the other girl is pale and stick-thin with raven-black hair. The dark-haired girl continues, “I don't mind gelatin. I don't get any readings from Jell-O, or marshmallows.”
“Readings?” I ask.
“That's why I'm vegetarian,” she says. “If I eat meat, I can feel the vibrations and the emotions of the animal from when it was killed.”
“No way,” James says. He couldn't sound more impressed if she'd started sneezing gold nuggets out of one nostril and silver out the other.
“Yeah, meat makes me really sick,” the hard-looking angular girl says, her expression earnest. “But marshmallows are okay. I don't know why.”
“My friend Zan here also has a psychic ability,” James says. “He can see into your soul if you poke him in the belly with your finger.”
“Does it work with tongues?” Missy sticks out and wiggles her tongue, which, yep, has a silver stud right in the middle. Why do girls think that's going to be a big turn-on? Nobody wants something sharp and metallic being raked along his body parts. Wait, actually, that thought gave me an interesting feeling. Never mind.
“You could try the tongue,” James says. “But he's a kinky little bastard and he loves the finger. He likes it when you wiggle around.”
I hold my hands open, palms upraised. Seriously? What part of secret does James not understand? We're barely a couple of hours from our town; we're not in some foreign country where we'll never encounter these people again.
“I wanna go first,” Missy says, eyeing my midsection.
“It might not work,” I say. “My powers might be broken.”
“Kiss me while I do it,” Missy says, shoving another marshmallow in her mouth. “I've read about psychic stuff, and sexual tension can really amp up the wattage.”
I look over her shoulder at James, who nods, encouraging me to go for it.
Best to get it over with quick, I tell myself. I lift my shirt and lean down to kiss her cheek. She steps up to me, her hand getting closer, then suddenly she grabs my face and turns my head. She thrusts her tongue in my mouth at the same time her finger goes in my belly.
I taste the marshmallow with undertones of ashtray. It's not going to work , I think, then, so that's what a tongue piercing feels like in your mouth.
Chapter 8
Missy's finger is in my belly button. The fire crackles in slow motion. C-rrr-aaa-ck, pop, hiss. An individual ember rises from the glowing logs and arcs toward my face, but I can't move. I begin the motion of closing my eyes, but I'm distracted by the tongue in my mouth, which tastes like how hot garbage smells.
In my vision is Missy, waving a gun inside a jewelry store. She's wearing a black mask, but I know the girl in the vision is her—I can sense more than just what's visible, plus her yellow hair's sticking out. The side of her neck is fresh and unlined, suggesting this armed robbery is not far in the future.
I'm having a vision , I realize with a start. My power still works.
Dimly, I note my physical eye closes just as the errant ember from the fire sears my eyelid. The pain spreads, sizzling, but I can't move to brush the ember away.
I desperately want to come out of this vision, but I'm stuck watching as Missy, with a dimpled, maniacal grin, runs along the side of someone's car, digging her keys into the paint. She smashes store windows and grabs electronics in a montage of wanton property destruction. The horror! This vision can't get any worse, can it? Oh, but it can. I am treated to the image of her squatting, doing something unspeakable all over someone's new-looking white tennis shoes.
I want to get out of this girl's Secret Town as soon as possible.
I will myself to come out of the vision, to pull away, but it's difficult, like waking myself from a bad dream in progress. The selected reality of this vision clings to me like mud, sucking me down.
Oxygen. I need oxygen. I visualize pushing her away from my physical body, repeating the action for what feels
“Readings?” I ask.
“That's why I'm vegetarian,” she says. “If I eat meat, I can feel the vibrations and the emotions of the animal from when it was killed.”
“No way,” James says. He couldn't sound more impressed if she'd started sneezing gold nuggets out of one nostril and silver out the other.
“Yeah, meat makes me really sick,” the hard-looking angular girl says, her expression earnest. “But marshmallows are okay. I don't know why.”
“My friend Zan here also has a psychic ability,” James says. “He can see into your soul if you poke him in the belly with your finger.”
“Does it work with tongues?” Missy sticks out and wiggles her tongue, which, yep, has a silver stud right in the middle. Why do girls think that's going to be a big turn-on? Nobody wants something sharp and metallic being raked along his body parts. Wait, actually, that thought gave me an interesting feeling. Never mind.
“You could try the tongue,” James says. “But he's a kinky little bastard and he loves the finger. He likes it when you wiggle around.”
I hold my hands open, palms upraised. Seriously? What part of secret does James not understand? We're barely a couple of hours from our town; we're not in some foreign country where we'll never encounter these people again.
“I wanna go first,” Missy says, eyeing my midsection.
“It might not work,” I say. “My powers might be broken.”
“Kiss me while I do it,” Missy says, shoving another marshmallow in her mouth. “I've read about psychic stuff, and sexual tension can really amp up the wattage.”
I look over her shoulder at James, who nods, encouraging me to go for it.
Best to get it over with quick, I tell myself. I lift my shirt and lean down to kiss her cheek. She steps up to me, her hand getting closer, then suddenly she grabs my face and turns my head. She thrusts her tongue in my mouth at the same time her finger goes in my belly.
I taste the marshmallow with undertones of ashtray. It's not going to work , I think, then, so that's what a tongue piercing feels like in your mouth.
Chapter 8
Missy's finger is in my belly button. The fire crackles in slow motion. C-rrr-aaa-ck, pop, hiss. An individual ember rises from the glowing logs and arcs toward my face, but I can't move. I begin the motion of closing my eyes, but I'm distracted by the tongue in my mouth, which tastes like how hot garbage smells.
In my vision is Missy, waving a gun inside a jewelry store. She's wearing a black mask, but I know the girl in the vision is her—I can sense more than just what's visible, plus her yellow hair's sticking out. The side of her neck is fresh and unlined, suggesting this armed robbery is not far in the future.
I'm having a vision , I realize with a start. My power still works.
Dimly, I note my physical eye closes just as the errant ember from the fire sears my eyelid. The pain spreads, sizzling, but I can't move to brush the ember away.
I desperately want to come out of this vision, but I'm stuck watching as Missy, with a dimpled, maniacal grin, runs along the side of someone's car, digging her keys into the paint. She smashes store windows and grabs electronics in a montage of wanton property destruction. The horror! This vision can't get any worse, can it? Oh, but it can. I am treated to the image of her squatting, doing something unspeakable all over someone's new-looking white tennis shoes.
I want to get out of this girl's Secret Town as soon as possible.
I will myself to come out of the vision, to pull away, but it's difficult, like waking myself from a bad dream in progress. The selected reality of this vision clings to me like mud, sucking me down.
Oxygen. I need oxygen. I visualize pushing her away from my physical body, repeating the action for what feels
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