The Guidance - By Marley Gibson Page 0,19

depaix with Courtney," Taylor says calmly. She's painting her nails with a frosty OPI color that makes it look like she has diamond dust on the tips of her fingers.

"A what?" Celia asks. "I knew taking German was a mistake."

"A peace offering," I say, even though my language curriculum of choice is Spanish. "You're saying that I need to make nice with the campus wench?"

Taylor purses her lips and then blows on her fingernails. "It seems like you need to be the adult here and take the high road."

Celia crams a fish stick into her mouth and mutters, "Kendall hasn't done anything. What high road does she need to take?"

Patting my hand carefully—not wanting to mess up her fresh paint job—Taylor says, "Kendall, I just hate seeing you so upset all of the time."

"I'm not upset all the time."

Celia snorts.

"What?"

"Dear, we're so worried about you," Taylor says.

"Don't be. Courtney will find something else to interest her soon enough," I say with confidence. Truth be told, I am in a complete and total funk, but that has nothing to do with Courtney. I have problems that don't revolve around her and her one-woman mission to ruin my junior year. The sand in my hourglass is running out. In a week and a day, I'll be lying on the shrink's couch, discussing my feelings and my childhood and my relationship with my parents and heaven knows what else in an attempt to "cure" me of my psychic abilities. Not. Looking. Forward.

Courtney is merely the cherry on top of the nervous sundae. (God, what a horrible analogy.)

The Oreoing of the car is starting to sound pretty good. Just kidding.

"Look," Taylor starts. "I'm an expert at hiding my true feelings. I mean, my father left us, moved to Alaska, and is dating a flight attendant for Icelandic Air. And my mother, well ... there's a lot going on with her that I don't necessarily want to discuss or let be known to the general public. Y'all already know she's considering a boob job for this Delta pilot she's been seeing."

"What is it with your parents and airline personnel?" Celia asks, trying to lighten the conversation. "Is it that expensive to fly?"

Taylor flattens her lips. "It's not my business. I have to go on with my life. The parents have become the children, and the children have taken the high road. See, Kendall. The high road."

I put the spoon to my chocolate pudding down on the tray. "And just what is this alleged high road?"

Eyes lighting up, Taylor says, "I was thinking if you show Courtney what you can do, you know, not read her mind or anything, but really try to show where you're coming from, she might understand you more."

"Yeah, tell her to check out the pictures and sound files on our website," Celia says.

Your friend has a good idea ..., Emily says to me.

"I suppose I could do that."

Not suppose ... it's a good point, Kendall. ...

"Let her know how many case requests we have in our system. Cases from people in other towns who really trust us to come help out." Taylor sports a satisfied grin, like she knows that my spirit guide has just validated her suggestion.

I hold my hands up. "All right. I'll do it. Anything to bury the hatchet once and for all with this chick."

Celia wipes her hands on the paper napkin. "If that doesn't work, we can always have Becca's boyfriend, Dragon, beat the shit out of her."

I nearly snort Diet Coke out of my nose, and Taylor almost ruins her self-manicure.

"No need to resort to that yet," I say. "I'll see what I can do."

That's my girl ...

I've only been to one funeral: Grandma Ethel's. It was the saddest day of my life, looking at my formerly vibrant grandmother lying supine in a gold fiberglass box with satin sheets and pillows around her. She was so ... still ... and my heart was broken. Even then, I think I felt the presence of spirits, although I was unable to acknowledge it. I remember hearing whispers all around me but chalked them up to other funeral guests.

I hear these same whispers now as I stand in line with Celia, Taylor, and Becca to pay our respects to Delaney Lockhart, who has been delivered home safe after his whirlwind tour of America.

The funeral home is dimly lit and smells of mums, carnations, and roses. It's packed with Radissonians who've come to see Mrs. Lockhart and her daughters,