Farsighted (Farsighted Series) (12 page)

The traveler seeks a joyous reprieve, but that is not wise. He must not be distracted by the upcoming obstacles, for destruction of the old is necessary for growth of the new.

As seems to be the norm lately, I’ve got a lot to think about. I’m thankful for having read ahead in English class, because now I can zone out while the other students take turns reading aloud from
the basic reader. I keep my hand in my pocket, fingering the three stones I’ve kept there.

I still don’t understand why Miss Teak has given them to me, but I want to. I run my thumb over the indented surface of one with a
P
shape carved into it. They remind me of braille. I can read them with my fingers, so I don’t need to rely on my eyes like most people. Braille juts out off the page, but the inscription on the face of each rune recedes into the surface—one is concave; the other is convex.

I put myself into a blank state, in order to block off all of my senses but one—touch. I turn the
P
rune over and over in my hand, taking in the increasing temperature of its surface as my body heat transfers via conduction, noticing how the line forming the stem of the
P
is a little deeper than the lines forming the balloon part of the letter, wondering if this rune is really a
P
at all, because rather than a rounded loop on the top of a stick, there’s a triangle. Maybe I’ll call this the flagpole rune, rather than a
P
.

Flagpole makes me think of yesterday after school, how Simmi and I nearly kissed, but Shapri came trotting over to interrupt us. I try to recall the rage I had at that moment, but I can’t—not when Dad treated her so horribly at dinner yesterday. I liked how she stood up for herself and demanded respect. How she scarfed down pizza like a boy, rather than picking at it daintily like Simmi. Maybe she’s not so bad, after all.

I release the flagpole rune from my palm and pick up another one. This one is shaped like a wide sideways
V
. I reenter my semi-dead state, focusing on this new rune, seeing if it brings up anything different than the first. And, boy, does it ever.

From the stillness, a chorus of voices mixes together—babies, kids, and adults. A gust of wind sweeps by as a group of people walk past, speaking a language I don’t quite recognize. Chinese maybe? The air is frigid. A snowflake drops and melts on my cheek. Another follows. People continue walking by on both sides of me, laughing, chatting, and playing.

A sharp scream pierces the thin, cold air. Its sound waves reverberate like daggers. Several more screams, running, crying. A loud animalistic roar rises above the commotion followed by a low, deep laugh, one I recognize without the slightest bit of hesitation. Dax!

The more I get to know of Dax, the more I doubt his humanity. He’s something else altogether, like evil incarnate. At once, all the screaming, roaring, and laughing are sucked into a black hole of silence, the way an MP3 sounds if you listen while rewinding at high speed. Everything goes the normal pace, then super quickly backward, before falling dead silent.

A high-pitched noise breaks in. For a moment, I think it’s the screaming again, but no, it’s just the bell announcing the end of class.

“Okay, we’ll be starting
The Odyssey
soon, so get started on your assigned reading. See you tomorrow,” the teacher calls over the hustle of students as they gather up their school supplies and hurry out to grab a few social moments before having to endure another seventy-minute class period.

The rest of the day goes by at a snail’s pace. I can’t get the scene out of my head. This was different than all the other visions. This wasn’t only Dax, or Dax and Simmi, or Dax and a handful of doctors. A lot of people were at that place, including little kids. They were terrified. Everyone was in danger, and Dax was the cause of it. I also know this vision must pertain to the future, because it’s still only late September. There shouldn’t be any snow around here, or in New York. What Dax is going to do hasn’t happened yet. I can stop it. I can save everyone and be the hero.

***

After school, Simmi and I walk together to Miss Teak’s shop.

“Where does Shapri go after school?” I ask. “It seems like she’d be around more often since it is
her
mom’s shop we’re hanging out at.”

“Good question,” Simmi answers. “I don’t really know. She says she spends the afternoon with her dad, but…”

“But you think she’s lying. Like yesterday.” I shiver.

“Yes, I’m rather concerned about her at times. I’d like to ask Miss Teak.” Simmi’s body heat rises. She seems to feel bad about prying into Shapri’s life uninvited. “So I can see if I’m able to help,” she adds, more for herself than for me.

We walk together in silence for several minutes before Simmi talks again. As usual, she’s far less chatty without Shapri around. “Oh, I almost forgot!” Simmi stops walking and drops her backpack to the sidewalk with a thud. She unzips one pocket after another, groping about in search of something and then pulls something out, which she passes to me.

