Double Vision (6 page)

WHEN I SIGNED up for art as one of my electives, I thought it might be kind of fun.

That was my first mistake. Because just about anybody could end up in your elective classroom. And I got stuck with Megan.
And
Lavender.
And
two or three of their minions. That's right, the whole stupid little clique.

The worst part? The art teacher, Mrs. Ortega, was at least a hundred years old, half-blind, and more than half-deaf. On my first day of art, she'd assigned
us to draw a picture of our favorite food. Then she'd spent the rest of the period at her desk bent over a pile of papers, paying no attention at all to what we were doing. Friday's class? Second verse, same as the first.

That Monday after the football game was my third art class. I was already in a bad mood when I arrived in the studio, as Mrs. Ortega called her classroom. There were two huge, battered old wooden tables with stools all around them.

Every seat at the first table was already taken, while Lavender, Megan, and the minions were parked at one end of the otherwise deserted second table. Great.

I briefly considered dragging a stool over to the first table. But no—I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of scaring me off. Instead I dropped my bag at the opposite end and sat down.

“Who said you can sit with us?” Lavender called down the table with a smirk.

Megan rolled her eyes. “Don't even talk to her,” she advised, without so much as glancing my way. “At least it's this one and not her sister.”

For a second I was impressed she could tell Cait and me apart. We didn't dress alike at all, and our hair was different, too. But that had never stopped people from mixing us up.

But then I became seriously annoyed. I could make fun of my sister, sure, but that didn't mean anyone else could.

“What's your problem with my sister anyway?” I demanded. “I mean, get over it already! She dropped some stupid pastry. What's the big deal?”

“It's not even about that anymore.” Lavender scowled. “Your twin is such a goody-goody! She'd better watch out, or she's going to make some serious enemies at this school.”

I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it. Why was I wasting my energy on these people? I focused on a little Zen chant I'd come up with over the weekend:
Out of here, out of here, out of here
. . .

Because I was more certain than ever that this living-in-Aura thing couldn't last much longer. Mom had kept us busy all weekend—maybe a little
too
busy? Which had led to my latest theory that Mom
was working so crazy hard on fixing up the house to take her mind off everything else.

It made perfect sense, right? I mean, she hadn't said much about her new job so far, except that this was probably the last weekend she'd have off for a while. Maybe she was already hating the job, regretting this move, realizing she'd made a ginormous mistake. I wouldn't be surprised at all. It might be hard for Cait and me to adjust to living here, but it couldn't be easy for Mom either, right? I'd seen enough movies and TV shows about small towns to know how things usually went when a city mouse tried to fit in with the locals. When Mom ran out of home improvement projects to distract her, would she finally admit that this place was never going to feel like home—and start thinking about moving us back to San Antonio?

I crossed my fingers under the art room table. With any luck, maybe I'd only have to survive this place for another week or two. I might be back in San Antonio in time to celebrate my twelfth birthday next month with my friends!

And with a little extra luck, my wacky new visions would go away, too. Then my life could go back to normal. I crossed the fingers on my other hand and smiled, almost able to
taste
how that would feel. . . .

There was a commotion by the door, and I glanced over in time to see Brayden holding on to the doorframe with his left hand. He'd shown up that morning on crutches, his lower leg encased in a cast. One of his crutches was under his right arm, and the other had fallen to the floor.

“Oops,” he said with a sheepish grin. “Guess I'm not used to these things yet.” Still clinging to the doorframe, he waved his crutch.

“Did you drop one, Brayden? I'll get it for you!” Lavender hopped out of her seat and scurried over.

I watched out of the corner of my eye, pretending to be busy searching for something in my bag. Lavender retrieved the crutch from the doorway and carefully slid it under Brayden's arm.

“Thanks, Lav,” he said. Hobbling into the room, he lowered himself carefully onto a seat at our table.
He glanced over at me.

“Hey, Cassie,” he said with a smile. “What's up?”

“Not much,” I replied automatically, carefully keeping my focus on my bag.

I couldn't let him see my face. Because when he'd looked at me, a really weird combination of guilt and curiosity had started swirling through my mind. What if Cait was right? What if I
could
have saved him from that crash?

But no—I cut off the thought. It wasn't my fault. Until that terrible moment at the game, I hadn't even known those stupid visions
could
come true!
If
that was even what had happened. And how was I supposed to guess a seemingly nice image of holding hands would turn into a broken leg anyway? Talk about random!

