Flashes of Lightening

CHAPTER 1

Some loud woman, in what is by the way the ugliest pant suit I have ever seen - and that’s saying something because all pant suits are scary - is snarling orders at us through a megaphone about what lunch table we’re allowed to sit at. Like we didn’t figure it out yesterday.

The teachers here are all about corralling and herding students from one place to the next. I’m not sure they expect us to learn anything. At least not the first week, that’s for sure. Their only goal is to keep us contained. Hopefully in the right room, but you know, whatever, as long as we’re not out in the halls at the wrong time.

So I’m crammed in at the “bag lunch” table with a crew of strangers, and based on the way they’re all staring at their food with enough intensity to burn a hole through it, I’m thinking they aren’t sitting next to anyone they really know either. You see, this is a magnet school for visual art students, so maybe you know a couple of kids from your last school, but they probably aren’t your best friends.

“Silent Lunch” was the punishment table at my old school, and this is starting to feel a lot like it. My food’s not that much fun to look at, you know?

“Hey. It’s Abbey right?” I ask the girl next to me. She’s got hair that looks like my paint pallet. It’s twisted up into to little knots all over her head, most of them are her natural jet black, but a few are red and pink.

“Yeah. And you’re um, Lacey?”

“Laney. So what are you in here for?” I ask.

“Huh?”

Okay, so she doesn’t get me. Yet.

“I mean what art do you do? Paint, sculpture, collage?” We all got into this school, because we’re good at some kind of art. So she must do something.

“Oh. Paint. We have painting together. First period. I’m at the easel next to you. That‘s how you know my name.”

“Right. So that’s where I know you from.” I swear sometimes it’s painful being me. There’s lots of embarrassment, but I just play it off - what else can I do?

I’m about to ask Abbey what school she came from, when a flash of mind lightening blinds me for a second.

That’s how it happens for me, my brain is sort of emptied out with a bright white light, and then I get a vision of the future. Not important life altering moments from the distant future, more like dumb things from a couple of seconds or hours into the future.

This time, I see the kid on my other side stuff the turkey from his sandwich on that little ledge under the lunch table. It only lasts a second.

“Gross,” I shout and turn on him. “You’re about to put your lunch meat under the table. That’s nasty. What if it falls on some seventh grader’s leg next period?”

He’s got that deer in headlights look on his face.

“How could you see what he was doing?” Abbey asks. Your back was turned to him.”

“Um.” Okay, what do I say here? The truth? A lie? Um. Everyone’s staring. How am I supposed I think of a good lie under pressure? Whatever. The truth it is. “I’m psychic.”

“Really?” Two kids on the other side of the table say at the same time.

“Yeah. I see this flash of lightening and then something that’s going to happen. It’s no big deal.”

But maybe it is a big deal, because everyone is staring at me now with their mouths open. They look like a bunch of fish. I’m going to have to paint that. Too funny.

CHAPTER 2

Instant popularity. If I’d known telling people about my flashes would make me popular - not a freak- I would’ve told the whole world in kindergarten. I swear the entire class knows my name, and it’s only sixth period. A nobody at lunch. Most popular girl by sixth period.

Okay, second most popular girl. There’s Trinity. She walks down the hall, and boys turn their heads and sigh. It’s like flowers and birds chirping on a Spring day for them. She wore her hair in this loose braid that flipped over her shoulder yesterday. Today, ten girls are wearing their hair like that. It’s like she has a horde of Trinity clones, and it’s only the second day of school.

And you won’t believe it, but Trinity is walking up to talk me right now. No seriously. I just looked behind me to see if there was anyone there. There isn’t.

“Hi Laney.” The two girls beside her drop their heads to the side in the exact same way as Trinity when she talks. Weird. I’m telling you they’re clones.

“Hi. Um, Trinity. Right?” That’s me. Playing it like I don’t know her name.

“Right,” Trinity’s eyes scrunch up a little in the middle when she says that. I’m not sure she’s buying my act. “So I heard you did this psychic thing about Cameron Davis’s lunch meat.”

“Yeah. I had this flash of him shoving it under the table,” I say a little too perky and fast.

“He’s totally gross like that.”

