Someone pinch me.
I climbed up the stairs, my guitar on my back, as eager as a kid at an amusement park. The plane was all tan leather and sleek shiny black walls. Simone made herself comfortable across from me and showed me how to buckle up. We both had window seats (of course), but I was all about the cockpit right in front of me. The pilots went through the safety instructions, but I was too riled up to hear a word. I was pretending to listen, but I just couldn’t settle my mind down. They gave us bottled water, and offered us snacks.
And they had Pringles!
I was eating my Pringles and staring out the window when it hit me. There I was, twenty thousand feet up in the air, on a private jet. I knew this was it – there was no going back now. Full scholarship, private jet… I knew I had to measure up, to prove myself. I figured this must be what pro athletes feel like when they sign multi-million dollar contracts.
Pressure much?!
But it was okay. I knew I would be fine.
We hopped into another fancy black car and I tried to calm my heartbeat by looking at the scenery. Maine is beautiful. My mom told me it would be, and she was right.
Simone was excited, too. I could feel the exhilaration coming off her. She was like a kid who finds a four leaf clover. I just hoped this clover didn’t lose one of its leaves.
We turned into a long winded tree lined drive, the kind fancy mansions in the country have. As we traveled closer to our destination under the canopy of lush trees, my heartbeat’s jog sped to a full sprint.
And hot damn, there it was, in all its glory.
RAMS.
The Renaissance Academy of Mentalist Studies.
And I was there because of Calista. It had all started with her.
2
Three months before…
Iwas dreaming about Calista when my mom woke me up, just before my iPhone alarm was set to go off.
I’m not sure what’s more annoying – being woken by the sound of my alarm, or my mother’s screaming. Don’t get me wrong… I love my mom. My mom is not your typical mom. She doesn’t nag or organize my closet. If anything, I nagherand organizehercloset. She eats cake for breakfast, paints cats (not actual cats, pictures of cats), reads tarot cards, and always wears this ugly sweater which makes her look like a seventies sofa.
How can I say this in a nice way? She can also be a little flaky sometimes. Maybe that’s because she’s so young. She had me when she was only eighteen. She makes me binge watchGilmore Girlswith her,and insists that I call her Colette, but I never do – she says ‘Mom’ makes her feel old. And she’s my bestie. Sad but true.
In the dream, Calista was standing at the top of a tall cliff. She wore a beautiful long red dress. She leapt off the cliff and flew into the air like a bird, her arms morphing into wings. Then, I was on top of the cliff. She was beautiful as I watched her fly, but then she lost her wings. Panicked filled me, and I knew I had to save her. So I jumped, too.
I wondered why I was dreaming of her. She was just one of the many patrons at my mom’s coffee shop, a sad girl I didn’t pay much attention to.
It was a typical morning. My mother was screaming at the top of her lungs. “Anna, I need you. I can’t find my car keys. I need to drop by the bank before I open up shop.”
I rolled my eyes, cursing the sadistic gods of sleep who fill my head with random wasteful thoughts at night and curse me with insomnia, but come morning, they glue me to the mattress, and make my bedcover extra warm and cozy. I grabbed my watch off my night table and wrapped it around my wrist.
She was at my door, wearing a colorful head scarf and pig tails, her face all bright and cheery. My mom has the kind of face you just can’t be mad at. “Up and at ‘em, kitty cat,” she cheered, and pulled me from my cozy bed.
I took her hand in mine, not quite awake yet. “You went out drinking last night.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “Just one drink with the girls.”
I nodded. My mother is a wild child but not an alcoholic (as far as I know). “You were exhausted when you came in,” I said. “We were all asleep, including Dad, so you just went straight up to bed. You dropped your keys by the sink in the bathroom, and they fell on the floor.”
She kissed my forehead. “You’re a doll, Anna,” she said, and darted out of my room. As you can probably guess, my ‘superpowers’ often come in handy for her.
Oh… I haven’t mentioned yet… I’m not your typical girl.
I’m kind of a freak. I can read people. It’s just a little thing I’ve been doing forever, amongst other psychic and slightly creepy things.
Yes, as strange as that may sound, I can read people’s thoughts. I also see visions and can sense people’s emotions. I can detect the slightest physical reactions; dilation of pupils, elevation of body heat, the smell of sweat and the sound of hurried breath; things normally invisible to most people. I also have a knack for finding lost objects, as well as reading them, and sometimes I can even see events before they happen.
