Gifted Touch (9 page)

Anthony,
she thought, her stomach doing a slow-mo flip-flop. That was pretty unusual, seeing a guy coming out of the girls’ bathroom.

“I mean
anything,
” Rocha said, a few droplets of spittle flying out of his mouth.

The cut on the back of Rae’s head began to throb in time to the beat of her heart. “I don’t get it. What’s the point of a pipe bomb in the girls’ bathroom? Was someone trying to blow up the entire place or what?” Because that sort of made sense. It’s not like people ended up coming to Oakvale because they were 92

stable
. Maybe one of the squirrels decided that their mission was to send the place to heaven.

Rocha shook his head. “Not unless whoever is responsible severely miscalculated,” he answered.

“The bomb wasn’t big enough to damage more than the bathroom. Now, try to remember everything. Even the smallest detail can help me find the person who did this.”

Wonder what he’d think if I told him that I had one
of my not-me thoughts in the bathroom? One that said,

“Definitely kill Rae.”
She could just hear herself.
The
bomb was set because someone wanted to murder me,
Mr. Rocha. Something in my head told me so.
Yeah, that would get her back in the hospital nice and fast.

And probably for a lot longer than a summer vacation.

But I’d definitely have been dead if I went into that
stall,
Rae thought suddenly. A tremor snaked its way through her body. She reached out and grabbed her big cup of water off Rocha’s desk.

/SHE’S OKAY/SO PALE/WHAT ELSE COULD I GET FOR

HER/

There was something familiar about those thoughts. Like when you heard an announcer on TV

and then later realized it was some washed-up celeb.

Kathleen Turner shilling for Burger King or whatever.

“Anything at all, Rachel,” Mr. Rocha pressed.

93

“All I did was walk in and go over to the closest sink,” Rae told him. The not-her thoughts kept repeating in her mind, growing slightly fuzzier, not staticky, just softer and not quite as clear.

/SHE’S OKAY/SO PALE/WHAT ELSE COULD I GET FOR

HER/

Anthony,
she thought suddenly.
They remind me of
Anthony.
Which made no sense. Except that when he was carrying her to the nurse’s office, he’d looked so scared. Scared for her. The thoughts sort of fit with how he’d been acting.

“I checked my makeup in the mirror. Then—bam!

I didn’t even realize it was a bomb. I didn’t have time to realize anything.” Rae knew she should mention Anthony. Seeing him was a lot more than the smallest detail. But in those thoughts . . . It was like Anthony was really worried about her. Like he . . . like he . . .

cared
about her, wanted to help her somehow.

Uh, hello? Psycho girl? Remember Dr. Warriner?

Those thoughts in your head didn’t come from
Anthony. And the ones that sounded like Dad, they
didn’t come from Dad. And the one about definitely
killing Rae, that didn’t come from anyone else, either.

Believing they did is going to a whole new number on
the nutso scale.
But still, it was getting harder and harder
not
to feel like the thoughts were real.

“What about people?” Mr. Rocha asked, his flat 94

hazel eyes intent on Rae’s face. “Anyone near the bathroom when you went in?”

There were more not-me thoughts in the bathroom,
she remembered.
What were they?
There was one about Anthony. Something like,
They’ll think
Anthony did it.
Did that mean Anthony was being framed? Because if he was, then she absolutely shouldn’t say—

What did you just decide about your freaky thoughts?

Rae asked herself.
You decided it would be insane to actually think they mean anything. Now, have you decided to
go there? Just take a running dive into the loony bin?

“Rachel, are you having trouble concentrating?” Mr. Rocha asked. “I’m starting to think that blow to your head was more serious—”

“I was just wondering about my dad,” Rae said quickly. “Is someone checking the parking lot for him?

I’m sure he went to get coffee or something. Usually he just sits in the car and reads until I’m through.”

“Sheila—the nurse—is watching for him. She’ll bring him in as soon as he gets here,” Mr. Rocha answered. “Now, what about who you saw? Was there anyone?”

Rae shifted her plastic cup from one hand to the other.

