"I guess not."
"Then stop wasting your energy. You need it for your training. Believe me, Candace, I know how it hurts to like someone who doesn't reciprocate. I had a crush on a boy in high school, and I was naive enough to think that he liked me, too. I was wrong and he hurt me badly."
Tears brightened Candace's eyes and she attacked them with her sleeve. "How did you get over him? I'd forget about him if I could, but I can't."
"By concentrating on my psychic abilities so I'd never be vulnerable again. People like Tim Travers and your sister think they're better than you, but they're not. No one is better than you." Serina withdrew the box from Dawn’s hands and gripped it tight.
Dawn hesitated, wondering if she should say anything. "I met Vicky, but I didn't realize who she was. She stood up for me with Renee and Tim."
"Don't fall for her act," Candace warned. "She's dissing you behind your back. Victoria's not what you think."
"How come you call her Victoria?" Dawn asked.
"Because she thinks she's a queen. My turn." Candace accepted the box from Serina and held it in her lap. She closed her eyes, visualizing the object Dawn had brought.
"I see a dark-haired man in his thirties. Something bad happened to him. A car accident?"
A funny feeling twisted in the pit of Dawn’s stomach. She’d never been on the receiving end of a psychic impression before. No wonder people felt uncomfortable around her. It was a little unsettling.
"My father was killed in an accident on the way home from work when I was seven," Dawn said.
Jamie covered her mouth and exclaimed, "How horrible! Dawn, I'm so sorry. I’ve never met my father, but I can’t imagine loving him and then losing him."
Serina took back the box and unhooked the clasp. She pulled out the framed photograph and studied it, walking forward a couple feet. "He was very handsome. But..."
"What is it?" Dawn asked.
"I sense that there has been some dishonesty revolving around your father. There is a secret being kept from you." Serina whirled to look back at her, white blonde hair streaming around her face.
"A secret?"
"Something that haunts you even now."
"There is one thing," Dawn said. "When we were moving, I came across a newspaper clipping about my father's death. Since it was a fatal accident, the paper did a write-up. The police said my father had been speeding."
"Your mother lied to you?" Candace asked.
"She thought it would upset me if I knew he'd been careless."
"Did it?"
"Well, yeah. I went to my room and bawled. I hated thinking he'd died because he was in a hurry. I mean, what could have been so important that he had to speed?"
Jamie turned to Serina. "Could that be the secret?"
"Only one person can say, and I'm not the one with the answer." Serina added hot water to each of their mugs. "Dawn, will you join us tomorrow?"
"I want to, but ... what do you get out of this, Serina?" Dawn asked. "Aren't we taking time away from your clients? Your paid clients?"
Serina paused, the kettle in her hands. "I remember what it's like to be young and afraid. To doubt what you know to be true. If I can make you feel better about yourselves, so you don't have to suffer as I did, it will be payment enough."
"People like us have to stick together," Candace said.
"Will you join us?" Serina repeated.
Dawn only had to think about it for a few seconds. Until now, her life had been an unsolved jigsaw puzzle. Serina could help her assemble the pieces.
"Yeah," Dawn said quietly. "I will."
Chapter Seven
D
awn sprawled across the living room carpet on her stomach, studying for her World History quiz. "Pop quiz" had ignited in Dawn’s brain as she was leaving class, even though her teacher offered no forewarning.
But Dawn couldn’t focus on her textbook, Serina's words rehashing in her mind. Was there another secret in her past besides the car accident? Her mother would never tell her; that was for sure.
Dawn frowned as her mom nestled beside Jeff on the couch, engrossed in a novel. Her mother had a convenient tendency to forget things. She was acting as if their latest fight had never happened.
Jeff folded
The Covington Daily Tribune
, his competition newspaper, onto the coffee table. "There’s a story in here about how some kids had a candlelight vigil for Scott. I don’t get how this accident happened. From what I’ve heard, the police still think he was showing off."
"He didn’t seem the type, from everything you told me about him," Dawn’s mother said, inserting her bookmark. "It doesn’t sound as if the kids at the gas station were egging him on."
Dawn pretended to read her history book as they speculated. Her mother, Jeff and Ken planned to attend Scott's funeral the next morning, but her intuition advised her to skip it or Renee would stir up trouble. Still, part of her yearned to pay her last respects. It hurt to see Scott’s empty seat as they watched
The Crucible
in English and to hear Mrs. Welch stutter where she should have read off his name in gym.
A cool salty breeze blew through the screen door. Indian summer had faded fast and life was moving on. The seasons would change, and Scott would still be dead.
His family would mourn for a long, long time. Dawn gasped at a mental image of Scott's mother sobbing on his bed under his sports posters. Her black hair hung uncombed and dried mascara stained her pale cheeks. Another image appeared, Scott's little brother huddled in a corner, hugging a beat-up baseball mitt.
"You okay?" Jeff asked.
Dawn glanced up to meet her stepfather’s intent gaze. Her mother had downplayed the witch rumors, telling Jeff the kids at school must be immature to make up such ridiculous stories. Still, Jeff didn’t act embarrassed that his stepdaughter was being metaphorically burned at the stake. He hadn’t treated her any differently.
"Yeah, I’m fine," she murmured.
"I heard a couple women talking about the funeral at the grocery store," her mother said absently. "Scott’s brother is in Cub Scouts and some of the little boys are coming. It sounds like it will be a big funeral."
She was thinking about Dawn's father. Dawn could tell by the way her mother was unconsciously twisting her wedding band. Jeff’s diamond glittered on her finger now, but she’d worn her original rings for years after Dawn’s father died. When Dawn sensed her thinking of him, often on birthdays or holidays, her mother would stare down at her lap and twist the gold bands as she was doing now.
