Chapter Eleven #2
“No, it’s just—” It’s not so much that I can’t explain it, but that I don’t want to. I don’t want to think about it at all. Ever. Even if that’s proving impossible.
Sam dabs a napkin at their lips. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it. The school does have an incredible art program. After the endowment came through, they totally renovated the arts building. I’m not in fine arts, but I do some tech work for the theater department, and it’s been nice.”
Grateful we’ve moved on, I lean forward. “Really? I can’t wait to get in there and see. My last school was so underfunded, it wasn’t funny. I spent all my money from babysitting on supplies because all our shit was broken and dried out.”
“I’m sorry,” Daisy says, holding up her hand. “What’s the actual reason you’re here?”
I freeze.
“I—” I look between Daisy and Sam, but Sam seems just as confused as I feel. “What?”
“I don’t know,” she says, tapping her finger against her chin. “You’re holding something back. I can sense it.”
“Oh Lord, here we go.” Sam puts their head in their hands.
I glance between the two of them. “What’s going on?”
“Listen, sometimes I just know things. It’s a gift from my ama. And something tells me you aren’t giving us the whole truth.”
“Not that we’re entitled to that information!” Sam says, panic lacing their voice.
“You’ve got another reason for being here. Something that’s causing you pain. Your aura is very blue. You’re so sad. You’re… grieving?” She opens her eyes and looks at me expectantly.
My heart is slamming against my ribs. What the fuck.
“Um, well, um, my grandma—I called her Gigi—she recently passed—”
“Oh shit, I’m sorry.”
“—and she used to go here when she was my age. So when I got the scholarship, I knew I wanted to come here like she did. She didn’t want me to at first, but then she died, and…” I shrug. “I knew this was the right decision.”
It’s only a small part of the truth. After whatever just happened during my confrontation with Missy, I know now, with certainty, that I’m at BMA for a reason.
Some divine calling, maybe. Or something to do with the witches.
With this inexplicable power inside me. But I can’t tell two virtual strangers that.
I want them to be my friends, not think that I’m a freak.
Though I can’t deny that this weirdness with Daisy has me on edge.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Daisy says.
It’s all anyone can say.
“I lost my ama a few years ago as well, and it was awful.”
I know she means well, but I can’t bring myself to keep talking about this. So instead, I ask the question that’s been bothering me for the last few minutes.
“So anyway, you’re a Pisces, right?” I ask Daisy.
“I—well, yes, actually!” She smiles widely.
Sam’s eyes are round. “How’d you know that?”
Daisy seems intuitive, fluid, creative, empathetic—plus, she thinks she’s psychic…
“I don’t know,” I say, “I’m just really into astrology.
” How could I not be with sixteen years of Gigi’s blabbering about the stars making me especially attuned to this sort of thing? But obviously I can’t say that, either.
Daisy laughs. “OMG, I love astrology! Lemme guess your sign… hmm, okay, you’re an Aries, right?”
I scoff. “Me? Hell no! I’m a Cancer, obviously,” I say demurely, “I’m sensitive.”
Sam rolls their eyes. “Astrology is fake.”
We ignore them.
“So much for you being psychic, right?”
Daisy pretends to be offended. “I never claimed to be psychic.” She smiles. “I just get… feelings sometimes. They tell me things about people, places, things—”
“Well, now you’re just describing what a noun is,” Sam interrupts.
“Sam, you’re clearly a Capricorn,” I say, and they blanch.
“How—”
I turn back to Daisy. “How long have you been seeing auras?” I ask, leaning closer.
“Oh, I don’t know. My whole life, I guess. It’s just like an energy thing or something, I think. My whole family is like this…” Her eyes skate away from the table evasively, and something twists in my gut.
“Yeah, well, if Daisy’s a psychic, and you’re a… I don’t know, astrology guru or whatever, then I guess I’m a vampire,” Sam says dismissively.
“Still,” I say, dropping my voice. “It was kind of freaky how you could tell that stuff about me. Where do you think it comes from? You said your whole family is like this? That’s cool!”
Daisy looks at the ceiling. “No, yeah, it’s just—um, I don’t know, really!
I haven’t thought much about it, it’s just who I am!
” She straightens and meets my eyes again.
“But this year I’m on a journey of self-discovery.
I’m going to own my power.” The intensity of her expression makes my eyes widen.
“I love that for you,” I say, ignoring the fluttering in my stomach. “Can you do anything else? Like, do you ever feel like you’re being totally overwhelmed with rage, and it’s like you could probably blow something up with your mind if you wanted to?”
I realize my mistake the second the words burst from my mouth. I’d been too excited about meeting someone who seems just as weird as me, and I took it too far. Daisy and Sam exchange a look. I need to hurry up and say something normal(ish).
“… Because I had a dream once that I had these insane powers, and it felt like my head was going to explode!” I force a shiver. “It was low-key horrifying.”
“Oh my god!” Daisy squeals. “Dreams! Okay, but lately I’ve been obsessed with watching storytimes about people who can lucid dream and all the alternate lives they live while they’re sleeping!
Sam says they can never remember their dreams, can you believe that?
!” Daisy pats Sam on the shoulder while Sam hides their face.
“They’re not in tune with their inner self.
Too much jiujitsu, not enough meditation. ”
My hands shake under the table where I wipe the sweat onto my pants.
I can’t believe that worked. They were starting to look at me like I was insane, and maybe they have a point.
I’ve been so caught up in this dream and the fire in my veins.
Is this all real? Do I really have power, or am I having some kind of break from reality?
A way for my brain to protect me from the vastness of my grief?
Maybe my mom is right, and too many stories in your head can break you.