“Your birthday present.”

“But you already gave me a present,” I say, holding the small flat box in my hands.

“The balloon?” Simmi says, aghast. “No, I wanted to give you something special, something that would last.”

“Are you sure?” I ask once more.

“If I wasn’t sure, it wouldn’t be in your hands right now. I picked this out especially for you. Now open it.”

There’s no wrapping paper on the gift. I lift off the lid and find a circular metal object about three inches in diameter. I run my fingers around the cool iron edge. “A car part?” I ask in confusion.

“No, silly!” Simmi laughs. “It’s a
kara
!”

“A what-a?” I ask, putting the box in my backpack and holding the gift on top of my flat palm.

“It’s a bangle, a kind of bracelet,” she explains.

“A bracelet?” I ask, not even trying to hide my confusion. “Isn’t that a girl thing?” I picture me giving Simmi a bracelet or necklace or earrings for her birthday, not her giving anything like that to me. Is this a romantic gesture on her part? Do girls in India normally give boys they like bracelets, or is this a gift meant for a brother?

“It’s not a girl thing! In my religion, both men and women wear them as a symbol of our faith.”

“But I don’t get it,” I say slowly. “Why are you giving this to me?” I don’t even know what her religion is. I barely know anything about religion at all, since both my parents were eager to distance themselves from the churches they grew up in once they were old enough to make the decision for themselves. Now we only go to church for Christmas and Easter, alternating between being half-hearted Baptists and dispassionate members of the Greek Orthodox Church.

“We Sikhs all wear the
kara
as a symbol of strength, integrity, and our oneness with the universe. The
kara
makes us brave and grounds us in our belief,” Simmi explains, coming over and plucking away the bracelet and forcing it onto my wrist.

 “So you’re calling me a ‘sick’?” I joke. Sick seems a funny name for a religion, but I guess most Sicks aren’t English speakers, so it’s okay.

“Seek-h,” Simmi enunciates for me. “I checked with Papa and he says non-Sikhs can wear the
kara
, too, as long as they respect its meaning.” Silent for a few beats, she holds my hand, and then drops my arm. “Think of it as a friendship bracelet. If you ever think you’re alone, this bracelet will remind you that you aren’t.”

“Oh, thanks, Simmi, that’s really nice,” I say, beginning to take this situation a bit more reverentially. I sure am glad she didn’t call it a brother-sister bracelet. If we’re friends, there’s still a possibility we can become more.

“One other thing,” Simmi says mischievously. “When you’re nervous or upset, try spinning the bracelet on your wrist, turning it over and over, like this.” She demonstrates the motion on my wrist. “When I do, I feel better.” She drops her voice to a rushed whisper. “And that’s also a great way to enter into a psychic trance.”

“Oh, yeah, okay. I’ll try that.” I smile. Although I can probably guess what it means, I don’t exactly know what a psychic trance is. Miss Teak and I aren’t far enough with my training. Most of our time together has been spent with her holding my hand and reading my thoughts while trying to convince me it’s okay to be gifted. I need to accelerate my psychic studies or Simmi’s going to zoom ahead, leaving me far behind her.

***

We push the door to Miss Teak’s shop open and right away realize we’ve stumbled upon an active session. We can hear Miss Teak talking about destiny, cosmic assistance, karma, and the intersection of paths in a hushed whisper. But what about all the fancy soundproofing?

“Let’s go and give them some privacy,” Simmi says, turning back to the door.

Before we can exit, Miss Teak calls out to us, “Alex, Simmi? Is that you?”

I clear my throat, before hollering back in affirmation.

“Please, please come back,” Miss Teak urges.

“Aren’t we interrupting a session?” Simmi asks from near the door.

“I was reviewing a few details with my new employee,” Miss Teak says, coming in through the back door of the shop—this explains why we were able to hear her; she wasn’t in the soundproofed inner sanctum.

“Oh, you hired somebody?” I had no idea she was busy enough to require an assistant.

“If you are in need of help, Alex and I could gladly lend our hands,” Simmi adds.

“That’s quite all right. This new hire has potential.” Miss Teak has a warmth in her voice that isn’t usually there.

