Insight Read online

  INSIGHT

  Jolene Perry

  DEDICATION

  To Joci – one of the coolest girls I know.

  ONE

  “What is this?” I step out of our van into darkness, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I can’t look away from the skinny three-story building that has probably been here for a hundred years. Light from the tired streetlamp stretches just as far as our car, but the blackness still presses in.

  My chest sinks. It’s a dump. Like all three stories will fall over if the wind blows too hard—it will definitely be on the list of worst places Mom and I have lived. The grey paint is worn, and the white trim isn’t all that white. Giant evergreens lean in one side, a parking lot on the other.

  “Look the other way, Micah.” Mom’s smile is sly.

  I turn from the building and suck in a breath. It’s amazing, even in the dark. I’d live in our car to wake up to this every day. There’s a small hill down to the railroad tracks, and in another few feet is the ocean. Just like that.

  I like the water, but the ocean? It’s like a whole moving body, alive with attitude and power. Power to heal, power to frighten, power to kill and power to save. I’m in awe.

  A small ferry dock is to the left against the trees, and dim yellow lights reflect from an island across the water.

  “Wow.” I exhale. I walk across the narrow street to stand over the tracks, pulling my unruly masses of blond curls into a low ponytail mess. It’s a quiet night, no wind, and the water looks like black glass.

  “Something isn’t it?” She watches, probably enjoying my reaction. “I knew you’d like Tacoma.”

  “What’s that? Out on the island there?” I point.

  “Fox Island Prison.” She chuckles as she pulls a few duffels out and sets them on the ground. I spin to see her smiling over the first pile of our belongings. Mom and I have the same blue eyes and angled face, but her hair is a gorgeous sleek brown where mine is thick curls of blonde.

  “Oh. Great. Prison.” I try to sound sarcastic, but in this moment I wouldn’t care if we were in the house just outside of the prison walls—the smell of the ocean could keep me happy anywhere. As I spin back toward the building, I feel a whole ton lighter than I did a minute ago. “So, which one’s ours?”

  “Top.” Her smile widens. “Top, left.”

  Perfect. I look up to see a small hammock chair, and wonder how many naps I’ll take in there with the rain pouring down on the metal roof of our small balcony.

  “Well, there’s no elevator, and we have a lot of stuff to haul up.” This is her nice way of asking me to get my butt in gear.

  I take a deep breath, grab two bags, and follow. The stairway is narrow, but it’s late enough that I don’t have to worry about anyone else here. With my abnormality, personal space is a serious issue. No one who gets unwanted visions when they bump into people would like tight spaces.

  I step into the apartment. It’s even smaller than the one we left back in Spokane. One tiny bedroom attached to a tiny living room and a practically microscopic bathroom. I can see it all from the doorway. There’s a distinct smell of mustiness—an earthy quality that I find appealing, rather than a sign that the place is probably in need of a good scrub.

  “Are you sure we’re done with student living, Mom? Because this feels like a closet pretending to be an apartment.” I drop the two bags on the floor.

  “Very funny. This is temporary.” She disappears out our door and back down the stairs.

  I stand in the small space and stare at the ocean again. When I open the sliding door, I get another deep breath of ocean air. My arms rest on the railing, and I feel home.

  “Well, I vote we both sleep in the living room tonight. We can fight about who sleeps out here and who gets the bedroom tomorrow.” Mom has just brought in another load. “Come on, Micah. One more load up the stairs, and I’ll leave you alone, okay?”

  “’Kay.” I back through the sliding door, unwilling to take my eyes off the water.

  The ocean turns a new shade of black as the lights dim, and a small breeze hits the back of my neck giving me chills. I hope we’re here at least until I have to leave for college. I don’t want to leave the water’s edge.

  ***

  “Tired?” Mom asks as she steps out of the bathroom. The smell of her strawberry shampoo fills the air, but I can’t make out her face in the dim light of our room.

  “Yeah.” After driving across the state of Washington, and hauling all our possessions up in one night, my body’s about done. We’re both on the floor, but Mom promises she’ll get mattresses tomorrow.