Speaking of random stuff, I was sure the visions would go away as randomly as they'd come. At least I hoped so. It was hard enough trying to feel normal in Awful Aura without that freaky-deaky business hanging over my head.

“Okay,” Brayden said. “So, uh, anyway, thanks
for helping me the other day. You know, at the game?”

“Oh!” I glanced up at him quickly, feeling my face go hot. Could he see that? “Um, it was no biggie. You know—I was there. Anyone would've done the same thing.”

He smiled uncertainly. “Yeah. Well, anyway, I really—”

“Brayden!” Lavender interrupted loudly. “Do you have a pen I can borrow?”

He turned away. “Sure, probably,” he said, digging into his pocket.

Ignoring the smug look of triumph Lavender shot my way, I slumped on my stool and stared at the table.
Forget about him, girl,
I told myself.
It doesn't matter. Brayden's cute, but this whole Aura thing is temporary. Out of here, remember?

“PERFECT TIMING!” CAIT sang out from the kitchen as Mom came in the front door that evening. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”

I looked up from the sofa where I was flipping through my math book. Mom was in her uniform,
and she looked more stressed-out than usual. Was there that much crime to deal with in a tiny town like Aura? Or were the locals turning out to be difficult to deal with, like I'd been thinking earlier? Either way, good. Maybe that would help convince her to take us back to nice, safe San Antonio.

“Thanks, girls,” Mom said, kicking off her shoes. “That gives me enough time to hop in the shower and wash off my day.”

She disappeared down the narrow hall, and a moment later came the sound of the water handle creaking on. In a house that small, we had no secrets. I listened for the loud gospel singing that usually accompanied Mom's showers, but all I heard was the water running.

Finally Cait glanced over from the stove, where she was stirring soup. “Mom looks pretty tired, don't you think?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe the new job's turning out to be more than she can handle.”

Cait looked down into the soup pot. “Doubtful. Mom can handle anything.” But she didn't sound so
sure. She shot an uneasy glance in the direction of the bathroom.

Hmm. Maybe this was my chance. What if Cait was beginning to think the same way I was? If we teamed up, it might be easier to convince Mom to admit she'd made a mistake by bringing us here.

“Listen, Cait,” I said, dropping my book on the sofa and stepping into the kitchen. I leaned against the chipped countertop, watching my sister stir. “Do you get the feeling she's not that into being here?”

Cait rolled her eyes. “I get the feeling
you're
not that into it. Mom seems fine.”

“Really?” I pursed my lips. “Maybe you should start paying more attention. Because I think she's already regretting the move.”

“What makes you say that?” Cait kept her eyes on the soup.

“Lots of little hints.” I shrugged. “The point is, you probably shouldn't get too comfortable at Aura Middle School, or with your geeky new friends. Because I can tell Mom's not happy. I have a strong feeling we'll be back in San Antonio in time to go to
the Holiday River Parade in November.”

“You do, hmmmm?”

Uh-oh. That wasn't Cait. It was Mom.

I spun around to face her. She'd come into the kitchen without me hearing, padding along on bare feet. She stared at me sternly, wrapped in her favorite red-flowered kimono robe, with one eyebrow cocked.

“Oh, hi, Mom. Didn't hear you there,” I said weakly. “I was just saying . . .”

“I heard what you were
just
saying, Cassandra,” Mom said, her voice like iron. “And I'm telling you to knock it off.”

“But—”

“No. You need to listen.” The scarymama voice was back. “We're in Aura to stay, and there's zero chance we're moving back, so you'd better get used to it. Both of you.” Mom expanded her glare to include Caitlyn for a second before focusing her laser eyes back on me. “My new job is going fine so far. It's a big adjustment, of course, like I know that moving here is an adjustment for you two.”

“But—” I tried again.

“But,”
Mom cut me off, “I fully intend to work hard to fit in with the force here and make a career out of it. I suggest you do the same at school.” Then her expression softened. “I do hope you'll make an effort to be happy here, girls. Aura is our home now. And I know it can be a good place for all of us.”

She held my gaze steadily, and I tried to find a smidgen of doubt in her deep-brown eyes.

Nothing. Could she really mean what she was telling me? Was I really stuck here—forever?

Caitlyn cleared her throat. “Um, the soup's ready,” she said softly.

“Good.” Mom finally broke my gaze, turning to sniff at the steam rising from the pot. “Smells great; I'm famished.”

