Confessions of a Teenage Psychic (7 page)

“Omar?” Mom looks perplexed as she tries to make sense of what I’m saying. “But he’s been dead for years. How can you have seen him today?”

I don’t know
. My long-dead uncle? It’s just my imagination. It has to be. Or is it?

“Now I’m seeing DEAD people? What’s wrong with me?” I cover my face with my hands like I’m really going to be able to shut out the visions.

Mom pulls my hands away from my face. “There’s nothing wrong with you. But I can’t understand… ” Her voice trails off as she drops my hands and stands lost in thought. “Is it possible you really did see him?”

“If I did, I’m being haunted!” I wail, throwing my hands in the air.

“I don’t think ‘haunted’ is the right word. Did he talk to you?”

“Ohmigod, are you crazy, Mom? It’s bad enough I’m seeing ghosts, but
please
tell me I can’t talk to them!”

“I don’t know, Caryn. You’re pretty psychic. But this is definitely a new development.” Mom gives my shoulders a squeeze.

“Am I gonna be hounded by ghosts like that lady in the TV show? You might as well commit me to the loony bin right now, because everyone at school will think I’m nuts!
I
think I’m nuts!” I bury my head on her shoulder, shaking, as tears come to my eyes.

“Caryn, I don’t think— ” she starts, but just then the bells over the door jingle.

Mom releases me and I turn away, hurriedly trying to wipe away the tears as Megan and her mother walk into the store.

“May I help you?” Mom stands up straight, smoothes her work apron and is immediately back in store-owner mode.

I remember she hasn’t met them yet.

I swallow hard, making sure I don’t sound like I’m still blubbering, and force myself to smile.

“Mom, this is my friend Megan Benedict from school, and her mother Ms. Benedict who teaches at Rosslyn High.” I motion toward Mom. “This is my mom, Bethany Alderson.”

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Benedict,” my mother says, offering her hand.

“Please, call me Susan.” She and Mom shake hands.

Mom smiles at her. “I’d be glad to show you around the store. Is there something in particular you’re looking for?”

Megan has already wandered off, finding her way to the display case toward the back of the store.

“No, thank you,” Ms. Benedict says. “I just came to speak to you about the Halloween Carnival next Saturday. Caryn, did you get a chance to talk to your mother about it?”

I clear my throat, hoping Mom will get my hint. “No, not yet,” I mutter. I try conveying a
NO!
look to Mom, but she doesn’t pick up on it.

“The school PTA is having a fundraiser and we need help staffing some of the booths. Megan thought Caryn would be a good choice for the fortunetelling booth.” Ms. Benedict shifts her large overstuffed leather handbag, which probably doubles as a briefcase, to her other shoulder. She’s tall, slender, mid-forties, and with such dark brown hair I wonder how Megan turned out blonde.

Mom gets an amused look on her face but says nothing, which I guess Ms. Benedict mistakes for hesitancy.

“Of course, the PTA would provide all the costuming and props,” Ms. Benedict is quick to add.

Mom has to turn aside to keep Ms. Benedict from seeing her snicker. In spite of myself, I’m almost laughing too.

“Caryn,” Mom says with that telling smirk still on her face. “Is this something you’d like to do?” I have to admire her restraint.

I look from Mom to Ms. Benedict and realize I’m stuck. “Sure,” I say reluctantly. “I guess. What would I have to do?”

“Oh, it’s all just for fun,” Ms. Benedict reassures us. “All you need to do is show up and the carnival committee will take care of the rest.”

“Hey, Mom, look at this!” Megan calls from across the room. “Aren’t these necklaces gorgeous?”

She’s pointing to the crystals in the glass display case. For the first time, Ms. Benedict looks around the store and realizes this is not your regular type of bookstore.

“Interesting place you have here,” she says politely. Then it dawns on her and she blushes. “Oh, you must find it amusing, me asking Caryn to play the part of the fortuneteller. I suppose you already have an interest in… ” She pauses, still taking it all in. “I mean crystal balls and such. I hope you didn’t think… ”

“No, Susan, of course not. You haven’t been in here before, so how could you know?” Mom has a really cool way of putting people at ease.

“Have you been in this sort of business long?” Susan asks, carefully sniffing an aroma-therapy candle.

Mom gives her a friendly smile. “My business partner and I moved our store here from Houston just last month. Business has been good so far.”

