Mind Games (8 page)

My parents explained that they did not feel I should be dabbling in the supernatural. The supernatural was incompatible with their religion.

They did not understand why I found this funny. And I did not understand why I should be grounded for doing
my homework
.

What I wanted to say was, if there was no such thing as the supernatural, I didn't see how there could be such a thing as God. But of course I couldn't say that. Not to my parents. Not out loud. Not at all.

For the first time in a long time, I needed something from Claire. Even if she was mad at me ... she'd understand my unreasonable family. Even after everything that had just happened. Nobody knew more about unreasonable relatives than Claire.

I punched the autodial button, number i, not even labeled.

"I'm on the other line with Ben," she said the instant she heard my voice. She sounded so unfriendly that for a second, I thought she was Kathleen. "I can't talk now."

Ben, the most unpopular person in the seventh grade, was more important to her than me. Me.

I hung up the phone. My hand was shaking when it erased her number from autodial.

We never did talk. We haven't talked. I don't think we will talk.

As I promised my parents, I left the Mad Science Club on Wednesday morning. That's when Ben informed me that we had won the lottery the night before. He counted out my money silently. He refused to tell me whether the winning number was Claire's or his, since I was no longer a member of the experimental team and could not be trusted with their secrets. I don't know why, but I couldn't help looking up the numbers later in the
Waverly Times. I
should have known Ben's didn't win. Why else wouldn't he tell me?

Anyhow, this is where my participation in the experiment ended. Therefore, the remainder of this Experimentation section will be completed by Claire Phelps. I look forward to reading it at the school science fair and seeing how the project turned out. And what lovely things Claire has to say about me.

I
DIDN'T USE TO REMEMBER MY DREAMS
. H
ARDLY
ever. Now I wake up with them sometimes, and I don't even know what bed I'm in. I sit up and think I'm about to whack my head on the basketball hoop. But of course it's not there. This isn't even my own bed, but Ma's from when she was a kid.

I slept here, too, a long time ago, sometimes when I would have nightmares and Ma would let me come in with her. I can still remember that, but I never remembered my bad dreams in those days, not even the next morning.

Maybe the bed brings back the dreams—I don't know. Maybe it's this project even. Ben's ESP books say your dreams can predict the future sometimes. They say to keep journals of your dreams and see if they come true.

I don't need any journal. I have one dream. It goes like this.

We are in Kim's grocery and the bullet comes through the window. It hits Ma, and she falls down—right there in front of me. Even though she taught me CPR, I stand there and don't know what to do. Her blood is running and running over my hands until it's clear, like pickle juice. Because it all came out of her already. And she's dead.

I guess that's the only part of my future I can picture. Ma still being dead.

Last night I heard Grandma snoring in her bedroom so loud I couldn't fall asleep. I remembered how we were in this room, Ma and me, when I was real little. And she was singing this song to me. Ma was tone-deaf, so I got rap lullabies. And there was Grandma in the other room, snoring out the beat.

How come to hear Grandma's big old nose used to make me feel so warm and safe? Now it just grates on me until I want to yell. Because I want to sleep so bad. I want to sleep and sleep and not have to wake up again. Not in this bed in Waverly. Not to one more day without Ma.

I wonder if Michael sleeps as good as he always did. And Hosea. What kind of dreams does he have? But I'm afraid to ask him, because I think maybe I don't want to know. And Grandma. When she cries at nighttime. Is she seeing Ma dead, too?

A
T FIRST NOBODY KNEW THAT WE'D WON THE LOT
tery. Then there was a day when everyone knew. I'm not sure what happened, but my hypothesis is that Ji told a popular person.

As much as I've been thinking about popularity, I never would have guessed it could be caused by a science project. But all of a sudden,
everybody
wanted to talk to the Mad Scientists. Even eighth-graders. It made me so nervous that I told Ben we couldn't play anymore. I couldn't take the pressure. $83.33 was enough for me. Besides, after Ji and I stopped speaking I lost my urge to shop. I gave my money to Kathleen, who bought a karaoke machine. I was obviously not using precognition, since I haven't had a peaceful night's sleep since.

