Afterthought: A Sententia Short Story (The Sententia) (3 page)

“I…” didn’t know what to say. I rubbed my toes back and forth in the sand, taking comfort from the feel of it.
Did
I mind and
was
I happy? I wasn’t sure. Frankly, I was in shock.

My heart practically leapt with delight, but my brain—that reserved and practical part of me I tried to rely on as much as possible—wasn’t so sure this was a good idea, for a number of reasons.

But more than just about anything, I hated seeing Carter disappointed, so it was my heart that made me lean over and throw my arms around him before my mouth said, “I love it. I love
you
. I’m just…surprised is all. You never said anything.”

He relaxed and hugged me back, tracing lightly down my spine with his fingers. Though I couldn’t see it, I could tell his forehead had smoothed out and his lips had curved upward into a smile. “That’s great,” he breathed. “I didn’t say anything because…I guess I didn’t know how you’d react. I was a little nervous there for a minute.”

That was really saying something, because Carter was almost never nervous. Except, I thought, when it came to me. Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised by any of it. Before me, Carter had been…something of a playboy, I’d call it. He’d had a lot of girlfriends and hadn’t always made the best choices when it came to them. But he’d changed, partly because of me. Even though I was usually his opposite in terms of self-doubt, not since the very beginning of our relationship had I questioned how much Carter loved me or how important I was to him. He made it clear to me on pretty much a daily basis, in both words and actions. Here was another one.

I decided not to decide right that moment on how I felt about our basically going to college together, but to appreciate that where Carter wanted to be was wherever I was.
I
wasn’t sure where that would be, or
if
—but today I wasn’t worrying. Whatever might happen, right then I was happy and in love.

I slipped my sunglasses back into place and my hand into Carter’s. Together, we laid back in the sunshine.

“GOT IT!”
my teammate yelled, throwing himself into a dig that another teammate put away cleanly. We clapped or cheered and then switched sides. Carter winked at me as we passed under the net.

Carter had taken my agreement to play the next volleyball game as not just a promise but a challenge. After another swim to cool off, I got only a little longer to relax before I was called back to the court. From the comfort of my blanket, I’d watched him gathering up players. Earlier we’d joined a friendly game already in progress. This time, it was a
match
.

If Sententia abilities were a sixth sense, Carter’s
seventh
sense was his ability to pick out the people he somehow just
knew
were looking for a more serious game. Some of them he’d met earlier while I soaked up some sun, some he turned up now by instinct. It amused me to see him walking the beach, to see how often heads turned to follow him as he went by, picking up new admirers along with teammates.

Carter was a lot more than just the way he looked, but, well, he looked damn good. He never actively sought the attention, but he didn’t shy away from it either. It was strangely endearing about him. I wasn’t sure what this said about me, but there was also something satisfying watching him be admired, knowing it was me he loved.

Though as another volleyball came flying past my head, I was quickly losing any satisfaction with him at all.

Carter had assembled two good teams, and in five quick points, I hadn’t even touched the ball yet. After we lost the next point, however, I knew that was going to change. Throughout the summer, I’d learned there were a couple common players in most every semi-competitive pick-up game. So far in this one, we had two of them. First, the
I-Got-It
guy, who’d take all
three
touches if it were legal. That guy was on my team and was one of the reasons I hadn’t even needed to play yet. He meant well and was, thankfully for us, a decent player.

The other one I thought of as the Neanderthal, the guy who assumed the girls couldn’t play and would exploit them if it turned out to be true.
That
guy
was on Carter’s team and about to serve. Since I was the only girl on my side, I tried to be ready.

Truthfully, I hadn’t minded letting my teammates play it out so far because my head wasn’t totally in the game. Carter’s announcement about college still had me distracted. How could I let him make plans that included me if I wasn’t sure…? But I couldn’t solve that problem this minute, so I pushed those thoughts aside and waited for the serve that was coming straight for me.

I botched it completely.

Not because I wasn’t paying attention, but because the ball, literally, surprised me. It hit my wrists and went spinning out of bounds, not even passing over the net.

