The Guidance (11 page)

He doesn't seem fazed by this at all. Then I remember he deals with kids like me all the time. I only hope I'm one of the ones he actually believes.

"How many answers did Emily assist with?"

"About a dozen," I say.

Swiftly moving his pen across the score sheet, Dr. Kindberg tallies up my results. "You're either very lucky or Emily was giving you the correct answers."

"Seriously?" Why do I feel like dancing? "So how'd I do?"

"Very impressive," he tells me. "You scored in the very high range, Kendall, showing significant psychic ability. Mind you, this is only one measure and we still have a lot of testing to do." He gathers up the cards, straightens them, and places them back into the cardboard container.

My intuition tells me that he sort of thinks I'm full of shit.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

He reaches up and scrubs his left hand through his crewcut. "I'm not here to judge, Kendall. I'm here to test and diagnose and talk and decide the best course of action for you."

Dude thinks I'm completely insane. Oh, right ... I have a spirit that talks to me in my head. Can't exactly prove that to anyone. It's not like any of these adults—except Loreen and maybe Father Massimo—would take me at my word.

We can convince him together
, Emily suggests.

How?

I'm here to help you ...

"Let's go back into the office," he says, holding his arm out to escort me. "I'm very impressed with your perception, Kendall. But I'm still concerned that you're hearing voices and getting headaches and physical traumas." He sits at his desk; I sit in the chair.

"It's just Emily most of the time. Unless it's during a ghost investigation. Then I usually pick up the spirits in the area we're in. Sometimes we get EVPs—you know, electronic voice phenomena—that match what the spirits are saying to me."

"And the headaches?"

I shrug. "The headaches mostly warn me when something's up. Like when I first met Emily. Turns out she's been with me my whole life and I'm just now able to see her again. When I was little, my parents told me I shouldn't have an imaginary friend, and I believed them."

"She's not imaginary then?" he asks, taking more notes.

"No. She's very real."

He wants proof
, Emily observes.

Then let's give it to him
.

Emily appears near him, directly behind his chair. "Mention law school to him."

I clear my throat. "Umm, Emily says I should talk to you about law school?"

Dr. Kindberg's clearly taken aback. His mouth drops open. "What about law school?"

Smiling at me, Emily says, "He took the LSAT and applied to six law schools. However, he didn't accept any of the offers he got."

"Why didn't you take any of the acceptances you received?" I ask. "You had, like, five of them, didn't you?"

I love when an adult is speechless, especially a professional one like this who my parents are paying top dollar for. I continue to listen to what Emily is sharing with me. It's sort of a sad story about the young Ken Kindberg.

"Holy crap, Dr. Kindberg. Your mom got cancer and so you didn't go to law school? That's the saddest thing ever." I put my hand to my heart, feeling the skittering beat.

"How ... how do you know that?"

"I don't. But Emily does," I explain. "She says that you nursed your mom through her chemo and radiation treatments for a year before the cancer took her. She ... she ... oh my God. She went a bit crazy, didn't she? Poor woman. Almost like Alzheimer's. She was paranoid about everything and talking to herself. Oh, stop, Emily. I'm so sorry your mom died, Dr. Kindberg." The emotional tension in the room rises like a tsunami. It's like the walls are going to cave in and suffocate me from the sorrow and grief coming from him.

I can tell that the man is blown away. Shock is etched all over his face, although he remains calm. "Very impressive, Kendall. Very few people know of my mother's suffering."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to—"

"No, no, nothing to apologize for. It was a difficult time for me, true; you obviously picked up on that. I've been torturing you a bit, so you felt you should do the same."

I jump to my feet. "God, no! I was just saying what Emily told me to say." I look past him to her. "Emily!"

"I wanted to show him that you're—that we're—for real."

"I needed to prove my abilities to you," I say softly.

He nods. "That you did." Dr. Kindberg stands and goes to the door. "Let's bring your mother back in here to discuss the next step, shall we?"

I stop him with my hand on his arm. This information I don't get from Emily; I sense it myself. "Your mother knows you went to medical school. And that you went into psychiatry to help people like her who couldn't help themselves." I choke back the tears gathering in my throat. "She's very proud of you."