This is how everybody else spent the money:

Marina: Fresh vegetables (for Babushka) and Snickers (for herself)

Ben: College fund

Brandon: High-tops—size six, ladies'

Ji: I can pretty safely guess clothes or shoes

I assume that Ji has already described my experiences with the lottery, as well as the Zener cards, the dice, the basketball game. I also assume I know what she said about them. The same thing I thought. Luck. That's all. Not ESP. Definitely not.

By the time we got to our winter choir concert, our experiment was basically over. I had been working on the telepathy thing for over a month. Kathleen didn't even seem to know that I was trying. Mom did remark once or twice on the unusual "holiday cheer" in our household. Well, it must have been pretty glum last year, because I didn't see that I was making any progress at all in understanding my sister.

But at that concert—for the first time—I started thinking there really might be something to our hypothesis. That there might be ESP.

It's true that when I took the Zener card test, I imagined myself making those cards—drawing a box or drawing a circle. So that when I drew the box or the circle on my answer sheet, it didn't feel like guessing. Not exactly.

It's also true that, when I knew Kathleen wanted me to fail, I failed. Did she make that happen? Did I?

I didn't really think so. It wasn't like I could suddenly see into the future, or—even better—change it. I couldn't do something big, like make Kathleen normal. Or make me normal. I couldn't even do something small, like make her smile.

I could just sit in the audience at the choir concert like always. Smile and clap. Hope she would stand quietly in her place and not make a scene.

Every time there's a choir concert, Kathleen prays she will get a solo. Every time, it goes to Ji. To make up for this, Kathleen sings loudly enough to be heard over the other eighty people.

Ji has a pretty voice. It's clear and high. When she sings, I can feel my heart beat faster. The same thing happens to me when Kathleen sings, but that's just nerves.

"Said the night wind to the little lamb, 'Do you see what I see?'" Ji sang. '"Do you hear what I hear?'"

Kathleen's favorite song. Do you hear what I hear? Because she knows other people don't see and hear and know the same way she does. Sometimes I think she's so incredibly smart. And other times ... you just wonder where she's getting these ideas in her head.

But I'll say this—Kathleen knew about Ji. She always knew. Ji needed to be in the middle of things, and so did Kathleen. Only one person can be in the middle. And in my life, it will always be Kathleen.

My heart felt like a lump of clay when I listened to Ji sing. From one song to the next, it was just words. Words about raising up the humble, the lowly, the baby who slept among the animals and loved them and sang with them.

The music flowed out of her, smooth and beautiful and pure; then, in my ears, it curdled.

At first I thought I was dreaming. The piano hiccupped, and even though Mrs. Keepers, the choir teacher, was pressing keys, no sound was coming out. Mrs. Keepers flung her hands into the air. Her feet inched backward, away from the choir and the music and the piano like they were possessed.

Someone tapped my shoulder, and I jumped out of my seat.

"Did you do that?" Brandon asked me. "You using those P.K. powers of yours?"

Of course I didn't do that. I wouldn't ruin Ji's choir solo. How could I do that? How do you make a piano stop playing?

"Uh-oh," Brandon said. "What's your sister doing now?"

Kathleen was climbing down from her choir riser in the second row. She ran to the piano and threw open the lid. Then she stuck her hands in without looking and came out with a snake. A wrung-out-looking snake with a little bulge in the middle. Alice.

Kathleen kissed the snake.

The choir risers emptied. The audience buzzed. Someone turned up the lights just as Kathleen laid Alice in Mr. Ennis's arms.

"How did you know?" I heard him ask. He was sitting with Brandon, behind me. "How did you know it was Alice?"

"She told me," Kathleen whispered.

As crazy as it sounds, I believed Kathleen really might have heard it from the snake's forked tongue.

"
Go
was the clue. You said
Go
would help us find Lily the lizard," Kathleen told me. "You were right. We found her during Ji Oh's solo. Ji Oh - G-O-
Go.
Only..."—Kathleen frowned—"only you didn't say Lily would be dead."