I cried out, and my team rushed over as if I’d been hurt. But that wasn’t it at all. As soon as the ball touched me, I’d had a vision.

One of my teammates was going to die.

Today.

“Are you okay?” I-Got-It guy asked, and for a moment, all I could do was stare at him. At some point during this game, he was going to die. I hadn’t touched the ball long enough for the vision to give me much more than that, but I knew it was him and I knew it was coming soon enough. Maybe even the next point.

“Lainey?” Carter called. He was standing at the net, unsure what was going on.

“S—Sorry,” I stammered. I shook my wrists as if they stung and worked up a smile I hoped looked embarrassed instead of completely freaked out. “Good serve,” I called to Neanderthal and he smiled in triumph. I-Got-It, our unofficial team captain and whose name I was pretty sure was David, frowned. “I’ll be ready for the next one,” I told him. “Promise.” Carter caught my eye as I stepped back into position for the next point and I held his gaze for a moment. I needed to talk to him, but I didn’t know what to tell him yet.

The next serve came sailing straight at me even harder than the one before but I was ready. This time
I
surprised Neanderthal, handling it with ease and making a perfect pass. I had no idea if it would help, but I’d purposely kept my shot away from David. If he didn’t play the ball, it couldn’t hurt him, right? We needed the point, and with a great block that really did sting this time, I made sure we got it.

Because I served next and I needed to hold the ball.

I stood behind the line, ready, waiting as it was tossed to me. My Diviner senses were primed and I closed my eyes as soon as the ball touched my fingers. I held it at the ready, as if I was psyching myself up, or trying to psych the other team out.

What I was really doing was watching David have a seizure and die. It was such a freak thing, I could barely make sense of it. His dive for a dig wouldn’t quite work out, the ball hitting him in the side of the head as he landed on the ground. Hardly an uncommon occurrence. However, in this case, after a few seconds, he’d go into convulsions and would be dead by the time an ambulance arrived.

In even just my one year of competitive volleyball, I’d seen many injuries. Lots of sprains, hyper-extended knees, broken fingers, a concussion, even a fractured elbow. I’d had bruises I thought would never heal and twisted ankles. I was a blocker, so I’d even taken a shot or two to the face myself. It could hurt like hell, but it certainly wasn’t fatal. In fact, I wasn’t sure there’d been a fatal volleyball injury
ever
. What happened—was
going to happen—
to David seemed so disproportionate to the hit from the ball.

“C’mon, Princess,” Neanderthal shouted from the other side of the net and my eyes flew open.

Carter half turned around to glare at the guy. “Hey, di—” he started to say, but I cut him off before the situation could escalate.

“Sorry!” I shouted, which seemed to be my word of the game. I’d been standing there for too long. Based on what I’d seen, I could tell the accident wasn’t going to be now—everyone was in all the wrong places and the light didn’t seem quite right. So before they knew it was coming, I tossed the ball high, took three steps, and surprised the shit out of everyone but Carter with my first jump serve of the day. It was a good one, flying over the net, straight into the sand.

My teammates cheered and Carter’s grumbled. Probably he would have warned them if it weren’t for Neanderthal being such a jerk. Carter liked to win, but he liked me more. Plus, he didn’t know I’d been practicing in the gym at school on my mornings off. He whistled before breaking into a smile and mouthing, “Wow,” at me. So maybe I surprised him too.

I made sure to touch hands with everyone on my team, saving David for last. He rewarded me with exactly what I hoped would happen—he smacked my hand and then grabbed it, saying with a smile, “Can you do that again?”

“Every time,” I promised. I gave his hand an extra squeeze and let go.

In those few extra seconds, I also divined that he had a brain tumor. It explained everything.

When I got the ball back, I held it for a few moments, just like the last time. I needed to see the vision again, to figure out exactly what happened. Then I had to figure out how to talk to Carter.

A few points later, I got my opportunity. I took a hard shot trying to make a block and I let myself drop to the sand. A clutch at my ankle and a little acting brought a timeout and Carter under the net to check on me. He helped me up while I limped off to the side of the court. I waved the other players away.