Ms. Benedict nods and smiles as she continues to look around. She puts down the candle and picks up a music box and I get a sudden visual of her at an elementary school art fair, Megan on stage accepting first prize, Ms. Benedict applauding proudly in the audience. I don’t see Mr. Benedict anywhere. I snap out of my head when she puts the music box back on the shelf and looks around for Megan.

“Well, I’m sure Caryn will be an outstanding Madame Wilhelmina.” Ms. Benedict turns to where her daughter is still browsing and calls out, “Come on, Megan, we’ve got to go home and let the dog out.”

Ms. Benedict opens the door. “Nice meeting you, Bethany.”

“But, Mom, can’t I buy… ” Megan begins, but her mother gives her a stern look so she shrugs and waves goodbye to me as her mother hustles her out of the store.

After they’re gone, I turn back to Mom. “How am I supposed to pull this off?”

“Just keep in mind that no one actually expects you to predict futures.” Mom pats my shoulder.

“But what if I accidentally say something that’s really gonna happen?”

“Then they’ll think it’s a lucky guess.” Mom smiles at me. “Relax, Caryn. Like Susan said, it’s all just for fun. You might even enjoy yourself!”

I roll my eyes and gaze out the window that faces onto the street, lost in thought. Suddenly I do a double-take as I could swear Uncle Omar is strolling by, waving and grinning at me. As I watch in surprise he slowly disappears.

I pull my jacket hoodie over my head, look away, and decide to think about something normal. Pizza. That’s pretty normal.

“Hey, Mom, let’s order from Jerry’s Pizzeria!” I shout as cheerfully as I can.

It’s Saturday and the weather is perfect for an outdoor carnival in October. It’s crowded with lots of kids from school, as well as their parents and younger siblings.

All sorts of booths are set up. The games of chance are all rigged of course, but no one cares because the profits are going to benefit the school. Megan is conducting the cakewalk with great success, especially since all the cakes have been donated by a well-known bakery in town. There’s a dunking booth where students are lined up for an opportunity to plunge Principal MacGregor into a water tank. Kensi Marlow has a big handmade sign outside of a tent that reads, “Two kisses for a buck!” Naturally there’s a long line of cute boys ready to pay a dollar for the kisses. What they’re really getting is chocolate, but they don’t know that until after they pay their money and go into the tent where she swears them to silence.

Coach Edgemont and his football players are hustling people with the football toss and an opportunity to win a big stuffed bear. Needless to say, it’s set up to be harder than it looks, and even Peyton Manning himself might miss. And there are the usual carnival activities of face painting, apple bobbing, pumpkin carving, and lots of junk food sold for inflated prices.

Then there’s my tent, “Madame Wilhelmina, Fortuneteller Extraordinaire.” I feel ridiculous enough in the oversized caftan the PTA has provided for me, but I drew the line at wearing a turban. I opt for letting my hair hang loose around my shoulders, accentuating the green stripe that has yet to fade after all these months.

Yeah, it’s every bit as bad as I imagined. I’m seated in a folding chair next to a card table covered with a gypsy-style fringed cloth, with a white plastic folding chair opposite me for my clients. For props I have a crystal ball and some worn-out tarot cards, but I can’t decide if it would look better if I pretend to use them or just let them lay on the table for effect.

Don’t take this so seriously. It’s for a good cause
.

People are paying five dollars each for my predictions, a higher price than any of the other booths, so I feel obligated to play my part well. My first customer, Emma Cartwright, waltzes in as butterflies dance in my stomach.

“Hi, Caryn. Oh, I mean Madame Wilhelmina,” she says with a giggle. She takes the seat across from me and stretches her right palm on the table in front of me. “What’s my fortune?”

“Madame Wilhelmina doesn’t read palms,” I say in a deep voice. “She only gazes into the future.”

At that I pretend to look into the crystal ball. What can I tell her that won’t give too much away about my real abilities?

“What do you see?” She peers into the crystal ball like there’s really something in there.

“Um,” I hesitate.

Okay, Caryn, just go for it.
“You’re going to attend a dance with a young man, a football player.” There. That’s not so hard.

Emma looks up at me, beaming. “Wow! Kevin’s going to ask me to the Christmas dance?”

