Through Indigo's Eyes (10 page)

“What? Did you have so much fun at the party that now you want in and to hell with me? Is that it?” She threw her words at me. “Or do you want Burke now because he was nice enough to drive you home?”

“No!”

“Are you sure?”

“I don't want Burke. He's your boyfriend. Why would I want him?”

“That's true, Indie. He is my boyfriend.”

“He's going to hurt you.”

She fell silent. It felt like an eternity.

“I'm so sorry.” I could feel my throat closing in, making it hard to breathe. “Maybe my vision was wrong.”

“It
was
wrong. Totally wrong. You know, I had something really important to tell you tonight, and you're the first person I wanted to tell, and now you've gone and wrecked my moment.”

“You can still tell me,” I said quietly.

“I don't want to, because you won't be happy for me. Well, maybe I will anyway, just to prove how wrong you really are. For your info, Burke and I had sex tonight. It wasn't just a hookup, Indie; we made love. There's a difference.”

Before I could reply, the line went dead.

I clutched the phone in my hand for a few minutes before I put it back in its cradle.

I wanted to scream; instead I did nothing but stare at the wall. Finally, I moaned and rolled over, and that's when I saw the book John had loaned me sticking out of my backpack. I got up and pulled it out. Slowly, I cracked it open and started to read. Cayce went into trances or some sort of sleep state to see his visions. I flipped the page, not wanting to read line by line. He was an average guy with a wife and kids, and he taught Sunday school. Yeah, right. What church would allow a guy who had visions to teach little kids? Give me a break. The church hated this kind of stuff. Another page. He hated taking money for what he did, and there were some who tried to extort him, make him into a sideshow, so he decided to help only those who were sick. Okay, that I could understand. Well, sort of.

I turned another page. He often didn't remember his readings because, he claimed, the unconscious mind had some sort of access to the information that the conscious mind didn't.

What!? That was so not true. I remembered things.

My blood gushed through me at the audacity of such a statement. Angrily, I threw the book against the wall and watched a couple of the pages fall from the spine. Obviously, it was a piece of crap.

Why couldn't I just forget, too?

My life would be far better. Lacey would still be my friend.

 

Chapter Six

I woke up in the morning feeling like crap. I hadn't slept all night because of what had happened with Lacey. In fact, I'd cried myself to sleep. I didn't want to go through my last year of high school without her. We had everything planned out for grad formal: limos, dresses, corsages, dates. I was supposed to go with John, and she was supposed to go with Burke. I would wear a short dress that was simple and sleek, but with cool accessories, like a feather boa. Lacey always wanted to wear a long dress, something frilly or lacy, like a debutante ball gown or like the dresses actors wore to the Oscars. Although we had different tastes in the dress department, we had both decided that we would go to the hairdresser and get updos.

Now I had wrecked everything. What was wrong with me?

Your stupid visions, that's what
.

“Leave me alone,” I said out loud. “Stop telling me what I did wrong and just tell me how to fix this.”

Not a chance. Fix this yourself
.

How was I going to face Lacey today? Especially when her locker was beside mine.

For the second day in a row, I got to school early. Only this time, I didn't go straight to the library—I went to my locker. I had to get my books before Lacey showed up.

My locker door was still open when I heard the familiar smacking of flip-flops on the tiled floor. My heart quickened. My pulse raced.

I looked up. “John,” I said.

Casually, he leaned against the locker beside mine and gave me a lopsided smile. But through his smile, I saw something else. Red rimmed his eyes, like he hadn't slept all night. Was he stoned?

I inhaled. I didn't smell anything except fresh soap and cigarettes.

No, he was just exhausted. But I sensed sadness, too. It seemed to seep from the little red lines in his eyes.

“You didn't wear a hockey jersey,” he said.

“Is it jersey day again?” I had totally forgotten. Hockey nets would be set up outside at lunch, and guys and some girls, the athletic ones like Lacey, would go out and play ball hockey with the teachers and students. The hockey boys like Burke would be treated like gods.

“Lame, eh?”

“So lame,” I replied. “I hate all those dumb ‘rah, rah, school spirit' days.”

“Totally.”

“Hey, did you read the book I gave you yesterday?” he asked.

“Just a little,” I confessed.

My face flushed as I remembered throwing the book against the wall. I had to buy him a new one. I turned toward my locker, both to hide my red face and to get my books out so I would be gone before Lacey came.

“So?” he asked.

“So?” I replied.

“The book?”

“Right.” I tried to act normal, searching for the stuff I needed for first period. “I didn't have time to read much, but … it just doesn't seem realistic.” I hurriedly pulled out a book and, in the process, sent the entire top shelf of my locker toppling to the floor.

John bent over to retrieve everything that had spilled out. He handed me some books. “I betcha he really could see dead people.”

My spine stiffened, and without looking him in the eye, I took the books and stacked them in my locker. Did John know something about me?

“No one can see dead people.” I tried to laugh. “They're all just quacks. When people are dead, they are dead.” I finally turned toward him, and although I wanted to flash a flippant smile, I didn't. The look on his face was so serious.

“I have to believe that there are people who can talk to the dead,” he said quietly, shaking his head.

Why did he have to talk about this stuff? Most guys his age had zero interest in this stuff. Had he recently lost someone important to him? Shivers ran the length of my legs, up into my back, and all the way to my head, where I suddenly saw … nothing.

Blank.

Nothing but white.

No! I cannot, will not, have a vision in the school hallway.
I clenched my fists and tensed every muscle in my body.

