Seven

Mr. Lester’s brows furrowed at the mention of Paige’s name. “Of course.” He stepped to the side so I could go into his office. I’d spent so much time in this space, I knew it like it was an extension of my own home. The back wall was floor-to-ceiling dark IKEA bookcases filled with books and odds and ends like a signed Lions football helmet and a stone Buddha. His desk and a large filing cabinet were tucked into the corner.

He’d replaced the industrial office furniture with two comfortable mismatched wingback chairs that took up the bulk of the space. It was supposed to give you the sense that you were simply having a casual conversation in someone’s living room instead of spilling your guts to a school counselor. It worked, too. There’d been plenty of times I caught myself forgetting that he was paid to be nice to me.

I crossed my legs, and he did the same, mirroring my posture. I did that too when I was doing a reading. It was supposed to make the other person feel more relaxed.

“Would you like some tea?” Mr. Lester nodded toward the bookshelf where he kept his electric kettle. “I’ve got some of that creamy Earl Grey you like.” He tugged on his short red hipster beard as if encouraging it to grow.

“No thanks,” I mumbled. I stared down at my hands. I was too queasy to get anything to stay down.

“If you’re worried about your volunteer obligation with exams coming up, we can cut back,” Mr. Lester offered. He’d arranged for me to work in his office for school service hours years ago. This meant I got free hot lunch without having to volunteer in the cafeteria. The only thing worse than being the kid with no money is having everyone know you’re a charity case week after week as you dole out applesauce and extra helpings of undercooked Tater Tots.

I rubbed my hands on my jeans. Instead of looking directly at him, I focused on counting some of the millions of rust-colored freckles on his pale arm. “That’s not really what’s bugging me.”

“You mentioned Paige,” Mr. Lester said. “I didn’t think you two were friends.”

He knew I didn’t really know her. Anyone who had met either of us for more than five minutes had to know we didn’t hang out. Paige was as likely to be my friend as I was to sprout feathers, fly to New York, and live in the trees in Central Park. “No, we’re not friends, but I’m worried about her.”

He nodded slowly. “That’s understandable. However, there’s no reason for people to jump to any conclusions. Paige has a tendency for . . .” He searched for the right word. “Drama. I suspect she’s fine, just off on an adventure.”

I wondered what Paige would think of the fact that even our school guidance counselor assumed she had taken off on her own. The fact she’d run away last spring break worked against her. She was pretty and privileged. She wasn’t the kind to cause any real damage. But she was trouble.

I even knew exactly what kind of trouble. I’d looked up Paige’s student file. The fact I volunteered in Lester’s office meant that I had a unique opportunity to know more about my classmates than they might imagine.

The first time I’d peeked, I’d done it because I wanted to know what was in my own record. I had to see what had been written about the “dad incident.” But once I’d read about myself, I’d gone back to Lester’s file cabinet to read about other people. I collected tiny details, like the name of someone’s dying grandparent, who had an eating disorder, where they hoped to go to school, and any family drama that they dragged with them to school. All of it made my readings a bit more accurate. I knew Mr. Lester would have been disappointed in me if he knew, but I’d never used the info to hurt anyone. And I figured that since my deep dark secret had come out in a school assembly, it was only fair if I knew a part of what they kept hidden.

When the plan for Paige’s abduction came together, I pawed through her file looking for information. A few incidents of drinking, shoplifting; she’d skipped a class here or there; an inappropriate relationship with her club lacrosse coach; she’d had a fight in the gym with one of her friends. She got caught breaking into the mini-golf fun park on a dare in grade ten. As the news reported, she ran off to Florida last spring. The cops picked her up at a hotel. She’d been drunk and had to have her stomach pumped. That little tidbit never made the hallway gossip rounds. Lester had written he thought she had issues with wanting her parents’ attention and approval. In particular, her dad. Turned out we had that in common. Hers had high expectations; mine was missing in action.

Based on Paige’s history, the idea that she might have taken off without telling her parents where she was going seemed completely reasonable. Pluto had guessed right. No one would take the fact she was missing seriously. They wouldn’t even suspect she’d been abducted.

Pluto insisted I was needed to make the abduction work, but I didn’t see why. There was no reason to believe I was being told the full truth. I certainly wouldn’t have told someone else all the details if it had been my idea. It didn’t really matter. Everyone had a part to play, and this was mine. The sooner I did it, the sooner I could be done with this. Paige could take care of herself. For once I was going to do what I needed for me.

“What if Paige isn’t okay?” I paused. “What if something . . . bad happened to her?”

“Her parents are in touch with the police. I’m certain everything that can be done is being done.” Mr. Lester leaned back, giving his beard another yank. “Sometimes it’s easier to be upset about something happening to someone else than to admit what might be going on in our own lives.” He gave a meaningful pause, complete with another beard pull. It was like his personal whisker safety blanket. “Is it possible that your worry over Paige is because of the uncertainty in your own life? Graduation’s coming. Lots of changes ahead.”

Great, now he was going all Dr. Freud on me.

“The past couple of nights, I’ve had what I’d guess you call a vision.” I looked into his eyes. “About Paige.”

Mr. Lester’s bushy eyebrows drew together, like two ginger caterpillars mating above his nose. “Vision?”

“You know that I have . . . I guess you’d call them hunches.”