“This is what Madame Wilhelmina sees,” I reply, trying to stay in character.
And yes, he’s going to ask you
. I smile to myself because in my mind I can see her in a slow-dance with Kevin, swaying in time to the lyrics, “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire… ”

Emma happily dances out of the tent and in comes my next customer, Harris Rutherford. How ridiculous could I look in front of a freshman? I begin to relax, realizing I can pull this gig off and maybe even have some fun with it.

“I want to know if Angie Morrison’s ever gonna go out with me.”

I feel bad for him, but nope. She’s a very popular freshman who thinks dorky Harris is far beneath her. Still, I kinda like the kid and don’t want to hurt his feelings.

“Madame Wilhelmina sees great success for your future in the academic realm, but recommends you postpone romance while you concentrate on making straight As.”

I can tell he’s disappointed, but he finally grins, shrugs, shakes hands with me and gets up to leave.

I have a long line of customers for the rest of the afternoon, as word spreads that I’m the best Madame Wilhelmina the carnival has ever had. My uneasiness disappears as I confidently make predictions that I know are true but could easily be passed off as lucky guesses, like my mom said. Late in the day I look up in surprise as Megan walks in.

“All the cakes are sold out,” she explains. “So I wanted to see what all the fuss is about. Everyone says you’re really good. So what’s my prediction?”

I pull back, think for a minute, hesitate. She’s tapping her foot impatiently, waiting for me to read her outstretched palm. I ignore her hand and pretend to look at the tarot cards laid out in front of me. What can I tell her that’s true but not too outlandish?

Oh, of course!
“You are going to get new shoes,” I say in my fortuneteller voice. “Soon.”

“That’s it?” she asks incredulously. “Shoes?”

“Madame Wilhelmina sees new shoes in your immediate future.” I bow my head in fake modesty.

Megan throws up her hands just as Quince walks in.

“Don’t waste your money,” she tells him as she walks out.

He looks puzzled as Megan flies past him, but then grins and plops himself down in the chair opposite me. “You aren’t going to throw a soda on me, are you?” he says.

I’m relieved to see that he’s forgiven me for my social gaffe last month, and I determine to give him a good reading to try to make up for it.

“Madame Wilhelmina is above pranks!” I say, back in character.

I’m not sure my psychic abilities will stay on track as I stare into Quince’s sparkling blue eyes, but I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. No one at the carnival is taking me seriously. Quince looks at me intently and I feel sure he’s going to ask me about his love life, a question I don’t want to answer because I still don’t get what he sees in Kensi.

“Tell me about my future,” he says with a grin. Well, at least he didn’t ask about
her.

I pretend to gaze into the crystal ball, trying to decide whether to tell him about school or athletics— anything but his relationship with Kensi. As usual, whenever Quince is in the vicinity, my pulse starts to race. I try to look calm, even if I don’t feel it.

I look up from the crystal ball, smile at Quince, and open my mouth to speak. To my shock, there’s a kindly looking gentleman standing behind him, even though I didn’t hear anyone else come in. My mouth drops open. Quince just sits there expectantly while I stare at the man over his shoulder.

“Well? What great things do you see for me?” Quince is getting impatient and begins drumming his fingers on the table and I realize he doesn’t see anyone else in the tent.

The man is in his 60s with thinning grey hair, thick glasses, and is wearing an old-fashioned yellow cardigan sweater. I blink, thinking my eyes are playing tricks on me, look back into the crystal ball and lift my eyes again, but the old man is still here. I can even smell the smoke from the pipe he takes out of his mouth before he speaks to me.

“Tell him his mother’s going to be okay, that the doctors will get her diabetes under control.” His voice sounds kind and full of concern.

I look from the man back to Quince, who obviously doesn’t see or hear a thing.

“Hello-o-o? Still waiting,” Quince says.

“You… you will be a great… athlete,” I stammer.

“Duh. Tell me something I don’t know.” Quince fakes a big yawn.

“Go ahead, tell him,” urges the gentleman.

I bend my head over the crystal ball and mutter under my breath, “I can’t. He’ll think I’m nuts.”

“What did you say?” Quince asks.

“I said I can’t see anything else,” I answer in my regular voice.

“That’s lame. I thought you were supposed to be good at this.”

“Caryn, I’m Quince’s Grandpa Adams. I know him and I know he needs to hear this,” my unusual visitor insists.