being expelled as I breathe out. I concentrate on my chest rising and falling, letting my stress and nerves unknot with each inhale and exhale. In my mind, I go to a peaceful, relaxing place. A beach, where my toes can dig into the warm wet sand. A sea bird flies by and squawks. The horn of a departing cruise ship sounds in the distance. The waves break over one another, splashing to the shore in fingers of salty foam.
Yes. This is working. I can feel my pulse slowing, the pressure in my chest easing.
She's using her phone ... Emily breaks in abruptly.
"Good God!" I say, then clamp my hand over my mouth. "I had the whole relaxation thing going, Emily!"
Mrs. Langstein, the librarian, peeks around a stack of books and places her finger to her lips. I mouth sorry and close my eyes again.
Emily ... I was trying to relax.
I'm trying to help you figure out what Courtney's doing.
I know what she's doing. She's being an ass. She's not psychic at all.
She's not and I know it. Courtney's not pure of heart and she certainly has no appreciation for a gift such as the one I have. All she's doing is making light of my God-given ability for her own entertainment. I twirl my hair around my pinkie and stare at the book cart in front of me. Suddenly, the mist in my brain clears, and I know what I have to do.
She's using her cell phone to get her information.
Exactly ..., Emily says.
That's it! It's easy enough to prove. All I have to do is view Courtney's call list and see who's calling her and feeding her the information. It's not like spirit guides have caller ID, so it's got to be one of her minions.
I reach for my phone and scroll over to the address book to pull up Celia's information, where I text:
>I no what she's up 2. More l8r!
At my locker, I tug out my physiology textbook and notepad and rush to lab. Ms. Pritchard has our fetal piglets in place—ewww, why do I have to do this after lunch—so I wash my hands in the lab sink, dry them on a paper towel, and then slip on my plastic gloves. Poor little piggy.
I need to do something to separate Courtney from her phone without it being obvious. How to ... how to...
As I'm thinking all sorts of dubious thoughts, Celia texts me:
>Heard CL tell Stephanie she's not feeling well. Sense trip 2 b'room.
Just then, Courtney flounces in and tosses her backpack haphazardly onto the counter. She goes over to talk to Jim Roach, and that's when I get my idea.
>I'm on it.
I pull out the sheet of directions on fetal pig dissection and wait for my lab partner to return. Eventually, she quits flirting and returns to the stool opposite me, where I stare her down with a smile on my face.
"What?"
"Nothing," I say sweetly. "Just ready to get to work."
She flips her hair over her shoulder and reaches for the plastic gloves. "What do we have to do?"
Reading from the sheet, I say, "Today, we're working on the abdominal cavity. We've got to work on and label the large intestines"—I pick at the pig—"oooh, they're like big coils all fused together. And it's right next to the other thing we need to take care of, the small intestines."
If I can believe my eyes, Courtney's usually rosy complexion is starting to turn green. Time for me to administer the final blow. Using my scalpel, I point out, "This must be the small intestines 'cause it's this wicked gnarly mass of coiled tubes here in the bottom of the cavity. The workbook says it's held in place by a tissue called the mesentery. Oh, wow, Courtney, check this out!"
She holds her breath and pinches her nose with her gloved fingers. "What?"
"That mesentery thing looks just like the spaghetti they had in the caf at lunch. Did you eat it?"
With that, Courtney covers her mouth and nose with her hand and I hear her smother a gag. She stands up hastily, knocking her stool off balance. Then she tugs her Bluetooth off her ear and throws it onto the counter next to her bag.
She says, "Tell Ms. Pritchard I'm gonna be sick" and quickly retraces her steps out the door, no doubt to rid herself of caf's said spaghetti special.
Well, that couldn't have gone more perfectly. I know it's not exactly the classiest thing I've ever