Farsighted (Farsighted Series) (13 page)

“Alex,” Simmi scolds. “You don’t just ask about other people’s matters. It’s not at all polite. What he means is, we both like Shapri very much, and we’re concerned about her well-being. Can we do anything to help?”

“There’s nothing wrong with Shapri,” Miss Teak says, emphasizing the word
wrong
.

“Oh, we’re sorry,” Simmi says. “We didn’t mean to pry or to imply—”

“Shapri’s gifts may be a little bit difficult to understand. They certainly have been for her.”

 “So, Shapri is gifted after all?” Simmi asks.

“Yes, very.”

“Then why doesn’t she believe she is? Why doesn’t she use her powers?” I ask, scratching my head.

Miss Teak informs us with an eerie twinkle in her voice, “She denies them because she is afraid. But she uses her gifts constantly.”

“What’s her gift? What can she do?” Simmi asks, shifting restlessly in her seat.

“If I tell you, you must agree to help me,” Miss Teak says, leaning back in her chair as if she’s suddenly very tired.

“Of course we’ll help. What do you want us to do?” Simmi asks.

“We’ll do anything,” I offer, mostly because I really want to know, not because I care about Shapri one way or the other.

“You must help Shapri to learn to accept her gifts, to use them to the betterment of the universe. This is all I ever wanted for her.”

I snap my fingers, waiting impatiently for Miss Teak’s revelation. Simmi must offer up some nonverbal agreement of her own, because Miss Teak goes ahead with her explanation.

“Very well,” she says, getting up and walking to the front room. When she returns she has a bit of paper; it crunches between her hand and the table as she places it down in front of Simmi.

“Oh, my God,” Simmi whispers.

“What? What is it?” I can’t believe I’m missing out on this. Why hasn’t somebody told me already?

“Go on. Tell him,” Miss Teak urges.

“It…it’s an obituary for someone who died in 2005, when Hurricane Katrina ravaged the Gulf Coast,” Simmi says slowly, obviously reading that last bit directly from the paper.

What’s the big deal? I know lots of people died, but I don’t understand what that has to do with Shapri.

“It’s my husband,” Miss Teak says with a tinge of melancholy. “I haven’t spoken to or heard from him since August 29, 2005, the day he died, but Shapri has never had to say goodbye. They spend time together every single day.”

“Does this mean…?” I ask, putting the pieces together.

“Shapri’s a channeler,” Simmi voices what we’re both thinking. “She can interact with the dead.”

“Yes, she’s a medium. A very good one. Now it’s up to the two of you to convince her.”

The Second Aett

If you can look into the seeds of time,

And say which grain will grow, and which will not,

Speak.

-spoken by Banquo-

in Shakespeare’s
Macbeth

Chapter 9

Suddenly, the traveler is thrust into a drastic new low. He feels he is being unfairly punished by the universe, but these events are necessary to move him along his path.

“You’ve earned the highest grade in the class. Keep up the good work.” Dr. Brown licks his finger, grabs the top paper in his stack, and presses it down onto the worktable Simmi, Shapri, and I share.

“Thank you very much, sir. You’re a great teacher,” Simmi responds, with a voice full of admiration.

“Brown-nosers,” a student at a nearby work station sniggers. Simmi does lay on the respect-for-elders thing a bit strong, but who cares? She and I are the only sophomores in the entire class, and we’re doing better than everyone else on our chem labs. Having a partner like Shapri sure helps. She may be a bit flighty, but she’s a mad genius, too—she seems to know almost as much about chemistry as Dr. Brown.

“Good work, team,” Shapri says, bringing her head in close to ours so the other students can’t overhear. “I’m glad I got the two of you as my lab partners. The rest of these guys have no idea what they’re doing. High five!”

Simmi slaps Shapri’s outstretched palm. I snap my fingers. This girl’s kind of growing on me lately. “How do you know so much, anyway?” I ask. “I’m studying
hard
and still can’t keep up with you.”

