Confessions of a Teenage Psychic (5 page)

I admit I sort of dawdle on the way. I don’t get football anyway, and I’m also still feeling some insecurity with these new kids. So I end up missing most of the first quarter, and as a result the bleachers are already crowded with both students and parents when I arrive.

I spot Megan near the top of the stands sitting next to Emma, so I walk up the steps to join them. Emma is dressed in a cute little blue cotton skirt with a matching blouse over a camisole and a string of pearls around her neck— you know, like she went to school in the 1950s or something. Megan has on expensive-looking jeans and a Rosslyn High T-shirt, and her hair is tied into a ponytail with red and black spirit ribbons (Rossyln school colors, of course). There I am in faded Levis and my trademark Houston Astros T-shirt, which makes me feel underdressed and self-conscious all over again. I wish I’d changed clothes after school.

Before I can do much more brooding about my wardrobe, though, Megan grabs my arm and jerks me into a seat next to her.

“You’re blocking the view,” she shouts above the crowd noise.

There’s a great deal of excitement among the fans, and I suppose the game is going well, because the Rosslyn cheerleaders are waving their pom-poms in the air, keeping the fans stirred up with enthusiasm. I spot number seventeen in formation on the field and at the same time I see Kensi cheering wildly on the sidelines as he snaps the ball. Quince’s mind is clearly on the game, Kensi’s focus seems to be on how good she looks cheerleading, and all I can think about is Quince, wondering what he sees in her. I try to watch the game, but pretty soon my thoughts kind of wander off just about the time Kevin Marshall carries the ball on a long run downfield.

“
And now it’s time to crown the Homecoming King and Queen, Quince Adams and Caryn Alderson. Kids, take the floor for your first dance as royalty!”

“Great game, huh?” Megan says. I look up at the scoreboard flashing the final score as people are leaving their seats.

“Um, yeah, I guess,” I mumble in embarrassment.

“Did you see that run Kevin made? Over fifty yards for a touchdown!” Emma is gushing, the color rising in her cheeks every time she talks about her boyfriend.

“That was great,” I say, trying to pretend I’d been paying attention.

Emma begins picking her way gingerly down the bleacher steps, trying to avoid getting spilled soda and popcorn on her black Mary Janes. Megan is right behind her, and I’m following Megan. There’s a large crowd of kids already heading toward the dance in the cafeteria, but suddenly I get a sick feeling. It might be that popcorn I ate, but more likely it’s a premonition, the kind that feels like a sucker punch to the stomach. I don’t want to go inside.

“Are you okay?” Megan looks concerned. “You look kinda pale.”

“Um, I don’t like crowds,” I tell her. And that part is true.

Whenever I find myself in a crowd of people, I get way too much information. I can look at an adult’s face and hear the fight she had with her husband, or a kid reaches down to tie a shoelace and I see him arguing with his mother in the store about the brand of shoes, or I see a man’s tattoo and watch him wince in pain as his girlfriend’s name is etched into his arm. Stuff that’s mundane, stuff that’s intense, but definitely stuff I don’t want or need to know about total strangers.

I don’t confide my tingly fears to Megan, though. Instead I try to casually ask, “Where do the football guys go after a game?”

“The locker room, silly,” Megan says. “Why would you ask that out of nowhere?”

I don’t have a logical answer, but my gut is telling me something is going to go terribly wrong tonight.

The school cafeteria is already getting pretty crowded after the homecoming game. The Rosslyn High Wranglers defeated the Newton Tech Arrows by a score of 31-3, so everyone at the Homecoming Dance is in high spirits. From what I can learn as I overhear kids talking about it, Quince threw three touchdown passes (two of them to Kevin Marshall), ran a quarterback sneak into the end zone for a fourth score, and finally led the team to the ten yard line where the place kicker nailed the field goal. Newton Tech was lucky to even get their lone field goal, because they spent most of the game inside their own fifty yard line.

Megan is in a hurry to get inside and keeps dragging me along, so I never do get to catch my breath after that premonition.

Megan, Emma, and I show the door chaperones our game ticket stubs, and when we walk in we see how crowded the dance floor already is. To my surprise, the only festive thing on the school cafeteria’s institutional green walls is the banner the cheerleaders hung at lunch which reads “Go Wranglers— Sling The Arrows!” I guess homecoming isn’t as big a deal here as it was in Houston.