In this case, Scott’s funeral was the reminder and the fact that these were Jeff’s rings didn’t make a difference. Dawn recalled that her own father’s funeral had been small, mostly co-workers and friends she’d never seen before.
"If Scott was like his mother, he was popular," Jeff said. "Susan was Homecoming Queen."
Her mother settled herself in the crook of his arm and smiled up at him, as if determined to shake off her sadness. "You must have been popular, too, if you dated her."
"Then, I guess, but not always," Jeff said, kissing her cheek. "I was overweight in grade school and the other kids teased me. By the time we moved to Covington when I was in high school, I had more muscle than fat, and my build helped me to be a good football player. For once, the in-crowd accepted me. I got carried away trying to please them and did a few stupid things."
Dawn turned a page in her book, listening raptly. Jeff seemed so self-confident. She’d seen photos of him at his parents’ place and he had been on the chunky side, but it never occurred to her that he’d suffered for it.
"What kind of things?" asked Dawn’s mother.
Jeff had a faraway expression and Dawn knew he remembered the past as clearly as if it had happened that week. "Wasted my time at too many parties. Ranked on the unpopular kids. I’ve always felt guilty about the way we treated some kids. I know firsthand how hurtful it is to be teased for something you can’t control." He looked at Dawn and again she wondered how much he knew – or believed.
When Dawn spoke, she surprised even herself. "Did your parents get on your case about losing weight?"
"They never said anything about it, but my mother encouraged me to exercise and she gave me smaller portions. She’s always had a hard time with her weight, too, so she understood."
"It helps to have supportive parents. If they came down on you too, that would have made it worse. A lot worse." Dawn gathered her belongings, walked past her mother and up the stairs.
***
Sunlight bore down on the baseball field. Renee sneered as Dawn and Candace sat knee-to-knee on the metal bench, awaiting their turns at bat. She loomed over them, her curly ponytail bobbing out the back of her Covington High School baseball cap. Scott’s cap.
"What are you two, like best friends now?" Renee asked. "You guys and Pan Fry, what a combo."
Dawn stiffened. She didn’t care what this girl had endured in her personal life; it didn’t give her the right to degrade other people. Dawn’s life and Ken’s hadn’t exactly been a trip to Disney World. She turned to Candace and said loudly, "Sounds like Renee's done with her mourning. Scott must not have meant much to her after all."
Renee glowered as a few classmates shifted their way. "You'll never know what it’s like to be in love."
"Neither will you, skank," Candace muttered.
"You’re in no position to call me names."
Candace had been watching Tim pitch. Now, she gave her full attention to Renee. "Yeah, well I just did. You’re such a phony."
"Come on, Dawn, you’re up!" called Mrs. Welch.
"Easy out!" someone shouted.
Dawn forced herself off the bench and stumbled over to the plate. She seized the bat, her hands slippery. She could do it. She’d pound the ball so hard that even Renee would shut up.
The first pitch whizzed by her.
"You can do this, Dawn!" Mrs. Welch shouted from the sidelines.
Yeah, right. Not only did Dawn’s classmates know she was a freak, to their delight they had also learned she was a klutz in gym. Gulping, she swung and missed.
"What are you doing, swatting at flies?" Renee yelled.
Dawn breathed in and out, her mind on nothing except bat connecting with ball. Tim cocked back his arm, in slow motion.
"Strike three!" Mrs. Welch called as the ball crossed the plate.
"Way to go, witch," Renee said.
As they trudged toward the outfield, Candace laid a pudgy hand on Dawn’s arm. "Don’t listen to them. I used to get ticked off, too, but what we do is much better than scoring a run in some dumb softball game."
"I don’t know about that. It didn’t come in too handy today." Dawn checked her watch. A half hour left. She spent half her life counting down, waiting for things to be over.
"Don’t think that way. You can’t even imagine how far we can go with Serina on our side."
"That doesn’t help me now. This is like all my other gym classes, maybe worse. I wanted so badly to show them I wasn’t an easy out. I've always wanted that, but it’ll never happen."
"Don’t be so sure," Candace said with a wink.
***
Dawn cheered up as she ate lunch with Candace and Jamie. They occupied maroon stools built into a long table against the wall. Aromas of meatloaf and gravy mingled in the air with the noise of two hundred kids crammed into one cafeteria.
At her old school, Dawn would deliberately arrive late and buy lunch, preferring standing in line to eating alone. She’d have five minutes to wolf down her food, then the misery would be behind her for another day. Enjoying lunch with friends was bizarre and wonderful at the same time.
Candace squirted ketchup onto her mound of limp French fries, the white packet stark against her black-polished nails. Her checkerboard flannel shirt and heavy hiking boots would have suited a lumberjack. Her black makeup and piercings, coupled with her dressy blue star earrings and matching necklace, made the outfit even odder.
No wonder the other kids teased her. Dawn had seen a few Goth girls who favored dark eyeliner and gloomy clothes, but Candace had such an eclectic wardrobe, she didn’t even fit in with them. Maybe Candace didn’t want to be pigeon-holed into any group.
"Serina likes you," Candace told Dawn over the chatter buzzing around them. "She said that you’re really gifted."
"You must feel so special," Jamie said.
"Special?" Dawn had never connected that word to herself. Was it her imagination, or did her friends sound jealous? Dawn crumpled the remains of her sack lunch, her mood lightening like the paper bag. Serina’s praise almost made up for the gym trauma.
Jamie giggled. "Plus, you’ve got a hottie for a stepbrother. If you don’t want him, I’ll take him."
Tim Travers and Vicky dumped their trash in the barrel behind Dawn’s table. Vicky glanced at them, brow furrowed as she walked past them.