“Dunno,” Shapri says with a shrug. “It just makes sense to me. I like how, in science, some things work and some things don’t. The rules never bend or change. If you mix two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen, you’ll always get water. Always.” She sighs. “I wish everything in life was like that.”

“But Shapri,” Simmi whispers, “the unpredictable parts make life exciting.”

“Maybe to you. But to me, those parts are the toughest to get through. The unpredictable parts led my mom to force us across the country. They made my parents stop talking to each other and make me scared for the future.”

Simmi squeezes my hand under the table, sending an exciting rush up my arm that spreads through my entire body in an instant. “Your parents don’t talk to each other? Strange. How long ago did they get divorced?” Simmi asks pointedly.

“Oh, they’re not divorced.” Shapri shakes her head. “They’re still married. They live together even but haven’t talked for years. Sometimes they’ll be sitting in the same room saying nothing. Dad stares at Mom with so much sadness, like he wants nothing more in the whole world than for her to smile, but all she does is ignore him. I can’t
believe
her sometimes.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Simmi says, rubbing Shapri’s arm. “When did they stop speaking to each other?”

Shapri thinks for a few moments. “The same day as Hurricane Katrina, actually.”

“What was it like?” Simmi prompts.

“Well,” Shapri draws out the syllable before jumping into her tale. “Dad was in the ninth district—that spot got hit the worst, I’m sure you’ve heard—he worked over there, running a homeless shelter. Mom and I were at home. We had locked ourselves in the bathroom and huddled together in the tub until the storm passed. Our area had a lot of downed trees and power lines and stuff but wasn’t hit too badly. At almost the exact moment the hurricane ended, Dad came home. He had driven through the storm to come and be with us and to make sure we were okay. But the moment he arrived, something had changed. Mom wouldn’t talk to him at all. I was never able to figure out what happened during the hurricane that changed everything. Ugh, horrible memories. Okay for us to talk about something else now?”

“Sure, sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I would love to meet your father one day. He sounds like a great man,” Simmi says before changing the topic. “Oh, Dr. Brown took a point off of our lab report because we spelled
analyze
wrong. I wrote a-n-a-l-y-s-e, which is the proper European English spelling. I don’t think that’s fair.”

“You’re right,” Shapri huffs, inexplicably empowered by her depressing yarn. She grabs the paper out of Simmi’s hands and jumps to her feet, nearly toppling her stool. “I’m going to talk to him. He’s being culturally biased. I
demand
to be compensated for that point.” She marches toward the front of the class, her shoes clacking on the floor.

“Too easy,” Simmi whispers to me. “A few more talks like this and Shapri will be accepting her powers in no time.”

“I hope you’re right,” I say. Somehow I don’t think this is going to be as easy as Simmi does. A scratching sound comes from the corner of the class, distracting my thoughts.

“Where do you think you’re going?” asks a man’s voice from somewhere behind me. It drips of an unsettling accent, one that sounds like Dad’s, but not exactly.

Ah, a vision. I can be sure of it, because Dr. Brown would never put up with such noisiness in his classroom.

“I don’t belong to you. I don’t belong to anyone. You can’t keep me here,” Dax says in an ominous tone. A different combination of chemical smells hangs in the air, replacing the familiar hodgepodge of the chemistry lab odors. I recognize the hospital where Dax is or will be institutionalized—Fairfax.

The man presses down on a button with a click. “Call security.”

“I don’t think so,” Dax hisses. Something flies right through me and hits the man with a painful-sounding thud. It must knock him unconscious, because he doesn’t say anything more.

“I’ve been here long enough. It’s time to go home,” Dax says to the lifeless attendee. “Tell you what, I’ll bring you a tee-shirt.” He laughs and then escapes into the night of his reality and of mine. The vision is gone.

***

After school, I head toward Miss Teak’s shop by myself—neither Mom nor Dad can pick me up today, so I agreed to walk over on my own. Simmi will meet me there after some club meeting. The chilly air makes ambling over at my normal pace a non-option. As I hurry, my cane disturbs the pebbles and little bits of trash that litter the ground, sending them flying down the street in a clatter. Despite the obstacles blocking my path, I arrive at the strip mall in record time. Just over four minutes.

