The Clairvoyant

Three | 88 days, 8th hour

“You remember where Memorial High is?”

I stare at Vincent, and then at Chey and Ian who are both staring at me, intently. Slowly picking up the chocolate-coffee drinks Vincent made – he works as a bartender by the way – I finish it all in one gulp and set it carefully on the round glass table.

“You know, it's not like I've got amnesia or anything.” I begin slowly, their eyes never leaving mine as I tell them what they should know about. They nod after a few seconds as if what I told them wasn't really real. “It's almost just a ten minute walk.”

“Well we weren't sure if you'd know your way,” Begins Chey slowly, her eyes strangely not meeting mine. She's shuffling her eggs around to the point where she poked it and the yolk comes out. “So we called a friend over to help you.”

The boy last night pops up in my mind. I'd passed out on him without even knowing his name. But I do remember how he looks: tall guy with black clean cut hair and hazel colored eyes. Hazel because I remember him correcting me in a rather...

“Stella?”

I blink my eyes a couple of times. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if you wanted another serving,” Ian continues slowly. “You okay?”

“Oh, no, I-I mean I'm good. I was just thinking of something, and no, I'm full. Kind of.”

“Full?” Vincent repeats, raising an eyebrow. “You sure? You used to eat three plates before.”

My eyes widen at the news. “Hey! I didn't eat that much!”

“Ah, crap, I thought you didn't remember,” Vincent laughs out loud, shaking his head and taking a sip of his coffee. He's about to put it down on the table, his hand already on the fork, when suddenly the door bell rings. “And here comes your friend.”

I look at the three of them incredulously. “Seriously? You really called someone over?”

“I'll go get it,” Says Ian and he puts down the napkin and runs to the door. I tilt my head a little to see who it is, and sigh when I notice that its actually just a delivery boy. Ian signs something on the box, says 'good morning', and then shuts the door.

When I turn to look at Chey and Vincent, I find them with this weird expression on their face. That expression people make when they're trying very hard not to laugh? Yeah, that one, but Chey breaks off first, unable to hide her laughter.

“You seriously believed us?” She cracks up as I get up from the table and bring my plates over to the sink. “You're so vulnerable at the moment, I can't believe you're actually Stella my little sister!” She's still laughing even as I'm washing the plates.

But all that laughter dies down as the door bell rings again.

“Another delivery boy?” I call over my shoulder. I hear someone pull away from their chair, and the door opening. My name's called over and I wipe my hands clean. I'm already heading to the door when I stop dead on my tracks.

It's the guy. The guy I saw last night.

What the f**k is he doing here?

Picking you up.

Get out of my mind.

Stop thinking then. “I'm Cain and I'm Stella's friend,” The word 'friend' rings in my mind and I catch him gazing at my eye. “I drove her home last night so I don't really know if you remember me or whatever. I'm just around the block.”

“Ah, Cain. That Cain,” Vincent nods his head. “I remember you. Good morning, come in.”

“Good morning,” He greets with a curt nod.

Chey's suddenly behind me, her hand squeezing my arm. “How come you never mentioned you had such a hottie as a friend?” She whispers in my ear as Vincent and Cain get into this 'friendly' talk about walking me home after dismissal.

“Wait, walking me home?” I question them both, making them stop midway in whatever conversation they were having just a while ago. “He doesn't have to walk me home. I can get home myself, thank you very much.”

You couldn't last night without fainting.

Shut the f**k up. And get out of my mind! I try giving him my best delinquent glare, but he's looking at my brother, engaging into another small talk as all docile-looking kids do. I just realize right now that Cain's wearing glasses. Last night he wasn't though.

Trying the nice-boy look, huh?

For a second their conversation is put onto a hold. I give out a snicker and Vincent asks me what's wrong. “Nothing,” I reply and twirl around in place. “Anyways, I'm walking to school. Alone. I'm fine, really, I don't need help from Cain.”

“After last night?” Ian echoes from inside the dining room. “You're walking with him. Or Chey and I will. It’s your choice, little sister.” Ian calls me 'little sister' to annoy me; he's always done it this way since we were little kids.

“Last night was a mistake. I ate something that made me sick.”

You don't look sick right now. I ignore Cain's snide comment and head into the kitchen. Vincent lets him in, and I only cast my brother a glare. Hurry up. I don't want to be late for school. We're already a room away, and yet I can still hear him.

Can you hear me?

I pretend not to as I run up the stairs, wishing that somehow one way or another he won't hear my thoughts. I'm in the bathroom already, brushing my teeth, when he's still thinking about how huge our TV is, or how lovely the pictures of my mom are.

Pervert.

So you can hear me.

I click my tongue at how stupid I am, then wipe my mouth dry and brush my curly blonde hair a little. I take my time slowly, but that's also taken away from me when I hear Chey and Ian bid their good byes to Cain, and then Vincent calls me down so I can leave.

My sister and brother are already gone, and Vincent is in the middle of washing the plates. “Take care,” He calls without turning around. “And bring the keys with you. You never know when you come home earlier than the three of us.”

And I do.

