The Medium by Noëlle Sickels Page A

anything coming through. Today had been a little different.
    Helen had never been in a physical fight with anyone, but she imagined it might feel something like what her bouts against her abilities felt like—moments of mastery alternating with thumping setbacks, constant effort and alertness and enforced bravery. Until the fight was over. Helen believed there must exist a switch to turn off her abilities permanently, not merely disregard them, and she meant to keep groping in the dark until she hit it.
    What meaning did today have in her struggle? Was the mildness of the event a sign she’d gained more control, or did the novelty of it indicate the spirits had found a new path into her mind? She didn’t want to dwell on it. That was part of her plan, too. She walked to the open window and tossed out the little stone.
    Â 
    Helen was walking at a good clip through the woods, despite the awkwardness of the fat inner tubes, one slung over each shoulder. From time to time, a tube would strike a tree and bounce her slightly to one side or the other, but she didn’t slow her pace. She wanted to reach the river before Rosie, to ease herself in and be already floating when her friend arrived. Rosie might be as queasy as Helen about the sucking mud and nipping crayfish of the murky shallows, but she’d never show it. She was sure to plunge in without hesitation, stirring up muck and marsh gas and creating an unappealing stew for Helen to enter.
    At the point where the Cedar Street trail joined hers, Helen paused to look for Rosie, but there was no sign of her. Helen hurried on. Soon the glint of the river was visible through the trees. Near the trail’s end, where it turned to meet the small
stretch of cleared bank, Helen spotted a white shirt hanging on a bush.
    â€œDrat!” she said, stopping short.
    But maybe Rosie was waiting for the inner tubes. Helen could still have a chance of getting into the river first. If she could overcome her reluctance about cold water and the icky shoreline, she could run by Rosie and jump in before Rosie even knew she was there. Helen’s plotting was interrupted by the sound of laughter from the riverbank, a girl’s voice.
    A young woman came from the other side of the bush and retrieved the white shirt. She was wearing a plaid halter and a dirndl skirt, with a yellow scarf as a belt. Here was someone who would have no trouble with any kind of bathing suit. She was lifting her long, dark hair over the collar of the shirt when a young man stepped around the bush behind her and put his arms around her waist. She leaned back against him, and he kissed the side of her neck. She laughed again.
    Helen coughed loudly to let the couple know she was there. When they saw her, they parted with a little jump that would have been comical had not Helen suddenly recognized the boy.
    Billy’s face was dappled with leaf shadows. He moved in front of his companion as if he were shielding her and smiled crookedly at Helen.
    â€œHey, hi,” he said with artificial cheer. “What are you doing here?”
    â€œGoing swimming,” she said, her heart hammering.
    She saw the girl examining her over Billy’s shoulder. Her appraisal was bound not to be as flattering as the one Helen had given her.
    â€œThis is Helen, my next-door neighbor,” Billy said, turning to the girl.
    â€œCute,” the girl said. Then to Helen, “I’m Beth.”
    â€œOh, yeah, sorry,” Billy added. “This is Beth.”

    Helen had heard the expression about wanting the ground to open up and swallow you, and now she fervently wished for just that. Anything but to have to stand there one more second with her stupid pinned-up braids and her stupid patched inner tubes. At least the tubes were hiding the awful, babyish ruffles on her bathing suit straps.
    â€œC’mon, let’s go,” Billy said.
    Beth slid her fingers down Billy’s arm, and he reached back