  “Thanks for being so good about moving like this.” She kneels next to my makeshift bed. “Especially halfway through senior year. It’s just the job came up, and I felt like—”

  “I know, Mom. It’s fine.” She’s apologized to me a million times, maybe not realizing that I didn’t leave anything behind. Besides, the job is for third grade, and Mom loves that age.

  She leans forward to give me a hug like she does every night. Mom is the only person I look forward to touching because when we do touch, my vision is the same, every time. I see me. Sometimes it’s a flash of me as a baby, sometimes now, sometimes near future, but it’s always me.

  I never know what I’ll see when I brush against someone else, or shake their hand. I don’t want to know private things about people or what they feel—but it’s sort of unavoidable unless I want to be a total recluse. Which I don’t. Most of the time.

  I’ve seen a lot of bizarre moments in people’s lives, and I sometimes wonder why I don’t just see the moment we touch. But I also wonder why I have this oddity at all. Mom is safe, so I sit up to put my arms around her.

  I suck in a breath, and I swear my heart stops.

  A man. Short brown hair with bits of grey at the temples. Warm, kind eyes. A friendly smile on the corners of his mouth. A lot of like.

  It’s not me.

  My hands close in fists, and I try to stop the shaking spreading through my limbs. Mom is my constant. I can’t lose my safe vision from her. Not with our move.

  It takes every ounce of willpower not to jerk away. My heart is frantic, beating desperately against my ribs. He must be in her future. I don’t know this guy.

  “You okay, Micah?” She drops her arms, and scoots away.

  I’m grateful for the dark because I have no idea what my face looks like right now. There’s no way I’m doing a good job of hiding my shock. I’m too tired. “Just sore.” I clear my throat. “From moving.” I lie back onto my pillow, eyes fixed on the white popcorn ceiling.

  “Okay.” She reaches out again and touches my leg. He’s back. Short hair. Kind eyes. Soft smile. Lots of like.

  I blink away tears. This shouldn’t make me cry. This should make me relieved. Happy. I graduate in a few months. I’ll go to college. Mom will be alone.

  At the same time, I rely on seeing my face from my mom, and I’m not there. It’s times like this I wish I had the guts to tell her about the things I see.

  Mom lies on the floor and pulls her blankets up over her shoulder.

  “Night, honey.”

  “Night, Mom.” At least my voice came in some version of normal.

  My visions seem completely pointless, and really only make me wish for the ability to disappear. Every since I can remember, every time I touch someone, through clothes, bare skin doesn’t matter—I see and feel the experience as if I’m them. Just for a moment.

  All it does for me is make me want to not be noticed so I don’t get touched. This is not going to be an easy feat as the new girl more than halfway through senior year.

  TWO

  I stand in front of the mirror and stare at my face, wishing I were one of those pale girls with thick lashes, dark eyes,
and some sort of severe haircut that’s almost black. That’s how I feel—though, I guess that wouldn’t really help me blend. Instead I’m stuck as Goldilocks or her seventeen-year-old counterpart. I grab two ponytail holders and pull it all back into the messy bun ponytail thing I always seem to do. I put on mascara and lip balm, and walk out of the bathroom.

  I slide into my softest pair of black ballet flats as part of my attempt to blend. That’s my goal. I have on a white men’s undershirt and my favorite fitted, green military jacket. It seems safe enough. Cute, but not too cute. I need a scholarship for college so I feel like I should come off as “normal” to the teachers, but I don’t want to attract any attention so I keep everything as simple as possible.

  “When did you get so tall?” Mom asks as I pass her on my way out the door.

  I’m careful not to touch her, which sucks because it’s never been a problem before. But I’m not about to start my day with seeing a stranger from Mom.

  “I’m five foot, eight, Mom. It’s not that tall.”

  “Well, it is to me.” Mom’s keys rattle against the door as she locks it.