I snag the keys off the coat rack and pull my body bag over my shoulder. “Bye Vince!” I call out before closing the door behind me, and locking it. And then I spin around to face Cain who's already walking away from me.

So why did you really come? I ask him without saying a word. We're walking a few feet away from each other and I instantly find myself interested on my navy blue converse shoes. He's not answering and somehow, someway, I wish that he can't hear me anymore.

To confirm if I can really read your mind. He answers after a few seconds. And I can, which sounds totally weird, but I really can hear your mind. But I can't hear other people's mind except yours, which is, truth be told, really weird.

Should we try talking to a doctor?

Dr. Joelle?

So you had the same doctor as me.

I woke up and got out earlier than you though.

Whatever. But should we ask?

He'll think we're crazy. Or maybe even worse, do an autopsy on our brain. The thought of being in an autopsy creeps me out, and I shudder in place before continuing to follow him along. Anyways, I think its best that we keep this a secret. For now.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I fish it out my short. Usually students aren't allowed to wear shorts in Memorial, but if you put something under it – like tights or stockings or something – then it's perfectly fine. And besides, its spring. Its cold. It's only natural I wear tights.

I have a message from Chey. She says I should take care, and happy birthday as well. I greet her a happy birthday too since I'm one of the triplets, and I'm putting the iPhone back in my pocket when I hear Cain say, “It's your birthday?”

Looking up, I find him staring at me and I wonder quickly if he really said that.

“I did say that,” He replies and continues walking forward. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” I reply, though somehow I'm shy after just saying that.

I'm walking by his side when I realize how quiet we suddenly become. “You know, I don't think we've really started a conversation before.” He surprises me, and I glance up to see him looking straight forward into the road.

Nodding, even though I know he won't see, I answer, “Yeah, I agree, but it's not like we started off with a good start. Actually, I think last night was the first time we ever talked to one another properly.” Other than after my fight days ago.

Cain suddenly laughs, and I find it strangely cute. “Yeah, I think so too. We couldn't start a descent conversation last time because you were half dead after that fight. And then last night you were too busy cleaning your shirt.”

“Yeah, and you were busy checking me out.”

“I wasn't checking you out.” I raise an eyebrow at him as he peeks at me. “Okay, maybe a little since you were practically just wearing your bra last night. But that's all. I stopped checking you out after I thought you were weird.”

We're quiet again, and he's turning at the corner so I follow along. You called me crazy.

“You called me a jackass.”

And then we're glaring at one another again. I raise my hand in defiance, wanting to put a stop to all of this. “Okay, okay, I'm sorry I called you a jackass and you're sorry for calling me crazy.” But you really were a total pain in the ass.

“Hey! I can hear you!” He snaps.

A laugh escapes my lips and he only pouts in return. I can see the school not too far away from us and the only thing left is crossing the busy street. We wait for the stop sign to appear, cross when it does, and by the time we're at school we stop at the opening.

Isn't this... “Where we fell?” Cain continues for me, a grim expression appearing on his face. “I saw you over there fighting with this huge girl. You lost and I came over to help you. We were supposed to head to the clinic, but you were falling asleep so I tried to wake you up. We fell after I lost my footing.”

I look up at the flight of numerous steps. We fell all those steps, practically fifteen to eighteen, or maybe even more, and I can't even remember one bit of it. “We must have hit our heads or something at the same time,” I begin softly.

“More like you hit me first.” He mutters and we start up the stairs.

Excuse me?

“We were falling,” He begins our tragic story as we take another step up, together at the same time. “So I decided to be the gentleman I am and cover for you. Then while we were falling, you hit my head and I passed out after that.”

Was the hit really that painful? I question to myself, and for a second, I forget that he can hear me.

“I can't really say we passed out because of the fall,” He answers moments after that. We're already at the top of the stairs, the bottom of it looking tauntingly far away. “Or maybe it was because of the impact of the hit.”

“I wonder if we can fix it,”

“You mean hit our heads again?”

“Hit our heads again by falling down together.”

“Are you crazy?” He looks at me for confirmation, but I only glare at me. “I'm not falling down those steps ever again, even if you cry and plead me to do so. We were barely lucky to have survived that in the first place, Stella.”

We turn our back to the stairs and continue inside the building. There's already a lot of students inside, and it'll only be just a few more minutes before the bells ring. I remember perfectly what classes I took for this semester, and I begin wondering what Cain took.

“Seriously?” He asks me, startling me. “You're wondering? It's already the second semester, Stell.”

“I don't really pay much attention to others.”

“And this must be why you're such a loner at Memorial.”

“And you're supposed to be popular?” I question, my eyes boring into his skull. And my question's answered when all of a sudden a group of girls pass by and greet him a few 'good morning', 'how was your weekend', and 'how are you?'s.

When they're gone, and he's still strangely following me, I ask, “Who are you?”

“I'm Cain,” He chuckles, opening his arms.

“And I'm Stella leBlanche,” I roll my eyes at him, turning at the corner since my class room would be in that respective hallway. “No, seriously. Who are you, Cain?” And yet again, my answer's questioned when I spot the bulletin board.

