Gifted Touch

PROLOGUE

Rae Voight studied her palette, then dipped her brush into the deep purple paint, only dimly aware of the sound of the bell ringing and everyone else in her art class bolting for the door.

I have to head over to the cafeteria. I’m on guard duty today, Ms. O’Banyon told Rae as she paused by Rae’s easel. But stay and work if you want. I love what you’re doing here.

Rae didn’t bother to glance up. She just gave her teacher a distracted grunt as the brush began flying across the canvas. Rae was in the zone, that place where it felt like electricity was running through her veins instead of blood. Nobody should expect her to talk right now. Nobody should expect her to do anything but paint. She jammed the brush on to the palette again, really globbing on the oil paint, its pungent scent filling her nose. And then her hand was slashing the brush across the canvas. Faster. Faster.

Done. Rae let out a long, shuddering breath as she took a step back from the easel and studied her work. She’d been intending to paint the words in the style of an old-fashioned storybook—ornate capital letters, with maybe even some gold around the edges. But when she was in the zone, her hand had a will of its own, and the words had come off the brush in a psycho-killer scrawl. Once upon a time, when we all lived in the forest and no one lived anywhere else …

At least the writing matches the rest of the painting, she thought. When Ms. O’Banyon had assigned the class to do a landscape, Rae had planned to do a kind of fairy-tale forest, with beautiful flowers of improbable sizes.

The flowers were still there, but something was off about them, as if when they had grown so large and lush, they had also mutated in other ways, becoming sentient and greedy for even more size and power. One of the flowers had a dove trapped deep in the hollow of its dewy petals. Another’s roots were wrapped around what appeared to be the slender leg of a fawn.

Hey, Rae, do you really think it’s a good idea to leave Marcus alone in the cafeteria? a familiar voice called from the open door of the art room. I mean, we’re talking Marcus Salkow.

Rae quickly threw a sheet over her canvas and turned to face Lea Dessin. Lea was her best friend and everything, but Rae didn’t especially want her to see the painting. Lea would just think it was weird, and weird was something Lea had a low tolerance for.

I’d trust Marcus alone in the Playboy mansion, Rae bragged. She dunked her paint-smeared brush into a coffee can filled with water, then started unbuttoning the big white shirt she’d snagged from her dad—the one she always wore when she was painting.

Oh, right. Now that you’ve grown breasts—unlike me—no guy can resist you. I forgot, Lea teased. Then, Lea being Lea, she strolled across the room and over to the easel, where she immediately reached for the sheet.

There’s nothing wrong with your breasts, Rae said, hoping to distract Lea, who had the capacity to discuss her breasts and other parts of herself—the frustrating straightness of her black hair, the unattractiveness of the line that ran from her waist to her hips—for multiple hours at a stretch. Which was pretty annoying sometimes, considering that for all Lea’s complaints, she was gorgeous. Lean, with a face that was all angles—high cheekbones, pointy chin, perfectly straight nose—and amazing hair. She had that whole Lucy Liu thing going.

Lea didn’t take the bait this time. She whipped off the sheet and studied the painting. Rae felt her stomach shrivel into the size of an aspirin. Paintings like this … They made Rae feel like there was another person living inside her. A person who was really and truly her mother’s daughter.

Rae grabbed the sheet back from Lea and covered the canvas again. Come on. I’m starving. Aren’t you? She steered Lea out of the art room, taking half a second to jam her painting shirt on one of the hooks by the door, then led the way down the hall.

Check out what Kayla Carr has on, Lea said, her voice low. She jerked her chin at Kayla as she disappeared into the girls’ bathroom, wearing an unfortunate trying-way-too-hard-to-be-cool retro seventies ensemble. Maybe we should all chip in and buy her a lightbulb. Clearly she dresses in the dark.

Clearly, Rae agreed, then felt a little spurt of guilt. But come on, Rae told herself. Kayla deserved it. It’s not like it was hard to figure out what to wear. All you had to do was check out some mags and pay attention to what the non-socially-marginal girls had on. Rae was hardly Miss Live for Fashion. She’d be just as happy—happier, actually—in paint-stained sweats with her wildly curly auburn hair in a ponytail. But she was smart enough to know that that wouldn’t cut it. In the critical summer between public school sixth grade and private school seventh grade, she’d done the makeover thing. First the basics—the clothes, the hair, the make-up. Then the name—she’d started out the seventh grade as Rae, not Rachel, because Rae was more distinctive and because there was just something cool about a girl whose name sounds like a guy’s.

