Suicide High by Corinne O’Flynn
People think being psychic is cool or exciting. That being able to get messages from the other side gives us an edge somehow. I can see where they’re coming from—I totally get it. When you don’t understand, you fill in the gaps with what you’d want it to be. There’s an entire industry built around people’s need to tap in to the ethereal and know.
But it’s not like some cosmic vending machine. A psychic can’t pull specific details from the transcendental top hat on a whim. We don’t control what we get. It’s given to us, directed. We don’t wake up knowing which sports teams will beat the spread on a daily basis. And it’s not true that we have the answers to everything. Most people don’t get that.
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Countdown Café by Kristi Helvig
Six Days Before
Six months is considered the acceptable amount of time for grieving. Anything over that allotment pushes your parent-mandated therapist to change your diagnosis from the rather blasé and benign sounding Adjustment Disorder to the more somber and serious Major Depressive Disorder. The elusive happiness fairy neglected to wave her magic wand over me by the deadline, so here I am—again—sitting on the scratchy couch across from Dr. Debbie.
While she drones on about the stages of bereavement, which I’m apparently failing worse than senior year trigonometry, I stare at the painting behind her. Ocean waves lap at a deserted seashore while a lighthouse juts out over craggy rocks.
“What are you thinking?” Dr. Debbie asks.I shrug. “I guess I’m wondering why you have an ocean scene in your office when the Midwest is nowhere near the coast?”
She peeks over her shoulder at the painting behind her. “I thought it would be relaxing. Do you like it?”
A deep sigh escapes me. “It makes me wish I were somewhere else.”
Dr. Debbie’s eyes light up like she can sense an impending breakthrough. She leans forward in her cracked, faux leather chair.
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Jesse’s Girl by Rebecca Taylor
Her fingers. The barest brush of her touch trailed down his bare back. Like ice crystals at the base of his neck that melted down his spine. Her lips whispered so near his ear he could feel her breath as she questioned him, “Jesse?”
He rolled over. She was so close to him, he pulled his head back across his pillow until he was able to focus on her features. She didn’t look right, pale and lost, her eyes locked on something behind him. Her stare was blank, unblinking.
Her eyes shifted unnaturally to meet his and a cold panic rushed his body, left him weak.
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Duo'vr by Sue Duff
Her father’s disgruntled stare was more than she could stomach, and Ciara turned toward the railing. An urge to jump was senseless, thanks to the curvature of the outer sphere. She would probably suffer nothing worse than scrapes and a ripped gown on her rapid slide to the bottom. Her imagined escape came to a halt when Thul took her hand in midconversation.
“We are merging more than royals,” Thul said. “I, for one, understand what’s at stake.” He leaned in and kissed the back of her hand with soft lips. “Do you?” he asked for her ears only, and gave Ciara a piercing stare.
She jerked her hand out of his grasp to stave off the goose bumps bubbling across her arms. She shuddered. Was it from his conspirator’s tone, or something else?
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The Door by Shawn McGuire
Luck was with me on this find. Everything else I could afford was miles away and in parts of town I probably didn’t want to live in.
“Technically, it’s a two bedroom.” Mrs. Abercrombie finally settled on a key.
“What do you mean, ‘technically’?” My chest tightened, and my voice raised an octave. A two-bedroom would cost more. I pulled the flyer from my satchel and held it up to her. “This says a one bedroom for six-twenty-five a month.”
Mrs. Abercrombie reached inside her sweats to scratch… something and then nodded at the flyer.
“This is the same place. The price is what it says there. I ain’t pulling no bait-n-switch. The blueprints I got show two bedrooms. You’ll see when we get up there that there’s a stuck door. I figure that second bedroom is what’s behind it. Can’t say for sure ‘cause I can’t open it. No how, no way.” She sucked on her teeth. “Just explaining the door is all.”
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The Fate Stone by Wendy Terrien
It didn't make sense for her to run wearing only a nightgown. But if she could just get somewhere fast, maybe a convenience store or even a police station, she could get help. She'd be okay.
She started down the stairs, but the door opposite the one she'd come through opened wide.
Genna pressed herself against the wall. It kept her hidden until the door closed. She dashed down the steps.
"Hold on there." A boy called out to her. His footsteps followed.
Genna kept going. She reached the bottom landing. Her hand clutched the doorknob but he grabbed her arm.
"You don't want to do that."
Genna swung around. "Don't tell me what to do."
He let go of her and stepped back. He smiled. "I didn't exactly tell you what to do. Just strongly suggested you don't go through that door.”
She crossed her arms. "And why not?"
"Well, first because there are plenty of people on the other side that will take you back to your room, or worse. And second, if by some chance you made it outside, you'd freeze before you got very far."
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Untimely by A.G. Henley
“You’re trying to get rid of me,” I said.
Dad’s face closed up. “We have some things to discuss.”
Mom sat down, avoiding my glare. Richard’s thick eyebrows wrinkled apologetically.
“Whatever you’re trying to figure out,” I said to my parents, “I might be able to help. If you’d ask.”
They didn’t respond. I stalked toward the door that Alec held open for me, but something solid appeared between us.
Not something; someone. Neat blond hair, dark clothes. Jonah.
“Lovely. Just the girl I was looking for.” He smiled, like we’d met by chance on the street, and wrapped his hand around my arm. To Alec, he said, “You don’t mind if I borrow her, do you?”
And he yanked my world out from under me.
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