Chapter 9
9
I SURVIVED FOURTH BLOCK BY THE skin of my teeth. Despite art being my favorite subject, and one that I was actually proficient at, it was my first time attending class for the year and meeting the teacher. She was an artist and a stickler, and she informed me that I was already three days behind my classmates on our first project. That was not a good start to my tenure in her class. My heart nearly gave out when she dropped a thin stack of paper topped with the syllabus on my desk.
“Your classmate Mateo was kind enough to share his notes. I copied them for you,” she said.
My cheeks heated instantly, and I glanced toward Mateo. He didn’t look up from his book, but the tips of his ears turned red, then twitched and lengthened into points. He grabbed his bag and yanked out a beanie. Quickly pulling it on, he squashed the dark curls of his hair and tugged the edge down to cover his shifting ears.
The teacher cleared her throat. “Cam,” she said.
I swiveled my attention back to her. “Yes?”
She sighed, then pointed to a stack of art books and instructed me to get to work on the essay due at the beginning of next week.
After that, I didn’t have time to worry about visions or basketball games or the fact that Mateo didn’t look in my direction once during the whole period.
The library was deserted this early in the semester. Only the student assistant sat at the checkout desk, their head in their hand as they poked at keys on the ancient desktop computer. They didn’t acknowledge Al or me when we walked in after the bell rang for the end of the day; they were too absorbed in whatever was on the screen. Which meant they didn’t question it when Al and I lumbered around the study cubicles, group tables, and tall motorized bookshelves, until we found the stack of old yearbooks tucked away on a freestanding unit in a corner. We contemplated how to haul them all over to one of the rounded tables near the windows without garnering too much attention.
“I have a spell for this,” Al said with a sharp nod, already spreading their fingers over where the books were at our eye level.
I bit my tongue. It would be easier to grab a wheeled cart, but I didn’t have the wherewithal to argue after my spectacularly long day.
Al said a few words under their breath, and the yearbooks trembled. With a flick of Al’s wrist, the thin hardbacks launched themselves into different variations of a swan dive, pages rustling and covers flapping as they hurtled toward the floor. I preemptively winced, but much to my surprise—and to Al’s, based on their expression—the books banged to a halt right at ankle level.
Al grinned triumphantly. “It’s not pretty,” they said, beckoning the books to follow us as we weaved toward the back table. “But it works.”
“It’s great.”
Al shot me an assessing look, but finding only sincerity, they nodded. We reached the table, and after a few futile tries to coax the books into ascending, we were forced to retrieve them from the floor. I didn’t say a word as I dropped a stack, the thin covers slapping against the wood.
“Let’s hope she’s in one of these,” Al said, tossing their backpack onto the table as well.
I slid into a seat across from them and shoved my own bag on the chair next to me. “Or let’s hope that these visions I keep having are fake.”
Al pointed a finger gun at me and made a clicking nose with their mouth. “I like the way you think, friend. I’m not all that enthused about sharing classes with a potential murderer.”
“Me neither.”
I pulled my sketchbook out of my bag and flipped it to the drawing of the girl. I slid it between us.
“Is this her?” Al asked, trailing a finger over the edge of the page.
I nodded. “Yeah. To the best of my ability. I mean, the coloring is not great because the whole atmosphere was weird, but she had light brown skin and golden-brown hair.” I squinted at the page. “I don’t think that comes across well. And the lines aren’t great, and you know that figure drawing is not my strongest skill, and—”
“Stop,” Al said. “It’s good. It’s very good. You know,” they added, cracking open the first book, “if you aren’t psychic, you could have a great career as a sketch artist.”
I huffed. “More like a caricature artist on a beach boardwalk.”
Al tilted their head. “Both are valid career paths.”
“Shut up,” I said with a laugh. I took the book from the year before and opened it to the senior section. I scanned the faces on the glossy pages, and when I didn’t find her, I thumbed to the juniors.
“Seriously, though, you’ve gotten better over the summer.”
I frowned down at the page. “Well, I didn’t have much else to do.”
Al pursed their lips. “Yeah. Well.” They went quiet, and I realized we’d never addressed the not-fight we’d had in the cafeteria on the first day. I’d been so wrapped up in the events that had happened afterward that I’d never revisited why I’d run out of the lunchroom in the first place.
I wanted to broach the subject because I didn’t want that hanging between us as we dealt with… whatever was happening to me. But it was a tender topic, an unsettling ache that permeated my being when my thoughts even edged in that direction. I gathered what little courage I had, my fingers trembling on the glossy sheets of the yearbook.
“So,” I said as we both leafed through the books, “that was a pretty cool levitation spell. How is the rest of your magic going?”
