HEAR by Robin Epstein Page A

her English accent turning the word singsong. “Didn’t think anyone was up here.” The boys at her side move through the space to grab pool sticks from the wall mount, not seeming to register we’re here at all. One of the guys starts pulling the billiard balls from the table’s pockets and rolls them to the other, who racks them.
    â€œWere you playing?” she asks with an apologetic smile.
    As Alex continues to gape at her, his whole struck-dumb-by-Cupid’s-arrow thing starts to become less than adorable. Mara gets up and starts moving toward the stairwell.
    Dan points to the wall clock. “We have to go anyway.”
    Pankaj rolls his eyes. “ You’re really worried about violating curfew?” he asks quietly.
    â€œ Yeah, I’m worried,” Dan replies.
    Pankaj shakes his head dismissively. “It’s not like we have room check or like anyone’s watching us.”
    â€œSomeone’s always watching,” Alex says. A smile plays on his lips. “The question is if that someone is looking for anything in particular.”
    Before I can ask him what he means, Mara is already halfway out the door. Dan is right on her heels. Pankaj reluctantly follows, as do I, and Alex brings up the rear. But midway down the staircase, Alex hesitates.
    â€œ You know what? I’m not even a little tired,” he says. “I’m going to stay and hang out here for a while.”
    â€œDon’t stay too late,” Dan warns.
    â€œThanks, Mom.” Alex and Pankaj exchange a glance, as if sharing an inside joke.
    Mara is also staring at Alex, and I can see she’s wondering if she should offer to stay out with him. But as she’s weighing her options, Alex turns and walks back up the stairs.
    â€œHave fun,” she yells after him, not sounding like she means it.
    â€œHow was your evening?” Brian calls out as I unlock the front door. “I’m in the kitchen. Come have some ice cream.”
    I close the door behind me, loudly. I march in to find my great-uncle reaching into his freezer.
    â€œ You run an ESP lab?” I demand.
    â€œHere, I got your favorite,” he replies cheerily, ignoring my brusque tone. He pulls out a carton and peels the top off the bucket of Edy’s Slow Churned and then tips the green mint chocolate chip in my direction. I have to hand it to him: if he’s trying to distract me, it’s working. Green mint chocolate chip ice cream is what heaven tastes like.
    â€œMy dad told you my favorite flavor of ice cream?”
    â€œNo,” he says.
    As I take the frozen tub from my uncle’s hand, a chill runs through me. “Then how did you—”
    â€œJust a guess,” he interrupts. He motions to the table. “Have a seat. It’s my favorite too. And to answer your question, yes, I do run an ESP lab. You know, Kass, those with closed minds are always suspicious of those at the forefront of science.”
    I remain standing. “I wouldn’t say that I have a closed mind. I would just say a lot of the people who claim to have psychic abilities are big phonies.”
    â€œAnd by extension ESP can’t be real because we don’t have proof; is that your thought?” He takes two bowls down from the cabinet above the table and then reaches into a drawer for spoons. “But before people learned that the Earth was round, what did they think? Automobiles, airplanes, the Internet—none of these things were even conceivable until one day, ‘suddenly,’ they were. So to think that we already know everything that we’re going to know about how this works”—he sets the spoons down and taps his head—“is, if I may say, pure folly. And my job as a scientist is to explore and explain that which is not understood.”
    I’m worried I’ll fall into a trap if I try to argue. Instead, I offer cautiously, “Do you hate it that people must