  I pull in a breath to loosen my tight chest a bit, but these kinds of nerves I can deal with. It’s just high school. Only a few months left in the year.

  Mom follows down the stairs. “Ready for your first day?”

  “Yep. No big deal.” I slide my pack further up on one shoulder.

  “Wanna drive yourself and just pick me up later?” she offers.

  “No. I can walk home. You said it was short. A walk after school will be fine.” And better than waiting for my mom.

  “You could always wait for me. The elementary school doesn’t get out much later than the high school.” Her voice sounds almost hopeful. Maybe it’s just the problem with being an only child. She has just one person to place all her worrying powers on.

  “Yeah… I’m not staying late on my first day, Mom.” And be labeled a dork or an overachiever.

  “Well, maybe someone will give you a ride. I worry that you don’t seem to ever have many friends.” I’m glad I can’t see her face. She’s still behind me in the stairway.

  In the years of going to school with this bizarre thing I do, I’ve learned a lot about how to be left alone. Dark and moody gets me sent to the counselor. Too goody-goody gets teacher attention. Instead I really try to go for invisible. It’s this talent I’m proud of. How not to be seen. I smile as we step outside. How Not To Be Seen is my favorite Monty Python sketch ever. It’s an old show from the seventies, but when you can’t sleep in the middle of the night, it’s what’s on.

  And now I have to gear up for school. I have minutes.

  ***

  I stare out the car window as Mom pulls to a stop. The school is smaller than I expect. It’s a red, brick building surrounded by huge pine trees, nearly all of them taller than the two-story school. There’s no moss on the bricks yet—a dead giveaway that the school’s not as old as the designers probably wanted it to look.

  “Call if you need anything,” Mom says. She leans over to give me a hug, and I have to breathe out slowly not to cringe.

  It’s me. I’m on the hammock chair. It looks as if I’ve been crying. Mom’s emotions go from angry to worried.

  “Thanks,” I force out. This is not how I want to start my day. I was all braced and ready for the guy, even though I wasn’t thrilled about it. And I’m not totally unaccustomed to seeing myself in the future, but right now it’s looking like my future sucks. I’m going to have to work extra hard to keep my distance—not that I’ve figured out how to make anything I see turn out different.

  It’s five minutes to the bell when I step out of the car. This means that the doorways and hallways inside are packed. After the pictures from Mom that I don’t know what to do with, I’m not ready to face the private lives of strangers.

  I’m sure I’ll get some leeway for being late since it’s my first day, so I sit on a damp wooden bench to wait for the hallways to clear. The day is grey, and it’s not exactly raining, but I’m getting wet. There’s a light mist that almost doesn’t even feel like it’s falling from the sky.

  “You’re so busted!” I hear a boy yell from the doors of the school. His football jersey is slung over a white T-shirt, and his hands are still at his mouth, projecting his yell.

  “Shut up, asshole! I still have two minutes!”

  I look to the parking lot to see a guy with a hoodie pulled up tightly over his head, sprinting for the front door.

  The loud one disappears inside, and the bell rings. The other guy stops running, bending his athletic frame forward. “Shit.” He slumps as his head turns toward me. “Aren’t you in a hurry new girl?” He’s out of breath and all I can see from under his hood is a set of white teeth and hazel eyes.

  How does he know I’m new?

  Oh. Right. The parking lot is small. The school is small. Stupid. “Nope.” I let a breath out and cross my legs to show I’m not going anywhere.

  “Lucky you.” He shifts his backpack up on his shoulder and heads for the front door, jerking it open to walk inside.

  I let my gaze wander back to the parking lot, and the quiet street. We are definitely in a small town. I can’t see a gas station or anything from here, and the lot across from the school is nothing but trees.

  Movement near one of the giant evergreens catches my eye, and I squint toward the darkness in the trees. I watch for a moment, but don’t see anything else. Probably a bird or something. A chill runs up my back, and I decide it’s time to head inside.

  I stand up, take a preparatory breath, and start toward the doors, following the signs to the main office. My small footsteps echo in the silent hallway, and I think about seeing myself crying in the porch swing. Why couldn’t I be happily stuffing myself with brownies behind a book or something?

