Farsighted (Farsighted Series) (17 page)

But she doesn’t.

“That’s all?” she asks instead.

“Huh?”

“Nice speech, Alex, but it’s not enough. Don’t you think you owe Shapri an apology?”

“What? Why? I just said I want to go back to how we were before.”

“I want that, too. But first you need to say you’re sorry.”

I don’t think there’s anything for me to apologize about really, but if that’ll speed this up, fine.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “Didn’t mean those things I said. Friends?”

“Friends,” Shapri says, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. For the first time I notice she smells like fresh cut grass, like summer. Removing my hand from under Shapri’s, I offer it to Simmi.

“Friends?”

She shakes my hand and says, “I know you’re just saying it to say it, but okay. Friends.”

“Did you miss me?” I flirt, lowering my glasses so that my eyes look out at her from beneath. I’ve heard people say eyes are the windows to the soul. On the off chance my windows are actually open, I want Simmi to see that it’s okay for her to sneak inside.

“Not especially, but glad you’re back,” Simmi replies.

“Don’t listen to her,” Shapri counters. “She missed you. We both did.”

I don’t say anything. I guess this isn’t the moment our kiss happens. I should’ve paid more attention to what else was going on in the vision, so I’d know when the time was right. How could I focus on anything but those sweet, sexy lips, though?

“A lot has happened since we last talked,” Shapri says, picking at her sandwich. “Simmi and I went to this crazy party Brady threw for New Year’s—basically, it was the only thing going on in town, and we felt like celebrating. Everyone was there, and for once, nobody bothered us. And it was kind of hilarious to see Brady fumbling around like a drunken idiot. Pretty fun. Oh, and business is picking up at my mom’s shop, too. Guess people are past the initial shock of having a psychic in town. Now they’re getting curious and want to come by to see what she’s all about. And over break, my dad taught me how to cook gumbo. I’ll bring some for you to try one day, okay?”

Under the table Simmi squeezes my thigh before I can say anything to remind Shapri that her Dad’s a ghost, or express outrage at the thought of the two of them at one of Brady’s moronic parties. “Um, yeah. I’d love to try your cooking. Thanks.”

Simmi changes the topic. “Hey, next week is
Lohri
. My parents are throwing a party for their friends and neighbors. Would you two like to come?”

“What’s
Lohri
?” I ask, chewing on a Twizzle stick.

“It’s an Indian festival to celebrate the end of winter. In India, we make big bonfires and eat and dance. The party’s next Friday. Say you’ll come.”

“Next Friday?” Shapri asks. “Shoot. I can’t. We’re going out of town to visit family.”

“I haven’t got any plans,” I say, all too readily. “I’ll be there.”

Simmi gives me a side hug and rubs my arm, as if the distance had never come between us.

***

After school, I make my way over to Sweet Blossoms by myself. I need to set things right with Miss Teak, too. The snow rains down from above, thick and wet, drenching me to the core. This is the same weather as when Dax roars at all the people, the same as when he kicks me in my side. Were both visions tied to the same event? We’ve only got another few months until the season thaws—only a few months left for me to find Dax, to stop him. But first I need to strengthen my powers. That’s why apologizing to Miss Teak is so important, whether or not I actually mean it.

Stepping into her shop, I shake out like a dog to release some of the moisture from my clothes. As long as Dad isn’t here, I can handle this. Otherwise, I’ll lose it. Clearing my throat and filling my lungs, I head to the back room.

“She’s not here,” Shapri says from behind, spooking me. “She’s out on a house call. Be back in a little while.”

“Oh. Sorry, I’ll come back later then,” I say, and shrug my shoulders back into my soaking coat.

“No, wait.” Shapri closes the distance between us, standing a few inches behind me. She hasn’t been here for long. The moisture from outside is on her clothes, too, transforming her scent from fresh cut grass to morning dew on a forest floor. My body turns to face her.

“It’s not true, you know? Those things you said. About me, my mom, my dad. None of those things were true,” Shapri utters, quieter than I’ve ever heard any line of speech come from her.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Without thinking, I bring my hand up to stroke her face. My fingers massage the pulsing, buttery softness of her cheek as she shivers in response to my touch. Maybe I’m trying to be like Simmi, trying to use my powers to manipulate others’ emotions, to make things okay.