She and Lea had become friends pretty much on day one of being Rae. Lea was a new girl that year. Rae liked that Lea didn’t even have a flicker of memory of the somewhat dorky Rachel, the girl who’d drawn unicorns on the top of every single assignment she’d turned in. Unicorns with names printed under them—names like Flirtalina and Fabulousa.

So tell me about last night, Lea said as they started past the mural that ran from the main office to the cafeteria. You and Marcus disappeared from the party for quite some time, young lady. Lea nudged Rae with her elbow.

Lea, there’s this thing called privacy, Rae answered.

Lea flipped her chin-length, sleek black hair away from her face. Just tell me one thing—did all your clothes remain on?

Yes. And that’s all I’m saying, Rae answered. She veered toward her locker, which was across from the part of the mural that depicted all the wonderful things Sanderson Prep graduates could do with their wonderful education.

Today Rae hardly saw all the ecstatic, super-achieving grads. Her mind was flooding with memories of last night with Marcus. There was this moment when Marcus had slid his hand under her shirt, and she’d felt like—

Was there something you wanted to get out of there? Or did you just want to admire the form and line of your locker? Lea asked, pulling Rae out of her thoughts.

A hot flush shot up the back of Rae’s neck. Get a grip, she ordered herself. She reached for her lock, and her binder fell to the floor. When she bent down to snag the binder, her knees, which had become all quivery during her little mental visit with Marcus, didn’t feel like they’d support her, so she pressed one hand against Amy Shapiro’s locker for balance.

/Please, please, please, let me pass the physics test/

Rae jerked backwards. Why on earth had she thought that? She didn’t even take physics. But that little nerve in the corner of her eyelid started jumping the way it always did when she was panicked about a test she wasn’t prepared for. Rae liked to be prepared.

Are you okay? Lea asked, a hint of impatience in her voice.

Yeah. Fine. Rae grabbed the binder, shoved herself to her feet, and dialled in her locker’s combination. I just want to grab that lipstick I borrowed from Jackie before French. She yanked open the locker door and grabbed the lipstick off the little shelf near the top.

/Rae thinks she’s so special/

What? Rae demanded.

What, what? Lea asked, one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows arching up.

Nothing. I just … Rae let her words trail off. What was she going to say—I just thought I heard someone saying something très snotty about me, then realised it was me thinking something très snotty about myself? She slammed her locker shut and snapped the lock closed. Never mind. Let’s go. Rae strode toward the cafeteria. She used both hands to push her way through the heavy double doors.

/ If andreas says even one thing / can see that zit from / hope it’s pepperoni / at four-thirty I have to /

A whirlpool of emotion ripped through her—anger, anxiety, anticipation—and Rae’s heart fluttered in her chest. She was a vegetarian. There’s no way she’d be hoping for pepperoni. And the Andreas thing … Rae didn’t even know anyone named Andreas. Where were these bizarre thoughts—thoughts and feelings—coming from?

She tried to stop the answer from coming, but it slammed into her brain so hard, she could feel the impact all the way through her body.

Was this how it had started for her mom? With thoughts and feelings that didn’t feel like her own? Was Rae going to end up in a mental institution, too? Was she going to die there the way her mother—

Are you waiting for a round of applause from the masses or what? Lea asked, giving Rae a little push.

Rae realised she had frozen in place, with one hand pressed against her chest, as if that would slow down her heart. Trying to make it look casual, she dropped her arm back to her side. Well, I did think everyone needed a chance to admire my new shoes, Rae answered, relieved when her voice came out sounding steady and … sane.

She stuck out her foot and turned her ankle back and forth, setting the beads on her denim clogs bouncing. Although with the tremors that were zipping up and down her legs, they’d probably have started bouncing, anyway. See, you’re fine, she told herself. If you’re going crazy, you can’t cover up that you’re going crazy. So you’re not going crazy.

Rae led the way across the cafeteria to the frozen yogurt machine, grabbed one of the jumbo cups, positioned it under the French vanilla nozzle, and pulled down on the silver handle.

/It will be okay if I skip dinner and get on the treadmill the second/

A rush of dizziness left little dots of light exploding in front of her eyes. Rae squeezed her eyes shut. Okay, stop it, just stop it. I’ve never even been on a treadmill.

What? Lea asked as she reached for one of the cheap plastic spoons.