  After a brief introduction to a very frizzy haired woman in the front office, I grab my new student packet, complete with two late passes. For Emergency Only. Right.

  The classroom numbers are easy enough to follow, and when I step inside my first class, they’re watching a movie. Perfect. I’m able to hand the teacher my slip, pick up my text, and find a seat without attracting much attention. One class down. Six to go. And definitely worth wasting some time on the bench outside.

  ***

  When the bell rings after my first class, I take a few deep breaths, and sit until the last of the students are jostling out of the door. This works best. There’s no way to walk through the hallways without bumping into people. Not without looking like a psychopath. I’m not willing to adopt that behavior. Not yet. I hold my text in front of me like a partial shield and begin walking.

  A boy kissing her. Practically eating her face. Passion.

  Looking through a football helmet. Fear. A crash. Blackness.

  I get a short reprieve until the stairway.

  A parent-aged face. A dog. Comfort.

  Once again, hoodie guy from this morning tears around me up the stairs laughing, and I get bumped from behind by whoever’s chasing him. A girl with long, auburn hair that waves around her waist.

  Dim light. Loud music. Scattered students in a house. A stab of fear. Everything goes black.

  I push out a breath, trying to get rid of the tight-chested fear that came with my vision. She flies around the corner, still reaching for the guy in front of her. Really. Figures. Probably passed out at some party last weekend. Or maybe she’ll get to be wasted next weekend.

  I hold up my slip to check again for the number of my next class. The halls are nearly empty, which means I’m almost late. I’m not ready to use one of my emergency passes, not yet.

  When I step inside, someone else bumps into me. Flashes of naked girls. Crazy positions. Desire. I wish closing my eyes helped. I recoil and look up to see the football jersey guy from the front steps of the school. I can only deduce since no one else is wearing a football jersey today that it’s not a game day, and he’s wearing his because he�
��s just that guy. I look him up and down one more time. He would be looking at porn.

  “Whoa. New-girl is touchy-feely.” His eyes slide down my body. He’s tall, very broad, and looks like a twenty-two year old, not a high school student—especially with his unshaven face.

  “You wish,” I say under my breath and take a seat.

  “You know, when you’re the new girl, you’re like hot for a week and then no one cares anymore.” He laughs with his mouth wide open, and I want to drop a paperclip or a piece of paper in it, just to see what would happen.

  Being the hot girl, even for a week, won’t make me disappear. Once again I sort of wish that it didn’t matter. That I didn’t feel the need to keep my distance. But just like I’m an expert at disappearing, I’m also an expert at pushing that thought away.

  “Lay-off, Josh.” His friend hushes him with both hands, but he’s laughing too.

  “Aw, shut it, Landon. Mr. Senator’s kid. You think you can do whatever you want.” Josh is still laughing, open-mouthed.

  “You can’t use that as an excuse every time. I call it like it is.” Landon takes a seat on a desk, his feet on the chair in front of him. Right. The guy from the stairs and the parking lot. He brushes his smooth light brown hair off his eyes and smiles like someone who is truly comfortable with themselves. I can’t even imagine what that’s like.

  “Hey, Landon.” A bouncy blonde with angled short hair and a body to match plants a kiss on his cheek before sitting down.

  “Where’s mine, Lisa.” Josh puckers his lips.

  “You’re all stubbly.” She wrinkles her nose.

  “Only ‘cause I can be.” Josh punches Landon.

  “Oh, trust me. Landon can by stubbly, too.” She raises a suggestive eyebrow at Landon, who just laughs again.

  “Okay, boys.” The teacher looks up from his desk. “The bell’s about to ring. Can we take our seats please?”

  Landon slides down into the seat that his feet just occupied.

  Guys like them make me want to test out home school, just for kicks. At the same time, I don’t think I’ve hardly ever been in an interchange like that one. Not for my whole high school career. That easy way of talking among good friends.