The book I asked her to read so she'd understand me more and not lash out with such hatred. So I created this monster, eh?
"Keep going," Taylor says to Becca.
"I'm going, I'm going! So anyway," she continues," Courtney was saying that she's suddenly getting messages from a spirit guide. A great-grandmother of hers or something or other. And—get this—the messages are coming to her through her Bluetooth."
"Her phone?" I don't freakin' believe this.
Celia snorts derisively. "It's true that cell phones work on a certain frequency and might be able to pick up voices not discernible by the human ear, but it's highly unlikely that a spirit could manipulate the device to place an actual phone call to—"
I lift my hand up. "Hold on, Cel. I need to hear more of this before we start analyzing."
Taylor's face becomes animated. "She was telling this freshman girl all sorts of détails personnels about her that this girl swore no one else knew."
"Like what?"
"I don't know," Taylor says. "Like who she has a crush on and stuff like that."
"That doesn't prove anything," Celia chimes in, obviously annoyed by the whole situation. "Anyone who pays attention in the hallways, cafeteria, and parking lot after school can decipher who's zooming who around here."
I spin around, looking for the manipulative little impostor. "Where is she?" My senses tell me to look out the window of the caf into the courtyard. It's where the smokers usually hang out, but right now I see that it's the bully pulpit for Courtney. She's sitting on top of one of the picnic tables, waving her arms and expounding to the crowd that's gathered—cheerleaders, jocks, and those brave enough to wander into her social circle—on her alleged new abilities.
Deep down, in that (genuine) intuitive part of me, I know the girl is full of shit. Full of her own shit, for that matter. But I have no way to prove that she's campaigning for a Daytime Emmy with this new act of hers.
I reach over and grab Becca by the wrist. "Come on. We're going out there."
Celia's in too. "She's making a mockery of your gift and of what we're doing with our investigations."
I can tell Celia's wicked pissed 'cause she's got this frown line between her eyes that's deepening by the minute. She better be careful or she'll have to start using age-defying moisturizers for that. Why am I even thinking such absurd thoughts at this moment? Maybe I'm in shock. Maybe I've astral-projected from my body and am watching this all from afar, unable to absorb the depth of Courtney's loathing of me. I run my hands up and down my body. Nope, I'm still here.
Celia raises an eyebrow at me. "Do I even want to know?"
I shake my head and lead the way outside.
We weave through the impressive crowd that's gathered around the concrete picnic tables. Courtney, wearing a short plaid skirt, white blouse, and a blue sweater tied around her neck, a la Blair from Gossip Girl meets naughty Catholic school girl, sits with her knee-socked legs crossed, her eyes closed, and one finger pressed against the silver Bluetooth in her left ear. Mina Moutzourogeorgos, a sophomore, sits in front of her, enthralled.
"I see that you ... made..." Courtney pauses for effect. "An eighty-nine on your Spanish exam."
"I did?" Mina exclaims. "I thought I'd totally failed it and was going to get thrown off SGA."
"Nothing to worry about," Courtney says through her bleached-white teeth. Then she points at this short black girl with awesome braids down to her waist. "You're worried about your English class, aren't you?"
The girl nods, her mouth open in awe.
"Don't worry, sugar," Courtney says, so syrupy sweet. "Mrs. Flynn has been moody lately. It's because she's—" She stops and listens for a moment. "My spirit guide is telling me that it's because she is refinancing her mortgage and things aren't going well."
The crowd gasps. Even Taylor lets out a little yelp.
"You have to understand she's very concerned about her personal finances right now, but she'll be fine soon, and then your troubles in class will be better," Courtney explains.
"Word," the girl says back.
Courtney's self-aggrandizing smile really is annoying. "Who's next?"
Taylor's pretty face turns beet red, like she's about to explode. Then she does. "Courtney Langdon! You're just a big old phony! Vous devriez avoir honte!"
Courtney turns to her. "What did you say?"
I try to stop Taylor, but it's too late.
"Shame ... shame on you! How can you do this? You're just starved for attention."
"Oh,