Free Gifted Touch by Melinda Metz Page B

in time to the beat of her heart. “I don’t get it. What’s the point of a pipe bomb in the girls’ bathroom? Was someone trying to blow up the entire place or what?” Because that sort of made sense. It’s not like people ended up coming to Oakvale because they were 92
    stable . Maybe one of the squirrels decided that their mission was to send the place to heaven.
    Rocha shook his head. “Not unless whoever is responsible severely miscalculated,” he answered.
    “The bomb wasn’t big enough to damage more than the bathroom. Now, try to remember everything. Even the smallest detail can help me find the person who did this.”
    Wonder what he’d think if I told him that I had one of my not-me thoughts in the bathroom? One that said,
    “Definitely kill Rae.” She could just hear herself. The bomb was set because someone wanted to murder me, Mr. Rocha. Something in my head told me so. Yeah, that would get her back in the hospital nice and fast.
    And probably for a lot longer than a summer vacation.
    But I’d definitely have been dead if I went into that stall, Rae thought suddenly. A tremor snaked its way through her body. She reached out and grabbed her big cup of water off Rocha’s desk.
    /SHE’S OKAY/SO PALE/WHAT ELSE COULD I GET FOR
    HER/
    There was something familiar about those thoughts. Like when you heard an announcer on TV
    and then later realized it was some washed-up celeb.
    Kathleen Turner shilling for Burger King or whatever.
    “Anything at all, Rachel,” Mr. Rocha pressed.
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    “All I did was walk in and go over to the closest sink,” Rae told him. The not-her thoughts kept repeating in her mind, growing slightly fuzzier, not staticky, just softer and not quite as clear.
    /SHE’S OKAY/SO PALE/WHAT ELSE COULD I GET FOR
    HER/
    Anthony, she thought suddenly. They remind me of Anthony. Which made no sense. Except that when he was carrying her to the nurse’s office, he’d looked so scared. Scared for her. The thoughts sort of fit with how he’d been acting.
    “I checked my makeup in the mirror. Then—bam!
    I didn’t even realize it was a bomb. I didn’t have time to realize anything.” Rae knew she should mention Anthony. Seeing him was a lot more than the smallest detail. But in those thoughts . . . It was like Anthony was really worried about her. Like he . . . like he . . .
    cared about her, wanted to help her somehow.
    Uh, hello? Psycho girl? Remember Dr. Warriner?
    Those thoughts in your head didn’t come from Anthony. And the ones that sounded like Dad, they didn’t come from Dad. And the one about definitely killing Rae, that didn’t come from anyone else, either.
    Believing they did is going to a whole new number on the nutso scale. But still, it was getting harder and harder not to feel like the thoughts were real.
    “What about people?” Mr. Rocha asked, his flat 94
    hazel eyes intent on Rae’s face. “Anyone near the bathroom when you went in?”
    There were more not-me thoughts in the bathroom, she remembered. What were they? There was one about Anthony. Something like, They’ll think Anthony did it. Did that mean Anthony was being framed? Because if he was, then she absolutely shouldn’t say—
    What did you just decide about your freaky thoughts?
    Rae asked herself. You decided it would be insane to actually think they mean anything. Now, have you decided to go there? Just take a running dive into the loony bin?
    “Rachel, are you having trouble concentrating?” Mr. Rocha asked. “I’m starting to think that blow to your head was more serious—”
    “I was just wondering about my dad,” Rae said quickly. “Is someone checking the parking lot for him?
    I’m sure he went to get coffee or something. Usually he just sits in the car and reads until I’m through.”
    “Sheila—the nurse—is watching for him. She’ll bring him in as soon as he gets here,” Mr. Rocha answered. “Now, what about who you saw? Was there anyone?”
    Rae shifted her plastic cup