I stare at it, my eyes suddenly growing wider per second. “No way,”

“Yes way,” Cain chuckles confidently.

“I didn't know you were the son of the chairman here,” I look back at the chairman's name on the bulletin board. They have the same family name and I realize at that moment that he must be some kind of rich boy or whatever.

But Cain is surprised by my words one way or another.

“What? No! Not that!” He's staring at me, but I only stare back. “Wait, I am the chairman's son, but how come you didn't notice this?” His hand points at another poster on the bulletin board. It's a white A3 sized photo paper, and there's quite a few pictures on it.

I stare intently at what he's pointing, and gasp when I see it.

There, on the top of the photo paper (I was checking out the bottom first) is Cain's picture. And under his name is the title 'president'. “You're the president of the student council?” I find my voice rising, and he's only got a smug look on his face.

“The one and only,”

“You?” I repeat, checking out the picture again. Who voted for you?

“Hey! I actually won by votes of the student body, not through my connections.” He snaps at me, crinkling his noise in distaste. “I can't believe you've been attending Memorial High and you never even bothered getting to know your president.”

A chuckle escapes my lips as I walk away from the board. “I didn't really give much attention to such things, you know.” It's true after all. Other than being known as a delinquent, I'm also well known for never paying attention.

“Besides, it's not like I break school rules or whatever.” And again, this is true. “That's one of the reasons why the board never paid attention to me. My fights were always outside the campus so you guys could never really reprimand me.”

“But still, really? It's the second semester and you never bothered knowing the student council?”

“I don't even know the other members except for you.”

“You're such a nobody.”

“Yeah, and you're everybody.” I remark, closing my eyes and quickening my pace to my classroom since the bell just started ringing. “Aren't you going to be late? Stop following me around! I know where my classes are. I don't have amnesia.”

Opening the door, Cain just behind me, I see the teacher's already there, his nose stuck in yet another book like he's done for the past classes I've had with him. “It's so good to see you again,” He greets with a wide smile.

Good? I question to myself, and only give him a curt nod.

“It's good to see you again, sir,” Cain replies and walks in straightaway. “I hope I'm not late for class.”

“Nope, you're just in time. Come sit down,”

I stare at Cain, my eyes boring in his back. When he doesn't turn around, I walk into the classroom only to find the teacher's eyes squinting at me. “Late yet again, Ms. LeBlanche,” He strangely reprimands me. What the f**k? I was just beside Cain, you damn i***t.

“Take a seat at the back,” He says without turning to face me.

The back? I repeat inside my mind. The back row was an unlucky row, so to speak. The students at the front of it were too damn tall that the ones at the back would never see the front. It's always been that way since I can remember.

This isn't fair, I think as I twist my heels and begin striding to the back.

“Sir, she wasn't late though,” I spin around and find Cain's hand shot up in the air. The teacher's looking at him, and for a second they're both staring at one another. “I came a second later than she did, I think it's only right I get the seat at the back.”

The teacher's eye gazes at me, and then returns to Cain. “Well, if you say so,” He mutters before returning to the board and writing something down. Cain gets up from his seat and I find myself quickly staring down on the tiled floor.

“I'm good,” I reply just before twirling around and taking the back seat.

You sure? He interrupts my perfectly silent mind.

I don't need to look back at Cain to answer. Rather, I don't say anything at all. I take the seat at the back, the guys in front of me seriously too tall to even consider seeing the teacher. I rest my head on the table, my view now looking at the outside.

What a crappy start for a day.

I did say we could change seats, I hear Cain think from practically four rows away from me.

I don't want your pity. Now get out of my mind. The teacher's already starting the lesson. I can hear him, but I can't see whatever he's written on the wall. I turn to face the other seats in my row and find it empty. As usual. I sigh to myself and stare out the window instead.

Stella, is the start of the day really crappy?

I nod stupidly even though he's far away from me. Yeah, it's a crappy start.

But you saw me first thing in the morning. Doesn't that count for anything?

Is it suppose to count for anything?

Well... Yeah, I think.

Idiot.

Stella? I don't think of anything anymore but just continue my stare at the greenery outside. Happy eighteenth birthday. I hear him say, and strangely enough, I sit up from the desk and look up only to see a bunch of broad backs at my view.

A snicker escapes my lips, some of the students even eye me from ahead. Glaring at her, she turns away and continues listening, or maybe doing something else, but I'm looking at the window once again. Thanks Cain. I think, a smile forming on my face.

Everything's quiet except for the teacher's lecture and slowly I rest my forehead against the table.

So it's not crappy anymore, right?

I roll my eyes at his thoughts. Shaking my head, I say, Cain, just shut up will you?

Tell me it's not a crappy start first.

Stop being such a kid.

Tell me first and I'll stop bugging you.

No.

Yes.

No.

Tell me it's not a crappy day, Stella.

“Shut up!” I cry out loud all of a sudden. I earn a few looks from my classmates, they're staring at me, thinking I must be crazy. I duck my head down, I can tell the teacher's glaring at me for causing such an interruption in class.

Cain, I think out loud, almost practically screaming it in my mind if that's even possible. I am so killing you.