“Are you here for the boxes?” She shouted above the sounds of power drills, saws and other construction equipment at work.
“Yes!” I shouted back.
She opened the door. The interior of the house was totally different. It was a construction zone disaster. The furniture had all been removed. Wooden walls had strips missing, parts of the floor had been torn up.
“Sorry it’s so loud. We had to fix some code violations, and it’s a mess.” she said. “These boxes here are for you. Thank Lesley for picking them up for me.”
“Sure thing.” Brent managed to pick up the three heavy boxes himself. They were all labeled ‘yearbooks.’ I took the long rolls of blueprints and tucked them under my arms before opening the door for him.
When we got back to campus, Lesley thanked us profusely and let us go early for the day.
True to his word, Brent hauled me out to the tennis courts to practice my telekinesis. We decided to train in astral form today. A light breeze stirred the air, providing relief for the still-warm afternoon. I looked up at the cloudless sky and grinned.
Training was really helping me work out some the current frustrations of my life. It felt good to stretch myself and see what I could do.
“So did you get hold of your dad yet?”
“No, but I’ve talked to his secretary. His voicemail and I are fostering an intimate relationship, and his inbox is full of messages from me. If he knew how to text message, I’d be doing that too.”
“How long until he’s home?”
“I don’t know. This is the time of year he travels the most for work. He could be gone for more than a month.” Brent tossed a ball at me. “Try and move this back to me.”
“So we don’t know anything new then?”
“Nope. Except that my dad really doesn’t care about me. Oh, wait. I already knew that.”
I pointed my finger at the ball and it moved a few inches.
“Not bad,” Brent said, “but try again. I know you can move it farther.”
I squinted at the tennis ball that I was trying to move from one side of the court to the other. It gave a feeble wiggle and rolled a few inches before stopping.
“DJ must have been wrong. There is no way I could have moved the entire pool of water. I can’t even move a ball while projecting, when I’m more powerful.”
Brent shrugged. “People have been known to pick up an entire car under extreme amounts of stress.”
“And you think the pool thing was the Waker equivalent?”
“It’s a reasonable assumption.”
I frowned. “Fine, but I’d prefer to be able to use telekinesis when my life isn’t in danger.”
“Well,” Brent said, staring at the tennis ball, which had started rolling again, “at least you have the comfort of knowing that you can do it when you really need to.”
“I guess that’s something.” I put my hand out over the ball, concentrating. It levitated for a few second before dropping and bouncing away. “Being a Waker is ruining my life.”
“You thought you’d just live your normal life and help ghosts on the side?”
“Well, yeah, something like that.”
“Why would you think it would work that way? Haven’t you met your grandma?” Brent frowned. “It seems like her whole life is dedicated to helping people. She’s like a paranormal Mother Theresa, just out there helping and helping and helping all of the time.”
“Well yeah,” I agreed, “but that’s just what Vovó does. It’s what she’s always done. It just comes naturally to her.”
“But not to you?”
“My abilities didn’t manifest until last year. I had plenty of time to plan out a different life for myself. One that didn’t involve ghosts. I’m not sure how to expand my life plan to include being a Waker.”
Brent came up behind me and began to massage my shoulders, working on a knot between my shoulder blades. The motion soothed me, pulling away my stress. “Are you afraid you’ll end up like your Vovó?”
I felt shame burn in my cheeks. “How can I say yes to that?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “It makes me sound horrible but isn’t that what I’ll become? She wants me to postpone college. I’ll be gone a whole year if I agree.”
Brent’s massage stopped. “I know.”
“That’s a whole year without seeing you. Actually a year and three months, if Vovó has her way. It was hard enough being away for you for the summer. Can you imagine me being gone a whole year?”
Brent leaned close, his warm breath tickling the nape of my neck. “No, but if it’s what you need to do, then you should go. I’ll be here when you get back.”
“You wouldn’t care that I’d be gone?”
He groaned. “It would be horrible, but I’m trying to be supportive here. Of course I don’t want you to go. She can’t force you to postpone college, Yara. You do have a choice.”
“It doesn’t feel that way.”
Brent fingers found a new tense spot and I let my eyes slide closed as the knot in my shoulders loosened. “I’m not sure about the whole college thing but you and your Vovó are two different people. Just because you study a year doesn’t mean you’re going to end up having her job.”
“But we’re both Wakers.”
“Are all Wakers the same?”
My sister was a Waker and she was in college and doing fine. Of course, Melanie had been training her whole life. I thought back to my time in Brazil. I had met a couple of other Wakers there, some of them related. They lived in different cities than my Vovó, but they were all good friends whose family friendships went back for many generations. They all had different specialties and unique gifts, but in the thing that mattered, they were all the same. They all loved helping ghosts.
“I’m not like them, Brent.”
“I know. You’re special. Even your Vovó thinks so.”
“What?” I asked, I started to turn my head but he placed a gentle finger on my cheek and turned my head forward again. He started kneading my neck and my head fell forward.
“I see the way she looks at you. She’s so proud of you. She knows you’ll make it. It’s like she sees this great destiny for you.”
