Page 10 of All Signs Point to Malibu

“No, I mean, really hurt.”

Something in my voice gave him pause. His grin faded and worry crossed his seafoam-colored eyes. “How do you know?”

The absolute toughest part of having this ability is knowing no one would take me seriously if I answered that question truthfully. “Just a feeling...”

“Like someFinal Destinationshit?”

If that’s what it took to convince him. “Something like that.”

He looked concerned for a brief second and my hopes rose, but then, “You’ve always been a bit of a weirdo, Hailstorm,” he said teasingly.

The guard flagged me toward the metal detector.

I reluctantly passed through, but as Warren followed behind me and started to gather his things from the conveyor belt on the other side, I panicked.

All out of options...

“That guy is trafficking drugs!” I yelled, pointing a finger at him.

Warren scoffed, then his eyes widened as two overzealous guards grabbed him. Chaos followed until the next thing I knew he was pinned to the floor. He looked up at me. “Hailstorm—what the hell? She’s kidding guys,” he told the guards sitting on his back.

Apparently not something to kid about as one guard radioed for airport police.

From the floor, Warren shot me a desperate look for help, but there was nothing I could do. I’d just saved his life even though he didn’t know it and I refused to overthink or regret my actions. This was for his own good.

I mouthed “sorry” with a sincere look, then grabbed my things and started to head to my gate but...

“That woman has a bomb!” Warren yelled after me.

Another set of guards chased after me with a large, menacing looking canine. I have an irrational fear of dogs, but this time it seemed warranted. The thing was snarling and foaming at the mouth as it approached.

So, naturally, I ran.

I didn’t get far before the dog gripped my bag between its sharp fangs and the guards tackled me to the airport floor. Arguing was futile as the dog started sniffing me—my belongings, my ass...

“Hey! Cut that out,” I told it. Who’d hide a bomb up their ass? I glanced across the room and saw another dog sniffing Warren’s butt. That made more sense.

Moments later, after excruciating embarrassment, where I kept my head low and prayed no one recognized me, Warren and I were both escorted into a search room, where things happened that I will never forget or reveal. I watched the time tick away as we missed our respective flights and received a six-month travel ban for the “prank.” I wouldn’t be making it to my conference, but Warren wasn’t in danger anymore.

But did he thank me?

Now, as we stand in the school hallway and glare at one another, it’s clear I’m still not going to get any appreciation.

Mrs. Miller pops her head out through the gymnasium door, interrupting the silent stare-off. “We’re ready for you both.”

Showing up Hailey Harris wasn’t on my agenda for today, but I’m more than happy to rise to the occasion.

As soon as this wave of nostalgia passes.

Maple High’s mascot—a Teen Shark—and team colors have been freshly repainted on the gymnasium walls, but other than that, it still feels the same. The same excited energy of the Friday night crowd at the basketball game hits me. The thrill of the competition and the cheers from the home team fans. I spent so many high school nights in this gymnasium.

Now I’m back in a different way. Hundreds of students sit in their cliques on the bleachers. Faculty sits on the gymnasium floor behind the podiums and mics set up for the speeches. And every last person in attendance is waiting for me to impart some words of wisdom.

I’d have said no if it wouldn’t have made me feel like an asshole. Truth is, I’m much better on the field offering support and guidance than wearing dress clothes and needing to stay on script—minding my p’s and q’s. Getting through this without dropping an f-bomb will be a miracle.

And now there’s the added pressure of sharing the spotlight.

Hailey isn’t struggling at all with a lack of confidence. Dressed in fitted, fashionable dress pants, a loose-fitting blouse, and wedge heels, she’s casual yet professional and looking cool as a cucumber. This is her thing. She lives for the sound of her own voice.

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