“Um. Okay.” I don’t really know anything about Cameron. In fact I didn’t know his last name until Trinity just said it.

“So do you have psychic visions all of the time?”

“Uh huh.” Could I please stop nodding like an idiot?

“That’s cool.” The clones are looking restless. “So I would love to get to know you better. I was wondering if you’d like to come hang out by my pool this weekend?” Now the clones look like they’re choking. Sweet.

“Sure. Saturday works for me.”

“Okay. Here.” Trinity writes her phone number and address on my hand with her pen. Because we’re going to hang out by her pool on Saturday. Like cool popular girls in movies. I need to get a new swimsuit fast. I don’t think the butterfly one is going to impress.

“So I’ll see you around one. Okay?”

“Okay. See you.”

She and the bug-eyed clones do catwalk turns away from me. The boys all watch.

CHAPTER 3

If Trinity lived in town, I could ride the bus to her house. But no. She has to live just outside of town, where people are dividing up old farms and turning them into these really big houses surrounded by a bunch of dead fields.

What’s with the dead field look? If I had this much land, I’d turn it into my own Giverny and paint scenes from it all the time, just like Monet. I say that, but Grandma’s backyard is an enormous, and I try to avoid it. I’ve never taken my paints out there. I’m afraid if she saw me sitting around in the garden, she’d find something for me to do. And everything to do out there includes heavy labor.

There’s a mailbox with a huge gate about every half mile on this road. I really need the next one to be Trinity’s. I need water. Bad. I think I swallowed a bug with that last mouthful of dust.

My Grandma wouldn’t cancel her golf time to drive me. She didn’t even care that I’ll be all sweaty when I get to Trinity’s. I think she might be too old to understand how important this is. I swear when I become an adult, I will never ever laugh at anything my kids’ say. And I will drive them anywhere they want to go. At any time.

But she did buy me a new swimsuit last night. She completely got that. It’s a red bikini. Very popular girl looking.

The next house has to be Trinity’s, right? Because I’ve been riding up my bike forever now. Nope. That would have been way to convenient. But at least it’s on a hill. A hill with a nice breeze and a vulture in the road.

Vulture. Vulture in the road. How did I not see this in one of my flashes?

“Moooooove you stupid thing.”

Fan-freaking-tastic. Now, I’m sweaty and I have gravel imbedded in my knees. Oh yes. I’m definitely popular girl material.

“Why didn’t you fly away you dummy?” It moved all of three feet away. “Quit looking at me. Get out of here.”

Seriously. Please don’t let anybody from school drive by right now. Clearly the number two most popular girl has lost her mind. I’m flapping my arms and chasing a vulture.

“Fly. Do something.”

Okay, that’s doing something. And now I’m gonna run away, because it’s chasing me back. Not good. It’s a lot bigger than I thought.

“Wait,” I put my bike between us, just to be safe. “What’s wrong with your wing big fella?”

Poor thing. One of it’s wings bends down in a creepy unnatural way.

“How’d you break it? You weren’t hanging out in the middle of a street eating road kill were you? Bad move.” I slowly pick up my bike and throw my leg over it. Not that I think it’s going to be freaked out by my sudden movements or anything. It seems pretty sure of itself. “You probably thought you were bigger than the car. Didn’t you?” My foot’s on the pedal, and I’m out of here. 

 

 

FLASHES - CHAPTER 4

“I wear red,” Trinity says, when I come out of the bathroom in my new bikini.

“So, that means you’re not excited we have on the same swim suit?” I think it’s funny, but I’m the only one laughing. Story of my life.

“Just in the future. I wear red.” She put on another coat of lip gloss and checks out her reflection one more time. I didn’t see anyone else in the house when I came in. Who cares what she looks like? We’re going swimming. People don’t look good soaking wet. They just look wet, with or without lip gloss. “You can have another color. Like maybe blue. There are lots of shades of blue. I’m sure you’ll be able to find one that looks good on you.” She’s still looking in the mirror while she talks.

“Um, okay?” This was a joke, right? She doesn’t expect me to go home and empty my closet of everything red, because she likes that color. That’s insane.

Trinity’s pool in unbelievable. It looks like something from a Hawaiian resort. A waterfall pours down off of a mini volcano with a slide. In the deep end, you can dive off of a stone bridge that arches across it.