/SHE’S OKAY/WHAT ELSE COULD I GET FOR HER/GONNA FIND OUT WHO DID THIS/

95

God, those thoughts really
did
feel like Anthony, even though they kept getting a little softer, a little
blurrier.

“Rachel, if you saw someone, you have to tell me.

We’re talking about a serious crime here,” Mr. Rocha said, impatience flaring in his voice.

“Rae. My name’s Rae,” she told him sharply.

“Fine. Rae. Now, Rae, did you see anyone around the bathroom?” Mr. Rocha asked again. “I’m sure the police will ask you the same question. But it would help me to hear the answer now.”

This wasn’t going away. She was going to be asked about what happened again and again. So should she lie or what?

Rae put the cup back down on the desk. She just couldn’t picture Anthony setting a bomb.

Reality check,
she thought.
The guy’s not going to
group therapy three times a week for nothing. You have
no idea how he ended up here or what he would or
wouldn’t do. Yeah, he was somewhat nice to you, in his
own perverse way, but you don’t owe him anything.

She picked up the cup again and—

/SO PALE/WHAT ELSE COULD I GET FOR HER/GONNA FIND OUT WHO DID THIS/

—took a sip, stalling. “I’m just trying to think.

Everything is a little jumbled,” Rae said. She wished hearing those psycho Anthony-flavored thoughts didn’t make her feel all warm inside.

96

“Take your time,” Mr. Rocha said, although she noticed the vein next to his eye had started to pulse.

Rae squeezed her eyes shut for a moment.
You
don’t really have a choice here,
she thought. She opened her eyes again and met Mr. Rocha’s gaze.

“When I was going into the bathroom, Anthony was coming out.”

“Anthony Fascinelli was in the girls’ bathroom?” Mr. Rocha asked eagerly.

Rae nodded. And a spike of pain jammed itself into her head.

Anthony’s head jerked to the door as it swung open. Rae walked through. Not quite so pale, he noted. Before, even her lips had been bloodless. Now they were back to their usual deep pink, and there was a little color in her cheeks, too. Anthony felt the muscles in the back of his neck relax a little.

Then he realized that Rocha was right behind Rae and that Rocha’s little hazel eyes were locked on him.

All Anthony’s neck muscles tightened up again. So did the muscles in his shoulders. And the ones all the way down the length of his back.
Rae gave me up,
he thought with a sinking feeling.

“Anthony Fascinelli, please come with me,” Rocha ordered, sounding so freakin’ pleased with himself. Anthony shot a glance at Rae. She didn’t 97

even have the guts to look him in the eye.
Thanks for
nothing,
he thought as he grabbed his backpack and headed for the door. He couldn’t believe less than an hour ago he’d been having an actual conversation with that girl. Telling her about the friggin’
Bluebirds
and everything.

“Now,” Rocha added. Anthony stumbled to his feet and followed Rocha down the hall in silence, his mind racing around like a greyhound on a track.

What am I going to tell him?
Anthony thought.
I
can’t go with the story about the guys’ bathroom being
flooded. Way too easy to check out. And it’s not like I
can tell him the truth.

Yeah, Anthony could just see himself sitting in that hard chair across from Rocha and explaining what happened.

See, my pot dealer, my former pot dealer, is an
idiot. Even though just yesterday I told him I didn’t
want to buy any more dope from him, I get this message that he decided to do me a favor and leave some
for me taped under the toilet in the last stall of the
girls’ bathroom. I did mention he’s an idiot, right?

Anyway, I had to go get it because I was afraid the
genius wrote my name on it or something. I’d show
you the pot, you know, to back my story up. But I
flushed it. You believe that, don’t you, Mr. Rocha? It’s
written all over your files that Anthony Fascinelli is a
98

total pothead. But you believe I’ve changed, right?

No, that definitely wouldn’t cut it,
Anthony thought. They reached Rocha’s office, and Rocha held open the door for him with exaggerated politeness.

Anthony knew the drill. He sat down in the wooden chair while Rocha circled around and plopped his butt down on the padded chair behind the desk.

“Rachel Voight told me she saw you coming out of the girls’ bathroom. Want to tell me what you were doing in there?” Rocha demanded.

