The Guidance - By Marley Gibson Page 0,10

what your name is." Her voice is laced with venom. "You're obviously delusional and you've got this whole town thinking you're something special. You're not, though. You're just some outsider who wormed her way into my boyfriend's life with this little scheme of yours. Why don't you go home and take your meds?"

Courtney's words hit hard, stabbing me in the chest with the sharpness of their delivery because they're so similar to ones uttered by my own mother. I pick up more from my enemy, though, as I sit here with her. The rest of the class adjusts seats to pair up with their new partners—no big deal. Courtney's threatened by all the positive attention I'm getting. Like it's taking something away from her?

It's lessening her popularity, Emily tells me.

Geez, conceited enough?

I really don't want to start thinking of my abilities in any negative light. It's taken me a couple of months to accept and embrace what's going on with me. Not that I've fully embraced it or understand, but I'm doing my damnedest. Instead of playing into Courtney's hands, I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths to calm my nerves. I'm mentally in Chicago, standing on the edge of Lake Michigan, smelling the air and listening to the birds squawk as they circle overhead. This is a happy place for me. A place where no one—especially Courtney—can hurt me. I also think of the lessons I've learned from my parents about loving your enemy and treating people the way you want to be treated. Father Massimo Castellano at the Episcopal church has reiterated the same mantra to me in his own guidance of my gift.

So, fine. I'll kill Courtney with kindness.

"Look, I'm really good in science and you're a wicked smart girl, right? We can easily ace this assignment if we work together."

She tosses her long blond hair over her shoulder then turns her attention to an apparent chip in her fingernail polish. "Whatever."

I look at the handout Ms. Pritchard gave each team. "So, what do you want to do first ... I mean, once we get the fetal pig?"

Courtney leans across the lab table and points her index finger at me. "Don't think that because I'm forced to work with you in this one class we're all of a sudden going to be all palsy-walsy and BFFs. You are the enemy."

"Of what?"

"Me. Everything I know. You're nothing but a sicko who wants attention. I'll be damned if you get any from me."

I hear Emily laugh inside my head and I'm tempted to join in. Instead, I smile and say, "Whatever you say, Mean Girl."

I think I won this round.

Chapter Three

When the last school bell rings, I borrow Celia's Segway—she's going to catch a ride home with Taylor after a science club meeting—and motor the few blocks to Divining Woman to see Loreen. She's been a godsend through this whole awakening thing, primarily because she went through it herself as a teenager. Now she's in her midthirties and is the owner of this cool metaphysical catchall-type bookstore on the Square in downtown Radisson.

The over-the-door bell clinks as I make my way inside. Spicy cinnamonlike incense dances in the air, along with the smell of sage, juniper, and vanilla. Each scent has a special meaning and is used to help center the mind and relax the body and soul. I should know; Loreen—horrible saleswoman that she is—has practically given me one of everything in the store these past couple of months.

The place seems empty though.

"Loreen?"

There are lit candles on the bookshelf. Surely she wouldn't go anywhere and leave those burning. I move to blow them out when I hear a rustling from the back of the store.

"May I help you?" she calls out. Rounding the corner of a table full of various tarot cards stacked up high, Loreen sees me and her smile broadens. "Oh, Kendall! It's you, sweetie. I'm with a client."

I muffle my laughter as I take her in. She's about Mom's height, with short, curly strawberry blond hair that just touches the neck of her novelty T-shirt, which reads "Ghosts Were People Too." "I'm sorry to interrupt. I can come back later."

"Pish-posh," she says, swatting at me. "I'm just finishing up a tarot card reading. You can sit in."

"I really sh—"

"No worries." Loreen pulls me through the store and slides the makeshift curtain to the left, revealing a small, round table covered with red crushed-velvet material and a Rider-Waite tarot deck spread out in