Leo is silent.
Hesitantly, I peer up at him, embarrassed that I just gushed at him like a little girl. But he’s smiling down at me, watching me with warm eyes.
“Um, yeah—” I tear my gaze from his and squeak out the first words that come to me, “So I googled clairsentience.” Not sure why I said that. Hopefully Leo’s too mature to do the told-you-so dance.
“Did you?” He tries not to grin. “What did you find?”
“Well, at least now I know you didn’t make it up.”
He’s more amused than offended. “You thought I made it up?”
“No. Yes. Kind of.” I absently thumb the pages of my book. “You gotta cut me a break. I’ve never heard about any of this stuff before. It’s all new to me.”
He twists to face me. “Do you agree you’re clairsentient?”
“TBD.”
“TBD?”
I half laugh, half groan. “What’s with you and acronyms? TBD. To Be Determined.”
“Okay, got it. So you’re saying you’re still not convinced?”
“I can definitely relate to what I read, I’m just not sure what to do about it.”
“Why would you do anything about it?”
“Because if I’m psychic—and I’m not saying I am—then it’s a curse.” Even though all the articles I came across called it a “gift.”
“It’s not a curse,” Leo gently insists.
Easy for him to say when he’s not saddled with it. “I’m too sensitive.”
“Is that what people tell you?”
I pick at a peeling corner of the book cover. “Sometimes.” Sometimes it’s praise; sometimes it’s criticism.
“That’s their problem, not yours.”
“No. It’s mine too.”
“Because they don’t understand?”
Something twists in my chest and I avert my suddenly stinging eyes. No. No one seems to understand what it’s like to be a living, breathing, open wound.
“It’s gotten worse,” I confess.
Leo nudges my chin. “Worse how?”
“Worse as inmore.” I shrug and sigh. “Like, when I was younger, I used to feel stuff every once in a while, but it was quieter, you know? But lately it seems like it’s been happening a lot more often. And it’s stronger.”
He nods, his smile soft and reassuring. “Psychics grow into their ability.”
Grow into it? But human brains aren’t even fully developed until we reach twenty-five. Is my so-called gift going to get even more debilitating?
Leo stills my fidgeting hands by covering them with one of his own. “You know, maybe learning more about it would make it easier.”
“Easier?” I scoff. “What, like keep your friends close and your enemies even closer?”