Dr. Kindberg reaches over and rubs my hand. "Thank you for that, Kendall."

He turns and leaves to go get Mom.

Phew!
I'm completely worn out.

"Well? How'd she do?" Mom asks, like I've just finished a midterm.

"Mrs. Moorehead, I'm quite impressed with what I've seen from your daughter. Based on our conversations, I believe she does possess some psychic abilities. However, I'd like to schedule a full physical and a review with a neurologist. And I think it would be best for her to have a CT scan to rule out any pressure on the brain."

"Of course, Doctor," Mom says.

Here I thought I'd just proven myself. Great.

Let the poking and prodding begin.

On Monday, Becca Asiaf jumps me the moment I step foot into the cafeteria for lunch. "You've heard, right?"

"Heard what?"

Celia's next to me and Becca glares hard, then growls, "You didn't tell her?"

"Tell me what?"

"I haven't really, like, had a chance," Celia says defensively.

I look back and forth between the two girls, confused as all get-out. "What's going on here?"

Taylor bounds into the cafeteria, her ponytail swaying like Indiana Jones's whip. "Oh my God, y'all! Courtney's done it this time! I can't believe her."

"Time out on the floor," I say emphatically. "What. Is. Going. On?"

Taylor's eyes get wide as she stares at Celia and Becca. "Y'all didn't tell her yet?"

Grabbing a fistful of her own hair, Celia groans. "What am I, nine-one-one?"

"Four-one-one, you mean." Becca takes charge. "Sit down, Kendall. You gotta hear this."

Jesus in the garden. What now? What more do I have to take, after spending all day Saturday with the psychiatrist and then being in the car with my mother, who didn't believe what he'd told her? That Kendall "does possess some psychic abilities." She hadn't wanted to hear that. She won't be convinced until all reports are in, which entails another visit to Atlanta. Sunday was church, laundry, working on my history paper, and talking to Jason over IM. I haven't really steeled myself for any additional melodrama at Radisson High School, although that's terribly naive of me.

"Can I at least get some food first? I think my blood sugar is in the negative numbers." My stomach groans to back me up.

Becca slides her unopened Diet Coke across the table. "This'll have to do for now. We've got problems."

I can't take any more. "You guys! What's going on?"

Taylor reaches her tanned hand over and lightly scratches me with her carnation pink fingernails. "Kendall. You're not the only psychic in town anymore."

Chuckling, I say, "I know. There's Loreen too."

Becca flattens her lips, ruby red against her pale white skin and jet-black hair. "No, she's talking about that royal bitch Courtney Langdon."

"What? That's a joke"

When all three of my friends just stare at me, I flick open the soda and down three deep sips, hoping to quench the sudden fiery sensation burning my esophagus. I squelch the inevitable burp and nod at Becca to continue.

She leans her elbows onto the table as if to hide the conversation from others. "I saw her in the bathroom this morning—not throwing up her corn flakes, for once—and she was holding court with a bunch of freshman and sophomore girls. She was tellin' them that she'd read this book over the weekend on opening yourself up, and now she's coming into her own 'psychic awakening.' That anyone can do it; we all possess the ability. We just have to tune in to it and recognize it, like she's done."

"Dear God," I say with a long sigh, knowing exactly what book she's referring to. The book I asked her to read so she'd understand
me
more and not lash out with such hatred. So
I
created this monster, eh?

"Keep going," Taylor says to Becca.

"I'm going, I'm going! So anyway," she continues," Courtney was saying that she's suddenly getting messages from a spirit guide. A great-grandmother of hers or something or other. And—get this—the messages are coming to her through her Bluetooth."

"Her phone?" I don't freakin' believe this.

Celia snorts derisively. "It's true that cell phones work on a certain frequency and might be able to pick up voices not discernible by the human ear, but it's highly unlikely that a spirit could manipulate the device to place an actual phone call to—"

I lift my hand up. "Hold on, Cel. I need to hear more of this before we start analyzing."

