“It doesn’t to me.” I shake my head. “I mean, I can be pretty empathetic, but…”
He cuts me off. “That wasn’t empathy.”
How can it not be? I’m so sensitive, all I have to do is look at someone who’s hurting and I feel all their pain. Me and my giant bleeding heart.
“It’s clairsentience,” he says. “It couldn’t’ve been empathybecause you weren’t with him. You didn’t know what was happening to him.”
I didn’t even know Jason existed, and yet I felt his fear.
Leo explains, “Emotions carry energy. That’s what you sensed.”
“So you’re saying I didn’t feel Jason’s panic, I felt its energy?” I’m not sure I’ve had enough beer and animal crackers to absorb this.
Leo nods. “And that’s a psychic ability.”
No, screw this. I’m not psychic. I don’t even like the word. It makes me think of that creepy little storefront in the rundown shopping center just off the interstate. The one with beaded curtains in the window and a neon sign that says, “Psychic Readings by Zora.”
I’ll bet she uses Tarot cards.
Leo squeezes my arm. “It’s okay if you think I’m nuts.”
“Good, because I do.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugs humbly and, as we return to our walk, shoves his hands back in his pockets. With a jerk of his head, he tosses his hair out of his eyes and gazes back up at the sky.
Damn, he has a nice profile.
“Just, the next time something like that happens, pay attention to what you’re feeling,” he says. “And google clairsentience.”
“If I do, will you stop nagging me about it?”
“We’ll only talk about it if you want to.”
I see his little sleight of hand. “So you’re that confident I’ll want to?”
“No, just optimistic.” He flashes me a hopeful smile.
I let out a laugh and it feels good, even though I sound a little hysterical.
Around the corner of a building a couple emerges, strolling and holding hands. Thank god I don’t know them. As we pass each other, the guy makes eye contact with me and smiles. The girl gives a little wave and a “hi.” Halfheartedly, I return the greeting. How rude. Neither of them acknowledged Leo. Good thing he doesn’t seem to care.
When we get to the entrance of Newberry Hall, he stops and turns to me. “Meet me at the library sometime this week.”
My heart does a weird little somersault. He still wants to hang out with me? But I’ve been pouting and back-talking like a stubborn twelve-year-old.
“I’ve got a lot of work to do.” He looks up from studying his toes. “So maybe you can help keep me on task. I have a tendency to wander off and read books that have nothing to do with my classes.”
I tip my head. “But what if I want to hear more about the Lost Colony?”
There’s a vein of shyness in his laugh. “It would be better for my grades if you pretend you don’t.”
This is an odd reversal. I’m used to feigning interest in what a guy talks about, not hiding it. Besides, I don’t think I can pretend with Leo. I don’t think I want to. That’s what’s so refreshing about him.
We set a date for Wednesday evening.
No, not a date. We’re just friends.
“Goodnight, Betts.”