Stay in the present. Stay in the present.
My mind chattered.

Then I caught a whiff of some sort of weird smoke. Was someone smoking in the school hallway? Had John just lit up a cigarette? The aroma was sweet, tantalizing. No, it wasn't cigarette smoke.

It was more like one of those cigarillos.

I glanced at John's hands but saw nothing. Next, I frantically scanned the hall.

It was then that I saw the white outline of a man standing behind John. I wanted to yell, tell him to leave me alone. Tell him to go back to where he came from.

But no words came out of my mouth.

Although his outline was fuzzy, I could see that the man was tall and extremely muscular. When spirits showed themselves to me, they were neither solid nor liquid. They always freaked me out because they were almost like Jell-O. A big fat cigar dangled from his mouth. The eyes were always unclear, so I couldn't see what color they were. When he reached up to take his cigar out of his mouth, he smiled at me. And it wasn't a nice smile. It was a leer. But he didn't speak, which was weird. Usually they talked. I gasped, dropping my books again on the floor, the thud echoing off the concrete walls.

“What's the matter?” John craned his neck to look behind him.

I bent down to pick up my books.

Keep cool. Keep cool. Just pretend that nothing happened.

John squatted to help me. Again. I was such a loser.

“Are you okay?” he asked. He was so close that I could feel his hot breath on my face. For some reason, it comforted me. My heart rate dropped, and my shaking started to subside. The smell of cigar smoke dissipated, and I breathed in and out, trying to bring everything back to normal. The man was gone.

“I'm fine,” I replied.

John put his hand on my elbow and helped me stand. Then when he handed me my books, our hands touched, and this time, when the shivers coursed through my body, they were electric, full of surreal zapping energy. “Thanks,” I said.

“You look as if you just saw a ghost.” He smiled at me.

I held my breath. Did he know? I tried to smile back. And, really, his words had been said without any implication that he had figured out what had happened.

“Nah,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “I'm just a real klutz sometimes. Hey, is the cafeteria open this early?” I asked. “I'm not usually here until a minute before the bell goes. I need some coffee.”

“Coffee,” said John. “My breakfast staple. I'll buy you a cup.”

I slammed my locker shut with my foot and snuck a glance down the hall. No man. Just an empty hallway. Maybe I could get through the day.

We didn't talk much as we walked down the hall, and that was a good thing because my mind was racing, thoughts pinging back and forth. Why had that guy just shown up? Who was he? My body felt drained. I was sure if I went home, I would sleep for hours. The secrets piling up inside of me were taking their toll.

And I had to keep them buried deep, deep, deep down.

I had to put them in the ground and shovel dirt over them to keep them silent. I decided the next time I had a vision, I would will it away, or if a dead person showed up in front of me, I would get rid of them with my mind. I could not let any of this destroy my life.

I glanced at John. His hair seemed to sway when he walked, almost as if he moved in slow motion. And I loved his profile—long masculine nose, full lips, and square jaw. His chin looked smooth today. He had shaved this morning. If I touched it, would it feel smooth?

Then just like that, my happy thoughts about John were crowded out by thoughts about the man in the hall. He hadn't looked like a particularly nice guy. Was he an old janitor? An ex-teacher who had done something wrong? Maybe he had sold drugs or molested students. If I dug in old school records, I bet I could find out. Wait! I needed to keep him buried. No digging. Whoever he was, I didn't like him and wanted nothing to do with him.

We entered the cafeteria, and John got me a coffee from the vending machine. It tasted terrible, but I couldn't help drinking it and smiling. The cafeteria was still quiet, and we sat next to each other on one of the tables. I struggled to keep the conversation light.

“So, what's your favorite band?” I asked, swinging my legs back and forth.

He tilted his head and squinted, thinking. “I like lots of music. Maybe Pearl Jam is my favorite band. Or Eric Clapton. The Kinks.” He grinned. “I like songs with lyrics. How about you?” John asked.

I played with my paper coffee cup. The few sips I'd taken were scraping the sides of my intestines. “I love the Kinks. I'm totally into ‘60s rock ‘n' roll. The Beatles. The Doors … and more modern stuff, too. I like the Police, too, and Pearl Jam. ‘Just Breathe' is a great song.”

“It's about death. Going to the other side.”

Silence.

John leaned into me with his shoulder, and I didn't move away. I let our bodies connect. At first the tingles ran down my one arm, the one he was touching, but then they coursed into my stomach and through all the rest of my limbs. Then the tingles turned to a throbbing sensation that I felt all over my body. I could have sworn I was feeling my blood pulsating, through my skin and my clothes. My heart raced, ticking wildly. My face flushed. I realized that I had absolutely no control over my reactions.

I tried to catch my breath.

And I wondered if he was feeling the same thing I was.

“I like the Grateful Dead. Such a great name for a band.” He paused, then looked my way. “You really don't believe in what we were talking about earlier? About people being able to talk to the dead?”

“No,” I said. The heat in my body subsided a little, enough for me to answer his question. “I think it's all a bunch of hocuspocus.” I mimed the words
hocus-pocus
as if I were a Halloween witch, just to do something with my hands. “I think everyone dies, and that's it.”

“But where do we go? Does anyone come back in spirit form?”

I swallowed. Papa had come to me when he died, and he still showed up now and again. He had told me that all the spirits who came to me were people who had died. People who couldn't for some reason leave the earth or, like Papa, just wanted to visit to tell me things. I kept swinging my legs. Back and forth. Back and forth. Who was the guy in the hall? Why had he come to me?

Because you're weird, thats why.