“Not me,” I muttered, backing out of the kitchen. “In fact, I've totally lost my appetite. Think I'll go finish my homework.”

“Stop right there,” Mom ordered. “Homework can wait. We're eating dinner as a family—all three of us.”

I was tempted to argue, but what was the point? I felt grown-up, but in the eyes of the world I was still a kid, which meant I had no rights. And apparently no voice, even in my own family. So I took my seat at the tiny table without another word, trying to ignore the way my chair wobbled on the uneven floor and the faint smell of burned food that still lingered even after scrubbing the whole house from top to bottom.

Mom could force me to sit down for dinner. She could even force me to live here in Aura.

But she couldn't force me to like it.

THAT NIGHT I tossed and turned long after Cait had fallen asleep, trying to figure out what to do. My mind skittered around like a nervous cat, unable to settle on any solution to the problem my life had become, any plan to get me out of here.

But somewhere around midnight I finally had to admit it—I was stuck. I wouldn't be back home for my birthday after all. Or for Thanksgiving, or even Christmas. Mom had made up her mind, and
she could be even more stubborn than I was. Which meant I was going to be forced to stay here.

The thought made me want to cry. But no. I wasn't going to let Aura beat me. If this was my life now, I'd just have to figure out how to make it work.

At that moment Cait let out a soft groan and turned over. I glanced across the tiny room, squinting in the dim light leaking in from the streetlamps. If only my sister hadn't made such a mess of things by getting herself on the outs with the in crowd before we had even unpacked one box. Because as obnoxious as Lavender could be, she was undeniably popular. And Megan and the others actually seemed pretty cool in most ways—you know, other than the making-my-life-miserable part. And that wasn't so much their fault as Cait's, right? I mean, I probably would have acted the same way toward a new kid who did something so freaky right off the bat.

I lay back and stared up at the shadows dancing on the ceiling. There had to be a way to restore my social status. That would make life in Aura a little better. I'd have cool friends again; I wouldn't have
to watch my back every second of the day; maybe I'd even be able to get to know Brayden better. . . .

Brayden. That was the silver lining to all this, right?

And thinking about Brayden made me think about something else. Could I really have stopped him from breaking his leg if I'd figured out my vision in time? Cait seemed to think we could use our visions to change the future, to make things better.

And what would be better than using this power to become popular?

“WANT TO PLAY a game?” Liam asked as we walked into the school library for study hall Tuesday afternoon. He grinned, flicking his hair off his forehead. “I know how to unblock games on the school computers.”

“Can't,” Bianca said. “I need to do research for my social studies project.” She wandered off toward the stacks without waiting for a response.

“Caitlyn? How about you?” Liam looked at me hopefully.

I didn't answer. Gabe had just stalked into the library. He glanced around, his cold eyes settling on me. I swallowed hard as he headed our way.

“Hey,” he said, his voice gruff. “You live in that junky little place on Granite Street, right?”

“Why are you asking?” I said cautiously.

His eyes narrowed. “Just making conversation,” he snapped. “Anyway, you don't have to answer. I have ways of finding stuff out, okay? My family's lived in this town forever. We belong here, and it doesn't pay to cross us. Don't forget that.”

He spun on his boot heel and hurried off. I watched him go, feeling troubled. With everything else that had been going on, I'd almost forgotten about Gabe's weird comments that first day.

“I still don't know why he thinks my mom stole his uncle's job,” I said to Liam. “I want to ask Mom, but Cassie's been giving her fits lately, and, well, I kind of don't want to get into it.”

“Yeah,” Liam said sympathetically. “All I know is his uncle was a cop for years. But he retired a couple of months ago.”

“So he's old?”

“Not really. He's younger than my parents, I think.”

“Why'd he retire, then?” I asked.

Liam shrugged. “Something about his family? There was an article on the town website, but I didn't really read it. I can pull it up for you if you want.”

“Sure.” I dropped my schoolbag on the table next to a free computer terminal. “Thanks.”

Within seconds I was scanning the article. It was only about six lines long, mentioning Charles Campbell's years of distinguished service as an officer of the law as well as his earlier status as a high school football hero.

“‘We wish Mr. Campbell the best of luck as he takes this opportunity to spend more time with his family,'” I read aloud. That was it—the article ended there. “Hmm. Not very specific.”

“Yeah.” Liam didn't seem too interested. “So what do you say? Want to play a game?”