I’m a little bit out of breath when I push the door to Miss Teak’s open. Even above the noise of my panting, I hear Miss Teak call out in surprise and my father clear his throat. A button snaps and is followed by an odd rustling noise. Dad and Miss Teak both come out into the front room.

“Alex,” Dad says, clearing his throat again. “You’re a bit early today, huh?”

“What? Did I catch you doing something you weren’t supposed to be?” I ask, removing my glasses and staring at him. I hope my face is the perfect expression of hostility and disappointment. Sure seems I’ve walked in on a private moment between Dad and Miss Teak. Earlier, I would never be able to picture him hurting Mom like this, but lately, I don’t know what he’s capable of.

“No,” Dad says, drawing out the word and sounding very guilty to me. “Why would you think that? We were filing some tax forms and organizing some of Oleta’s fortune-telling devices.”

“They’re called scryers,” Miss Teak corrects.

“Ah, still so much more to learn. Whenever I think I know it all, something new comes along. Well, I better get going. See you, Alex.” Before I can say anything else, Dad is gone.

Miss Teak comes over to me and lays her hands on my shoulders. “It’s not what you think,” she says, having picked up on my interpretation of the events. “It’s not,” she repeats, letting her arms fall to her sides.

“I know you’re lonely and all, since your husband’s dead,” I spit at her. “But my mom doesn’t deserve this. Anyway, my dad’s not even close to worth it.”

“It’s not what you think,” she repeats.

“Not what I think? Not what I think?” I snap at her. “How can my dad go from hating you, to working for you, to sneaking around with you, unless…” I scream the first part and let my voice trail off in the second. I can’t bring myself to voice the accusation aloud—no matter how true it is.

Miss Teak takes a deep, shaky breath but says nothing.

“You can’t even tell me I’m wrong? I’m outta here!” I slam the door behind me and am surprised when Miss Teak doesn’t follow. This gesture cements my suspicion. Something very wrong is going on between her and Dad.

My mind scrambles, trying to figure out the next step. If I go back to Sweet Blossoms, Mom will realize something is amiss, so I decide to walk back toward the school and wait for Simmi’s meeting to finish. If I run into Dad along the way, I’m going to punch that scumbag in the face.

I push the door open with both of my hands. It swings wildly in the wind.

“Oh, dearie me,” a high-pitched voice exclaims.

“Sorry,” I mutter as I squeeze past the stranger, who is steeped in heavy perfume.

“Kosmitoras?” Brady calls from a few paces back. His voice lacks any hostility, even though I know he feels it in heaps. He must be putting on a show for the lady—his mother, I realize, recalling the scene at the principal’s office earlier this year. “What are
you
doing
here
?” he enunciates.

“Leaving,” I spit.  Powered by rage, I make it back to school in just three-and-a-half minutes.

***

I wait outside the gymnasium until Simmi emerges, announced by her wonderful scent. I suck in a breath of Almond Joy and relax a hair. She seems surprised to see me.

“What club was that anyway?” I ask.

She hesitates. “Drama. I want to get the role of Penny Pingleton in this year’s production of
Hairspray
.”

“Okay, well, good luck,” I say, having never heard of that play and not being all that interested anyway.

Simmi shuffles her feet. “What’s up? Why aren’t you at Miss Teak’s?”

“I’m not going there anymore. I don’t feel like I can trust her.”

“Why is that?”

“Um, I’d rather not say. If that’s okay,” I answer, chewing on my lip.

“Okay, but how will you train?”

“You mentioned you were ahead of me in lessons? Can you help me?”

“Alex, I don’t think I’m qualified—”

“Please? Pretty please?” I beg, trying to look super cute.

“Well, I can try.”

“C’mon, let’s find an empty classroom,” I say, tugging Simmi down the hallway. The chemistry lab is open, so we settle in there.