Not that Trinity does. She only gets her feet wet before flopping into a lounge chair in the shade of a bunch of potted tropical plants.

“You want to jump in and cool off?” I ask.

“You can if you want. I guess.” She’s arranging her hair around her shoulders. “I don’t want to get my hair wet. It’s just too much work, you know?”

“Yeah.” Is what I say, but “no” would be the real answer. There is a volcano slide in front of us. Who cares about your hair when there’s a volcano slide?

I stretch out in the lounge chair next to her. She closes her eyes and smiles a little. We just sit there.

Since her eyes are closed, I use my big toe to pick some dirt off of my other foot. Probably got there when I fell off my bike.

Her eyes are still closed. It’s been like 10 minutes. I weave my hands and arms in between the fabric slats in my chair. Boring.

“So,” I say. Trinity opens one eye at me. “Do you ever bring your paints out here and pretend you’re Gauguin?”

She squints at me with her one eye.

“You know, since it’s tropical looking out here…” I say.

“Who?”

“Gauguin. He did all of those post-impressionist paintings of Tahiti.”

“Oh. I’m only into realistic style painting. I don’t really think it takes a lot of skill to slop paint on a canvas like the impressionists did.”

Okay. We won’t be talking about art.

“I’ve been wondering,” she says, and she actually opens both eyes to look at me when she talks. “How does the whole being psychic thing work? You see the future, right?”

“Yeah. Um, it’s not that exciting really. I only see dumb things, everyday things like Cameron, nothing important.”

“How far in the future?”

“Just a few seconds, or sometimes it won’t happen ’til the next day.”

Okay, I’m not really comfortable talking about my psychic stuff. Except with my grandma. That’s because she gets flashes too. And the flashes aren’t all that great. Who needs to see themselves doing the dishes ahead of time? No one, but I do anyhow.

“So, how does it happen? Do you think about something and see it’s future? Were you thinking about Cameron, when it happened?” Trinity’s nose scrunches up a little.

“What? No. I wasn’t thinking about Cameron. I can’t make it happen at all. I just see this lightning flash, and then I see something boring. That’s it.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh. I think my grandma was struck by lightning or something and that’s why it happens to us. No big deal.” Except I shouldn’t have mentioned my grandma doing it too, because she’s really private and wouldn’t be happy if she thought I was telling people. So I talk faster, ‘cause that’s what I do when I’m freaking out. Not that it matters, Trinity has closed her eyes again.

I only stay for about an hour more, before I tell Trinity I better head home. She barely opens her eyes to say goodbye. I really should’ve gone down the volcano slide at least once. Especially since I’m pretty sure this will be my only opportunity.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 5

Trinity’s swarm breaks into whispers when they catch sight of me in first period, right before she gives them a look like Medusa turning people to stone. Silence. Except maybe a tiny giggle from me, and one from Abbey who’s setting up her easel to my right.

“Oh. Hi Laney,” Trinity says loud enough for everyone in the class to hear. “I was wondering if you could tell me who’s going to ask me to the Halloween dance?”

“How should I know?”

“I thought you were psychic.” She drums her fingers along a nearby desk like she’s bored with waiting for my answer. “Well?”

“Probably half the boys in sixth grade will ask you and some seventh and eighth graders too.” I mutter and pick through my paints. She knows I can’t force myself to have a flash about something like that. Why even ask?

“Of course,” she says, and obviously she‘s not getting that I want this conversation to end because she actually steps between be and my canvas. “But I meant which boy will I go with. I really need to know, so I can match my dress to his eyes.”

“It’s a costume dance,” I say, and I roll my eyes at her. “If his eyes are brown, are you planning on coming as a mud monster?” That gets some laughs from Abbey and a few of the other students nearby.

I lean down to pick through my brushes. After a week of listening to the art teacher talk we are finally going to get to actually paint in first period. I thought Trinity and the swarm would move on when I turned away to look at my brushes. I was wrong.

“Just tell me. Okay?” Trinity crosses her arms.

“No.”

“Because you can’t. Because you’re not a psychic at all. You’re just a crazy liar.”

“No.” Somehow I managed to turn that ‘no’ into a two syllable word.