Rae kept her eyes shut a second longer, then forced them open. She took in all the ordinary sights of the cafeteria, the tall windows overlooking the manicured lawns, the rah-rah banners made by the cheerleading squad, the same groups of people sitting at the same polished wooden tables, chewing, talking, laughing, harassing, studying, flirting—acting your basic normal. Yep, everything is normal, Rae told herself. You’re normal.

I didn’t hear you, Lea said.

I was … um, just talking to myself, Rae answered.

You’re losing it, Lea told her, carefully turning her cup in a circle as she pulled the handle on the yogurt machine, making a swirling mountain of fro-yo.

You’re right. I’m losing it, Rae agreed quickly, forcing her lips into a smile. She reminded herself that Lea wasn’t trying to be sadistic. She didn’t know about Rae’s mom. Yeah, Lea was her best friend. But if Rae had told Lea the truth, Lea would be walking around with this armed nuke she could use against Rae whenever she wanted. Rae didn’t plan to let anybody have that kind of ammunition against her. Ever.

Lea grabbed a handful of napkins and headed toward their usual table. Rae plucked a plastic spoon out of the metal container, then followed her, braced for the next moment of … She didn’t allow herself to name the phenomenon she’d been experiencing.

But it, whatever it was, didn’t come. As she followed Lea over to the usual table, all her brain murmurings felt … organic. Just regular Rae stuff.

Whatever the weirdness was, it’s over, she told herself. She focused her gaze on Marcus. She always liked watching him when he didn’t know she was looking. It made her want to grab a brush and try and capture the sprawl of his long legs, all the shades—from wheat to cream—of his close-cut blond hair, the perfect shape of his mouth, everything.

As if he could feel her staring at him, Marcus looked up, his green eyes locking on to her immediately. As soon as she was in reach, he snagged her by the waist and pulled her down on the bench next to him. Rae gave him a fast kiss. Their lips touched for only a second, but it brought back every sensation she’d felt lying on that bed at the party last night, giving her this sort of full-body blush.

My parents have this cocktail thing after work, so the house is all ours tonight, Marcus murmured in her ear. His breath was hot against her earlobe as he waited for her response.

Except what should her response be? Rae wanted more of what she’d felt last night when they snuck away from the party. But more and the whole enchilada weren’t the same thing.

Actually my dad needs me home tonight, Rae lied. Some kind of faculty get-together at our house, and he wants me to play hostess. You know, an end-of-the-spring-semester thing.

Marcus nodded, but his smile faded and he glanced away, turning his attention back to his lunch. Great—he was probably sitting there wondering how he’d got stuck with the immature girlfriend who couldn’t just relax and—

Hey, Do Rae Mi, did you remember to bring my lipstick? Jackie asked from across the table.

Got it right here. Rae dug around in her big straw bag until her fingers found the tube.

/Rae thinks she’s so special/

The thought brought a bitter taste into her mouth. A bile and fro-yo blend. That was not her own thought about herself. This time she was sure. It had come from someplace else. But—

Well, can I have it? Jackie asked loudly.

Huh? Oh, yeah. Sure. Rae realised she’d been in some kind of suspended animation, staring down at the lipstick in her fingers. She tossed the tube to Jackie, who caught it expertly, her light green nail polish glistening under the fluorescent lights.

Okay, so the—she couldn’t stop herself from naming the phenomenon this time—so the insanity spell isn’t over yet. Just hang on, Rae coached herself. Ride it out.

Rae forced herself to eat a little yogurt. That’s what those who were not sanity challenged did at lunch. They ate.

Could you pass me the salt? Vince Deitz asked from the other side of Lea. He smiled at Rae, giving her a peek at his chipped front tooth.

Not a problem, Rae answered. She could spoon yogurt into her mouth. She could pass the salt. No problem at all. She grabbed the yellow plastic shaker and—

/know I got a D on that Spanish quiz, maybe even an F/

—shoved it into Vince’s hand. Her eyelid began to twitch again. She rubbed her eye fiercely. Stop it! Just stop it! You don’t even take Spanish, so you can’t be freaking that you got a D.

Her eye started to water, and she could feel her mascara beginning to streak. But the lid kept on twitching. And a tiny nerve on one side of her nose was twitching, too. And one in her lower lip.

No one can see, Rae told herself. You can feel it, but they can’t see it, so just hang on. Take a few more spoonfuls of the yogurt, then calmly stand up and go to the ladies’ room. From there you can go home if you have to, but for now, just hang on.

Are you crying? Jackie asked.

Of course not, Rae snapped. She’d forgotten that her jumping nerves weren’t her only problem. She probably had mascara down to her chin by now.