Confessions of a Teenage Psychic (10 page)

I must look truly panic-stricken, though, because she shrugs. “So, talked to Elvis lately?”

In spite of myself, I laugh.

Jingle Bells

“Hey, Caryn, look what I got!” Megan says with a giggle.

It’s the first Monday in December and Megan has come to school wearing a brand new pair of Jimmy Choos with a matching handbag. Her new stepmother went on a shopping spree last month and spent over two thousand dollars for her birthday present.

“At the Halloween Carnival— you made me so mad when all you said was I’d get new shoes. But boy were you right!”

“Nice,” I say as I admire them. “Do you see much of your dad?”

“Not really. He’s pretty busy with work, and anyway he won’t let me bring my dog to his house in Belford, so I don’t go up there too often.” Despite Megan’s bravado, I can tell she’s hurt by that.

As I listen to her talk, I hear her dad voicing his disapproval of her dog, and I feel her pain at his rejection. I also see her stepmother too busy with her society luncheons and shopping to spend much time with Megan. I decide to change the subject. “Are you wearing those expensive new shoes to the Christmas dance?”

“If I get a date I am.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get one. Jeremy?”

Megan just giggles again.

I look over and see Quince walk by on his way to his locker. He nods to Megan and pretends I’m invisible.

“Hi, Quince,” Megan says. “How’s your mom?”

Quince shoots
me
a dirty look, but to Megan he says, “Better. The doctors think they have her blood sugar under control.”

Sure enough, it’s just like his grandfather said. I watch him walk off down the hall toward Kensi, only to feel the usual stab of jealousy when I see the two of them holding hands.

Get over it, Caryn.
He’s with HER. And he thinks you’re a freak.

The tardy bell has rung and Megan and I hurry to class, sophomore English taught by the head of the English Department, Mrs. Renfrow. She’s a nice lady, sort of plump and dowdy-looking, sometimes strict, but she’s taught us a lot. The semester is ending in a couple of weeks, so we have to wind up our unit on poetry and get ready for final exams.

The kids aren’t paying much attention to the lesson, though, because the Christmas semi-formal is next Saturday night and that’s all anyone can talk about. Who’s going with who, who isn’t going, what everyone is wearing, the DJ, the decorations, and so on. I don’t have a date, and the event is couples only, so it’s an understatement to say I feel left out. At this point I’d even accept an invitation from Harris Rutherford. Well, maybe.

“Class,” says Mrs. Renfrow. “Let’s open our textbooks to page 445 and continue our study of Shakespeare’s sonnets.” She opens her book, but there’s so much talking in the room, no one is paying attention.

“Quiet!” Emma shouts from across the room. “You guys are so rude!”

“Thank you, Emma, but I’ll take it from here,” says Mrs. Renfrow. “Class, we still have work to do before we start reviewing for the final, so let’s begin.”

I’m not in the mood for iambic pentameter, but I open my book anyway and stare blankly at the page. Visions of sugarplums— well, okay, the Sugarplum Dance— pop into my head and I suddenly feel very sorry for myself. I look around the classroom and see most of the students pretending to read their textbooks. But Jeremy Harper is crouched down in his seat, secretly sending a text message from his cell phone.

He’s asking Megan to the dance
.

She casually glances at her phone propped up behind her textbook, and then looks over at Jeremy and nods. I smile.

At least she gets to go
.

Following English class is lunch, so I’m heading to the cafeteria when Megan catches up to me.

“Jeremy asked me to the dance! You were right. How did you know?”

I’m always right— at least about other people
. I wish I could predict my own life as accurately. I shrug and just say, “I’m happy for you.”

Jeremy ends up behind us in the pizza line and he and Megan giggle at one another all the way to the cash register.
Good grief
.

“Hey, Caryn, got a date for the dance?” Jeremy asks.

Now how does a girl gracefully answer a question like that? If I say yes, it’s a lie, and if I say no, it makes me look like a loser.

“Caryn’s weighing her options,” Megan says.

“Well, here’s another option,” Jeremy suggests. “My friend Mark Evans needs a date. Interested? We could double date.”

Great. A pity fix-up
.

“Cool!” Megan turns to me excitedly. “How ‘bout it, Caryn?”