“It’s way too hot in here,” Emma complains. “Too many people, and I don’t even think the AC is turned on!”

“It’s on.” Megan puts her hands on her hips and looks at Emma impatiently. “Come on, don’t be a wuss.”

“I’m gonna sit right here and wait till Kevin comes!” Emma plops herself down at the chaperone’s table near the door.

“The football team won’t be here for ages, Emma. They have to change and stuff.”

Emma is staying where she is, her arms crossed over her chest, and is all but daring Megan to try to change her mind. Megan throws up her hands and begins searching the crowd for someone else to talk to.

“There’s Ashleigh!” she exclaims. She grabs me by the arm and drags me over to where Ashleigh is dancing. I’m beginning to feel like a rag doll with no will of my own, being dragged around by a determined Megan.

“Hi, Ash,” shouts Megan as we get closer. “Who’s your friend?”

Ashleigh waves at us, but her attention is all on the hottie she’s dancing with.

“I think he’s a senior,” I say to Megan over the music. He’s a senior, all right, but I didn’t tell her I’d never seen him before an image flashed in my mind of him posing for his senior photo.

The music is pretty loud and it’s hard to hear conversation, but that doesn’t stop Megan.

“Emma’s waiting for the football team,” Megan shouts to Ashleigh, who nods in response, “so we’re gonna go get something to drink.”

I assume “we” means me, so I again follow Megan, this time to a table in the back of the cafeteria, which is loaded with water, sodas, chips, pretzels, and cookies. I take a diet soda as Megan grabs a bottled water, and then we finally stop moving long enough to look around a little.

“This is so new to me,” she confides. It’s easier to talk where we’re standing now, next to the refreshment table, away from the DJ and crowd noise. “We did things way different at Willowby Prep.”

This is the first time Megan has attempted more than a superficial conversation with me, so I listen eagerly. “Why did you leave private school?”

“My grades sucked, I kept getting in fights with kids and teachers, and they threatened to expel me. My dad didn’t want to pay for an expensive school anymore if I was flunking out. Then my mom got a job here.”

“So you were acting out because of your parents’ divorce?”

“That’s what they tell me,” Megan says with a shrug. “I like it better here anyhow. The art program is great!”

“Isn’t your dad like some kind of CEO?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?” Megan asks with a surprised look on her face.

I shrug and look away. Good question. Maybe it was that flash in my head like a picture being taken, one where Mr. Benedict is standing in front of a large corporate building, smiling as he shakes hands with some important-looking official. Megan looks as uncomfortable as I feel, so I’m glad when she changes the subject.

“So where is your dad, Caryn? Are your parents divorced?”

“Still in Texas. They were never married. They met in college and I was what Mom calls a ‘surprise.’”

“So why didn’t they get married?” Megan waits for an answer, but I
really
don’t want to get into it right now.

Fortunately at that moment we hear clapping and cheering from the cafeteria entrance and turn to see what’s happening. The football players are making their grand entrance, with Quince leading the way, while the students shout their approval.

Quince is all cleaned up from the game, wearing khaki shorts and a white golf shirt, his hair still wet from his shower. My heart starts pounding as I watch him walk in with his teammates. He smiles modestly at all his adoring classmates, even though he’s the star of the night and has every right to boast.

As I watch Quince accept congratulations from his fellow students, I get that creepy feeling inside me again. It’s hard to explain, but it’s the difference between an intense gut reaction and the flood of random information I get just from walking through the mall. I’ve learned it’s best not to ignore my psychic instincts, but I try to push it away anyway, hoping for once I’m wrong.

“Do you think we could get close enough to talk to Quince?” I ask Megan.

“We can try,” she says. We begin pushing our way through the crowd and eventually she gets close enough to call out to him.

“Hey, Quince, great game!” Megan shouts as she motions him over.

Quince spots her and breaks ranks with his teammates to come over to us.

“Quince, do you remember Caryn?” Megan asks.

“Sure,” he says, smiling at me. “From Peterson’s the other day, right?”

I feel my palms get sweaty. “That’s right.”

