Farsighted (Farsighted Series) (10 page)

After a few soundless moments pass, Miss Teak breaks the quiet. “Of course, of course!”

“What?” I ask.

“You’ve been blessed with more than one gift, Alex,” she says. I feel Miss Teak’s gaze leave me as if to look at Simmi—what information are they passing to each other without me knowing?

“There are two kinds of second sight. You seem to possess abilities in both.”

“Two kinds? The future and what else? The past?” I ask, wondering what Simmi thinks about all of this. I hoped she would never find out, but “gifted” seems like a much better explanation than mentally unstable.

“Not the past,” Miss Teak explains, “but the present.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I say, shaking my head. “What’s so special about being able to see the present? Most people can.”

Simmi swallows hard, but otherwise remains quiet.

“It’s called remote viewing,” Miss Teak says. “One blessed with this gift can view what is happening in distant places without having to physically go there.”

“So ten feet away counts as a distant place?” I ask with complete skepticism.

“It’s a start. Perhaps, if you try, you can see farther. This new gift will be most useful in dealing with the effects of your first,” she says, drumming her fingers on the table.

I think about this for a moment and understand what she’s trying to tell me. If I learn how to control my remote viewing, I can figure out what Dax is up to. I can stop him before my visions of the future come true.

Simmi pulls herself to her feet and comes to stand before me. “You’re psychic? Is this true? I mean, I always assumed, but never knew for sure…”

I sigh. There goes any last hope I had with her. How could I expect her to accept a psychic freak as her boyfriend? It’s too weird. “Yeah, I guess I am,” I admit, dropping my head forward so my chin is resting upon my chest.

“Really?” Simmi asks again, shifting her gaze toward Miss Teak.

“Really,” Miss Teak affirms. She sounds happy, as if she’s enjoying my embarrassment.

“Alex, that’s great!” Simmi says, placing a hand on each of my shoulders, filling me with the wonderful, sparkling emotion only close contact with a girl you’ve got a crush on can bring.

I lift my eyes to meet hers. My parents are always telling me how I wear my emotions on my face. I hope it’s true as I try to show Simmi what I’m feeling—I can’t believe she is able to accept me, unusual quirks and all.

“It’s great,” Simmi repeats with gusto, “because I’m gifted, too.”

“Now I can train the two of you together. This will save me so much time,” Miss Teak says with an uncharacteristically upbeat tone.

“So, Simmi,” I ask, “you can see the future, too?” Part of me wonders if she’s seen what I’ve seen, but mostly I’m thinking about how lucky I am to have this in common with her.

“No, nothing like that,” she says, pulling a chair from the next room into the inner sanctuary so the three of us can all sit together around the table.

“Then what—what is your gift?” I ask, finally allowing myself to embrace the terminology Miss Teak has been teaching me, believing whatever it is may
actually
be a gift.

“I’m a clairsentient,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Ah, a clairsentient…I…I have no idea what that is.” I decide it’s more important to understand her gift than to try to act like I already know what it is.

“A clairsentient,” Simmi repeats. “I’m a psychic feeler.”

“A feeler as in touch or a feeler as in feelings?” I ask.

“Both actually, but I’m more developed emotionally.” She laughs.

“So what can you do?”

“Well I have a knack for sensing others’ emotions and for manipulating them however I like.”

It all begins to make sense to me now. “So whenever you touch me…that…that feeling…you’re using your gifts on me?” Blood rushes to my face. God, I hope I’m not blushing.

“Well, I try. Those times you’ve been very upset, I’ve tried using my gifts to make you more relaxed. Did it work?” Simmi asks hopefully.

“Yeah, it totally did!” I say, feeling a rush of excitement. Simmi is
the
coolest girl ever. “What else? What else can you do?”

“That’s it for now,” Simmi says, dragging her fingernails along the velvet patch in the middle of the table. “Mummy has me studying with Miss Teak after school to help me develop my gifts. When I become stronger, I’m hoping I’ll be able to heal.”

“To heal? Wait, the gifts become stronger?”