“Rain check?” I said, still staring at the article.
It hadn't told me much. Oh, well—Gabe wasn't my biggest problem right now, so I did my best to forget about him. “I wanted to research something today, too, actually,” I told Liam.

“Oh.” He looked slightly disappointed. “You don't really have to start your social studies project yet, you know. Bianca always does all her homework as early as she can. She can't help herself.”

“It's not that.” I hesitated, not sure how much to tell him. Liam already felt like a true friend, but that didn't mean I was ready to confide in him about my visions just yet. Besides, now that Cassie was involved, it wouldn't feel right to spill our secret without asking her first. But I had to tell him
something
. Normally I didn't like lying, especially to friends. But what else could I do under the circumstances? So I thought fast.

“It's more for, uh, personal interest,” I said. “I saw something on TV about people with, like, extrasensory powers and stuff? I wanted to look into it more, you know, see how much of it's for real.”

My cheeks were flaming, and I was sure my eyes
looked shifty. Luckily Liam didn't seem to notice. In fact, his face lit up with interest.

“Fascinating!” he exclaimed. “I've done a little reading on that subject myself, off and on. I'll help if you want.”

“Sure, thanks.” I closed the newspaper article, then pushed the mouse toward Liam.

“What kind of psi powers are you interested in?” Liam prompted. “Like, ESP or telekinesis or what?”

“How about, um, seeing the future?” Even saying it out loud felt dangerous, like he might guess my secret.

He nudged my hands off the keyboard and took over, typing fast. “That's called precognition,” he said as he typed. “There've actually been tons of studies about that.”

“Really?” I was surprised. “What kinds of studies?”

“You know.” He shrugged, grabbing the mouse. “Trying to prove whether it really happens. See?”

I glanced at the screen. He'd pulled up a site about learning to predict the future through your dreams.

“Oh,” I said. “Does that kind of thing only happen in dreams, or can it happen when people are awake, too?”

“Sure, either way, I think.” He clicked off the dream page and picked another entry from the search engine. “Here's one about waking premonitions. . . .”

For the rest of the class period, I read all kinds of sites about precognition and similar stuff. Some of them seemed almost scientific, while others were kind of out there. But none quite seemed to match what had been happening to me and Cass.

As I was scanning a parapsychology message board, Bianca came over to ask Liam for help with something. He hurried off with her just as I found an entry with an intriguing title:

“Real Psychics in the UK? A Vision of the Future”

I opened the thread and scanned it. It started off talking about some British family called the Lockwoods and a bunch of stuff about the history of England, and I almost clicked away. Then the phrase “waking visions prompted by touch” caught my eye, and I froze.

I scanned the rest of the entry. There wasn't much more than that—whoever had posted it claimed to have found an old diary in a secondhand shop. It was written by some guy named Lockwood who supposedly saw visions of people's futures when he touched them. Lockwood had developed this power suddenly, around the time of his twelfth birthday.

My heart pounded as I read it over again. I scrolled down through the responses to the original post, but most of them only said stuff like “Interesting!” or “Sounds cool” or “I'm way past 12, guess I won't be getting that power! LOL!”

I read the original post again. This was the first real story I'd found that sounded exactly like what was happening to us! Even down to the twelfth birthday—ours was right around the corner. How could I find out more?

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Liam wandering in my direction. Scanning the thread again, I noticed that the posters all had screen names like PsychicGuy42 or CuriousInCali.
Right—the internet could be an anonymous place. Maybe the perfect kind of place to ask for help without giving away my secret. . . . I clicked open a text box and typed fast:

I read it over one more time and posted it, signing it VisionTwin01.

By the time Liam reached me, I'd closed the site. “Almost time for the bell,” he said cheerfully. “Did you get enough info?”

“Yeah,” I said, logging off. “Let's go.”

MOM GOT HOME at the same time Cass and I did that day. By the time Mom had changed out of her uniform, Cassie had disappeared into our bedroom, claiming to be super busy with some tough math
problems. I was skeptical—since when did Cass have trouble with math?—but Mom bought it. Or maybe she just didn't want to fight with Cassie anymore, especially after the confrontation they'd had the night before.

Me? Apparently I was fair game.