Al shrugged. “Okay.” Then they rolled their eyes and slid their yearbook aside, grabbing the next one in the stack. “Well, not as okay as I’d like. Amy is so far ahead of me, it’s ridiculous. And I can’t even…” They inhaled a shuddering breath. “I can’t even brew a potion correctly. I finally got my package of water-sprite hair clippings—”
I gagged.
They shot me a look. “All our ingredients are ethically sourced. You know that. You’ve known that since you encountered Ma’s vial of extremely rare dragon toenails.”
“Yes. Regulations, paperwork, contracts with other factions. I know.”
They nodded sharply. “Anyway, I screwed the potion up. And now I have to put in a request for another package.” Their shoulders heaved with a sigh. “Amy is already using magic in her daily life, you know? Casting spells to help with her chores and with transportation, brewing potions, charming objects, and I can’t .”
The frustration in their speech mirrored how Aiden had sounded sometimes when he talked with our parents. A voice thick and on the verge of tears, shaky with screams held in the back of their throat. For Al, it was magic that caused that tone. I didn’t know what it had been for Aiden, only that the arguments he’d had with my mom and dad always ended with that sound, like he was angry and tired all at once. If I knew why, maybe I’d know where he was.
“I’m sorry,” I said sincerely, even as I shoved a book toward the growing pile of nos. “You’ll get there. I know you will.”
Al frowned. “Maybe. I mean, I hope so. That’s… well… that’s kind of why I wanted to help you find a different friend. I should be reaching out and socializing with the other teens in our coven, to help bond, and maybe that will bolster my magic ability. Instead I’m—”
And there it was, the crux behind their push for a new friend. “Friends with me,” I said, heart sinking. “A magicless weirdo.”
They lifted their head and met my gaze. “Well, you may not be magicless anymore.” They turned the book and pointed toward a girl on the page. “Is this her? She has a similar face shape.”
I leaned in. “No.”
“Shucks.”
We sat in heavy silence as we pored over the yearbooks for an hour, looking through all the grades from the past several years from the other two local schools, and—nothing.
I snapped the last book shut, and a satisfying whack echoed in the space. With my hopes dashed, I slumped in my seat. “She’s not here,” I said, rubbing my fingers along my brow. I was equal parts relieved and stressed. Relieved, because at least I didn’t have to go knock on some girl’s door and tell her she might, maybe, possibly die in a field because I’d had a weird glimpse of the future. And stressed—well, we weren’t anywhere closer to figuring anything out.
“Well, then she’s not a resident of Shady Hallow.”
“Or she was absent for each picture day for her entire high school career.”
“Or she goes to private school.”
“Or was homeschooled.”
“Or,” Al said, fingers tapping their chin, “she’s not real.”
I perked up at that. That would solve everything . “Oh my gods, maybe she’s a figment of my imagination or a composite of a bunch of different people. That would be awesome.”
Al rolled their eyes. “Anyway, Ma can’t pick us up for another hour, so I’m going to start on homework. You might want to do the same, since you’re already behind. And don’t you have movie night with your dad tonight?”
I groaned and crossed my arms on the table. I laid my head in the crook of my elbow. My cheek squished against my overheated skin. “Or maybe I’ll take a nap.”
“That is also a course of action you could take.”
The judgment in their voice was loud and clear, but I was tired. A short nap, and then I could stay up later that night and work on schoolwork after enduring whatever dated movie my dad wanted to inflict on me.
My phone vibrated by my outstretched fingers.
I didn’t get texts often. Al was right across from me. And my parents were probably commuting home. Maybe it was Aiden!
I snatched it up and held it close to my face.
It was from an unsaved number, but just above the current text were the pictures of math notes.
Kaci?
You should see this.
Followed by a link to a video on ClickClack.
“You suddenly look worried.”
I was worried.
When I didn’t respond, Al leaned across the tabletop, brow creasing. “Who’s that?”
“Kaci.”
Al’s eyebrows shot up. They clambered to my side. “Ghost girl from your math class?”
Reluctantly I sat up, my skin leaving sweaty streaks on the wood. I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Are you going to click on it?”
“I don’t know.” My heart hammered. What did Kaci, who saw ghosts, think I should see? “What if it’s a virus or malware? It could be spam—I mean, that is a pretty generic message.”
“True.” Al said it in a way that very much meant false . “Except it’s literally a link to ClickClack.”
My phone pinged again.
Seriously.
“Click on it,” Al said, with a nudge to my arm.
“If this results in a jump scare, I’m going to scream in your ear.”
“Noted.”
I pressed my thumb to the screen. The ClickClack interface popped up, and a video began playing.
It was me.
A cold, shivery sweat broke over my skin.
Video-me marched after Dennis in the cafeteria, my honey-blond hair disheveled, my T-shirt rumpled, my cheeks flushed pink. With my jaw clenched and my eyes a little wild, I exuded quintessential teen main character energy—the person of the group who always bit off more than they could chew, caused some drama, and then needed the other characters to come rescue them.
