Because all of a sudden, I understand something, too. Confusing and messy and impossible as my life has been, as envious and even threatened as I’ve felt by Mikaela’s confidence, her individuality, her artistic talent, her interesting friends … she’s felt threatened by me.
Mikaela is scared of me.
And it feels terrible.
From Shiri Langford’s journal, May 2nd
I only have a couple more weeks to bring my grades up before the end of the semester. I was able to talk Professor Macken into giving me an extra-credit assignment, but the rest of my classes are depending on finals. I have to keep my grades high enough to keep my tennis scholarship. I have to.
When I talked to Mom on Friday, she said something really weird, something that made me wonder about THAT and why it’s happening and whether she knows more than she’s letting on. I didn’t exactly tell her everything, but I told her that sometimes I feel like I know what other people are thinking, and it makes me sad, and she said this: Shiri, sweetie, there are a lot of grim things in this world, a lot of unpleasant people. But no matter what’s happening, you can’t control what other people think, even if it makes you sad; you can’t change them. You can only change your own mind and your own life.
It made me cry. And it made me wonder: does THAT happen to Mom, too? Or something like it? Is it genetic? If it is genetic, how, WHY does it happen?
I don’t think I’ll ever understand. I’m not sure I’ll even pass undergrad biology.
fourteen
Hot tears are running down my face before I’ve even pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road. I can’t face my parents right now. I don’t even want to face myself. I’ve been so stupid, so naive.
Instead of going back across town, I get on the freeway and drive.
The road winds between rocky dark hills covered with the lights of tract houses, and all four lanes are busy with holiday traffic, but I can hardly focus on any of it. I can’t stop thinking about the party, with all those eager, hungry faces staring at me; about Mikaela’s anger; about how I’m back where I started, alone and friendless.
After about twenty minutes I get to the cutoff for Pacific Coast Highway. I drive for another mile or two, then I pull my car onto a short dead-end street with bungalows on either side, get out and lock the doors, and climb past the guardrail that separates the road from the sand. A chilly, salty breeze cuts through my sweater, but it feels good.
Cold sand filters into my shoes as I walk. I drop down into a crouch, my breathing ragged, and hunch over, listening to the sound of the waves and trying to understand.
The half-moon is bright. I see the silhouette of a couple walking along the sand, close to the water. A dog runs after them, dashing in and out of the waves. I look down, waiting until they go past, and then stare back out at the ocean.
The reflection of the moon breaks along the water’s choppy surface. It’s what my heart feels like—scattered in a million confused pieces.
Mikaela shouldn’t have told Cody. That’s what makes me angriest. But Cody’s the one to blame for blabbing to a bunch of strangers. He must not know me very well if he thinks I would want people to know about this. And me—I should have been more honest from the beginning, or I shouldn’t have said anything at all.
My phone vibrates. It’s probably my mom, wondering where I am. I ease myself into a seated position and dig my fingers into the cold, damp sand, feeling the grit work its way under my fingernails, trying to delay the inevitable.
I should never have told Mikaela. There’s only one person in the world who might, just might have understood what’s happening to me. One person I’ll never be able to talk to again. My jaw muscles tighten; my fingers dig more painfully into the sand. I’m convinced that Shiri went through what I’m going through now. And she might have been able to help me or comfort me, but instead she left me alone on this earth, alone with nothing but this—this curse of a “power.”
Stupid. I’m angry at someone who’s dead. There’s something mean about it, too; something petty and small. Guilt takes over, and I wrap my arms around my knees, feeling completely miserable.
We’ll always have yesterday … and today, and tomorrow, her note said. Whatever that means. The truth is, I was left with an awful lot more than that. This … aloneness, this horrible knowledge, is something I never would have asked for.
Something occurs to me then. What if she somehow did “leave” me this ability? The first time it happened was the day she died. What if her death triggered it somehow?
I can’t imagine how that could even be possible, scientifically speaking. But somehow, something did happen. Even Shiri thought it could be genetic; she said in her journal that her mom was always unusually sensitive to the emotions around her. If Auntie Mina could underhear, there’s no way she’d ever have married Uncle Randall, but if her sensitivity is related somehow … it’s a theory, anyway. Nothing else even comes close to making sense.
After a while, I finally relax a little. Periodic snatches of laughter reach me on the breeze, wafting by from someone’s patio and interrupting the quiet rustling of the waves. The moon is bright, and the cold of the sand seeps through my thin skirt, making my butt numb. An occasional car roars by on the highway.
My phone vibrates again. I pull it out of my purse to check. Another call from my mom, even though it’s only nine thirty. I start to get a horrible feeling that she might have heard something from Antonia about the party, so I reluctantly haul myself up and walk back to the car.
I drive home with the radio off, and soon my angry circling thoughts return. I can’t believe Mikaela thinks I’d be self-absorbed enough to assume I’m the only one with problems. I know she’s got family issues and doesn’t get along with her dad. And I know she trusted me, confided in me. But I don’t know why she’s so threatened by the idea that I might like Cody when they’ve been friends for so much longer; why she’s so angry at me for not saying anything about it. I did confide in her—I told her the biggest secret I’ve ever had in my entire life. Whether I like Cody or not is nothing compared to that. I told her about my underhearing—and look what happened.
I try to relax my clenched muscles, and I take purposeful, deep breaths in and out as I signal for the freeway exit and merge onto Citrus Valley Boulevard. I can’t stay furious like this. My mom says that anger builds up inside you if you let it and it can cause all kinds of health problems. My stomach hurts, so I think she’s probably right.
Breathe in. Breathe out. I turn the corner onto my street. In. Out. In. Out. Almost home. I pull into the driveway.
Then my mother’s voice shatters the silence in my head.
—you can’t go there you can’t don’t please Al please listen! please come back—
Overwhelmed with an urgency I’m not sure is even mine, I slam on the brakes, kill the engine, and run for the front door.
By the time I’ve rushed inside, my parents are already halfway down the hall leading to the garage. My mom has hold of my dad’s arm, tugging at it, and they’re talking over each other in frantic, urgent voices—my mother hushed as if someone might overhear, my dad uncharacteristically loud.
“Just let me do this,” my dad says, almost in a shout, trying to pull away. “Mina needs me right now.”
“You can’t go over there!” Mom’s voice is desperate. My dad’s face is red with anger. Obviously Mom told him about what happened to Auntie Mina, her arguments with Uncle Randall. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe something else happened, something awful. I shiver, and goose bumps raise the little hairs along my arms.