“And just where did you get this job of yours?” she asks, voice lowered, gaze following Munoz as he heads into the den, eager to avoid all the bad mojo I’ve so brilliantly introduced.
“Downtown. At a plac
e that sells books and—stuff.”
She squints.
“Listen,” I say. “Why don’t we discuss this later? I’d hate for you guys to be late or anything.” I glance toward the den where Munoz is hunkered down on the couch.
She glances at the den, expression grim, voice low and urgent when she says, “I’m glad you found a job, Ever, don’t get me wrong. I just wish you would’ve told me, that’s all. We’ll need to find a replacement for you at work now, and—” She shakes her head. “Well, we’ll talk about this later. Tonight. When I get back.”
And even though I’m thrilled to learn that her plans with Munoz do not extend to the morning, I still look at her and say, “Um, here’s the thing. Haven’s cat died, and she’s having this memorial service, and she’s really upset, which means it could run really late, so—” I shrug, not bothering to finish, allowing her to fill in the blanks that I’ve left.
“Tomorrow then.” She turns. “Now go talk to Paul while I change.”
She runs up the stairs, briefcase swinging, heels pounding, as I take a deep breath and make for the den, taking my place behind a big, sturdy armchair, hardly believing it’s come to this.
“Just so you know, I’m not calling you Paul,” I say, taking in his designer jeans, untucked shirt, hipster watch, and shoes that are way too cool for any teacher to wear.
“That’s a relief.” He smiles, gaze light and easy, resting on mine. “Might get kind of awkward at school.”
I swallow hard, fiddling with the back of the chair, unsure just where I’m expected to take it from here. Because even though my entire life is undeniably weird, being forced to make entertaining banter with my history teacher who knows one of my biggest secrets takes it to a whole new level.
But apparently I’m the only one who’s uncomfortable around here. Munoz is completely relaxed, sitting back on the coach, foot resting on knee, the absolute picture of ease. “So what exactly is your relationship to Sabine?” he asks, arms spread wide across the cushions.
“She’s my aunt.” I study him, checking for signs of disbelief, confusion, surprise, but all I get is an interested gaze. “She became my legal guardian when my parents passed away.” I lift my shoulders and look at him.
“I had no idea. I’m so sorry—” He scrunches his face, voice fading as sadness fills up the space.
“My sister died too.” I nod, caught up in it now. “As did Buttercup. She was our dog.”
“Ever—” He shakes his head in the way people do when they can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to be you. “I—”
“I died too,” I add, before he can finish. Not wanting to hear his awkward condolences, struggling to find just the right words when the truth is, those words don’t exist. “I died right alongside them—but only for a few seconds, and then I was—” brought back, resurrected, given the elixir that grants eternal life—I shake my head. “Well, then I woke up.” I shrug, wondering why I just confessed all of that.
“Is that when you became psychic?” His gaze is unwavering, fixed right on mine.
I glance toward the stairway, making sure Sabine’s nowhere near, then I glance at Munoz and just nod.
“It happens,” he says, neither surprised nor judgmental, more matter of fact. “I’ve read up on it a bit. It’s a lot more common than you’d think. A lot of people come back changed or altered in some way.”
I gaze down at the chair, fingers tracing along the top of the cushion, glad for the information but realizing I have no clue how to respond.
“And from the way you’re fidgeting and glancing at the stairs every five seconds, I’m guessing Sabine doesn’t know?”
I look at him, trying to lighten the mood when I say, “So who’s psychic now? Me or you?”
But he just smiles, searching my face with a new understanding that, thankfully, erases the look of pity that lived there before.
We stay like that, him looking at me, me studying the chair, the silence lingering for so long I finally shake my head and say, “Trust me, Sabine wouldn’t understand. She’d—” I dig the toe of my sneaker into the carpet’s tight weave, unsure just where to take it from here but knowing it’s imperative that I make myself clear. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s a great person, really smart, and a super successful lawyer and all, but it’s like—” I shake my head. “Well, let’s just say she’s a big fan of black and white. She’s not so big on gray.” I press my lips together and look away, knowing I’ve said more than enough, but needing to make one final thing clear. “But please don’t tell her about me—okay? I mean, you won’t—will you?”
I peer at him, holding my breath as he considers, taking his time as Sabine heads down the stairs. And just when I’m sure I can’t take another second he says, “We’ll make a deal. You stop cutting class and I won’t say a word. How’s that?”
How’s that? Is he kidding? He’s practically blackmailing me!
I mean, I know I’m not in the best position—especially since I’m the only one with something to lose, but still. I glance over my shoulder, seeing Sabine pause in front of the mirror, double-checking her teeth for stray lipstick tracks, as I turn toward him and whisper, “What does it matter? There’s only a week left! And we both know I’m getting an A.”
He nods, rising from his seat, a smile widening his cheeks as he takes in Sabine, though his words are directed at me. “Which is why you have no good reason not to be there, right?”