“It’s a destiny she sees for me, but not the one I envision for myself.” His thumbs massaged around the base of my skull. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Okay let’s practice some more.” He moved his index finger and the ball raised until it hovered at eye level.
I stomped my foot. “Why do things just obey you?”
“Just my natural charisma.”
I rolled my eyes and turned back toward the other ball. I wasn’t exactly sure why, but it was easier to move things while I was bodiless. Still, I wasn’t very good. I thought back to the water. Maybe I could recreate the feelings of the event, trick my mind into believing I was about to die.
I concentrated on moving the ball again. I stretched my hand out above the ball, recalling the powerful emotions I had felt during the battle. I pictured the scene in the pool house. My heart started to pound, adrenaline raced through me like water through a fire hose, so strong it almost knocked me off my feet. The ball levitated up to my hand. I pointed toward the far side of the court and it sailed effortlessly through the air.
“I did it! Brent, I did it!” I shouted, doing a happy dance, the ball following the movement of my twisting hands. I expected him to shout some sort of congratulatory statement, but there was only silence.
I spun around. Brent was bent over his knees, trying to stop a bloody nose. Then I looked closer and realized the fluid covering his hands was blue. It wasn’t blood at all, but the spirit fluid that seeped from injuries while we were without our bodies.
“Brent. . . you better reconnect.”
He nodded and his body and spirit rejoined. I followed suit and felt the familiar icy shiver of reconnecting slide over me. Brent pulled his shirt off, crinkling the white cotton to his nose to staunch the fl
ow of what had changed from spirit fluid to blood. Eventually he pulled the shirt away, rubbed his hand across his nose, and sighed in relief as it came back clean. He still had blood smeared across his face like some twisted, slasher Halloween costume.
I dug through my purse for a water bottle and a package of tissue. I wet a tissue and crouched down next to Brent to wipe away the leftover blood.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I feel fine.”
“I think you need to see a doctor.” I wet another tissue and started cleaning his face again.
“No,” Brent said, stilling my hand with his own.
“Brent, you have to get it checked out. What if you have a brain tumor or something?”
“I don’t have a tumor. It’s just a bloody nose. I’m fine.”
I put my hand on his arm, noting that he felt hot again. My own skin was cool, despite the warm day.
“I know you’re trying to minimize the seriousness so I won’t freak out, but it’s not really working. I’m scared.” I dropped my hands. “Okay, if you don’t want to see a doctor then at least let Vovó check you over. Please.”
Brent took the crumpled tissues from me and wadded them inside his ruined shirt. He pulled me close, my head resting against his feverish bare chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart mingling with the sounds of the birds and the faraway laughter of students on campus.
He kissed the top of my head and sigh. “Okay, I’ll go to the doctor. Better safe than sorry, right?”
I grinned. “Right.”
v
By mid December, I was low on sleep and high on stress. Not because of ghosts, clandestine groups, or guys with cryptic messages, but because it was almost time for finals. I had turned Taffy in and received an A on the project, which took some of the pressure off. Also, I hadn’t seen Sophia since the pool house and Brent hadn’t had a nosebleed for a while. He had visited the doctor and reported back to me that he’d been given a clean bill of health. His dad still hadn’t called him back, but he’d be home Christmas Eve, and Brent would talk to him then.
Finals week found students wandering between the cafeteria and the library with snacks and caffeinated drinks and dazed looks in their eyes. We were all holding on to the solid reality that after finals, we’d have two weeks of winter break.
There was another source of fear and excitement working its way through the senior class. College acceptance letters had started to arrive. So had the rejection letters. I called home everyday for an update. Still no word from Columbia. Even in my sleep-deprived, anxiety-fueled state, I loved having the same normal problems as my friends.
By the time my last final was over my brain was little more than a wet rag that had been stuffed full of facts and figures, and wrung out till every bit was gone. I let out a whoop of joy. Winter Break had begun.
v
“Merry Christmas Eve!” I said pulling open the front door.
Brent stood on the porch, an armful of presents stacked in his arms.
“Come in.” I opened the door wider for him. Brent gave me his easy grin while I took the presents from him and put them under our tree.
Brent’s family was spending Christmas day at their cabin in Arrowhead, but he had managed to negotiate a few hours on Christmas Eve with me before he left. Mom, Melanie and Vovó had gone all out, making Peru Assado, Pernil, Farofa, and Pudim de Leite. Brent sampled it all and won Vovó’s heart forever by praising her cooking and going back for seconds.
Mom passed me a large manila envelope after we finished eating. My heart stuttered. It was from Columbia.
“It came today,” she said when I sent her a questioning look.
“A big envelope is good news, right?” I asked.
Brent reached under the table and squeezed my knee. “That’s what I’ve heard.”
I opened it and held my breath until I read the word ‘Congratulations.’
“I’m in!” I was suddenly surrounded by my family, in the middle of a giant hug. One of my life dreams had just come true and it felt too wonderful to be real.
Then my good mood wilted. “Not that it matters. You aren’t letting me go. You’re making me go to Brazil.”
Mom gasped. “That isn’t true. Whether you go to Brazil or Columbia is up to you.”
