Free Born That Way by Susan Ketchen

different.”
    â€œMy dad says spirituality is a bunch of flakey nonsense for people who can’t handle reality.”
    â€œYour dad . . . ” says Taylor, then stops and smiles, as though she’s reminded herself to be kind. “So how’s Stephanie’s marketing campaign working for you?”
    I know she’s intentionally changed the subject, but the way she says it is almost as irritating as what she was talking about before. “What do you mean, Stephanie’s campaign? It’s my campaign.”
    â€œStephanie’s good at talking people into things. I’ve had to learn how to resist her, which is hard because she’s older and used to getting her way.”
    â€œShe didn’t talk me into anything. And it’s going fine. I like gorilla marketing.”
    She gives me yet another annoying sympathetic look, then her face brightens. “I know—if you want to learn about spiritual things, you should let me read your palm. I’m learning how, I’ve got a book about it.” She slides a slim volume out of her bookcase and flings it onto the bedspread where it lies across the top half of the unicorn’s eye, giving it a sinister expression. Taylor drags me by my arm and sits me beside her on the bed, then pries open my fist and holds it on her thigh, palm up. And doesn’t say anything.
    â€œWhat?” I say. Even though I do not believe in palm reading her silence is alarming.
    â€œYou’ve only got one line,” she says. “You’re supposed to have two. See, like mine.” She offers her palm for comparison. She’s right. I’m missing a line.
    â€œWhat does that mean?” I ask.
    â€œI don’t know.” She opens her book and flips through the diagrams. “They all have two lines—one’s your heart line and the other’s your head line.”
    â€œI don’t like this.” I wrench my hand away from her. “Can we do something else?”
    She closes her book reluctantly. Then she seems to get a new idea. “We can play Ouija.”
    â€œWee-gee?” This sounds like it might be French or baby-talk, and either way I won’t be interested. But anything to keep her away from my palm. Maybe I’m an alien and that’s why I only have one line.
    Taylor goes to her computer (her own computer, in her bedroom, out of parental surveillance, talk about lucky) and pulls up a site: Ouija—The Original Talking Board .
    â€œWatch this,” she says. At the top of the screen is a box for a question. She types: “Who does Taylor love?” then places the cursor over a triangular section in the middle which proceeds to move about the screen pointing to individual letters that eventually spell MANY . “Hah,” she laughs. “That’s because I’m so spiritual and full of love!”
    â€œYou’re moving the cursor,” I tell her.
    â€œI am not. I’m following the pointer on the screen.”
    â€œMaybe subconsciously you’re moving it.”
    â€œWell you try it then.” She pops out of her chair and swivels it around in my direction.
    This is obviously a scam, but I sit in the chair and type in my question. “How long until I can get a horse?” I put my hand on the mouse and then follow the pointer which goes to the number one at the bottom of the screen then slides back to its starting point and doesn’t move.
    â€œOne month?” says Taylor. “Wow, that’s pretty soon! Your campaign must be going great! Ask something else.”
    I don’t know what else to ask. I’ve already asked the only question that matters to me. One month? How is that going to happen?
    â€œFind out about boys. Ask who loves you.”
    This is a dumb question, and I don’t care really, but I type it in anyway and the pointer slides around the screen. N . . . O . . . N . . . E. Noone?
    â€œNo one?” says Taylor.