“I don’t want McDonald’s,” I said. “That stuff isn’t even food.”
She snorted. “You used to love it. Remember how you thought you were related to Ronald McDonald when you were little?”
“The key word there is that I used to like it. I’m a vegetarian—?I’ve told you a thousand times.”
Mom waved me off. “I saw you eat a hot dog last week.”
“It was a veggie dog,” I pointed out. The truth was I wasn’t a great vegetarian. I did my best to at least avoid beef, pork, or lamb, but chicken was a weakness, and I’d pretty much convinced myself that fish wasn’t even really an animal in the same way. I was always able to find an excuse when I wanted something bad enough. My morality was more flexible than I liked to admit.
“You could get a salad, or—?oooh, I know, one of those apple pies.” She whistled, her mouth a perfect O of Revlon Colorburst Candy Apple red.
“Whatever you call that thing, it isn’t a pie. It’s fruit paste wrapped up in a fat-and-sugar-coated-cardboard crust.”
“Mmmm, now I want one of those too.” A truck horn blared as she crossed into the other lane without looking or signaling, our ancient rust-spotted Ford sliding across the wet road with a squeal. I grabbed the armrest in the door. A mud-splattered UPS truck whipped by inches past my side of the car. The bottom of our car scraped against the speed bump as we pulled into McDonald’s like we were rogue NASCAR drivers. She glanced over. “You sure you don’t want one?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Positive.”
She paused in front of the buzzing neon menu board, ordering a Big Mac combo meal with a pie for herself. “How ’bout fries? They’re vegetables.”
The smell of fresh fried food mixed with the scent of rain on pavement wafted through the open window, and my mouth watered at the idea of salt. “Small,” I said grudgingly.
She pulled to the window and turned down the radio while we waited.
“I know why you’re upset.” Mom checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror, adding another spackle-like coat. “You think I don’t get it, but I do.”
“I’m not upset,” I lied.
“Sure you are. You’re picking at your fingernails. You always do that when you’re worked up about something.”
I glanced down and realized that I’d just torn a thin sliver of skin down the side of my thumbnail. I slid my hands under my thighs. I couldn’t have my fingers looking bad. Who’d want their tarot cards read by someone who looked like she got a manicure by putting her hands in a paper shredder?
She giggled. “Remember when you were in fourth grade? I put duct tape on your fingers to keep you from tearing them down to bloody stumps. You walked around with tape gloves.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“You remember it your way, I’ll remember it mine.” She wagged her index finger in my face, the crystal chip in her nail polish winking at me.
I felt a flash of annoyance and had to restrain myself from slapping her hand away from me. “You can choose to remember things any way you want, but it doesn’t change reality.”
She tapped me on the nose. “See, you are cranky and upset. Some fries will do you good. You probably got low blood sugar.” She leaned out the window into the speaker. “Can you make it a large fry instead?”
I bit my tongue. There was no point telling her what I wanted.
“You’re upset because, as much as you try and act like these abilities aren’t real, now you’re being confronted with the fact that there is something to them. Otherwise you never would have gone to the police. In your heart, you know you’re special. I’ve always told you that you have a gift.”
“What you always talk about is how you have a gift.” I slumped down, trying to disappear into the seat.
“Where do you think your ability comes from?” She shook her head like she couldn’t believe how thick I was. “I’ve always had these feelings. I haven’t taken it as seriously as I should either. Psychic ability is like any skill; you’ve got to practice if you want to be good at it.”
“You don’t need to practice.” I watched an empty paper cup skitter across the parking lot in a wind gust. The clouds were starting to break up. The storm was over already. “I had one tiny prediction, but the cops can take it from here.”
I wanted to kick myself. I should have known my mom wouldn’t be able to resist sticking her nose into this. My mom was supposed to be the adult, but at times she was more like an annoying little sister following me around, sneaking through my things, complicating my life.
“How can you say that? The police all but admitted if it weren’t for you they wouldn’t have found that girl’s car. I tell you, I got a hunch. We’re going to save her.” Mom patted my knee.
I pulled on the seat belt, letting it snap back tighter across my chest. I was going to have to figure out how to manage her. If she wanted to fake psychic ability, that would be one thing, but my mom actually believed she had abilities. She would fret and pace about readings she gave people, worried if she’d gotten it right. She used terms like not wanting to let the universe down. She never seemed to wonder why the universe had dropped the ball when it came to us.
For me, at first, it was a bit of a joke, something to do at a party. I liked how everyone would gather around with their red Solo cups full of cheap beer and watch, their voices low and respectful. Then people started to ask for readings. There were plenty of people who vouched that I’d known things I shouldn’t have, that I’d predicted everything from college acceptances and breakups to meeting someone special. Between good guesses and being able to peek at Lester’s files from time to time, I had a pretty impressive rep for what was basically a party trick.
My phone buzzed, and I jumped. I fished it out of my pocket. It was a text from Drew.
U ok? Haven’t seen u all day.
I couldn’t share the truth with Drew, which meant I didn’t want to tell her about it at all if I could avoid it. I typed a response quickly. Sick. Left school early.
Drew answered right away. Sick sick? Or other stuff? Heard u left with Lester. Things ok?
Shit. I should have known Drew would worry. My panic attacks freaked Drew out. The only thing worse than a panic attack is trying to act like you aren’t having one because it upsets your BFF. The last one happened in the middle of the mall in Traverse City. For a second I was certain I was going to drop dead outside of the Sunglass Hut right next to a display of discontinued Ray-Bans, which seemed like a really shitty way to go. Most of the time the techniques Lester taught me, from deep breathing to imagining myself at a beach to calm myself down, worked, but other times the anxiety kicked my ass.
Just cold sick.
U sure? U seem off.
I leaned back in the car seat. Mom was singing with the radio. The Smiths.