as if this is common knowledge, and I should be embarrassed about not having known.
“A scrying tool?” I ask, trying to remember where I’ve heard this word before. It hits me. “Like a crystal ball?”
“Yeah, like a crystal ball, or Tarot cards, or a dowser, or lots of other things,” Shapri says. “But what’s my mom doing giving them to you?”
“I have no idea,” I admit, shaking my head. “Guess I’ll ask her.”
“She’s not trying to convince you you’re ‘gifted,’ is she?”
“Um,” I stall, hoping Simmi will respond for me, because I don’t know how much Shapri knows about this, or if she’s likely to announce it to the whole school once she finds out.
“If she is, don’t listen to her,” Shapri continues. “My whole life, she’s been trying to convince me I’m ‘gifted.’ But I don’t believe her. I don’t think there’s such a thing as an ability to tell the future or move objects with your mind or talk to the dead.”
“Yeah, me neither,” I half-lie.
Simmi clears her throat.
“But, tell your mom thank you for the gift.”
“Okay,” Shapri says, getting up from the table. Her sneakers squeak on the linoleum as she crosses the cafeteria to retrieve something.
“Hey,” I say, since Simmi and I are now alone. I don’t want to invite Shapri. It is my birthday after all. “Mom said I could invite a friend for pizza after school. Do you want to come?”
“I’d love to come,” she answers, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand.
“Come where?” Shapri asks, returning much too quickly with her jumbo wad of napkins.
“To Alex’s after school for pizza.”
“Oh, yeah. I love pizza.”
“Great,” I say, trying my best not to sound sarcastic. But she’s invited herself along, so what can I do?
***
The three of us agree to meet at the school flagpole after sixth period. The plan is to walk over to the strip mall together, and then Mom will drive us home for our pizza party.
Simmi and I arrive at the rally point together from Mrs. Warszynski’s to wait for Shapri. Several minutes go by. I want to suggest we leave without her but don’t think that’ll score me any points with Simmi.
“You didn’t want Shapri to come tonight, did you?” Simmi asks.
“Well, I…no, I mean, it’s fine. I’m glad she could come,” I sputter.
“You’re such a horrible liar,” Simmi teases, pushing me playfully.
“Hey, that’s not fair. I can’t hit you back. You’re a girl.”
“I’m just teasing you.” Simmi blows a raspberry and pulls her body up onto the circular wall surrounding the flagpole area. I hesitate before heaving myself up, too. Simmi scootches over so we touch at the hip. She loops her hand through the crook of my arm and places her head on my shoulder. “I never would have gotten away with this in India,” she says. “But I’m glad I can here. I’m a psychic feeler. I need to be in touch with others.” She pauses and strokes my arm with her free hand. “You know, when I touch someone I can make them feel what I want them to, but I can also sense their existing emotions. It’s almost the same as being able to read minds. Everything important has to do with the heart, not logic.” She lightens her tone. “But don’t tell Dr. Brown I said that, he’d take marks off of my next chem exam out of spite.”
I laugh nervously. Is she like Miss Teak in a way? Can she read my feelings for her? If she can, why hasn’t she said anything? I contemplate reaching over and kissing her, so I can know for sure how she feels. I’ve never kissed anyone before, though. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to initiate it. Do I take her out for dinner and a movie first? Or make some lengthy speech declaring my intentions? Do I kiss her, just like that? Or do I ask for her permission before making my big move?
I decide to ask if it’s okay. Simmi is a classy girl. She needs respect. I swallow, hoping the motion will open up my airway, because
“A scrying tool?” I ask, trying to remember where I’ve heard this word before. It hits me. “Like a crystal ball?”
“Yeah, like a crystal ball, or Tarot cards, or a dowser, or lots of other things,” Shapri says. “But what’s my mom doing giving them to you?”
“I have no idea,” I admit, shaking my head. “Guess I’ll ask her.”
“She’s not trying to convince you you’re ‘gifted,’ is she?”
“Um,” I stall, hoping Simmi will respond for me, because I don’t know how much Shapri knows about this, or if she’s likely to announce it to the whole school once she finds out.
“If she is, don’t listen to her,” Shapri continues. “My whole life, she’s been trying to convince me I’m ‘gifted.’ But I don’t believe her. I don’t think there’s such a thing as an ability to tell the future or move objects with your mind or talk to the dead.”
“Yeah, me neither,” I half-lie.
Simmi clears her throat.
“But, tell your mom thank you for the gift.”
“Okay,” Shapri says, getting up from the table. Her sneakers squeak on the linoleum as she crosses the cafeteria to retrieve something.
“Hey,” I say, since Simmi and I are now alone. I don’t want to invite Shapri. It is my birthday after all. “Mom said I could invite a friend for pizza after school. Do you want to come?”
“I’d love to come,” she answers, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand.
“Come where?” Shapri asks, returning much too quickly with her jumbo wad of napkins.
“To Alex’s after school for pizza.”
“Oh, yeah. I love pizza.”
“Great,” I say, trying my best not to sound sarcastic. But she’s invited herself along, so what can I do?
***
The three of us agree to meet at the school flagpole after sixth period. The plan is to walk over to the strip mall together, and then Mom will drive us home for our pizza party.
Simmi and I arrive at the rally point together from Mrs. Warszynski’s to wait for Shapri. Several minutes go by. I want to suggest we leave without her but don’t think that’ll score me any points with Simmi.
“You didn’t want Shapri to come tonight, did you?” Simmi asks.
“Well, I…no, I mean, it’s fine. I’m glad she could come,” I sputter.
“You’re such a horrible liar,” Simmi teases, pushing me playfully.
“Hey, that’s not fair. I can’t hit you back. You’re a girl.”
“I’m just teasing you.” Simmi blows a raspberry and pulls her body up onto the circular wall surrounding the flagpole area. I hesitate before heaving myself up, too. Simmi scootches over so we touch at the hip. She loops her hand through the crook of my arm and places her head on my shoulder. “I never would have gotten away with this in India,” she says. “But I’m glad I can here. I’m a psychic feeler. I need to be in touch with others.” She pauses and strokes my arm with her free hand. “You know, when I touch someone I can make them feel what I want them to, but I can also sense their existing emotions. It’s almost the same as being able to read minds. Everything important has to do with the heart, not logic.” She lightens her tone. “But don’t tell Dr. Brown I said that, he’d take marks off of my next chem exam out of spite.”
I laugh nervously. Is she like Miss Teak in a way? Can she read my feelings for her? If she can, why hasn’t she said anything? I contemplate reaching over and kissing her, so I can know for sure how she feels. I’ve never kissed anyone before, though. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to initiate it. Do I take her out for dinner and a movie first? Or make some lengthy speech declaring my intentions? Do I kiss her, just like that? Or do I ask for her permission before making my big move?
I decide to ask if it’s okay. Simmi is a classy girl. She needs respect. I swallow, hoping the motion will open up my airway, because
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