Psychics Wear Glasses Chapter 1

I never considered myself to be much more than an ordinary guy. I hung out with my friends at lunch, did most of my homework, wore contacts to avoid glasses, and I was fairly certain I knew exactly where that thick, obvious line between reality and fantasy was sitting at. By the time I reached my final year of high school, I was certain I knew what I wanted to do with my life and how I was going to do it. I had a car, a place to live, and grades good enough to get into college. My mom left when I was little and my dad was too busy at work to really do more than sleep when he got home. One of the few things that set me apart was that I loved to read. After school, I usually spent a few hours in the library reading, then walked part way home and stopped at the public library for a few more hours before I actually got home, did homework, and fell asleep. That covered all of my high school years, up until senior year.

It was my plan to do the same old song and dance in senior year, but "the best laid plans..." I suppose.

Our first day in our first hour class. Something happened that changed everything.

The teacher, a sharp, small man, somewhere in his sixties, stands before a class of around twenty-five students. In the cool autumn air, he has his black jacket buttoned up over his white undershirt, a boring striped green tie with a perfectly-aligned knot that I don't recognize, as I know nothing about ties. He mentions something about the importance of his "Religions of the World" social studies course, then mutters out last names from a clipboard, checking off the students who bothered to show up for the always-exciting first day of school.

The students consist of a motley assortment of typical kids, most of whom I recognize from years past. The front rows are the suck-ups, a few nerds, and a poorly dressed wanna-be gang member who never admits his real name is Daniel and insists to all the teachers it's "D-Man" or something else he makes up on the spot. The middle rows are the average kids, a few slackers, a way-too-cute red-headed girl who makes sure to sit next to me in every class we have together, myself, and a couple of new kids whose clothing and attitude aren't stand-outish enough to judge their character right off the bat. In the back are a couple of wanna-bes from every walk of life, including a goth girl, Samantha, who has surprisingly good conversations and always has a good book to lend me, even if they're all a bit dark.

Everyone except the new kids I knew by name, and at least half the class I'd had lunch with before. The only one who was part of my regular lunch group was Amber, the red-head. (I heard the teacher call Leonard Giradil's name, but he always skipped the first week, telling the principle it "tragically coincides with a week of rest in my family's religion".)

As names were called and I flipped back and forth through the pages of one of the books on the reading list of the course, I watched the reactions of people in the classroom to the teacher's monotone. Amber twisted a pencil idly in her hair while shooting me short glances, trying as hard as possible to get my attention without actually engaging me, Samantha (who never accepted any shortening of her name) was chewing gum, her right hand fidgeting with a zipper on her black jacket while her left hand drew who-knew-what in a small, black diary she carried everywhere, Daniel passed notes back and forth with one of the reclusive know-it-all type girls sitting next to him, discussing something I'm sure I didn't want to be a part off, judging by the girl's expression. Several kids in the middle row were asleep, the rest wished they were. A few kids in the back chewed gum or fiddled with their phones beneath their desks, and one kid in the front row seemed to be taking notes on the teacher - Mr. Hendel, I think - as he read off the names of students.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and a girl flew into the room wearing the strangest outfit I've ever seen.

Any individual piece of the ensemble would have violated dress code, but together it seemed to cover all the required areas of skin. On her feet were what appeared to be shoes made of bits and pieces of sewn-together parts from tennis shoes, running shoes, boots, and even sandals. She had tights and three skirts of different sizes, the shortest on top, the longest on the bottom, all white but covered in sharpie markings that looked like doodles of countless animals and creatures, some of which were real and a few of which weren't even recognizable as anything I'd ever seen before. She had a bland white shirt marked in much the same fashion, but on top of that was a tank top that was shredded til there was hardly anything left of it, and on top of that were countless straps and ribbons of fabric wrapped randomly around her whole torso. Her hands had fingerless gloves on them. Her hair was a brilliant purple, long and tied up in a practical ponytail. She had massive round glasses pressed up tight against her face that magnified vibrant green eyes. Her face featured a short, small pointed nose, white, untanned skin, thin, straight lips, small ears and no make-up of any kind. She had the most serious, librarian expression I had ever seen, and she was holding three books in her hands, laid across her lap, that did not look like they were on any of the reading lists at this school. She had no backpack, no purse, no pockets; nothing to indicate she had anything else on her but those books.

Hearing her blast into the room, Mr. Hendel glanced up from his attendance sheet and suddenly opened his eyes quite a bit wider than I had yet seen them as he saw who had just walked in. He continue to stare until the new girl finally spoke.

"I'm not sorry I'm late, it's a long walk to here for me. I should be at the bottom of the attendance list, under Zade. I figure you haven't reached my name yet anyway."