“Yes,” Miss Teak answers for Simmi. “With training, they are bound to grow until your full potential is realized.

“So I might get stronger, too?”

“Yes, you might. In fact, I expect you will.”

Wow, I’m going to get even more powerful? Not a loser anymore, I can do anything! I’m a super hero. A current of hot air lifts me so I can fly. I’m really something special, something great. Brady Evans can never be as awesome as me, never. I smile a huge smile. I imagine Simmi swooning at the sight of me in all my untapped glory, Miss Teak bragging to the world that she was the one to train me, to help me achieve such unrivaled greatness.

Simmi’s thumb traces the edge of my wrist—she’s holding my hand. Of course, she’s falling for my charm already, just as I knew she would. She takes her hand away and laughs at me. “Feeling confident much?” she asks.

With the removal of her hand, I go back to my usual self. And realize Simmi can mess with my emotions—she’s made me both calm and confident in turns. I wonder what else she can do. Is my crush on her real, or has she just been manipulating me this whole time using her gift? I listen to the sound of her laughter beside me and decide it doesn’t matter.

Chapter 7

Accepting his connection to others, the traveler must take up company on his journey. The giving of gifts symbolizes friendship, love, and trust. Loneliness has passed.

I wake up with a whole storm of energy. Today is my birthday. I’m sixteen. I know I’m getting old enough that I shouldn’t be excited; my family can’t afford many gifts anyway, but none of this dampens my mood one bit. I jump out of bed, grab my cane and race into the family room. Mom and Dad are already up and waiting for me.

“Happy birthday,” Mom squeals, stomping her feet in excitement. “Today, you’re no longer my brave little oak tree.”

“You’re finally going to stop calling me that embarrassing nickname?” I ask with a laugh.

“You betcha. I hereby dub you my big brave oak tree.” She touches the wrapped gift down on both my shoulders in succession, as if I’m being royally knighted.

“Oh, great,” I joke.

“Happy birthday, son.” Dad gives me a manly pat on the back and places a second present in my hands.

I tear into the gift, scratching off the wrapping paper like a feral cat. Once enough of the paper is removed, I open the box. The scent of virgin leather enters my nostrils. New boots, just like I asked for. I run my fingers up and down their hard surface, counting the number of holes for the laces on each side—ten, which is two more than my previous pair. Indentations rise and fall on the bottom of the soles—a series of stars on the heel and horizontal lines across the foot. I stick my hand inside the boot to find a springy interior cushion.

I waste no time in pulling the new footwear on over my pajama pants. “They’re great,” I say.

“They look good, too,” Mom points out, plopping a second present into my lap.

This one is a book like Dad said it would be. “Sofa-klees?” I ask, trailing my thumb across the cover’s bumpy surface.

“Sophocles,” Dad corrects. “We noticed how much you were enjoying
The Odyssey
and thought you might like to read more classic works from your proud Greek heritage. The rest of the volumes are on your bookshelf for later.”

I force a smile. I was hoping for something more fun like
Harry Potter
or
The Hunger Games
. I’m only reading
The Odyssey
out of necessity.

“Do you like it?” Mom asks.

“Yes, thank you.” I make sure to show my teeth in a full-on, fake display of happiness—a perfected skill in my teen arsenal.

“Oh, good,” Mom says, hugging me and telling me, “Happy birthday,” once more. “So what would you like for breakfast? Anything you want, I’ll make it. Today’s your special day!”

“How about pancakes?”

“Perfect! I’ll make bacon, too.” Mom hurries into the kitchen to get to work, leaving Dad and me behind in the living room.

“So, sixteen today. I guess you’re officially a man.”

“You think so?” I roll my feet from heel to toe and from side-to-side to begin breaking in my new footwear.

“Absolutely. And I think this means you’re old enough to know right from wrong, to make your own decisions.”

“Okay…” I hesitate. Why is Dad talking like this?