He nodded. I noticed he was leaning slightly forward. The hook was in the water, and he was ready to bite. He’d always wanted to ask me more about my tarot card readings, and I usually avoided or changed the topic.

“I’m not really sure how to describe it—sometimes I just know things.” I shrugged like it was no big deal. “It runs in our family. Both my mom and grandma have the same gift.”

“Some people think that intuitive ability is a genetic trait, like blue eyes or big feet.”

My shoulders relaxed. “So you believe me?” I blinked a few extra times, trying to make sure my eyes were wide and innocent-looking. If I could have worked up a tear, I would have let it hang there for a beat before falling gently to the ground.

“Of course. I think there are a lot of things that we don’t fully understand.” He raised a finger. “However, that doesn’t mean that if you had a hunch about Paige, it portends anything in particular. Maybe she had a fight with her parents, or was upset about something else, and that’s what you sense.”

“In my vision, she’s screaming.”

That shut him up.

“The images are clipped, like a slide show going by too fast.” I shook my head as if to clear it.

Mr. Lester took a deep breath. “What have you seen?”

I lowered my voice as if I were about to tell a ghost story over a campfire. “It’s Paige. She’s crying. I think she’s in a car, but I’m not sure. She’s scared. I’m sure of that. I can feel the terror coming off her. I get the sense someone is making her go somewhere.”

“Let’s not assume it means anything. It could be a projection of your own stress. In this . . . vision . . . can you tell where she’s headed?” His hands were clenched.

I bit my lip. “No. There are flashes of things. Some kind of sign, but I can’t read it, a large red barn or maybe a farm, and I see this woman with long blond hair and a huge smile.”

He yanked on his beard. He was going to have a bald patch at this rate.

“A woman? Is she in the car with Paige? Is she the one in the back seat? Maybe that’s what you’re seeing.” He was no longer talking about hypotheticals. He may not have wanted to, but part of him believed.

“No.” I shook my head. “At least I don’t think that’s what she means.” I grimaced as if trying to force the knowledge out.

Mr. Lester grabbed a pad of paper from the shelf behind him. He tore off the first few sheets until he had a clean page. “Okay, tell me anything you saw or felt. We’ll make a list.”

“Paige doesn’t know what to do. She wants someone to help her, but she’s alone.” I grab my own head to give the scene some action. “They pull her by her hair to make her get out of the car. I think they hit her too. That’s when she screams.”

Mr. Lester let out a breath. His hand shook slightly as he wrote down each thing I told him into a tidy bullet point list.

“And it makes no sense, but I keep seeing a number. It has a six in it. Maybe a two.” I sighed. “That’s not exactly right, but I don’t know anymore.”

He looks up. “Is it like a room number? Like in a hotel, or could it be part of an address?” Mr. Lester leaned forward, ready to Sherlock Holmes the shit out of this problem.

“I’m not sure. It’s just the numbers in my head. Over and over. That’s it. That’s all I saw.” I threw up my hands. “I don’t even know if it means anything. Like you said, it might just be a nightmare, or worries about the end of the school year.” I snuck a quick glance at him to see his reaction. It’d been my experience that people were more likely to believe me when I questioned what I was saying. If I did it, then they didn’t have to. They would be free to believe. People don’t trust others who are too certain. “I told myself it was nothing more than a weird dream, but then it kept happening, and I felt like I had to tell someone, you know?” I let my voice catch, as if I was overcome with emotion. “What if she needs help, and I didn’t do anything?”

“You were right to come and share what you experienced.” He sat up straighter. “You know you can always talk to me. About anything.”

“I thought about going to the police, but they wouldn’t believe me.” I waved my hands in a limp manner. “I mean, I don’t really know anything. The cops might assume I was making it up for attention or something.” I paused. My past history lay between us. He knew exactly what I was thinking. You make up one injured war vet parent, and no one ever forgets. I needed him to believe me. “Or maybe they’d think the reason I knew anything was because I did something to her.”

Mr. Lester patted my hand. He was shifting into action mode. Guidance counselors so rarely get to feel like superheroes. “You leave this with me. I’ll talk to some people. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure everyone knows you weren’t involved. If you were, you’d have no reason to come forward. Besides, I know you, kiddo. You’d never hurt anyone.”

I blinked away an image of Paige cowering in a basement, tied up and terrified. She wasn’t hurt. She was fine. I didn’t need to imagine something horrible. I wiped my nose and sniffed. I had an airtight alibi for when she went missing, but I wouldn’t mention it now. I’d let that come out later, when people had more questions. “Thanks, Mr. Lester. I appreciate you didn’t call me crazy.”

He tapped me softly on the tip of my nose. “You’re not crazy, Skye. This is likely just a dream, but better to check it out just to be sure.”

I stood slowly. “I should get to class. Thanks again for helping.”

Mr. Lester beamed. I felt a stab of guilt. I almost wished he wouldn’t be so nice. If the truth came out, he’d be disgusted with me.

He scribbled his name on one of the pink late passes and handed it to me. “Of course. That’s what I’m here for. I’ve got it under control.”

I paused in the door. “You’ll tell me what you find out, won’t you?”

“I sure will, Skye.”

In the end, I wouldn’t need him to tell me. Once the ball got rolling, things happened pretty quickly.