The Guidance - By Marley Gibson Page 0,30

then because of the pollen?"

"No, dear," Mom says. "He means prescription medications."

I shrug. "You know I don't."

"Yes, but maybe you've gotten something from someone at school," she says in a voice that I can't believe is coming from my mother.

"Are you kidding me? I'm not some OxyContin addict, nor am I buying Ritalin off kids at school!" What is this garbage?

"Kendall! I'm exploring all avenues here."

"You know me better than that, Mom. Honestly!"

Dr. K. stands. "Mrs. Moorehead, perhaps it would be best if Kendall and I meet alone to go over these questions."

"I have a right to know what my child is doing."

"I'm not doing anything, Mom. Please believe me." We're not going to get anywhere with her running this meeting instead of the psychiatrist. "Let me just talk to him."

Mom picks up her purse and reluctantly heads toward the door. "I still think I need to be here with you."

"Don't worry," the doctor says. "After Kendall and I talk, I'm going to have her take some tests that can be used to determine if she's truly having psychic encounters."

"I don't know—"

"I'll be fine, Mom. There's a Starbucks in the lobby. Why don't you go give them all of your money on that Dolce Cinnamon thingy you like so much?" I flash a confident smile toward her so she won't see how scared shitless I really am. I want her to sit and hold my hand and merely listen and not think the worst of me. But I've got to do this on my own. I've got to prove that what I'm going through isn't psychotic, a sickness, or anything evil.

When the door closes, Dr. K. retakes his seat. "Okay then..."

"Okay," I echo. I fidget with the fringe on the edge of a throw pillow. I should stop before he starts taking notes on my squirming.

"So, do you deal with kids like me a lot?"

He peers over at me. "Psychic kids?"

"Yeah"

"Sure. That's why you're here. I have a lot of clients who are going through the same sense of awareness that you're possibly having. We just need to answer more questions and do some tests and rule out everything medically possible so I can set your parents' minds at ease."

I cross my Timberlanded foot over my knee. "Fire away with the questions."

Over the next fifteen minutes, Dr. K. asks me about everything: my drug usage (if any), if I smoke, if I drink, if I'm I sexually active (Jason and I just started dating!), if I take birth control, if I sniff glue (WTF?), about my menstrual cycle (I could not be more embarrassed), if I've ever been abused, if I force myself to throw up (I'm not Courtney, thank you), if I've ever been pregnant or had an abortion (see aforementioned no-sex answer), you name it. By the time he's done, I feel completely violated and mortified. Maybe Mom should have stayed in the room.

He clicks his pen again. A nervous habit, or just thinking? "Very well, Kendall. Thanks for your honesty. Please understand, all of that is merely standard, and I mean no disrespect with any of it."

"It's cool, Doc."

"Like I said, Kendall, I deal with a lot of kids who are experiencing what they believe to be paranormal activity or connections with spirits that have passed. Often, children have overactive imaginations or are trying to get attention from their parents or it's related to stress caused by some change in their lives. Didn't you just recently leave all of your friends and classmates behind in Chicago to move to"—he thumbs through my file—"ah yes, Radisson. Lovely little town."

I hold my hand up. "Dr. K., I understand what you're doing. I really do. Yes, it sucked royally having to leave Chicago to move out to East Bumblebutt, USA—"

He interrupts me with a sincere chortle. "That's a good one. I'll have to remember that."

"But seriously, with this awakening, I haven't had time to miss home or cause mischief. I just want to fit in the best I can. You know, being normal, or as close to normal as I can."

"What do you consider normal, Kendall?"

I quirk my mouth. "Umm ... not talking to the ghost in my house or seeing deceased Civil War soldiers all over town. Not hearing the thoughts of others or knowing how people died." I stop for a minute. "Though maybe this is normal for me now. My friend Loreen Woods tells me that I've probably had this gift my whole life and am only