My dad ruffled my hair. “We know better than to try and make you do anything.”
“So if I decided to go to college instead of Brazil. . . ” I licked my lips, “you’d let me.”
Vovó nodded solemnly. “That choice is yours, Querida.”
“Of course.” Mom cupped my face in her hands. “Your dream just came true. We’re excited for you. And very proud.”
“I didn’t think you’d be happy for me.” I was pulled into another hug.
“We’re thrilled,” my dad said.
And suddenly, my winter break got that much better.
After dinner and the excitement over my acceptance letter, Brent meandered into the living room and stood transfixed in front of our tree.
“Your tree is so much better than ours,” he said leaning in and smelling its fragrant branches.
I came up next to him and considered our tree. “How so?”
“Ours is impersonal. It says nothing about our family. My mom hires a professional decorator to do ours. It’s artificial and there’s a color scheme. All the ornaments are coordinated for color and size, but none of them are handmade. It’s all about show and not . . . Oh wait, maybe it represents our family perfectly.”
The Silva tree could be considered something of a mutt. It had every handmade ornament my siblings and I had ever made hanging from its branches, and a garland of hand-strung popcorn wrapped around it.
“You have your elementary school ornaments on proud display. This is fascinating,” Brent said as he fingered a lopsided gingerbread man. It slipped from the branch, and he reached to catch it, but it fell to the carpet, unbroken. He glanced over his shoulder in a sort of panic. My mom smiled at him, and his shoulders relaxed. He bent to pick it up, and replaced it on a slightly higher branch. “Look at that. I can actually touch it and not get in trouble for messing it up.”
A crazy idea popped into my head. I ran and consulted with my mom and sister before ushering Brent back into the kitchen. In front of his seat, Melanie had arranged a paper cup, some macaroni, tinsel, ribbon and some glitter. I plugged in the hot glue gun and sat down next to Brent. Everyone joined us around the table.
“What are we doing?” Brent asked.
“You’re going to make an ornament to hang on our tree.”
Brent gave us a half-checked smile and started to get up. “That’s sweet but you don’t—”
“Sit and make us an ornament,” Vovó ordered.
Without question, Brent did exactly as she directed. One of his eyebrows quirked up at her; he seemed genuinely surprised to find himself sitting back in the chair.
“How did you do that?” he asked her.
She smiled. “I am the Matriarca of my Waker line. Spirits obey me when I command them.”
The crease in Brent’s forehead deepened. “But I’m not a spirit.”
Vovó leaned over and patted his cheek. “Ah. . . yes, but you can project. You are closer to being a spirit than most. I’ve dealt with people who could project before.”
“That’s so cool!” I turned toward Brent. “Brent, we are going to a romantic movie next time instead of an action one.”
Brent shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
I frowned at Vovó. “Why didn’t it work for me?”
Vovó added a few colors of paints to Brent’s ornament supplies. “Because you are not the Matriarca.”
“Oh.” I sat down next to Brent. “So how come you can’t order me around when I can project?”
“Because you are a Waker. You’re abençoada.”
In this one instance, I might really be blessed.
Brent decided to make an ornament after all. I wasn’t quite su
re if it was Vovó’s order or his own decision. He burned his fingers twice with the glue gun because his arm kept twitching. Vovó instantly applied lavender oil to ease the sting.
When it was done, Brent hung his ornament on the tree, even before the glue was dry. He smiled proudly, and then blushed.
“I know I’m eighteen and all, but that is an awesome macaroni bell. I’ve got mad craft skills.”
I admired the misshapen, crooked, and glitter heavy ornament with its uneven bow and laughed. Brent made me look like a crafting genius.
The smell of evergreen hung in the air, combining with the scent of Vovó’s homemade hot chocolate and my mother’s sugar cookies to create a perfect holiday aroma. I was in heaven.
I led Brent to our soft leather couch, near the fireplace. He sat down and stretched out his arm after it twitched again. “I’m developing a tick. Must be stress related.”
“I guess you’ll need to be going soon,” I said, resigning myself.
“Yeah. Long drive.”
“You can’t leave yet,” Vovó interjected. “Not until you’ve opened your gifts.”
“You got me presents?” Brent asked. He rubbed his hands together as he peeked toward the tree.
“Maybe,” mom said with a smile. “Why don’t you see if that red envelope is for you?”
Brent gave her a wide grin and headed to the tree. He stared at it for a moment before turning back to her. “Which one?”
“The red one,” she said again.
Brent rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t see a red one.”
A fire engine red envelope stood out against the green elf-covered present it rested upon. I picked it up and handed it to Brent, who immediately rubbed his eyes.
“I thought you said the red one.”
I tapped the envelope in front of him. “This is it.”
“But, that’s gray.”
Mom, Vovó and I shared a look.
Brent closed his eyes and rubbed them again furiously. He slowly opened them and stared wide-eyed at the tree and blinked a few times with an uneasy smile. “Oh, there it goes.”
“You’re okay?” I asked.
“Yep.” He didn’t look up from the envelope. “To Brent and Yara from Vovó.” He ripped the envelope open and pulled out two tickets to Disneyland. “Cool! This will be fun.”