It’s not like he wasn’t completely expecting the question. But it still made his whole body stiffen.

“The guys’ was really crowded, and I had to go,” Anthony blurted out. “I drank one of those massive Big Gulps on my way over here. No one was in the girls’, so, you know.” He shrugged, feeling like a moron.

Rocha made a note on the yellow pad in front of him. Anthony tried not to wince. It wasn’t going to be all that hard to check on the crowded-bathroom story, either, he realized. All Rocha would have to do was ask every guy in the place if they’d gone to take a leak around that time.

“I’m sure you’ve heard a pipe bomb was set off in the girls’ bathroom,” Rocha said. “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary when you were in there?” Anthony could see Rocha’s tongue running around between his top front teeth and his upper lip, like he 99

was trying to get rid of a piece of food or something.

Anthony forced his gaze off Rocha’s gross dental hygiene action and went for some eye-to-eye contact, which was supposed to make you look truthful. “I didn’t notice anything. Sorry. I wish I had. I would love to help you find whoever did it.”
Shut up. Just shut up,
Anthony ordered himself.

That was way, way too much. Even though he
would
love to find whoever did it and beat them into a bag of squishy pulp. Not for Rae, like he owed her any favors, but for himself.

“Did you see anyone around?” Rocha asked. He made another pass across his teeth with his tongue.

“Any other guys decide to use the girls’ bathroom because, as you said, the boys’ was so full?”

“No,” Anthony answered, figuring one-word answers were probably safest.

“Would you mind if I took a look in your backpack?” Rocha asked. “Just so I have something more solid to tell the police. Then we can all go on to looking for the people who really did this.”
Sadistic bastard,
Anthony thought.
He’s so sure I
did it, and he just can’t resist really rubbing it in.

Anthony tossed his backpack on the desk. “Go for it,” he said. He kept his eyes on Rocha’s face, wanting to see the disappointment when he didn’t find a

n

y

t

h

i

n

g

.

100

But Rocha smiled when he unzipped the backpack. “Pliers. A dowel. Tissue paper. Superglue.

And gunpowder,” he said. “All ingredients for a pipe bomb.”

Anthony’s body went cold. Like all he’d been eating for days was ice cubes.
Somebody set me up,
he thought.

Rae twirled the blue cup in her fingers—

/SO PALE/WHAT ELSE COULD I GET FOR HER /GONNA FIND OUT WHO DID THIS/SHE’S OKAY/

—trying to pay attention to the hack-head girl, who was talking about her feelings. Her feelings about
what,
Rae wasn’t exactly sure. Her mind kept wandering to Anthony. And as she twirled the cup—

/SO PALE/WHAT ELSE COULD I GET FOR HER/GONNA FIND OUT WHO DID THIS/SHE’S OKAY/

—with the Anthony-flavored thoughts repeating in her head, getting fuzzier and fuzzier, she kept wish-ing she’d just kept her mouth shut.

But if she had, who knew what would have happened? Maybe Anthony did set the bomb. Maybe he would have set another one. She set the cup down at her feet.
Maybe, maybe, maybe,
she thought. But maybe he’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe someone did set him up. Although why the freak thought in her head would be true, she had no idea.

101

The door to the meeting room opened, and Mr.

Rocha walked in.
Oh God, don’t let him want to talk
to me again,
Rae thought.

“I just wanted to reassure you that we have already discovered who was responsible for the pipe bomb,” Mr. Rocha announced from the doorway. He adjusted his tie, looking sickeningly pleased with himself. “I’m sad to say it was Anthony Fascinelli. He will no longer be a member of your group.”

“No way,” Jesse burst out. “No way would Anthony do that!”

“Jesse, I know it’s hard to—” Ms. Abramson began.

Jesse shoved himself to his feet and took a step toward Mr. Rocha. “What’s going to happen to him?” Rae felt like her heart stopped beating while she waited for the answer.

“The authorities are coming to pick him up,” Mr.

Rocha answered. “I assume that after the police talk to him, he’ll be held in a juvenile detention center until he gets a trial date.”