“It’s okay.” She places her hand over mine and holds it for a second before separating out my ring finger and guiding it across the planes of her face. One by one I learn her features—the full cheeks, jawline, chin, delicate eyelashes. Neither of us says anything as she continues to paint the contours of her own face with my hand. I circle my other arm around her waist, as if this is the most natural thing in the world. She releases my hand and uses her own to trace the outline of my face.

Every thought leaves my brain. I’m left with the hyperawareness you get when savoring a moment. I’ve become lost in time, trapped, but I don’t care. I only feel. She trails a finger across my lower lip. Instinctively, I bring my face down, following the warmth of her breath until I locate her mouth.

Just before our lips touch, I freeze. What am I doing? This is Shapri! Shapri, a girl I hardly even like, let alone love. My arms go limp. My body straightens back to its full, erect posture. I forgot who I was, but only for a moment. Shapri isn’t Simmi. Isn’t for me. I clear my throat, having no idea what needs to be said for us both to forget what almost happened.

But she speaks first, “Look, my mom is back. I’ve got a lot of homework to do, so…” She leaves the sentence incomplete and rushes out the shop.

“I knew you’d return,” Miss Teak says. Matter-of-factness echoes in her voice as she removes her coat and scarf and returns the crystal ball to its pedestal.

“Yeah, here I am. Listen, I’m—” I begin, but cut myself off sharply as Miss Teak approaches and reaches for my hand. I pull away as if repulsed. “N-no. I want to
say
what I have to say.” There’s no way I want Miss Teak to know about what just happened with Shapri.
I
don’t even want to know about it.

“Very well then.” We head toward the back room as I try to remember what I planned to say, my brain a complete jumble.

“I…well, I…I’m sorry, I guess. Sorry for blaming you when Dad left and sorry for going away.” This is the best I can do given the circumstances. “But I’m here now and ready to train.”

I show Miss Teak my exercise with the runes, and she is impressed by the progress I’ve made on my own. She gives me a few pointers on entering a trance while reserving my physical energy. As I leave the lesson, she informs me we’ll be trying something new tomorrow. I thank her and head over to Sweet Blossoms, pausing outside before entering.

The wind whips my face in accusation. Seems the whole universe wants to know why I almost kissed Shapri. I don’t have an answer. The answer that makes the most sense, I guess, is I thought she was Simmi. I forgot where I was. Yeah, that’s what happened.

Then I remember the scene matches up with one of my visions from the reel—the second or third one in. If the events of my vision were in order, this means I’ve missed my kiss with Simmi.
Two types of prophecies exist
, Miss Teak’s words ring through my head.
Those that will happen no matter what and those that can be prevented. We can’t know which is which.
I shrug them off, wishing I could distinguish the two, and wonder what I did to unintentionally prevent the kiss.

Inside, Mom is floating around the front of the shop, holding a bouquet of tulips and spinning round and round. “He called,” she sings. “Dad called. He said he misses us, he’s sorry, and he might be coming home.” She dances another circle and saddles me with a huge hug. “Oh, Alex, I knew this nightmare couldn’t last forever.” She kisses my shoulder and backs out of our embrace, waiting for my response.

“When is he coming back?”

“He didn’t say when,” Mom says. The joy falls from her tone.

“Well, the important thing is he’s coming, right?” I smile, hugging her again. She’s limp to the touch, a life-sized ragdoll.

“He might.
Might
come,” she whispers. I managed to steal all the happiness from Mom’s heart in a matter of seconds with a few choice lines. We’ve spent days trying to get to this point, and now her happiness has come and left again. Sometimes I’m a really horrible person.

“He
will
come, Mom. He must miss you like crazy. Let’s get the house ready for his welcome home.”

Mom’s body reanimates. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right.” She paces back across the shop and calls to me from the flower cooler. “Which arrangement do you think he’d like for tonight?”

“Lilacs,” I answer, hoping Dad really is coming back. I can’t stand to see what will happen to Mom’s spirits if he doesn’t.