“Then tell me who I’m going with.”

“I can’t.”

“Like I told you girls,” Trinity says to the clones. “She’s not psychic. She’s just a freak.” The swarm laughs in unison

“Close your mouth.” Abbey whispers to me a couple seconds later. I do. I hadn’t realized it had been gaping open the whole time since Trinity had walked away.

“But, I am psychic.” I whisper.

“It doesn’t matter,” Abbey whispers back. “Just paint. Don’t give Trinity the satisfaction of thinking she got to you.”

Abbey’s right. I take a deep breath and stare hard at my canvas. I hope I looks like I’m trying to envision what I am going to paint. I squeeze my eyes shut and think hard about the Halloween dance. Nothing.

Not that I honestly expected to see anything, but I’d love to be able to prove Trinity wrong.

CHAPTER 6

I keep trying to have a flash during second and third period. Some of Trinity’s clones are in my next two periods, and they’ve been busy telling anyone who will listen about what happened in painting.

It’s no fun walking through the halls knowing people are whispering about you. I know, I thought it was cool on Friday, but on Friday they were whispering good things about me.

I figure if I show up at lunch and can tell everyone who Trinity’s going to the dance with, this will be old news by the end of the day, right?

I have a flash, finally, while I’m dumping my stuff in my locker before lunch. Cameron, dressed like Frankenstein, lying on a lab table, just like in the movie, and the crazy scientist guy is pulling the lightening switch down while doing his evil laugh.

Trinity’s going to the Halloween dance with Cameron? Never going to happen. And not just because she’s obviously doesn’t love the guy. Can you imagine Trinity going to the dance dressed as the Bride of Frankenstein?

Maybe when I try to make myself have a flash, I get nonsense visions.

Or maybe Trinity was on to something when she called me crazy.

Okay. So my options are skip lunch and hide in the library until this blows over, or eat while everyone laughs at me. Great choices.

“Did you forget your lunch?” Abbey asks when I shut my locker door without getting it out. Where did she come from? “I can share mine with you, if you want.”

That means she’s willing to sit by me at lunch. How bad can it be if someone sits by me? Pretty bad actually, but I’m starving.

“Oh yeah.” I smack my forehead with my hand. “It’s lunch. I was thinking it was fourth period.” I reopen my locker.

A boy with a million freckles, that I swear I have never seen before, starts in on me before I even sit down at the table. Um, manners? I’m pretty sure lunchroom rules state he’s supposed to let me take a bite of food before he tries to make me cry.

“Hey Laney, are you going to show us more of your psychic powers today?” he sneers.

“Just drop it,” Abbey says to him. Those red streaks in her hair make her look tough and scary while she’s staring down Freckle Boy. Which is funny because the rest of the time they make her look perky. Maybe I should try some color in my hair. Blue would go with my eyes, but it’s the color Trinity said I could have, so that’s not happening.

Nobody else brings it up again during lunch. In fact, nobody but Abbey even talks to me, but as I see it, being ignored is better than spending lunch in the library. I talk with Abbey the whole time, and it turns out, she’s into post-impressionistic art too. Very cool. In math, my vision is interrupted with a familiar flash of lightening. Trinity tripping and dropping all of her books in the hall.

Yes. A little bit of payback is coming Trinity’s way. I laugh out loud, and the teacher looks up just long enough to glare at me.

“What’s so funny?” Freckle Boy whispers from the seat next to me. So I guess that means I have seen him before. How could I have not noticed someone with that many freckles?

“I just had a flash of Trinity tripping in the hall and dropping her books.”

“Right,” he says. “You wish.”

But she does trip. Right outside of my math classroom. While we’re filing out of it. It’s beautiful.

CHAPTER 7

Now that Freckle Boy knows I’m really psychic, he’ll tell everyone, and all of the Trinity stuff will go away. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Well, right about one thing. Freckle Boy did tell everyone about my vision of Trinity tripping yesterday afternoon.

And this morning, Trinity and the clones are striking back with a full-scale smear campaign.

“She’s a witch,” a clone says as I walk to my locker. She’s using one of those stage whisper voices, so it seems like she telling a secret, but really she wants me to hear. Great. Not that this is a complete surprise, but I was kind of hoping the drama with Trinity was over. “She used black magic to make Trinity trip yesterday.”