My heart begins to beat very fast. I guess that’s what people mean by calling someone a “heartthrob.” I so want to ask him to dance, but I don’t know what the protocol is at this school— if girls ever ask guys to dance or if they just have to wait to be invited.

“Would you like to dance, Caryn?”

It was like he could read
my
mind. My heart is pounding wildly. I nod and follow him out onto the dance floor. It’s the Electric Slide, so technically no one really needs a partner, but just standing next to Quince makes my pulse race. Soon nearly everyone at the dance is out on the floor, enjoying the fun.

The song ends way too soon, followed by a slow song. Quince gingerly puts his arm around me, keeping a polite distance as he lightly holds my waist. I’m just beginning to enjoy
really
dancing with him, when I hear an irritated voice behind us.

“May I cut in?” says Kensi, her hands on her hips.

She’s still in her cheerleading outfit and is surrounded by the other varsity cheerleaders, who must have come in after the football players when I was too distracted with Quince to notice. The question she oh-so-politely asks is just a formality, because she pulls Quince toward her, throws her arms around his neck, and begins swaying to the music.

“Do you mind?” Quince asks me over the top of her head.

Yes I mind!
But I shake my head and back away
.

I look around the room realizing I’ve abandoned my friends in the heat of the moment. I finally see Megan dancing with Jeremy Harper, a cute sophomore boy I recognize from my English class. He’s a little taller than Megan, his brown hair tied back in a short ponytail, and he’s wearing pressed jeans with a tucked-in Colts T-shirt. Emma is dancing
this
close with Kevin, who now has on a clean Rosslyn jersey with black jeans, and Ashleigh is still with the same tall, redheaded senior. I stand there alone in the middle of the crowded dance floor feeling like a total outcast.

I try to act cool as I walk over to the drink table again, wondering how many sodas I can consume before I explode, and pretend to busy myself with making my selection. I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around to look down on a dorky little freshman.

“Hi, I’m Harris,” he says, offering his hand to shake.

“Caryn,” I answer, cautiously shaking his hand.

“Would you like to dance?”

Okay, I have some quick decision-making to do. What would be worse for my image? Dance with a freshman who’s half-a-head shorter than me, or stand here alone like a dork? I suck in my breath and opt for the dance.

And you have to hand it to the little guy— he has guts, asking an upperclassman to dance with him. Despite his nerdy appearance, I begin to get good vibes about Harris. A picture flashes through my mind, showing me he’ll improve in a couple of years— and he does have sort of a cute little crooked smile. The DJ is playing a rap number that doesn’t require me to actually stand close to Harris who, it turns out, definitely has some moves, so I hope my reputation won’t be too tarnished. I attempt to look cool by balancing the soda in one hand while faking steps on the dance floor, pretending all the while that Harris is my number one choice of a dance partner.

And wouldn’t you know it? When the song ends, Harris and I stop right next to Quince and Kensi.

“Hi again,” I say as cheerfully as I can.

“Hi, yourself,” responds Quince with a smile.

Kensi shoots me a condescending look and gives Harris a sneer. “You two look so cute,” she snarks.

I can feel my face turning beet red. Then she turns back to Quince and says loudly enough for my benefit, “Are you ready to go yet, babe? My folks have that big after-party set to start at eleven.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Quince shrugs and gives me a look that says, “What can I do?”

Panic strikes me. NO! They can’t leave! This time it isn’t pure jealousy on my part, it’s a twisting pain in my stomach telling me that if Quince gets in the car with Kensi something bad is going to happen to him.

I grab his arm. “Do you have to leave NOW?” I realize I sound ridiculous, but I don’t care. I’m a girl on a mission.

I must have freaked him out or something, though, because he pulls his arm away and my soda spills all over his shirt.

“Geez! What is the matter with you?” Quince shouts as he tries to wipe the dark soda off his clean, white shirt.

“You clumsy idiot!” Kensi yells at me. “Caryn Alderson, you’re a loser! Come on, Quince, let’s get out of here. My friends are waiting.”

“Quince, I’m so sorry. Let me get you a towel or something,” I beg, trying to stall for time.

My heart sinks as he looks at me in sheer disgust, but I guess at the same time he must be realizing that the shirt is a mess.