The Guardian by Katie Klein

she did. I know. It doesn’t sound like anything, really. But Seth, I had no reason to think these things, but I did. Before they happened.”
    “Maybe it’s a coincidence.”
    “You think I sound stupid,” I say, working to keep my voice even.
    “You do n’t sound stupid.”
    “Is this even possible, though? That I’m seeing things happen before they happen?”
    “It’s possible, I guess. Some people have a ‘sixth sense’ about things. They’re what we call clairvoyant. They see things, hear things, have strong feelin gs. Do you remember the night nurse? In the hospital?”
    I nod.
    “She talked to me. She never looked at me, but she could feel me. She knew I was there. A lot of major historical events were predicted in advance.”
    “This has never happened to me before. And it happened twice. In one night.”
    He eyes me thoughtfully. “You don’t know it will happen again, though.”
    “You don’t know it won’t,” I point out, stubborn.
    He tears his eyes from mine, sighing in defeat. “You should get some rest.”
    “Will you stay?”
    “I’d like to, but. . . .” He trails off, unable to finish, forehead crinkling with concern. “I have to go now,” he whispers.
    Before I can even tell him goodnight, he’s gone.

 
     
     
    T WELVE
     
     
     
     
    “So I was thinking about prom,” Carter announces as soon as we pull out of the parking lot. He’s driving me to work again. On an afternoon like this, I would usually take my bike. My wrist brace, though, makes it impossible to steer, and the last thing I need is irreparable damage to an already non-funct ioning extremity. For a few more weeks, at least, I’m relying on Mom or Carter to drop me off and pick me up.
    I tense. “Carter . . .”
    “I know,” he interrupts. “We’re still taking it slow. But we only have a month. I thought that maybe we should get our pla ns straight.”
    “Carter.”
    “Don’t worry about a dress,” he goes on. “We’ll go shopping.”
    We went shopping for the winter dance. Carter put everything—dress, shoes, new eyeliner and mascara—on his mom’s credit card like it was no big deal. And to him, it wasn ’t. I couldn’t bear to tell him that, a few weeks later, we sold the dress to a re-sale shop. The manager—his oily, salt and pepper hair pulled back into a tight ponytail—gave me thirty-five bucks for it, which Mom happily accepted because we needed grocer ies. Meanwhile I went home and cried because I’d given away the most beautiful thing I ever owned.
    I sigh. “Carter,” I repeat, shaking my head. “I’m not sure.” I pause for a moment. “About prom, I mean.”
    His hands tighten around the steering wheel. “What’ s not to be sure about?” he asks. “Of course we can go together. We always have a great time. We had fun at the library gala. You had fun. We have fun together.” The words are choppy. Quick.
    “I know we do,” I agree. “But this is just. . . .” How do I expla in that there’s someone—something else? “It’s complicated, Carter. I’m not sure if I even want to go to prom.” I gaze out the window, taking in the spring traffic and the storefronts, the businesses which have officially re-opened for customers in the last several weeks, energizing the entire town.
    “Then why are we even doing this?” he asks, his voice rising. “All I’ve done the past two months is cater to you, Genesis. After the accident . . . I did everything you asked.”
    I bite my lower lip. The silence le ngthens between us.
    He slants a look sideways. “So this is how it’s gonna be now?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “I was an asshole that night. You didn’t deserve any of that. You didn’t deserve being in the hospital because of me. It’s all my fault, and I’m sorry. I’m the bad guy.” He inhales, and lets the air escape completely from his lungs before continuing. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want from me. I’m doing the best I