I’m obviously in no position to refuse, but this is a little embarrassing— being set up with a guy no one wants to date. Pretty lame. Still, I realize I have no choice if I want to go to the dance, and I
really
want to go.

“Okay, tell Mark I’ll do it. IF he calls me and asks me himself.”

Jeremy grins at Megan and goes off to join his friends at their usual table. Unwritten rule— no girls allowed. I look wistfully over as Jeremy sits down next to Quince, but then follow Megan across the cafeteria to our regular table. Emma Cartwright and Ashleigh Ko are already there, deep in discussion about their dresses for the dance.

“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” I say as I sit down.
Okay, I’m not guessing, but they don’t need to know that.
“Emma, you’re wearing a retro-looking formal dress with a pearl choker necklace, and Ashleigh, you’ve got a new red satin dress with a mandarin collar.”

They both stare at me in complete surprise.

“Have you been spying on us?” Emma asks suspiciously.

“No, I just guessed.” I’m backpedaling now, but those two are pretty predictable. Emma is seriously into the Audrey Hepburn look and Ashleigh is determined not to let anyone forget her Asian heritage.

“Caryn just got asked to the dance,” Megan announces as she picks the pepperoni off her pizza.

Emma raises an eyebrow at me. “Really? Who?”

“You don’t have to act so surprised. Mark Evans, friend of Jeremy Harper’s,” I reply.

“Mark?” Ashleigh sounds dubious. “He’s in my geometry class and he never says a word.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like math,” I say.

This doesn’t sound good, though. How can I spend an entire evening with a guy who can’t string two words together?

“Who’s your date, Ashleigh?” Megan asks. Everyone knows she has one. She always does.

“Connor Stevenson. Senior, good looking, and unattached.”

“The guy you were dancing with at homecoming?” Megan asks. “Caryn said he was a senior.” She looks over at me like she’s waiting for an explanation of how I knew.

“I’m going with Kevin,” Emma gushes. “Come to think of it, Caryn, isn’t that what you told me at Halloween?”

They all turn to look at me. Gulp.
How do I get out of this one?

“I was better at that fortunetelling thing than I thought I’d be,” I say with a smile. “So tell me about that dress, Emma. What shoes did you pick out?”

Once channeled in the direction of fashion, Emma is on a roll. She doesn’t stop talking until the lunch bell rings and we leave the cafeteria for afternoon classes. For Megan and me, that means art class. Losing myself in a watercolor seems like a good idea right now. Anything to take my mind off Quince, his date with Kensi, and my fix-up with the sophomore class loser.

Speaking of dresses, what will I wear to the dance? All the other girls have been planning their wardrobes for weeks, and Megan will be wearing those expensive shoes along with some new dress I’m sure her stepmother will buy her. I don’t own many dresses, and definitely nothing that passes for semi-formal, so I desperately need my mother’s help.

I hurry to the shop after school to tell her the news.

Mark actually did call me that night and prompted by Jeremy (I could hear his voice in the background), asked me to be his date to the Sugarplum Dance. That may have been more words than he’d spoken in years, but I accepted his invitation. I already knew Quince would be there with Kensi because they were nominated for Nutcracker Prince and Snow Queen, and I hoped I’d be able to talk to him. Maybe in a social setting like that, Quince would be in a more forgiving mood. At least I hoped so.

As for what to wear, Mom solved that problem. She took me to the consignment store not far from her shop, and we found a dress that the shopkeeper promised had only been worn once. It was blue polished cotton with red velvet trim around the hem and waistband, sleeveless with a rounded neck and full skirt that hit just above my knees. The dress fit me perfectly and was affordable, so Mom bought it. When the subject of shoes came up, Sybil gave me a crisp one hundred dollar bill and told me to go buy whatever I wanted.

It’s Saturday night and my stomach is filled with butterflies. I’m excited about the dance, but I’m also nervous about seeing Quince. At least I get to go, and maybe I’ll get a chance to talk to him. With the new dress, new shoes, and a crystal necklace borrowed from Mom’s store, I think I look pretty good as Megan, Jeremy and Mark arrive to pick me up at the apartment.