Mom’s singing drifts to the living room, bringing in the delicious aroma of pork fat as she drops strips of bacon into the large cast iron frying pan with a series of sizzles and snaps. “Heart and Soul, I fell in love with you,
Na na na, la la la la la la
!”

I smile at Mom’s good-naturedness, even if she is a horrible singer. “How’s the job hunt going?” I ask Dad.

“Not too good.” He sighs, rubbing his palms along the front of his pants and shifting his position on the couch.

“Well, you’ll find something eventually.”

“Yeah, I suppose I will,” he says, drumming his fingers on his knee to the rhythm of Mom’s song. “Your mother is such a happy person, through it all.”

I snap my fingers to signal agreement and say, “Uh-huh,” for added measure.

“You know you mean the world to her. More than her shop, more than me, more than herself, even.”

“I know.” I sigh.

“She’d be really upset if you ever got into trouble, especially if the trouble could’ve been avoided.”

“Dad,” I moan. “The fight was ages ago. I apologized, and it won’t happen again, okay?”

“Okay, be on your best behavior, and everything will be fine.”

I groan. I’m a good kid and didn’t do anything to deserve a lecture, especially on my birthday.

Dad reaches over and squeezes my knee. “That’s a good man,” he says, reclining back in his seat and affecting a more casual air. “Oh, by the way, Mom says you can invite your friends over for pizza after school to celebrate.”

***

After my special birthday breakfast, Mom and Dad drive me to school together. While Mom tells me, “Have a great day,” Dad commands me to “remember what we talked about.”

Simmi meets up with me before first period to wish me a happy birthday; apparently Mom told her about it when I wasn’t around. Taking my cane out of my hand, Simmi ties a double-knot, fastening a balloon to the handle. “That is the custom here, right?” she asks innocently. “To show everyone that today’s your birthday.”

“Yes,” I mumble. I had no intention of announcing to the whole school it’s my birthday.

“Don’t worry,” Simmi says, giving me a big hug, “It’s going to be a great day.”

Brady passes by us. “Oh, Alex,” he mimics in a high pitch voice, “Oh, Simmi,” he says with a stupefied whine.

Simmi holds onto me tight and shifts her head toward Brady, pushing the strong scent of her coconut hair straight into my face. Brady walks away without saying anything else to us. He doesn’t bother me for the rest of the day, not even to comment on the balloon jerking above me with each stride down the hall.

“I made him behave,” Simmi tells me at lunch. “I made Brady be nice to you today.”

“How did you do that?” I’m in awe.

“Don’t you remember anything about my gift?” She punches my shoulder. “Today I’ve used my gift to give you a gift. A day without having to endure Brady’s nonsense.”

I say nothing, still trying to figure out how she was able to control Brady’s mood. Did she touch him? She better not have touched him.

“You’re welcome!” Simmi says with a heaping pile of sass.

Taking a seat at our table and unpacking her lunch, Shapri asks, “For what?”

“For his birthday gift. I don’t think he likes it very much,” Simmi whines.

“What? The balloon?” Shapri asks. “It’s a very nice balloon, Alex. Speaking of which, I got something for you, too.”

“Really?” Shapri and I aren’t close. In fact, the only time we’ve ever been alone was when we first met at her mom’s shop.

“Yes,” Shapri states. “It’s actually from my mom—what’s my mom doing giving you gifts, anyway?” She shoves a package across the table toward me. I catch it before my lunch gets knocked to the floor.

“Well, open it already,” Simmi urges.

This gift is placed loosely inside a bag. I reach in and extract a smooth stone about the size of a quarter, but much thicker and shaped like an oval. I turn it over in my hand and notice an
X
-shaped indentation on one side. “Thanks, but what is it?”

“It’s a rune,” Shapri explains. “There’s a bunch more, too. That’s just one of them. Hey, what’s my mom doing giving you runes, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” I say defensively. “I don’t even know what a rune is.” I reach into the bag and take out another and set it down on the table. I keep pulling more and more out of the bag, trying to get a count on how many there are, while Shapri continues to talk—it turns out there are twenty-four in all, each with a different image on its surface.