“Sure is nice of you to say,” a familiar, muffled voice says from far away. The beaded curtains push apart again and the smell of fabric softener and pine needles hits me—an unmistakable combination of aromas.

My brain says this person can’t be Dad, but my sniffer has unmistakably identified him.

“Hi, Alex. I got the job I interviewed for yesterday,” Dad exclaims as if nothing is remiss.

“Dad!” The last thing I need is him hanging out here all the time. This is where I learn how to use my gifts. This is where I spend most of my time with Simmi. He can’t ruin this for me.

“Alex!” Dad mocks.

“I…I don’t get you,” I fume. “You said you hated psychics, and you hated Miss Teak, and you wished she would pack up her shop and leave town. Now you’re working for her.”

Miss Teak sighs. I realize this may upset her, but I’d rather she find out now than stand back and wait for Dad do something much more horrible.

“Hey, now, that’s not very polite. Apologize to Miss Teak.”

“Me, apologize? You’re the one who said all those things!”

“I
never
said those things. You’ve been acting so strange lately. Now you’re even starting to make up lies, lies you’ve convinced yourself are true. What you said was rude and also not true,” Dad answers coolly, spinning a tale but calling me the liar. “Now apologize.”

It’s clear I haven’t got an option. I cough. “Sorry,” I growl under my breath. I’ll let Miss Teak read my hand later. She’ll see I’m telling the truth and Dad is the liar.

“That’s better,” Dad says, lightening his tone. “I’ll head out on that errand now, Oleta. See you later tonight.” And just like that, Dad is gone. It doesn’t escape my notice that he’s referred to Miss Teak by her first name and said he’d see her at night.

“That was unexpected,” Simmi says.

“Yeah,” I breathe, still furious. “How could you hire him?” I demand, turning toward Miss Teak.

“I needed an assistant and your father was highly qualified.”

“Highly qualified? He was a contractor, and even that was years ago. He’s the last person who’s qualified!”

“Alex, it’s okay. Your dad needed a job and now he has one. You should be happy,” Simmi says, placing her hand on my waist.

“Don’t you try to manipulate me!” I shout, pushing her away. I’m so mad right now, it doesn’t even bother me I was just physically violent with the girl I like.

Simmi is undeterred. “Alex, everything is fine. Trust me.” This time she wraps both her arms around me from behind, holding me in a hug, gently shifting her weight from foot-to-foot.

“I can’t believe him,” I mutter helplessly. “I can’t believe you hired him,” I tell Miss Teak.

“I know, hush now,” Simmi says, continuing to rock, holding onto me with a soft, but powerful, touch.

“I don’t want him here. This is my place. He wasn’t supposed to…I don’t need…I’m going to…” Little by little, Simmi’s powers work to soothe my mind. By the time she releases her hold on me, I’ve sunk deep into a lethargic state. What happened doesn’t feel personal anymore. The emotion is gone.

Miss Teak directs us to the back room. I shuffle after her like a drugged puppy. I take a seat and reach my palms out to the center of the table—I’m not sure why I’m doing it; somehow my body is acting without any direction from my brain. Miss Teak takes one of my hands. Simmi grabs the other. The drugged feeling is gone, but I’m not sad, not angry. I’m comfortable more than anything.

“Your father will be helping me at the shop whenever I need him, but he won’t be present during our lessons. Those are private. Only people you deem appropriate will be allowed in,” Miss Teak explains. “Are you ready to officially begin your training, or do you still need more encouragement?”

“I’m beginning to worry my skills are getting rusty. I’ve been waiting days for you to catch up,” Simmi teases.

“But I still have so many questions I need answered,” I say, my tone flat.

“Ask, but know we must start your training soon.”

I run over everything that’s been puzzling me. I can’t ask about my most recent vision—not while Simmi’s present. Plus, I don’t think Miss Teak will respond well to me bringing up Dad again—not when I just calmed down. So I decide to ask about something that has been baffling both Simmi and me.

“What’s the deal with Shapri? She threw a big fit when you gave me the runes yesterday and said not to let you convince me I’m gifted. She claims to hate everything psychic, but she knows so much about it. She left my party early last night, claiming her father was picking her up. But he wasn’t, no one was. And, she’s never here after school. I don’t get it.” I spit everything out at once and then take a deep breath. The sound of my oxygen-starved lungs expanding rings in my ears.