“I think I’m okay,” I told them, which was entirely true. “Just give me a minute?” I kept up the show, letting Carter help me sit down on the sand while I kept weight off my ankle.

“We’ll both sit out, so you can keep playing,” Carter said and the teams set up the next point. We were both good players, but there was no reason to hold the game for us, especially since I was “hurt.” Carter turned his attention back to me. “Are you okay?” He held my foot gingerly.

I rolled my ankle around until the next point got going behind us, then leaned down and whispered, “I’m not hurt. I had a vision.”

His whole body stilled, eyes going wide. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, now help me up and I’m going to ‘walk this off’ so I can explain.”

I limped down the sand a ways, telling Carter what I’d seen and everything I knew. Carter’s red shorts had been clear in the background of my vision, so I was sure it wasn’t going to happen until we were back on the court.

“Is he…going to die soon anyway?” Carter asked and it was a valid question, with the tumor and all. But I didn’t think he would.

I shook my head. “Not right away, no. It wasn’t like that. The tumor felt benign, I guess, or mostly. It wasn’t until I touched the ball that I had the vision. Without that, his death isn’t imminent. Something about the way the ball hits his face plus the tumor cause the seizure. Neither would do it on their own right now. I think.”

I wouldn’t have minded more divining time to make it clearer, but I knew non-imminently-fatal brain tumors existed. I couldn’t remember what it was called, but last year the older brother of one of my classmates had one removed. He wasn’t Sententia, but they’d discovered it because he was having migraine problems, just like mine, the ones that had brought me to Northbrook. They operated and now he was supposed to be fine. I, on the other hand, was incurable.

David was hopefully the former. If we could save him.

“So…” Carter said, thinking aloud. He held my arm with one hand and dragged the other through his already wind-tousled hair. “If the ball
doesn’t
hit him in the face like that, he shouldn’t die.”

“Not right now, no, I’m pretty sure.”

Behind us echoed a shout of “I got it!” and we turned around to head back toward the game.

Carter was quiet for a few steps then, finally: “I could try to stop it. If I knew when.” With his Thought Mover gift, the ability to move objects so long as they weren’t alive, he could easily change the trajectory of the ball. If only he had enough warning and could do it in time.

“I’ll know it when I see it. We’ll probably only have seconds.”

He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “We have to try.”

I agreed. Headmaster Stewart had warned me about this, about the burden of our gifts and the danger of trying to play God, but I had to try. I couldn’t
not
try, not when with Carter’s help I felt like we were
meant
to do this. Maybe it was the whole reason we’d come to the beach today, to have the chance to save someone. Last year, I’d done nothing to save Ashley Thayer, and I still felt sick whenever I thought of her. I wasn’t sure what I could have done, or if it would have helped her at all, but I wished I’d done
something
. At least if I tried to save David, I could live a little easier with what might still happen to him.

Done with my fake limping, I was ready to get back into the game and try to save a life.

We played for longer
than I thought we would, the sun dropping lower with each point while my anxiety grew. I couldn’t stand still and began fidgeting on my feet. Between my toes the sand felt rougher and hotter than it had all day. I did everything I could for an opportunity to hold the ball and one time I purposely fell down in front of David so he’d help me up. But the extra divining wasn’t helping as much as I wanted.

Even though I could control my Grim senses enough to read deeper than the initial vision, to go backwards from the moment of death, what I saw wasn’t a time-lapse replay. It was all connected, these images that somehow lead up to someone’s death, but more like a slide show than hitting rewind. With David, I saw him with Carter, eagerly agreeing to play this game. Then I saw him: rubbing his eyes while looking at a computer; taking some kind of pain-killer and drinking from a bottle of water; arguing with his girlfriend, getting drunk, and passing out after what seemed like not a lot of alcohol. These were the clues that he had a tumor. If only
he
could put them together. If we saved his life from this accident, I had no idea how to tell him he had more to worry about.