"You mean the snake ate Lily?"

Kathleen bit her lip. "She couldn't help it. She was hungry."

Brandon peered at Alice. "She looks kind of different, doesn't she?" he asked Kathleen. "You're sure that's Alice and not some impostor snake?"

"Uh-huh. She just shed her skin is all. But she's the same on the inside."

"Maybe a little tougher after all she's been through," Mr. Ennis said.

Brandon reached out and tickled Alice's nose.

"She likes that," Kathleen said. She sneaked a peek at the choir. Mrs. Keepers was finally sinking back onto the piano bench, though keeping a very safe distance from the piano.

"I'd better go. They can't have the concert without me." Kathleen marched back to her spot as somebody dimmed the lights to make everyone quiet.

Kathleen climbed back onto her riser, and the crowd clapped for her. She got a standing ovation. In the middle of Ji's solo, my sister got an ovation.

My heart was pounding. Not out of nervousness. Not like anything I ever felt before.

Kathleen bowed. She thumped her chest, and the sound of my heart pulsed in my ears, louder and faster than the applause. Her thumping was the rhythm I felt inside me. Exactly the same.

Then it was over. My vital signs returned to normal.

Maybe there's no such thing, I remember thinking, as normal.

Maybe there is such a thing as ESP.

For a month we were making logos in art—our own personal logos. They were supposed to represent our hopes and dreams for the future. Ji's, for example, was a microphone head with short little pencil legs that were GOing somewhere. Mine was an eclair with a candle in it, because we started making them on my birthday.

My logo was an anonymous one. Nobody could figure out who the smoking cream puff was. Not even Kathleen. "You see," she said, "there's only one candle."

Kathleen's logo was a cat. It had orange cat fur. It was sleeping on a dog with orange dog fur.

At first I thought the dog was Sunshine. Sunshine hates cats, but she loves Kathleen.

Then, when I looked closely, I saw that the dog had freckles—like me.

Kathleen's dream for the future. How could I not have known?

I called her Kat when we were little, when I was first learning to talk. When I talked for her, because she couldn't. I knew then what she wanted—always. How could I not know now?

A while ago when I was mad at Ji for coming late to my birthday party, she accused me of being "dependent" and "clingy." She said I must understand why this was an unattractive quality, since I spent my whole life putting up with it from Kathleen. I thought Ji must know nothing about me or Kathleen. My sister did not cling to me; she hated me.

But maybe Ji was right.

The logos reminded me of an experiment in Ben's ESP book. One person draws a picture in his mind; another person draws it on paper. Kind of like Pictionary—that game Ji and I never let my sister play with us.

Ben and I were talking on the phone one night when he asked if Kathleen and I wanted to try the drawing by telepathy experiment for real. At first I said no. I was scared to try. I was scared to show Kathleen what a clueless sister she had.

Ben said you had to take risks sometimes for the sake of science.

I hated to admit it to Ben, of all people, but I didn't really care about science.

I cared about Kathleen, Ben said. He was scared to pick up the phone and call his mom, and look where that got him. She was interested in his life only if she had to write an article about it. Ben said his mother didn't give a damn about science or respect it one iota.

What he was really saying was that his mother didn't give a damn about him or respect him one iota.

I'd talked to Ben's mother once. She interviewed me at the student-faculty basketball game. Afterward, Ji was talking to her about writing for the newspaper and even mentioned reading the
Waverly
Times for her Paranormal Pursuit. That's when Mrs. Robles told us a secret. Ji was distracted by Brian Murtaugh doing something dumb, but I heard what she said. She said she was the astrologer for the Waverly Times. Nobody was supposed to know, she told me, but it was a great job—interesting and fun. She said she hoped I liked my job as much when I grew up.

So Ben thought his mom wasn't interested in science. I knew Ben didn't think our project was much in the way of science. But his mother, the astrologer/reporter, would. I was sure she would.

I also knew Ben wanted to keep our project secret. But if I could risk my sanity and do this telepathy thing with Kathleen, couldn't he take a risk, too? Couldn't he reach outside himself just once? Just a little bit?