I laugh out loud. That’s the best they could come up with? What is this Salem, Massachusetts?

“Ooo. Listen to the witch cackle,” another clone hisses.

“Okay, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say. “Couldn’t you have at least come up with something creative? I mean we’re art students here. You’re supposed to be creative.”

The clones are not amused. They storm off. Probably reporting back to the hive queen.


“So I hear you live in a creepy old Victorian with your grandma,” Cameron says at lunch. He has this dopey lopsided grin when he talks. “One of Trinity’s followers told me it’s proof you’re a witch.”

“Everyone in my neighborhood lives in a Victorian,” I say. I’m assuming his smile means he’s joking, but you never know. FYI he’s eating two pieces of plain bread together like a sandwich for lunch. I hope that doesn’t mean he’s stuffed lunch meat under the table again.

“I sleep in the attic bedroom in my house,” Abbey says to him. “Does that make me a witch too?”

“Probably,” Cameron laughs. “But don’t take my word for it, you’ll have to check with Trinity if you want to know what to think. She like’s to be in control of what people think.”

“No kidding,” Abbey laughs. Cameron takes another bite of his bread and does his lopsided grin again while he chews. He has this one cute dimple that pops up every time he chews. It’s a little distracting. Bite. Dimple. Bite. Dimple.

“So what clubs are you joining?” Abbey asks. I tear my eyes away from Cameron’s chewing. All school clubs start up this week. It’s the only thing people are talking about, aside from me and Trinity, that is. To be honest though, I haven’t really looked at any of them too seriously.

“I don’t know. Which ever one Trinity isn’t in,” I mumble.

“Okay. Well, I’m going to the Earth Crusaders meeting after school today,” she says. “Do you want to come with me?”

“I can guarantee Trinity won’t be in that club,” Cameron cuts in with his mouth full of apple, “She doesn’t like anything that has to do with the outdoors.”

That settles it for me.


The Earth Crusaders club is headed by a sculpture teacher, Ms. Leslie, who wears only organic cotton clothing. No really, she told us that, like it’s a big deal. She paces back and forth in front of the room while she gives a little speech about how the point of this club is to make the world a healthier place for all living things.

“I’m not just talking about people and animals,” she says. “Trees and rivers are living things too.”

I’ve never really thought of rivers as living things before. I like that. I’ll have to paint a ‘living river’ someday.

“As part of this club, you’ll be expected to do one thing every week to better the Earth and her inhabitants.”

I can get into this. Even if the club is led by a teacher who keeps referring to the planet as “our mother Earth.” I even have an idea already for the first thing I’m going to do too.

I’m about to tell Abbey my idea, when Cameron accidentally bumps into my arm while we’re walking out of the classroom. Just like that, I see the lightning flash.
It’s the Frankenstein vision. Again. How weird.

“You will never guess what I just had a flash of,” I tell Abbey. “Cameron as Frankenstein.”

“You mean you saw him dressed up in a costume?”

“Nope. I saw him as the monster getting electrocuted to life by Dr. Frankenstein.” Then I add, “but I’m thinking this one may not come true.”

“Oh yeah, you’re psychic alright,” she laughs.

CHAPTER 8

We put my Earth Crusaders plan into action on Saturday. Abbey brought a whole frozen trout, eyes and everything, with her in her bike basket. Her dad fishes so much, she says they aren’t going to miss one fish.

I am completely jealous of Abbey’s bike, by the way. She has this lime green retro cruiser, with a basket, and handle bar tassels. She even painted yellow tulips all over it. She said she usually keeps fake tulips and a plastic loaf of French bread in the basket, but obviously didn’t today because of Mr. Trout. So her bike normally looks like something a beautiful girl would be riding on the streets of Paris. Did I mention I’m jealous? Why didn’t I think of that first?

Of course Abbey doesn’t necessarily look the part of the French girl. Even with her hair in braids today. Maybe it’s the red and black striped knee-highs with her cut offs that give her away as a typical art academy student.

