Farsighted (Farsighted Series) (11 page)

“A rune is a scrying tool, something you use for divination,” Shapri says, as if this is common knowledge, and I should be embarrassed about not having known.

“A scrying tool?” I ask, trying to remember where I’ve heard this word before. It hits me. “Like a crystal ball?”

“Yeah, like a crystal ball, or Tarot cards, or a dowser, or lots of other things,” Shapri says. “But what’s my mom doing giving them to you?”

“I have no idea,” I admit, shaking my head. “Guess I’ll ask her.”

“She’s not trying to convince you you’re ‘gifted,’ is she?”

“Um,” I stall, hoping Simmi will respond for me, because I don’t know how much Shapri knows about this, or if she’s likely to announce it to the whole school once she finds out.

“If she is, don’t listen to her,” Shapri continues. “My whole life, she’s been trying to convince me I’m ‘gifted.’ But I don’t believe her. I don’t think there’s such a thing as an ability to tell the future or move objects with your mind or talk to the dead.”

“Yeah, me neither,” I half-lie.

Simmi clears her throat.

“But, tell your mom thank you for the gift.”

“Okay,” Shapri says, getting up from the table. Her sneakers squeak on the linoleum as she crosses the cafeteria to retrieve something.

“Hey,” I say, since Simmi and I are now alone. I don’t want to invite Shapri. It is my birthday after all. “Mom said I could invite a friend for pizza after school. Do you want to come?”

“I’d love to come,” she answers, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand.

“Come where?” Shapri asks, returning much too quickly with her jumbo wad of napkins.

“To Alex’s after school for pizza.”

“Oh, yeah. I love pizza.”

“Great,” I say, trying my best not to sound sarcastic. But she’s invited herself along, so what can I do?

***

The three of us agree to meet at the school flagpole after sixth period. The plan is to walk over to the strip mall together, and then Mom will drive us home for our pizza party.

Simmi and I arrive at the rally point together from Mrs. Warszynski’s to wait for Shapri. Several minutes go by. I want to suggest we leave without her but don’t think that’ll score me any points with Simmi.

“You didn’t want Shapri to come tonight, did you?” Simmi asks.

“Well, I…no, I mean, it’s fine. I’m glad she could come,” I sputter.

“You’re such a horrible liar,” Simmi teases, pushing me playfully.

“Hey, that’s not fair. I can’t hit you back. You’re a girl.”

“I’m just teasing you.” Simmi blows a raspberry and pulls her body up onto the circular wall surrounding the flagpole area. I hesitate before heaving myself up, too. Simmi scootches over so we touch at the hip. She loops her hand through the crook of my arm and places her head on my shoulder. “I never would have gotten away with this in India,” she says. “But I’m glad I can here. I’m a psychic feeler. I need to be in touch with others.” She pauses and strokes my arm with her free hand. “You know, when I touch someone I can make them feel what I want them to, but I can also sense their existing emotions. It’s almost the same as being able to read minds. Everything important has to do with the heart, not logic.” She lightens her tone. “But don’t tell Dr. Brown I said that, he’d take marks off of my next chem exam out of spite.”

I laugh nervously. Is she like Miss Teak in a way? Can she read my feelings for her? If she can, why hasn’t she said anything? I contemplate reaching over and kissing her, so I can know for sure how she feels. I’ve never kissed anyone before, though. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to initiate it. Do I take her out for dinner and a movie first? Or make some lengthy speech declaring my intentions? Do I kiss her, just like that? Or do I ask for her permission before making my big move?

I decide to ask if it’s okay. Simmi is a classy girl. She needs respect. I swallow, hoping the motion will open up my airway, because right now, I’m kind of having trouble catching my breath. “Simmi,” I start.

“Yeah, Alex?” She lifts her head and links her hand in mine, nudging her slender fingers between each of mine.

“Would it be okay if I…”

“There you two are!” Shapri says, running over to us, panting hard. “I thought we were meeting in the commons.”

“No, we agreed on the flagpole,” Simmi says, hopping down from the wall.

The moment is gone. I don’t know when I’ll get the chance and the nerve again. My opinion of Shapri transforms from cautious indifference into outright hatred. Why did she invite herself along?

