She concentrated on folding her newspaper and tucked it beneath her arm, ignoring his original question, not really wanting to explain why she was here. “No. Buckley, actually,” she said. “What about you? Do you live nearby?”
He made a face, one that basically said: You’re kidding, right? “You don’t know?”
Violet shook her head, wondering what she’d missed. “Know what? Did something else happen?”
Sam laughed at that. “Wow, they really keep you in the dark, don’t they? Don’t worry, as soon as they know you’re gonna stick, they’ll let you in on all the cool secrets. But, to be completely honest, this hardly qualifies as cool.” He raised an eyebrow and glanced purposely at his fingernails. She knew he was trying to look cocky, but it was a totally dorky move. “I live in the dorms. I’m just your average boy genius, that’s all.”
“Wait, you mean you . . . ?” Violet asked, not trying to hide her disbelief. “You go to school here?”
“That’s pretty much what I’m sayin’.” Sam nodded, a pleased expression on his face.
Violet thought about that, about not even being sixteen yet and being a student at the university. “I had no idea.”
“Yeah, well, I guess it’s hard to see my enormous brains past . . . all of this.” He lifted one of his puny arms and flexed it, wiggling his eyebrows at her. Violet tried to hold back a giggle and then gave in, laughing at him.
Sam grinned back at her, and Violet was sort of amazed by his confidence. She wondered if she’d be so sure of herself if she were the one thrust into such an intimidating environment at such an early age.
“Hey, since you’re here, and since I’m done with my classes for the day, you wanna grab a cuppa coffee or something?” he asked.
Violet glanced back at the sign for The Mecca, and thought about the red-haired girl and her syrupy drink creation. “Sure,” she agreed, realizing it solved her dilemma and gave her something to do, at least. “But can we go somewhere with just plain old coffee?”
Violet used the flimsy red plastic stir stick to swirl more of the heavy white creamer into her cup, and then added three more sugar packets. The coffee at The Mecca might’ve been too sweet, but at Max’s Diner they didn’t mess around. Here, they served it hot and black.
“So how do you like it so far?” Sam asked, blowing on his cup before bringing it all the way to his lips. He looked like a little kid playing tea party . . . far too young to be taking his coffee black.
“I assume you don’t mean the coffee.” Violet grinned at him. She thought about it for a minute before answering. “The team? I like it okay. I guess what I really like is not always having to hide what I can do, not always lying to everyone, you know? Plus, if it hadn’t been for Sara and Rafe . . .” She hesitated. She didn’t think it was a secret, what had happened to her. Especially not one of the cool ones. “I wish I could be useful like that,” she said, instead of explaining her situation.
“Are you kidding? You have the coolest . . .” He lowered his voice to a whisper until it felt like they were playing Secret Agents. “You have the coolest gift of all of us,” he repeated. “I’d trade you if I could.”
Violet laughed. It was hard to take him seriously when he was staring at her with his overeager eyes, pale freckles splattered across his nose, kid genius or not. “You’re crazy. Psychometry is way cooler.”
Sam scoffed. “Sure it is, if you’re Rafe and have all the other stuff that goes with it. Me, I just have the garden-variety version. You know, feel an object and get a vibe. Or not. Mostly not.”
“Other stuff?” Violet asked, leaning closer. “What other stuff are you talking about?”
Sam’s brows rose, practically disappearing into his hairline. “Um, only the precog stuff!” When Violet didn’t respond, he added, “Precognition . . .” He dragged the word out like he was the one speaking to a child now. And then he continued in an awed tone, “I might be able to tell something about an object’s past, but Rafe can tell the person’s future. In fact, I take it back: He has the coolest gift of everyone.”
Violet was speechless. She’d known, of course, that Rafe had predicted she was in trouble, but she’d never really thought about how he’d done it. She’d thought he was like Sam, she supposed, more of your average garden-variety psychic; she didn’t realize that knowing things before they happened was . . . well, so unusual. “I—I had no idea.”
Sam’s mouth clamped shut, and he suddenly looked as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. His shoulders fell. “Damn,” he finally said. “I guess that was one of those cool secrets I was talking about.”
“It’s okay,” Violet assured him, lifting her cup to her lips. “I won’t say anything. Your secret’s safe with me. Well, I guess Rafe’s secret’s safe with me, but you get the point.”
“Good.” Sam sighed. “Because he already doesn’t like me. I’d hate to make things worse.”
“Who doesn’t like you? Rafe? Why wouldn’t he like you?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said, as genuinely surprised as Violet was. Honestly, he was a pretty likeable guy. “I don’t think he likes anyone, really.” And then Sam’s gaze lifted to hers, a faint smile lighting his boyish expression. “Except you, of course.”