Indigo

Rennick came in and nodded hello, stood near Mrs. Twopenny, wearing his uniform of jeans and a T-shirt. The atmosphere in the room changed. It became thicker, closer.

Mrs. Twopenny noticed it and looked from Rennick to me as she introduced everyone.

“We know each other,” Rennick said to her.

Mom smiled. “Yes, pebbles at the window.”

“I was hoping, Renny, that you could explain the colors.”

“Well,” he said, eyeing me with a sheepish grin.

“They were asking about your Aunt Clara, and it sounds a tad loony coming from an old lady who happened to just cheat death.” Mrs. Twopenny giggled.

And it was contagious. I chuckled too, and Mom joined in. Rennick watched me closely, a smile on his face. But his eyes were serious.

He answered Mrs. Twopenny’s question. “I see auras around people.”

I glanced away from his gaze; so this explained the wall in the garage. I caught Mom nodding. She had taken in a lot in the past twenty-four hours. We all had. And if we were going to open the door to one miracle, could we shut it on another? Laugh at it? Discredit it? No, we were all joining the crazy party here.

I looked back at Rennick and nodded, hoping he’d go on.

“Specific colors mean specific things on people. Emotions. Character traits. Physical characteristics. There’s a lot of science to it. I’ve read a lot about it, studied. But it’s also an art.…” He became suddenly self-conscious, rubbing his palm across his jawline, giving an apologetic smile.

“What does blue mean?” I asked him, wondering why he had told me he saw the blue and whether it linked to the indigo lens in my episodes.

“Depends.” He gave me a look, considered.

“Rennick believes there’s a magic in electricity we are only learning about now.” Mrs. Twopenny’s eyes twinkled, and I saw in that look how much she admired him. Rennick cleared his throat, looked away nervously.

At that moment, we heard voices in the hallway, great, boisterous exclamations, and like a whirlwind a dark-haired, very pretty older woman blew into the room, along with a camera crew, a guy holding one of those boom mikes, and two other people, who both carried clipboards and looked somewhat official.

The dark-haired woman had already perched herself on the bed with Mrs. Twopenny and started talking a mile a minute. “Well, good day. Mrs. Twopenny, yes?” the woman said, but didn’t allow Mrs. Twopenny to answer. “They told me it was a ninety-year-old woman I’d be interviewing, but my goodness, do you look young.” Mrs. Twopenny clearly fell for the flattery, raising her hand to her cheek in mock humility. “Would you mind being on camera? Channel Thirteen News?”

The woman paused now, and I put it together just as Mrs. Twopenny gasped. “You are Myrna Sawyer!”

More fake humility. “That I am!”

“My Clara is on TV too,” Mrs. Twopenny explained.

There were too many people vying for too little space in the room now. The boom mike poked me right in the face, so I took a step toward Rennick, hoping to slip out the door. Mom eyed me over the head of the red- haired assistant with the cell phone to her ear. There were too many people here, and the other assistant’s clipboard hit me on the arm. Although my rules were relaxing, and I knew I was going to be starting a new kind of normal, this was too much.

My skin tightened and the hairs on my neck prickled. I couldn’t breathe. I needed room to breathe.

Myrna Sawyer popped off the bed as she spied me maneuvering past Rennick toward the door. “You, young lady,” she said, jumping in front of the door before I could get there. “Are you the young lady? Are you the one?”

I couldn’t breathe right, my temples thumped with each beat of my pulse. “I need to—” I tried to look over the head of the cameraman, who now had his camera pointed in my face. I tried to signal my mother.

I shook my head, reached for the doorknob. Then Myrna Sawyer reached out, grabbing my forearm. I supposed she wanted to guide me back into the room. But I got a shock when she touched me. Maybe it was just a regular, everyday, static-electric shock, but it scared me.

I jumped away from her like a startled animal. Myrna reared back, offended.

“She doesn’t want to talk,” Rennick said, just this side of polite. He stepped in front of me, opened the door for me. He followed me out.

I stalked into the waiting area, my arms crossed against my chest, my shoulders hunched. “I’m scared,” I said.

“I know,” Rennick said. “It gets better.”

“Yeah?”

Mom came out of the room now, and a man in a suit met her just outside the door. They stood talking, their faces serious. We were out of earshot. “Who is that?” I asked Rennick. Mom took out her cell phone and looked at it.

“I don’t know.” We watched their conversation and waited.

Mom was shaking her head as she came toward us. “I guess this place is swarming with news reporters. That was a bigwig here at the nursing home. And Dad just texted me. There are reporters at the house too.” Mom rubbed her knuckles across her lip.

“Corrine’s a real hero, front-page news,” Rennick said. But none of us smiled.

“I can’t talk about this yet,” I said. Mom nodded.

Rennick rubbed his jaw. “I can help,” he said.

“What are you thinking?” Mom asked.

“Corrine could come to my house for the day. There won’t be any paparazzi there.” He seemed a bit bashful, looking up through his eyelashes. And although I had been wondering about his motives, it came to me in a flash. I mean, why did he want to help me? But it just hit me—could Rennick Lane possibly like me? Was it that simple?

It was a comforting thought. So very normal. So very high school. So much like my old life. But no, I knew that Rennick had his own reasons. Totally.

I smiled as he explained to Mom where he lived. Forty-eight hours ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed of going to Rennick Lane’s house for the day. But today was a new day in many ways. And it was tempting to think he could give me more insight into what I was going through.

I pushed away the idea that this was Ren from the Pen. The things I had heard at school, they didn’t jell with the boy in front of me here.

Mom turned toward me. “What do you think, Corrine? It’s up to you. We could just hole up at home. Dad could make sure the reporters let us in the door at least.”

“I want to go with Rennick,” I said. “I think we have a lot to talk about.” This was me jumping in, giving it my whole self. Swimming the butterfly. I wanted to figure this thing out. And I felt myself slide back a little, back to my old self. Back into that comfortable place where I knew right from wrong, where I followed my instincts, where I acted with certainty and confidence. What was that word? Mrs. Smelser had taught me all about it when I had been learning that last piece by Chopin. A continuous, unbroken slide from one note to another. Glissando.

My decision.

Mom nodded. “I’m sure that’s true.” She gave me a look, eyebrows raised.

“Really, I want to go,” I reassured her. Mom blew me a kiss then, and I surprised her by grabbing her hand and squeezing it. I think I surprised myself too.

“You better hurry,” she said, glancing toward the door of Mrs. Twopenny’s room. “And Mr. Huskins said to use the cafeteria kitchen door.” I was kind of shocked that Mom was letting me go with Rennick, not really knowing him. It seemed out of character, but as I turned to follow Rennick toward the elevator, Mom called, “Tell your grandfather I’ll bring those seeds I promised him next week.”

And then it all came together for me. Duh. Mom knew his family. Figured. And this made me feel a little better too.

We walked toward the front entrance of Chartrain, and I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting a camera flash or something. I took account of my body, the way my skin felt, the normal, everyday feeling in my chest. It