“Hey, asshole!” My voice was tinny over my subpar phone speaker.
I cringed so hard, I could’ve turned myself inside out.
“You approached me. I would’ve liked not to have a whatever-that-was in the middle of my lunch. And now my pizza is cold, so you’re going to hear what I have to say.”
Dennis turned. It was very much a predator-stalking-prey movement, and I was the prey. Wow. His shoulders were broad. I couldn’t believe I’d actually done this, because in comparison he could’ve snapped my short, slight frame in half without breaking a sweat.
“And what’s that?”
“Overtime. It’s tied at sixty-seven at the end of the fourth quarter.”
“What?”
“You heard me. That’s what I saw. Take it or leave it. I don’t care.”
The video paused and then cut to a gymnasium. And oh shit. It was the gymnasium from the basketball game in my glimpse. The camera focused on the scoreboard overhead. I shot to my feet; all my muscles tensed.
“This is Gem-Jam from Situation Paranormal ,” came a high-pitched voiceover, “and I’m at the AAU basketball game featuring the Panthers versus the Wolverines. The reason? Camden Reynolds, the new resident seer, has predicted that the Panthers will tie this game at the end of the fourth quarter, sixty-seven to sixty-seven. As you saw in the video clip, student Dennis Smith, junior at Central Shady Hallow High, asked Cam to foresee the outcome of the game. Thus far it’s been close, with several lead changes. Right now there are thirty seconds left, and the Panthers are down by two. They need a three to win it. Let’s see if Cam’s prediction comes true.”
The camera panned down to the players on the court and zoomed out jerkily to show the crowd and the clock ticking down. My breath caught in my mouth, a distressed sound jammed behind my teeth, as Dennis passed the ball to the kid on the three-point line. He shot as the glaring red numbers of the clock ticked to zero and the buzzer sounded. The ball fell in.
“Smith passed the ball. And the shot goes in! Final score is sixty-eight to sixty-seven! Looks like Camden Reynolds was incorrect,” the voice of Gem-Jam said with utmost finality. No room for argument. “Cam may have glimpses, but this one appears to be inaccurate.”
And what a relief .
“There you have it, folks. Shady Hallow’s paranormal community will not be upended by the emergence of a…” Gem-Jam trailed off. “Wait. There appears to be a conference between the referees by the scoring table. And oh! Asan’s foot was over the line. The basket will only count for two points, not three.”
The scoreboard changed.
67–67 flashed green.
“Oh wow! The score is sixty-seven to sixty-seven at the end of the fourth quarter. The game is going into overtime!”
My stomach dropped to my feet. I went lightheaded and plopped into the cushioned library chair like a wet rag. My whole body went limp except for my arm, my fingers white-knuckled around my phone.
The video continued.
“And Camden Reynolds has the makings of a verified seer. He needs three documented correct predictions to make it official, and we’ve just witnessed the first. The community will have to wait and see. Pun intended. Well, this was Gem-Jam for Situation Paranormal. Signing off.”
The vid cut out.
“Cam?” Al’s voice was muted, as if they were in a different room or underwater, not right next to me, watching me with concerned creases between their brows. “Cam?” This time it was a little sharper, more urgent, and the sound broke through the white noise that had taken up residence in my brain.
My vision of the basketball game had been real . It hadn’t been a hallucination but a real glimpse. Not only real but correct .
The video began to play again, and Al took the phone from my hand, careful not to touch my skin. She paused the loop as my arm flopped uselessly to the table, my knuckles smacking the surface with a solid whack.
“Was that live?” I croaked.
Al glanced at the phone. They shook their head. “No. Recorded. It was posted about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Okay.” I was on autopilot. Basic systems only. No other functions active. Heart pumping? Check. Brain braining? Check. Everything else had crashed. Cam.exe was not responding.
“We’ll find whoever Gem-Jam is and ask them to delete it,” Al said.
“Okay.”
“I’m reporting it. For… targeted harassment and misinformation. That might get it taken down before we even have to approach them.”
“Okay.”
“I texted Kaci from your phone, and I asked her to do the same.”
“Okay.”
“It’s not that big of a deal.” They grimaced as they said it.
Because that was a lie. It was a big deal. A very huge fucking deal.
I was a… seer. Prophet. Clairvoyant. Psychic. There was no way to deny it now, no way to pretend that the visions I saw weren’t glimpses, no way to avoid the fact that they were accurate some of the time. Well, at least I’d showed them I wasn’t a fake .
Oh shit. This meant I wasn’t quite human.
A whine fell from my parted lips. My parents were going to kill me. I was going to be grounded forever if they found out.
And my problems were the least of my worries.
My gaze fell to the sketch of the girl on the table.
A cold shiver slid down my spine.
A girl who might be murdered at the hands of one of my classmates.
And I was no closer to finding out who she was.