet, I interrupted Dean, who was graciously giving Laura his attention, lightly punched his shoulder, and said, “Later.”

He knew it meant more; Dean and I were cool like that, although I still couldn't shake the feeling he might have betrayed me to Kate. I emptied the contents of my tray in the trash and exited the lunchroom. I needed some air.

***

WITH THE SEASONS TURNING, the weather was fairly mild. A light breeze hit me as I stepped out onto the school's commons. I dug my hands into my pockets and took a deep breath. I was tired, but my brain felt like it had been electrocuted by about a million thoughts and questions. The rush of air helped a few of them drift away, but it didn't stop someone from asking a new one.

“So are you reconsidering my offer?” Ahead of me, Kate sat on a stone bench, her black notebook open and pen poised. For an insane second, I considered unloading everything to her. She was a girl; she could probably handle all this drama better than I could, right?

I gave a huff, saying, “It's going to cost you.”

She let a cute smile spread across her face. I wouldn't be lying if I told you she could have used those as payment.

“Oh, come on, we're old friends. Can't I start a tab with you or something?” Kate asked.

I sat down next to her on the bench. “So, what's up? You've got my full attention.”

Did I mention she didn't let up for a second?

Kate's light-blue eyes brightened against the dark outline of mascara around them. For a moment, I had the frightening thought that she had just jumped inside my head and was running around, mining it for secrets. She broke our staring match and curled her hair around her ear. She truly was ready to listen, but this wasn't investigative Kate—it was the friend Kate. Maybe I was being too hard on her. Maybe she
did
just want to listen.