Page 27 of Sort of Seeing Someone

“I’ll take it,” I say to Angeline, surrendering to the woo-woo once again.

“Excellent. Anything else you’re after? Anything you’re curious about?”

I take a pause.

“Do you know anything about…visions?”

“Visions? Sure. I had visions of me marrying GeorgeClooneyback in the ’90s. That didn’t work out. But something tells me that’s not what you’re asking about. Can you be a little more specific, hon?”

I look around the store to make sure it’s still just the two of us. Eerily aware of my surroundings, this is starting to feel a lot like I’m at the local pharmacy trying to keep my voice hush as I’m about to ask where I can find some Plan B. After confirming that I’m alone in The Energy Shoppe, I rule it safe to open up about all-things supernatural.

“There have been a couple times now when I’ll touch someoneelse’spalm and then I’ll see, like,a glimpse of the future, I guess you could say. But who really knows? Maybe my barista had been micro-dosing my lattes for a while and I just haven’t snapped out of the trip yet,” I say, attempting to lower my freak flag.

“Are you Claire Voyant?”

“Claire? No, I’m Moonie. Moonie Miller.”

“Cool name, but gosh, youarea newbie, aren’t you?” Angeline says with a hint of judgment. “Clairvoyant. Noun.A person who has a supernatural ability to perceive events in the future or beyond normal sensory contact.So, let meask you again: are you clairvoyant?”

“I mean, maybe? I was once told I have a ‘gift’ by this renowned psychic in San Diego.”

“Esther Higgins?”

“Yes. How did you…?”

“Go on. What happened with Esther?”

“That’s the thing. Nothing really happened. It was quite uneventful. When she went to read my palm, she just told me that I have a gift.”

“So you held out your hand, and she saw nothing. Is that correct?”

“Yeah. Exactly. Then she gave my money back and I left.”

“And how long ago was this?” Angeline asks.

“Not long,” I say.

“Let me guess. You’re twenty-six years old, yeah?”

“How do you know how old I am?”

“Headaches? Itchy palms?”

“I mean, yeah, I used to have both. But nothing since moving back.”

Angeline laughs and claps her hands like she’s discovered Colonel Mustard in the library with the knife.

“I’m no witch doctor or nothin’, but it sounds like an ancient phenomenon called Exexveei,” Angeline finally exclaims as she walks with hurried purpose back over to the book section of the store, like she’s seconds away from the boarding doors closing on her flight to Cancun.

“Say what? Excess aye-aye?”

“X-X-V-I,” she repeats, this time much more slowly. “It’s the phonetic spelling of the roman numeral twenty-six—the age at which certain people develop the power of future visions. Think of it like women’s intuition on steroids. Look, I know you think you might be into crystals, which is great and all—and maybe your powers do supercharge your collection in some way. But I’m fairly certain yourreal giftis seeing the future. To me, it sounds like yours is still hatching—it’s in its baby stages. Think of it like a muscle you have to work to grow stronger.”

Angeline has to be on drugs, right? Like that’s the only explanation for what’s happening right now.

“What if I don’t want it to grow stronger?” I ask.

“You’ve got it, so work it.”

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