The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 37: Becca

"Nothing," Ronan says, and I can tell that he means it. "I just want to understand how you figured it out. I know you knew; you were so confident about it. Like you could see what was going to happen before it actually did." He looks at me curiously. "How?"

I look back at him, fighting hard to keep my face blank. "I didn't know anything. It was just a lucky guess."

"Luck," he repeats. He lets out a breathy laugh. "Luck is four-leaf clovers and rabbit feet. This isn't luck. And this isn't the first time you've done something like this, either. When we were playing Capture the Flag, you knew that Clancey was the one who was going to find the flag. That's why you hid it in a beehive, right?"

"Hornets' nest," I correct him. "And I'm telling you, that was just dumb luck."

He narrows his eyes, and I can tell he doesn't believe me. "No, that was something more than luck. I don't know if you're just really good at making predictions, or if there's something else going on, but you have to admit it— this is getting a little freaky. Like, Sixth Sense freaky. So, are you gonna tell me the truth, or do I have to figure it out for myself? Because I can. And I will. But I'd prefer to hear it from you."

If anyone else had told me they could figure out my deepest, darkest secret, I would've said they were crazy. But I don't say this to Ronan, because the scary thing is I actually believe him. He wasn't making a threat— he was making a promise. And I don't doubt that he'd be able to make good on that promise. There's something knowing about him. Something aware.

My Abuela warned me never to tell my parents about my abilities. But she never warned me against telling my friends.

I'm exhausted from trudging through the weeks at Lightlake like some sort of one-woman army. I'm tired of being angry, and I'm angry about being tired. There are so many secrets bottled up inside of me that if I don't let a few out, I'm going to explode, just like how everyone— the counselors, the Director, even Finn— expects me to. They all think I'm some hothead incapable of making a reasonable decision. And maybe they're right. But right now, I really want to prove them wrong.

"You can't tell anyone else," I begin, in the steadiest voice I can muster up. "I'm serious. This isn't just a who-kissed-who kind of secret. It's the real deal."

"I won't say a word," Ronan assures me. He mimics zipping up his lips and throwing away the key. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"I'm being serious, Ronan. You can't tell a soul."

"I know, I won't. I already did the whole oath thing— what else do you want from me?"

"I want your sincerity, jackass."

He sighs loudly. "Becca, I swear on Dairy Queen that I won't spill your secret. And that's about as sincere as I'm going to get."

I stare at him. He stares back, his black eyes barely visible through the gloom.

"If you breathe a word of this to anyone I'll make sure you never taste a Blizzard again," I tell him. "I'm sincere about that, too."

"Okay. Now that we've both agreed we're not liars, can we stop threatening each other and start telling our secrets instead? We've only got—" He glances at my watch, the glowing display easily visible in the dark. "Two minutes left."

I suck in a breath of cold air. It's time for— what would my Abuela call it? An acto de fe.

I've never been one for small talk, so I just blurt it out. "I'm a psychic. It's not magic or anything silly like that, but I can... see things. Things that have already happened, and some that haven't. My Abu- grandmother says that it's a gift. She calls me a curandera."