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Knows more about me than I know about him, and it’s time Paloma caught me up—nothing but full disclosure will do.
I watch him fade into the distance, disappearing into the student lot, where I assume he’s parked his truck. Just about to get moving again, when I’m stopped by a girl’s voice calling out, “Hey, Daire—you need a ride?” And I turn to find Xotichl, wondering how she could possibly know my name when I never told her, never told anybody. Not that anyone cares, they’ve already christened me Psycho, and I’m pretty sure it’ll stick.
“So, do you?” She stops before me, as I hesitate, unsure what to say.
While I could certainly use a lift, I’m not so sure I’m willing to accept the offer. She seems to know an awful lot about me, even about Cade’s interest in me—all without being able to see—and it kind of gives me the creeps.
“I know where you live,” she says, which is not reassuring. “It’s not all that out of the way either. Well, maybe a little. But not to worry, I’m a really good driver.” She smiles. “I may be vision impaired, but all of my other senses are more than enough to compensate. In fact, if it makes you feel any better, you should know that I’ve only had one accident that I was charged with being legally responsible for. One out of five.” She shakes her head. “Not bad odds if I say so myself.”
When she gets to that last part, the jig is up. I know exactly what she’s doing. She’s trying to remove the sting of discomfort her disability brings out in others, by making light of it, treating it as though it’s something to joke about. And it breaks my heart so much I just smile and say, “Sure, thanks for offering.” Noting the grin that brightens her face as I walk alongside her. “In fact, you’re way ahead of me. I’ve yet to get my license, much less my permit.”
“I know.” She turns in my general direction when she adds, “I know because Paloma told me.”
“So that’s it.” I laugh. “You know Paloma.” I shake my head, remembering the time I saw Paloma ushering a girl with a red-tipped cane into a dusty sedan after my first horseback ride with Chay and instantly realizing it was Xotichl. “That explains everything.”
“Well, I know you’re her granddaughter. I know she was so excited about your coming to stay, she told me all about you, described you in great detail. You’ve had one glamorous life.” She shakes her head and whistles through her teeth. “What was it like growing up on all of those movie sets? Was it as cool as it sounds?”
I hesitate, wavering between answering honestly and giving her the answer she most wants to hear. People always get so excited by the Hollywood thing, assuming it’s way more glamorous than it actually is. Eventually settling on some semblance of truth when I say, “It was just life as I knew it. I had nothing else to compare it to.” Though still not willing to let her off the hook when I add, “So, how did you know it was me? You know, this morning in the hall?”
She presses her lips together, takes a moment to decide on her answer. “I read energy, which means I don’t need to see someone’s face to sense what mood they’re in. Some call it intuitive vision—some call it blindsight. And I hate to break it to you, Daire, but you definitely exhibited a classic case of new-girl nerves. Your vibes were all over the place.” She laughs in a way that urges me to laugh along with her.
“Well, I guess I can’t deny that,” I say. “But that still doesn’t explain how you knew Cade was into me.” I study her carefully, figuring the more info I can gather on him, the better. There’s so much Paloma hasn’t told me.
Noting the way Xotichl’s face darkens, the way she turns away, making for the big, iron gate, her cane sweeping before her with newfound urgency. “It’s like I said, I can read energy,” she tells me, moving three steps ahead before she nods over her shoulder and adds, “Hurry now, our ride’s here.”
twenty-seven
As it turns out, Xotichl’s ride is a really cute guy with sandy blond hair and soft brown eyes, driving an old, beater, wood-paneled station wagon that, despite its dilapidated state, turns out to be a welcome change from all the trucks, Jeeps, and SUVs everyone else seems to drive around here.
“This is Daire, the one I told you about,” Xotichl tells him as he helps her into the passenger side, while I slide onto the seat just behind them.
“Aw, Paloma’s nieta,” he says, pronouncing the word perfectly, even though he doesn’t look the least bit Hispanic. Then again, neither do I, despite the fact that it constitutes a good bit of my bloodline. “I’m Auden, like the poet, named after the poet. So, how was day one? Did Xotichl show you the sights?”
“There are sights?” I joke, aware of the pang in my gut when he leans toward her, brushes her bangs from her eyes, and gazes upon her with such open admiration, I can’t help but look away.
It’s a shame she can’t see it. It’s the kind of look most girls can only dream about. But the way she meets it with a smile, the way she leans into his touch, it’s clear she wasn’t kidding about the blindsight, she doesn’t miss a thing. If anything, she’s reading the energy
of it—of him. The energy so palpable, I can feel it back here.
“How long have you guys known each other?” I ask, trying to get the conversational ball rolling as Auden steers the big boat of a wagon away from the curb and onto the street.
“Forever,” he says. “I can’t remember a single day without her.”
Xotichl laughs, gives his shoulder a playful slap. Head tilted in my direction when she says, “We met last year. It was love at first sight. But unfortunately, my mom doesn’t quite see it that way. She doesn’t approve.”
I look at Auden, taking a quick mental inventory. He’s cute, sweet, and obviously lives to breathe the same air as Xotichl—what could possibly be the problem?
“I’m in a band … left high school early only to drop out of college…” Auden shrugs, his gaze meeting mine in the rearview mirror.
“How old are you?” I ask, having assumed Xotichl was a junior like me, but maybe she’s older. Maybe he is too. This town has no shortage of illusions, that’s for sure.
“Seventeen—” He starts to continue, but Xotichl butts in.
“For the record, he’s a prodigy. Left Milagro at fifteen to go to the university. He’s being ridiculously humble,” she says, ruffling her hand through his hair.
“I was a full semester into it when I decided it wasn’t for me. I love music.” He shifts in his seat, looks at me. “I didn’t want to study music, I wanted to create music. Music and Xotichl—that’s my life—it’s all that I need.” He lifts his hand from the wheel, pulls her closer until their shoulders bump together.
“It’s all true, except the last part. He loves music more than me,” Xotichl says, squealing with delight when he leans in to kiss her, the sudden move causing the car to swerve slightly out of the lane before Auden rights it again.
