could actually get back to something approaching normal. Gran had lost the ability at seventeen, but my birthday had come and gone in January.
“Anytime now,”
Granddad kept telling me. Any time now I could have a life again. Of course, I knew I shouldn’t read too much into it. Both boys had been on the wrong side of public opinion for perhaps the first time in their lives, especially in Will’s case. And Delilah was lost without Jade.
I found Gran’s sewing kit and took my dress off. I wanted to fix it before they got home so Gran wouldn’t feel she had to buy me a new one. Not that the dress was anything special. The faded floral fabric was thin in more than one place, and the stitching was already uneven. But it was the principle of it. The best way to repair it would be to add a thick ribbon or sash around the waist to cover up all the bad spots. I found an old dress in the scrap bin to act as a donor. I carefully removed the brightly colored lilac sash. It didn’t really match the washed out tones of the dress, but it would have to do. I wasn’t exactly high style anyway.
My wardrobe was yet another thing that set me apart from the other girls at school. I didn’t like shopping—it was too public—and Gran’s taste ran from the 1940s to the early 60s. And after I’d been dumped here, I’d outgrown all my old clothes, like I had outgrown my old life.
I no longer owned a pair of jeans. Actually, the only pants I owned were a pair of very retro capris that Gran insisted on calling “pedal pushers.” That, combined with my reputation for spouting random nonsense, had helped keep the boys far away, which was generally okay with me … and with Granddad. The way I figured it, I would go shopping when I was rid of my curse, if we could afford it. A brand-new start all the way around. Something to look forward to. Something to hope for.
Sitting next to Will today had been the closest I had probably ever been to a boy who wasn’t sticking an elbow in my back. Thinking about it brought back the heat of his shoulder, and I blushed yet again.
I shook my head and managed to poke myself with a needle for my trouble. That felt right. Thinking about boys only brought pain.
I wondered if I would ever find a love like Gran and Granddad’s. They had been married for over fifty years. Would I be marked forever by my curse, even after it was finally gone? Would I be doomed to repeat my mother’s mistakes? My parents’ marriage had crumbled like a child’s sand castle hit by a wave. No relationship could withstand utter truth.
Just ask my mother. “Why is your dad always late on Fridays?” she’d chirped one night not long after the prophesying had begun. I was twelve, just like Gran had been when her “gift” started. Mom wasn’t really expecting an answer from me, just puttering around the dining room table making sure things were pretty. She liked things to be just so.
I answered anyway. Up until that day, she hadn’t noticed that I had begun answering every question I heard, no matter what it was. In and of itself, this wasn’t surprising, though. She’d never paid much attention to me, anyway, so long as I stayed out of her way.
“He’s banging Daisy Rodriguez.”
I clapped a hand over my mouth, but the words were out. I was a relatively innocent kid, but even I knew what that meant. It wasn’t something I would ever have said in front of an adult until my gift had taken choice away from me.
All I remember was a sharp intake of breath from my mother. “What did you say?”
I repeated it. I’d had no choice; she’d asked.
She slapped me once, hard across the face, then bundled me off to my room and slammed the door. I cried until Dad came home. He didn’t come to console me or check on me. No, after he came home, there had been a lot of screaming, but none of it directed at me—not that it mattered. I spent the night hiding in my closet, hugging an ancient stuffed teddy bear as each
“Anytime now,”
Granddad kept telling me. Any time now I could have a life again. Of course, I knew I shouldn’t read too much into it. Both boys had been on the wrong side of public opinion for perhaps the first time in their lives, especially in Will’s case. And Delilah was lost without Jade.
I found Gran’s sewing kit and took my dress off. I wanted to fix it before they got home so Gran wouldn’t feel she had to buy me a new one. Not that the dress was anything special. The faded floral fabric was thin in more than one place, and the stitching was already uneven. But it was the principle of it. The best way to repair it would be to add a thick ribbon or sash around the waist to cover up all the bad spots. I found an old dress in the scrap bin to act as a donor. I carefully removed the brightly colored lilac sash. It didn’t really match the washed out tones of the dress, but it would have to do. I wasn’t exactly high style anyway.
My wardrobe was yet another thing that set me apart from the other girls at school. I didn’t like shopping—it was too public—and Gran’s taste ran from the 1940s to the early 60s. And after I’d been dumped here, I’d outgrown all my old clothes, like I had outgrown my old life.
I no longer owned a pair of jeans. Actually, the only pants I owned were a pair of very retro capris that Gran insisted on calling “pedal pushers.” That, combined with my reputation for spouting random nonsense, had helped keep the boys far away, which was generally okay with me … and with Granddad. The way I figured it, I would go shopping when I was rid of my curse, if we could afford it. A brand-new start all the way around. Something to look forward to. Something to hope for.
Sitting next to Will today had been the closest I had probably ever been to a boy who wasn’t sticking an elbow in my back. Thinking about it brought back the heat of his shoulder, and I blushed yet again.
I shook my head and managed to poke myself with a needle for my trouble. That felt right. Thinking about boys only brought pain.
I wondered if I would ever find a love like Gran and Granddad’s. They had been married for over fifty years. Would I be marked forever by my curse, even after it was finally gone? Would I be doomed to repeat my mother’s mistakes? My parents’ marriage had crumbled like a child’s sand castle hit by a wave. No relationship could withstand utter truth.
Just ask my mother. “Why is your dad always late on Fridays?” she’d chirped one night not long after the prophesying had begun. I was twelve, just like Gran had been when her “gift” started. Mom wasn’t really expecting an answer from me, just puttering around the dining room table making sure things were pretty. She liked things to be just so.
I answered anyway. Up until that day, she hadn’t noticed that I had begun answering every question I heard, no matter what it was. In and of itself, this wasn’t surprising, though. She’d never paid much attention to me, anyway, so long as I stayed out of her way.
“He’s banging Daisy Rodriguez.”
I clapped a hand over my mouth, but the words were out. I was a relatively innocent kid, but even I knew what that meant. It wasn’t something I would ever have said in front of an adult until my gift had taken choice away from me.
All I remember was a sharp intake of breath from my mother. “What did you say?”
I repeated it. I’d had no choice; she’d asked.
She slapped me once, hard across the face, then bundled me off to my room and slammed the door. I cried until Dad came home. He didn’t come to console me or check on me. No, after he came home, there had been a lot of screaming, but none of it directed at me—not that it mattered. I spent the night hiding in my closet, hugging an ancient stuffed teddy bear as each
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