She had a very quick, matter of fact way of speaking that should have sounded sarcastic, but instead sounded rather sincere. Mr. Hendel finally squinted his eyes back to their normal setting, glanced down at his clipboard once more, and scrolled his hand to the bottom. "Miss Tabitha?" he inquired monotonously.

Suddenly, the girl's eyes widened. "Shh! Not so loud. Who says I want all these kids to know my name?" Once again, her voice sounded sincere, heartfelt, as if she was truly concerned that her classmates might discover her first name. She glanced around the entire room, suddenly aware of all the other students staring at her. She took on a very serious expression, like that of an animal who had no intention of fighting, but knew it couldn't lose.

"Very well then, Miss Zade. I'll keep it a secret from now on," Mr. Hendel replied sarcastically. "Please, take any open seat you want."

Her eyes darted across the classroom, and she suddenly spotted me, still glaring back at her. I recalled that the seat to my right was empty, and I quickly glanced towards my book, hoping I looked boring and not at all a good choice for a class neighbor. But it appeared to be too late. With a special kind of determination usually reserved for hunting out one's boyfriend in a mostly-female class, she made a precise set of turns to sit herself in the window seat right beside me.

I looked towards my book once more, hoping it was the window and not me that had drawn her to this spot. But, far less subtle than Amber, she appeared determined to attract my attention. From whispering when the teacher spoke, making complicated gestures, tappping her desk, humming just loud enough to be annoying to anyone nearby, and jabbing me in my arm with a short-nailed, delicate finger. She eventually went so far as to write a note and slide it not-so-delicately into my book, right in front of my line of sight.

I picked up the note, unfolded it, and read:

"You're wearing glasses.

That means you can see things.

What kinds of things do you see?

Anything the other kids can't see?
Special things?
SCARY things?"

I looked back to her, puzzled, but she was furiously drawing something in one of her three books, which up close appeared to all be journals, black and leatherbound. I wrote on the note, "I have no idea what you mean" and passed it back, laying it on the corner of her desk. She soon picked it up, unfolded it, and stared at it for a long time before she put it between two of the pages of one of her other two books (this one, rather than blank pages, seemed to be filled with folders and pouches and pages with things pressed between them, like a flower on the page right before where the note went.) She looked at me for a long time, silently staring, while I pretended to not notice. Finally, she went back to scribbling in her blank notebook.

As class dragged on, Mr. Hendel suddenly realized he had forgotten some very important handouts, and left the classroom (in "Daniel's capable hands") to retrieve them. This was an excuse for everyone to begin chatting out loud, and I somehow knew what was about to happen.

"Of course you know what I mean. You wear glasses, so you must know," she insisted, quietly enough not to get anyone else's attention.

This was when I suddenly became aware that, in my rush to get to school on time, I had simply put on my glasses, rather than putting in my contacts, a mistake I feared would haunt me all year now.

"No. I don't see things. Not anything other kids can't see," I responded, without lifting my eyes from the page that I hadn't even been reading, though I had pretended to all class. "What is it you expected me to see?"

"The other things. The things normal people can't see!" Suddenly, her sincerity turned to excitment, and she seemed quite intent on having this conversation. I glanced over to Amber, hoping for a way out, but she looked away, pretending not to notice my predicament. I sighed, put my book down, and looked at the new girl.

"I am a normal person," I said with conviction.

"No, you're not. You're a psychic!"

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because you wear glasses! All psychics wear glasses."

"So anyone with glasses is a psychic?"

"No, only certain people, but I can see another psychic because I'm psychic. I can always tell."

"I don't usually wear glasses. I normally wear contacts."

"So? Sometimes you need a disguise, to fit in. But the one day I showed up, you wore glasses. You wore them because you knew you needed to send me a message, to let me know you're a psychic too."

I had no idea how to talk her out of it. She was clearly crazy, and she wasn't just after attention; she sounded far too sincere. I had no doubt she believed every word she said.

"Ok, if I'm a psychic, prove it. Or prove you're a psychic."

"You knew I was a psychic. You stared at me when I walked in because you knew."

"I stared because your outfit is...strange." I didn't know how else to put it.

"It is strange. It's made of all kinds of charms and blessings and lucky clothing. I didn't know how infested the school was going to be on the first day, so I had to be ready."

"Infested?" I asked with mock concern.

"With monsters. Or ghosts. Or evil spirits."

"Well, what's the verdict? Is it crawling with bad guys?"

"Bad guys, yes. They're everywhere, and they all want to have sex with me. But no monsters or ghosts or evil spirits. It should be safe to wear normal clothes tommorow. That way I can fit in better."

She seemed, in all seriousness, a young girl who just never lost her imagination as she grew older. It was a shame; carrying that journal around, she could have become a great writer, if she hadn't decided to be crazy instead.

"Well, that's good. I'll keep my eyes open and tell you if I see anything odd. Carry on." I saluted her and turned back to my book, hoping that would be the end of it.

Of course, it never is.