Shapri clears her throat. “Did I…did I interrupt something here? Maybe a little romance?”

“What? No, no,” Simmi laughs. Coconut fills the air when she shakes her head. “Nothing like that. Alex is like a brother to me.”

Ouch. Pain. Stabbed in my heart. I’m like a brother to her? I guess this means romance is off the table.

***

As we walk toward the strip mall, I attempt to keep Shapri between Simmi and me. I don’t want Simmi close enough to touch me. Shapri talks most of the time, meaning I don’t have to say much. She rambles on about how great her father is, how weird her mom is, how much better she likes living in New Orleans than here in Grandon.

I’m regretting this whole thing. I never had friends over for birthday pizza in the past. I should have maintained that lonely tradition this year rather than let this distance develop with Simmi and closeness with Shapri. I wish Shapri wasn’t so annoying, because then I could make a pass at her and use her to make Simmi jealous. Then Simmi might change her mind about me being her brother.

“So anyway, he told me it’s better to be a big fish in a little pond than to be a medium fish in a big pond, because I might get eaten alive by an even bigger fish,” Shapri says. “My dad is so smart. He’s always saying things like that. I can’t wait for you guys to meet him. Alex, he told me to tell you ‘happy birthday’ and to ask what your one wish is.”

I wonder how much farther we need to walk to get to Mom’s shop. Seems it might rain soon. My ability to foretell these things can be uncanny. When the air becomes laden with micro-droplets, it’s very easy to sense an impending storm. When the clouds build up gradually, however, I can easily miss it, like today. The air is charged with static electricity—the same sensation you get if you let your finger hover about an inch away from an open outlet. Is the air electric, or is this because of the tension between the three of us?

Simmi comes up beside me and shakes my arm. I pull away, perhaps too quickly. I don’t want her reading my emotions. “Alex,” she murmurs. “Shapri asked you a question.”

“What?” I spit. Why can’t Shapri understand I don’t like her, I don’t want her here?

“My dad wants to know what your birthday wish is,” Shapri says with the volume dial turned to high, speaking to me as if I’m deaf rather than blind.

“Isn’t that supposed to be private?” I growl.

Shapri stops walking. “Don’t talk to me like that, Alex,” she warns. “It’s your birthday, so I’ll let you get away with it today. But now you know, don’t talk to me like that…ever.”

“Okay, fine, sorry,” I say, walking ahead past the girls.

“Well, what’s your birthday wish?” Shapri asks again, back to her usual flippant manner.

I thought we had moved past this topic, but apparently we’re still here. “I don’t know,” I say, trying my best to keep the growing anger in check.

“Well, think about it. Dad says if you make a single birthday wish and if you focus really, really hard it just might come true. A special kind of birthday magic.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, so make sure you come up with a wish before your birthday’s over. You don’t want to wait a whole ’nother year for this opportunity—hey, Simmi, when’s your birthday?”

I listen long enough to hear that Simmi’s birthday is in June and then begin to ponder what Shapri said. A few weeks ago, I would’ve laughed in her face if she had come to me with this talk of birthday magic. Now, I’ve learned to believe in the unbelievable, and I think she may be right. Why wouldn’t the universe be willing to grant me a wish just once a year? It owes me that much, right?

As soon as I decide that, yes, I will be making a wish, I know what to wish for—Simmi. As the girls continue to chatter away, I focus on my feelings for Simmi, on my almost kissing her. I imagine Shapri never came over and interrupted us, and I asked Simmi if I could kiss her and she said “yes.” Our lips met and we shared a beautiful, sexy kiss. As we pulled away from each other, Simmi whispered in her breathy, sweet voice, “I love you, Alex.”

That’s my birthday wish—to be Simmi’s boyfriend, not her brother.

***

At Sweet Blossoms, Mom makes a huge fuss over my “becoming a ladies’ man, and with such pretty ladies, too.” I keep my hands clasped on my cane to keep myself from strangling her. After making sure she’s thoroughly embarrassed me, Mom closes up shop early, swings by the pizza parlor, and delivers the three of us to an empty house.