***

Dad doesn’t come home, but Mom handles the disappointment better than I thought she would. She gently pushes the lilacs into the garbage disposal and flips the switch with a sigh of resignation. The blades of the disposal amplify the already potent fragrance. The kitchen saturates, and the smell remains for days. The last of it goes on the day of Simmi’s
Lohri
party.

Mom gives me a bouquet of birds of paradise to take to Simmi’s mother, and bakes snicker doodles as my contribution to the banquet. She even buys me a new outfit for the party—a turtleneck sweater and jeans. Apparently, we’ve got a bit of extra cash these days, since the number of mouths Sweet Blossoms has to feed went from three to two.

Mom drops me off at the party fifteen minutes early. I cringe upon realizing I’m the only guest who’s arrived so far. Simmi’s mom is still strewing decorations around the great room. She accepts the flowers and cookies and calls upstairs for Simmi. A moment later, Simmi bounds down the stairs. Her usual scent of Almond Joy is replaced by the blend of spices filling the air throughout the entire house.

“Hi, Alex,” she says, giving me a quick hug. “You’re early.”

“Yeah. Mom hates being late for anything, which means we’re usually early.”

“C’mon. I’ll give you the grand tour.” She takes my hands and guides me up the unfamiliar staircase, which is extra wide and curves in a semicircle. Our house doesn’t even have stairs, except for going down to the basement. Simmi’s house could probably fit at least three of my houses inside.

“It’s too bad Shapri couldn’t come,” Simmi says as we make our way to the upper floor.

“Yeah,” I agree passively. Actually, I’m glad Shapri isn’t here. Things have been awkward with her since our almost-kiss. Simmi doesn’t seem to pick up on it from my emotions, and I don’t think Shapri has told her. Tonight we can spend some quality time together—just the two of us.

“It hasn’t been just the two of us for a very long time, huh?” she asks, seeming to read my thoughts.

I snap my fingers in agreement. We reach the top of the stairs, but she holds fast to my hand. This is doubly good since I need help navigating new places, and I love the feelings that course through me whenever we touch. Simmi guides me into her little sister’s room, her parents’, two bathrooms, a playroom. This tour is pretty pointless, really. Every room smells exactly the same, like exotic spices, and I don’t have the time to grope my way around to explore the contents. Still, I let Simmi continue.

She pauses inside the last room. “This is my bedroom,” she says. “Go ahead. Take a look around.”

“I look with my hands,” I explain, flexing my fingers in display. “That okay?”

“Of course. I want you to see in whichever way you see.” She falls back onto her bed with a muted
thump
and waits.

I trail my hand against the wall, moving left from the doorframe. The first thing I make contact with is a corkboard covered in glossy photos and paper notes.

“My memory board,” Simmi says. “I keep photos, letters, birthday cards.”

“What kind of memories are on here?”

“Mostly family and school stuff. Snaps of my first Diwali, our house in Delhi, me winning the school science fair, the day Neha was born.”

I nod, wishing I could experience the visual representation of these important moments from Simmi’s life, then finger a satin ribbon affixed to the board. “The science fair?” I ask.

“No, actually…” She drifts into a far off place before continuing moments later. “My singing. I won a competition when I was younger. First place.” Her voice hints at a wistful smile.

“That’s incredible,” I exclaim. “Will you sing for me?” No wonder her voice sounds musical to me,
it is
.

 “Maybe someday,” she dismisses my question. “You missed me in my play, you know.”

“You got the part? Congratulations,” I say, recalling the conversation we had on the day Dad left. She had been reluctant to share information about her singing then, too.

“Yes, I did. Shapri helped me practice my lines. The performances went really well. I wish you could’ve been there.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What’s passed is past,” Simmi whispers and then urges, “Go on. Keep looking.”

I continue my journey around the perimeter of her bedroom and find a tall dresser. On the surface lie several small figurines, some made of wood, others metal and stone.

“My elephant collection,” Simmi says, coming up beside me. “I always liked elephants. They are big, strong, beautiful. They don’t have to be afraid of anything. And besides, an elephant never forgets. They are wonderfully intelligent animals. Here,” she says, plucking one of the statues from the top of the dresser and pressing it into my hand. “This one’s my favorite.”

I run my fingers over the intricately carved marble, trying to discern why this one is the favorite when she has so many.