Taylor's face becomes animated. "She was telling this freshman girl all sorts of
détails personnels
about her that this girl swore no one else knew."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," Taylor says. "Like who she has a crush on and stuff like that."

"That doesn't prove anything," Celia chimes in, obviously annoyed by the whole situation. "Anyone who pays attention in the hallways, cafeteria, and parking lot after school can decipher who's zooming who around here."

I spin around, looking for the manipulative little impostor. "Where is she?" My senses tell me to look out the window of the caf into the courtyard. It's where the smokers usually hang out, but right now I see that it's the bully pulpit for Courtney. She's sitting on top of one of the picnic tables, waving her arms and expounding to the crowd that's gathered—cheerleaders, jocks, and those brave enough to wander into her social circle—on her alleged new abilities.

Deep down, in that (genuine) intuitive part of me, I know the girl is full of shit. Full of her own shit, for that matter. But I have no way to prove that she's campaigning for a Daytime Emmy with this new act of hers.

I reach over and grab Becca by the wrist. "Come on. We're going out there."

Celia's in too. "She's making a mockery of your gift and of what we're doing with our investigations."

I can tell Celia's wicked pissed 'cause she's got this frown line between her eyes that's deepening by the minute. She better be careful or she'll have to start using age-defying moisturizers for that. Why am I even thinking such absurd thoughts at this moment? Maybe I'm in shock. Maybe I've astral-projected from my body and am watching this all from afar, unable to absorb the depth of Courtney's loathing of me. I run my hands up and down my body. Nope, I'm still here.

Celia raises an eyebrow at me. "Do I even want to know?"

I shake my head and lead the way outside.

We weave through the impressive crowd that's gathered around the concrete picnic tables. Courtney, wearing a short plaid skirt, white blouse, and a blue sweater tied around her neck, a la Blair from
Gossip Girl
meets naughty Catholic school girl, sits with her knee-socked legs crossed, her eyes closed, and one finger pressed against the silver Bluetooth in her left ear. Mina Moutzourogeorgos, a sophomore, sits in front of her, enthralled.

"I see that you ... made..." Courtney pauses for effect. "An eighty-nine on your Spanish exam."

"I did?" Mina exclaims. "I thought I'd totally failed it and was going to get thrown off SGA."

"Nothing to worry about," Courtney says through her bleached-white teeth. Then she points at this short black girl with awesome braids down to her waist. "You're worried about your English class, aren't you?"

The girl nods, her mouth open in awe.

"Don't worry, sugar," Courtney says, so syrupy sweet. "Mrs. Flynn has been moody lately. It's because she's—" She stops and listens for a moment. "My spirit guide is telling me that it's because she is refinancing her mortgage and things aren't going well."

The crowd gasps. Even Taylor lets out a little yelp.

"You have to understand she's very concerned about her personal finances right now, but she'll be fine soon, and then your troubles in class will be better," Courtney explains.

"Word," the girl says back.

Courtney's self-aggrandizing smile really is annoying. "Who's next?"

Taylor's pretty face turns beet red, like she's about to explode. Then she does. "Courtney Langdon! You're just a big old phony!
Vous devriez avoir honte!
"

Courtney turns to her. "What did you say?"

I try to stop Taylor, but it's too late.

"Shame ... shame on you! How can you do this? You're just starved for attention."

"Oh, and like
you're
not starved for attention, Taylor Tillson?"

"What do you mean?" Taylor asks.

Unfazed, Courtney moves her hand to her ear and pauses as information seems to be given to her. However, I'm not picking up on any kind of spirit energies here at all.
Nada
. Zilch. Zero. Not even a wisp of Emily. Wouldn't I be able to connect with Courtney's spirit guide or sense it if it's here? If it really
is
here? Probably so. Something stinks in rural America, though. I'm seeing a hazy mist around Courtney that confuses me. It's a deep, almost murky pink hue.

"What are you picking up?" Celia asks in a whisper.

"Her aura's mucked up."

"How so?"

I lower my voice. "Loreen's been teaching me this stuff. Anything in the red family relates to a person's physical body. The denser the color, the more friction there is. And this girl's got density out the wazoo."