Free Confessions of a Teenage Psychic by Pamela Woods-Jackson Page A

seeing ghosts again!” I shriek. I blink hard trying to get rid of the apparition.
    “Well, I’m not really a ghost, I’m a spirit, but materializing sucks energy out of the air,” he says with a grin.
    I stare in disbelief. “I… I… uh… ”
    “Don’t worry, I won’t slime you,” he says, laughing.
    I could almost laugh with him if I weren’t so freaked out. Just when I’d chalked up my last sighting of him to stress, or exhaustion, or hormones, or whatever, here he is again. Now all my rationalizations go out the window as I look into the seemingly solid face of my mother’s dead brother.
    And he is solid— I can’t see through him or anything. It’s almost like, if I’d dared to reach out, I’d touch skin. At that thought, I wrap my jacket tightly around myself and hold on for dear life.
    “What do you want? Why are you haunting me?” The voice I’d intended to sound fierce comes out in a squeak.
    “I want your attention.”
    “You got it.” I’m shivering, but I don’t know if it’s from cold or fear.
    “Don’t look so scared, Caryn. I’ve come to give you a message.” His voice sounds really kind, oddly enough, considering I’m talking to… whatever.
    “From the Great Beyond?”
    He shrugs. “Sure. What’d ya think? I’m bringing messages from Yahoo?”
    Wouldn’t you know my dead uncle would have the Alderson offbeat sense of humor?
    Uncle Omar unfolds his arms and takes a ghostly step toward me. “Seriously, Caryn, here’s the thing. You’ve got a gift and you need to start using it.”
    I instinctively back up. “But I don’t want the gift!” I say. “I just wanna be normal.”
    He stops and puts his hands on his hips, like any exasperated grownup might do. “So be normal. You just have to let go of your fears.”
    Like it’s that easy. I’m still backing up, but now I’ve bumped into the cash register and realize I can’t go any farther. I try to compose myself and look him in the face, but I’m still quaking. “The only thing I’m scared of is talking to dead people!”
    Uncle Omar winks at me. “Aw, come on. Am I that bad? I’m just here to help you.”
    “I don’t want any help!” I close my eyes, hoping he’ll be gone when I open them. He’s not.
    “Too bad, ‘cause you’re stuck with me. Orders, you know.” Uncle Omar grins and points up.
    Naturally I look up too, but all I see is an old light fixture that needs dusting.
    I huff out a sigh. “But it’s completely unnerving every time I see someone who’s not really there!” I’m arguing with the spirit of my dead uncle like it’s the most common thing in the world.
    This is nuts! Cue the Twilight Zone music!
    “You aren’t crazy,” he says, as if he can read my mind. “Look at it this way— some people sing or act or play piano. That’s their talent. Your talent is you see spirits, and you know things.”
    As if it’s that simple. “Kids think I’m a freak,” I grumble. “Like Quince. He won’t even speak to me anymore.”
    “He will, don’t worry. Just be yourself, and your friends will accept you.”
    “But… ” I start to say, and then he’s gone.
    Just like that I’m alone again. I blink, rub my eyes, and look around the store— everything is back to normal. The lights have stopped flickering and suddenly the room is perfectly warm.
    “MOM! SYBIL!”
    They both come running out of the storeroom. “What’s the matter?” my mother asks, her eyes wide.
    “Mom! Didn’t you see him? He was standing right there!” I point to the bookshelf where moments before I’d been talking to a ghost.
    “Who, Caryn?” She walks over to the door and checks to make sure it’s still locked. “No one’s here but the three of us.”
    “Uncle Omar!” I insist. “He was here! Talking to me!”
    My mother looks a lot less surprised than I would’ve liked. “Omar? Here? You spoke to him?” How can she be so calm?
    “I had a conversation with a ghost, Mom! You’re acting