Megan is wearing a gorgeous, green satin tea-length gown that must have set her stepmother back another thousand or so. Instead of the Jimmy Choos, she has yet another new pair of expensive shoes, dyed to match the dress. Mark and Jeremy both look pretty good too, wearing suits, ties, and freshly polished dress shoes.

Mark is living up to his reputation of having little to say. He’s tall and skinny with scraggly brown hair that keeps falling into his eyes, and he rarely smiles either. Compared to him, Harris Rutherford looks like a fashion icon. Mark plays french horn in the school orchestra, and according to Ashleigh, it’s the only time he ever makes any kind of sound.

Mark looks as uncomfortable about this date— apparently having been pressured into it by Jeremy— as I feel, so I’m pretty sure we’re off to a bad start when he can barely manage to say hi to my mother. She asks him several questions about school, the orchestra, his parents, but he just shrugs each time and inches his way toward the door.

Megan is impatient to get going but that works in everyone’s favor this time, since Mark’s non-communication is getting awkward.

“Come on, guys, let’s go or we’ll be REALLY late!” Megan has her hand on the doorknob, ready to bolt.

With a sigh of relief, I wrap my silk shawl around my shoulders and the four of us leave for the dance. We have to ride with Ms. Benedict because nobody is old enough to drive yet, but it’s only six blocks. Mark’s silence and Megan’s chatter manage to cancel each other out. Ms. Benedict is one of the faculty chaperones, so she lets us out in front of the school before parking the car.

“Have fun, kids,” she says as we climb out one by one.

Megan faces her mother with hands on her hips and says in all seriousness, “Mom, parents are to be
seen
and not heard! Don’t talk to me during the dance.”

Ms. Benedict just smiles and waves at us as she pulls away from the curb. I guess you could say she’s pretty tolerant when Megan cops an attitude.

Megan is right about us needing to get here early— there are lots of kids already milling around and the dance floor is getting crowded, even though the DJ hasn’t started playing the
real
music yet. So far there’s nothing but instrumental Christmas music coming from a CD player.

The theme of the dance goes along with
The Nutcracker
, so the decorations in the gym include gigantic toys, candy canes, snowflakes hung from the support beams, and even miniature nutcracker key chains for party favors. The dance committee— whoever they are— did a great job setting this up.

The minute we walk in the door, Megan and Jeremy take off in search of Emma and Kevin, leaving me standing alone with a nonverbal Mark.

“Where should we sit?” I ask.

He mumbles something and leads me to some chairs set up alongside the back wall near the folded-up bleachers.

This is going to be a long evening
.

I try every kind of small talk I can think of, but the most I get from Mark is yeah or okay.

Finally in frustration I stand up and blurt out, “Just because you think you have ugly teeth is no reason to never open your mouth and talk!”

For once, Mark’s mouth drops open and I’m sure he’s wondering how I knew that. I wish I could explain it, but it’s just one of those random thoughts that comes flying out of my mouth. Before Mark can mumble one more monosyllable in response, the DJ starts playing dance music and kids jump into action. I take Mark’s hand and drag him out onto the dance floor so we won’t look like total losers sitting by ourselves.

Quince and Kensi walk in fashionably late, dressed like the royalty they expect to be crowned, her red and green silk dress color-coordinated with his holiday coat and tie. It’s amazing how good looks, popularity, and charisma can draw others like magnets, and once they’re out on the dance floor, everyone clusters around them. Green with envy, I watch the two of them smiling and dancing
this
close.

I try to smile at Quince while he’s focused on
her
, but he deliberately looks in the other direction. My heart sinks, so I determine here and now to do something— anything— to get him to at least speak to me again. I maneuver Mark over to where Quince and Kensi are dancing and deliberately bump into Quince.

“Excuse me,” I say.

Quince rolls his eyes at yet another example of my clumsiness. He starts to back away but I get between him and Kensi and stand my ground. I can almost feel Kensington’s angry glare behind me.

“Quince, could I talk to you a minute?”

“Now?”

“Hello! Dancing here,” Kensi says a little too loudly.

“Please,” I beg him, not even looking at her.

Quince opens his mouth like he’s about to tell me to back off, but I must look pretty pathetic because he finally says, “Okay. Meet me at the refreshment table after this song, and it’d better be important.”