Aside from the Trinity clones, most people at the art academy are expressing their own personal style in a big way. I haven’t ever really thought about my clothes and hair as art, but I’m starting to. A little. Okay, I’m trying to tell you I mismatched my canvas shoes on purpose today. One black. One blue. It probably just looks like I put my shoes on in the dark, but whatever.

Abbey and I ride our bikes out to where I saw the vulture with the broken wing last weekend. I figure it’s pretty hungry by now. The plan is to feed the vulture, so it can have extra strength while it’s wing heals.

My plan may have a few flaws.

Definitely one really big flaw. The fish. It smells so bad. And it’s just getting worse the longer we’re out in this heat. I don’t think Abbey’s bike basket is ever going to smell right again.

Problem number two, is finding the vulture.

“Are you sure this is where you saw it?” Abbey asks. I nod. “Then, do you think maybe it’s wing healed already and it flew away?”

“I don’t think it would’ve gotten better that fast. You don’t think it got run over by a car, or died of starvation, or something do you? I don’t think I can live with myself if it died and I didn’t do anything to help it.”

“Laney. It’s a vulture. Not a person or a helpless cute puppy. Get some perspective here, okay?” Abbey does some eye rolling at me.

“It doesn’t feel that different to me,” I admit. I walk up a little hill near the road. I’m still looking for the vulture, but I’m sort of heading for the shade of the tree on top of the hill too. It’s funny, the streets are lined with big old shade trees in my neighborhood, and I swear to you there is always a breeze at this time of year. Out here, it’s like living in a desert. I don’t get it. Same town, different worlds.

“Hey. You’re just trying to get some shade. You’re not fooling me,” Abbey laughs and follows me.

“Something else was looking for shade too,” I say. I’m a couple steps ahead of Abbey when I catch sight of the vulture glaring at me from under the tree. Freezing in my tracks must be my wild animal response, but I guess Abbey doesn’t have the same response. She just keeps on walking, right into me. I grab her to keep from falling, but I take us both down instead.

“Why can’t I see you without getting rocks mashed into my knees?” I ask the vulture. I’m guessing by the way it opened its wings and is flapping at us that it isn’t happy to see me again. Like I’m happy to be laying on the ground covered in dirt again.

“We’re saving that? You’re serious?” Abbey whispers to me. She’s backed away on her hands and knees and is standing up slowly. I’m still frozen. Great instincts. I’m guessing I should stick to city living. Abbey grabs me by the arms and pulls me up and away from the vulture.

“See its wing?” I say.

“Yeah. It’s definitely broken,” Abbey sighs. I think it might have been a sympathetic sigh, not a disgusted I-can’t-believe-I’m-doing-this sigh. “Let’s get the fish.”

We turn to walk down to our bikes, but then we end up running back to them, because the vulture chases us. It stops on the other side of the road from our bikes all puffed up and angry-looking.

“Is that thing growling at us?”

“I think it’s more of a hiss,” I say.

“Whatever. It doesn’t sound friendly. Let’s just throw the fish at it and get out of here.”

“Right.” I take the fish out of the basket by its tail and lob it across the street at the vulture. Only the trout is a lot slipperier than I thought it would be, so it wasn’t a great throw. It was an awful throw. The fish lands right in the middle of the road. While we’re staring at the fish wondering if it’s close enough to the vulture, a car goes by and smushes it’s head.

“Nice throw,” Abbey smirks. “Maybe I should throw it next time.”

“It was slippery.” I can’t help it, I’m giggling now.

“Okay,” Abbey said. “You let me know if a car’s coming. I’m not getting run over to feed a vulture.”

“Don’t worry, if you do get run over, I’ll tell everyone you died for a noble cause.”

“I’m sure my parents won’t have a problem with it then,” she says. Abbey picks up what was left of the trout by its tail and tosses it right in front of the vulture. She makes it look easy. Of course.

The vulture perks right up.

“Aw. Look at it eat,” I say, joining Abbey on the vulture’s side of the road. Not exactly cute watching it tear into the fish, but definitely more endearing than the chasing and hissing.

“We should name it,” Abbey says. “What do you name a vulture?”

“How about Vulcherro. It works for a boy or a girl,” I suggest.

I’d expect Abbey to laugh at that one, but it isn’t her laughter I hear next. It’s Cameron’s.