“We need to get the floor sanded down here by the door,” Mom said, waving a hand at the wooden floorboards in the entryway. “See? It's all stained from foot traffic, so it doesn't match the back hallway.”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

Mom grabbed her purse off the bench by the door. “I picked up some new sandpaper for the sander,” she said. She started shuffling through the bag, pulling out a huge ring of keys and setting it on the bench, followed by a pair of sunglasses and a pack of gum. Finally, she fished out a package of sandpaper. Tossing the purse next to everything she'd just pulled out of it, she hurried off to fetch the belt sander.

Soon I was on my knees trying to keep the vibration of the sander from rattling my teeth too much.
The mindless work gave me time to think.

Would anybody respond to my message online? I'd checked my in-box right after school, but there had been nothing yet. It was probably a long shot, especially since that original post had been written a couple of months ago. But it was the only shot I had so far. . . .

A loud knock on the door jolted me out of my thoughts. Clicking off the sander, I stood and stepped over to open the door. I was shocked to find Gabe Campbell standing there—greasy hair, cowboy boots, and all. He was holding a brown paper bag.

“Hey,” he said. “Caitlyn, right? Not the other one?” He peered at me.

“Yeah, it's Caitlyn.” I was too surprised to say anything else. It was weird to see him outside of school, sort of like running into your dentist at the mall or something. The bigger surprise? He almost seemed, well,
nice
. At least compared to the way he'd acted at the library that day. And every other time I'd seen him, pretty much.

“I'm selling raffle tickets for a free car wash,” Gabe went on, holding up the paper bag. “You know, for the class trip fund-raiser? Is your mom home?”

He stepped forward into the doorway, looking around inside the house. Yeah, he was being polite and all, but I couldn't help but think his expression was a little shifty. I took a step back out of his way, feeling nervous.

Snap out of it, girl,
I told myself.
This is obviously why he was asking where you lived!

The thought made me feel better. Since when did I think bad stuff about people who weren't doing anything wrong? Maybe Cass's suspicious nature was rubbing off on me.

“Mom's in the backyard,” I told Gabe. “Wait here and I'll go get her.”

“Sure.” He stepped into the entryway and sat down on the bench, nudging Mom's purse and all the other stuff out of his way.

I hesitated for one more moment, glancing at Mom's purse with her wallet tucked inside. What if . . . No. I wasn't going there.

“Be right back,” I said, hurrying toward the back hallway.

Five minutes later, Mom was digging into her purse for money to pay for a raffle ticket. I held my breath, relieved when she opened her wallet and I could see the cash inside. Immediately I felt foolish for doubting Gabe's intentions.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Waters,” he said, sticking out his hand to shake after he'd traded the raffle ticket for the money my mom donated. “We really appreciate your support.”

“Of course.” Mom smiled at him. “Good luck selling all the tickets.”

“Thanks.” After he shook Mom's hand, Gabe reached over to shake mine, too. I took it cautiously. His palm felt warm and oddly sticky, but I didn't have much time to think as a piercing, buzzing sound started inside my head, ringing through my brain. Suddenly, Gabe began to shimmer in front of my eyes.

Oh, no! It was happening again. . . .

There were two versions of Gabe standing before
me now. A faded-out Gabe was politely shaking my hand. The other, much brighter Gabe was also smiling, but it was a big, triumphant grin. Suddenly I noticed that the view behind him had changed, too. Instead of the quiet street outside my house, I saw the Aura police station. A middle-aged man I didn't recognize was there, too, wearing a blue shirt and a shifty-eyed look. Gabe was handing the man something, though I couldn't quite see what it was.

Gabe yanked his hand away from mine fast, and his vibrant double disappeared. Mom was still busy tucking her raffle ticket into her wallet, but Gabe was looking at me funny now.

“Uh, see you at school tomorrow,” he muttered warily.

“Yeah,” I managed to choke out. “See you.”

“What a nice young man,” Mom said after she'd closed the door behind him. She bent to scoop the keys and other stuff back into her purse. “Is he in your class at school?”

“Uh-huh,” I said, relieved when Mom headed back outside.

I sank onto the bench, shaking from head to toe. This had been my most vivid vision yet—and they were definitely getting stronger. I mean, I'd never noticed the scenery before! What did it mean? I had to tell Cass what had happened!

But she'd been awfully quiet since the thing at dinner last night, and Bad-Mood Cass was never easy to deal with. I could only hope she'd get over herself soon. Because whatever was happening to us was getting more intense by the day, and I needed my sister right now, for real. More than I could remember needing her since we were little kids.

So I grabbed the sander and went back to work, trying to ignore how lonely her silence made me feel.