“Dad’s out on another job interview,” Mom explains, laying out paper plates and napkins and extracting a two-liter bottle of pop from the fridge. The scent of oranges wafts from the open soda bottle. “Let’s save him a couple of slices, okay?”

Shapri flips open the lid off the first pizza box. “Ick, ham and pineapple,” she says, moving on to the next box. “Now here’s what I’m talking about, pepperoni with extra cheese. Yum!”

“Pineapple and ham is Alex’s favorite,” Mom announces from the kitchen as she pours the fizzing soda into Dixie cups.

“Yes, it is,” I say, nudging Shapri out of the way so I can plop a few slices onto my plate. I don’t care how early in the afternoon it is. I’m hungry. I shove a slice in my mouth and the grease drips down my chin.

Shapri crunches on a slice of the pepperoni and cheese.

“Are you eating the crust first?” I ask; the tip of the pizza goes in mushily, not crunchily.

“Of course,” Shapri says. Her voice is muffled since her mouth is completely full of food. “That’s how you’re supposed to eat it, save the best for last.”

“Weird,” I say, taking another huge chomp of my pizza from the intended end.

“Do they have pizza where you come from, Simmi?” Mom asks.

“Yes,” Simmi answers curtly.

“Well, why aren’t you eating anything? Don’t you like pizza?”

“Yes, I like pizza very much. But…”

I pause before tearing into my second slice. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Well, I don’t eat meat,” Simmi explains. “But it’s okay. I’ll just pick it off.”

“Oh, no,” Mom groans. “I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry.” She comes over to the table and places a roll of paper towels in front of Simmi with a thud. “You can use this to blot at the pizza.” Mom comes up behind me and places her hands on my chair. “Okay, I’ll let you kids enjoy your party. I’m headed out to the garden to water the tomatoes. When Dad comes home, send him outside, okay?” Mom kisses me on the head and takes her leave.

Shapri and I continue eating our pizza like we’ve been starving our entire lives. Simmi blots politely at her slice. It’s quiet, so I presume she’s picking off the toppings. Then she tears the slice into small bits and places them in her mouth. A few minutes later, Dad arrives through the front door.

“Hi, Alex,” he calls from the next room while removing his shoes. “Hi, Alex’s friends.” He hangs up his jacket and makes his way over to the kitchen. “I hope you saved me a slice or two.” He stops walking, freezing as if he were a deer about to get hit by a semi-truck on a lonely country road.

“Hi, Dad,” I mutter. “Mom says she wants you to meet her outside in the garden.”

Dad clears his throat and walks back toward the front door. None of us say anything until he’s gone outside.

“That was weird,” Shapri says. “I wonder what his problem is.”

“Dad’s kind of been a bit unusual lately,” I say, hoping we can talk about something else.

“The way he was staring at me. Like I’m a ghost or something.”

From outside, Dad’s voice floats in and hangs above our conversation. I can’t quite make out the words, but I can tell he’s angry. Really angry.

“Um, I better be going,” Shapri says, shoving one last bite into her mouth and then brushing her hands off against each other, making a loud clapping noise.

“You don’t need to leave because of him,” I say. I guess Dad still ranks number one on the people I don’t like list. I don’t want him acting like this around my guests, whether I invited them of my own accord or not.

“No, I have to go,” Shapri says with tons of conviction, while throwing her paper plate away under the sink and then heading toward the door. “My dad’s here to walk me home. He told me he’d pick me up, and now here he is.” Shapri throws her coat on over her shoulders and shoves her feet into her slip-on shoes, clacking the heels against the floor as she wiggles them on. “I’ll see you both at school tomorrow. Happy birthday again, Alex. Bye.” Only about thirty seconds pass between the time Shapri decides to leave and the time she disappears through the front door.

Simmi takes a loud, slurping sip of pop. “I wonder what that was all about,” she says.

“No idea,” I whisper in case Dad is listening. “I wonder why her father didn’t even come in to say, ‘hello.’ Strange.”

“Forget coming in. He didn’t come at all. No one was outside. Shapri just walked off by herself.”

Chapter 8