A/N: As you all should know, I did not write the Mediator series. Meg Cabot did. Anything familiar is hers, not mine. The plot is mine, all miiine! MUAHAHAHAHA…I rated this for language. This is my first Mediator fic, so lemme know what you think!
Summary: There's a new mediator in Carmel, and she has some really weird abilities that are starting to scare everyone. Everyone except Paul, that is. Paul meets Cali and decides Suze isn't worth it. After almost deciding to kill him, Cali's reputation starts to go bad. But when Suze disappears, Calixte Vinett is the only one who can find her.
Chapter 1: Cali Vinnett: Mediator Extraordinaire
**Cali**
I woke up in the morning, dreading the day to come. This was the day we moved. Wonderful. Juuuust peachy. I was moving away from all my friends and family just so my dad could take a job in Northern California. Northern California! Ugh…I just knew it was going to suck majorly.
"You awake, Cali?" I heard mom call from the other side of my locked bedroom door. My full name's Calixte Vinnett, but no one calls me that and lives to tell the tale. "Calixte" is supposed to mean "very beautiful," which is kind of embarrassing, since I don't agree. So I make everyone call me Cali. Besides, Cali sounds better with the rest of my name.
"Yeah, mom," I droned, absolutely dreading every second of being awake. Last night had really drained me.
See, I'm not exactly a normal girl…I see things. Ghosts, to be more specific. I see ghosts. The ghost I had been dealing with had been trying to kill me. I hate dealing with pissed off ghosts. They're really violent. The ghost last night had thrown me off the roof. I had, shockingly enough, landed on my feet, twisting my ankle badly. It hurt like hell. Anyway, I'm – at least, I think I am – a mediator. There's only one person who knows about it. My best friend, Rachel, and I don't intend to tell anyone else. As if the whole me-being-able-to-see-unhappy-dead-people-who-often-want-revenge thing weren't enough, I have some other weird abilities, too. One of them being telekinesis, which I've found to be rather useful, by the way, when dealing with ghosts. Ghosts often have strange abilities like that, too. It helps to be able to deal with them in terms they'll understand.
See, they don't like to be told to do things, so I don't tell them. I move them. That and I'm telepathic, which really sucks a lot of the time, as I can hear things people think and often can't tell that they're not saying it.
I sighed and yanked my covers off me telekinetically. You know, it's not as hard to move things with your head as people make it out to be in the movies and stuff. Really, I just use my eyes like an extra hand and see the hand moving whatever it is I wanna move. Anyway, I sat up on the edge of my bed, putting my head in my hands for a few minutes.
"Morning," said a voice from my closet.
I jumped. "Don't you ever knock, or something? Jesus, Rachel…" I complained. Oh, and did I mention Rachel's a ghost? Yeah. She was killed in a car accident about four months ago, and has been following me around ever since. Not that I mind, of course. We were friends before she kicked the bucket, and to tell the truth, I haven't been trying very hard to figure out why she's still here. Now I felt bad, though, because I was about to leave and she'd be stuck here.
"Come on, Cali, we're gonna miss the plane!" Mom called.
"Alright, alright!" I shot back. I hate being rushed. I pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a black, spaghetti strap shirt with a flattering neckline. I threaded a studded belt through the loops. The belt had a chain hanging off of it that smacked against my legs if I walked wrong. I hooked my necklace around my neck. My favorite one had a sliver chain and a transparent, black teardrop shaped pendant that encased a little sphere that looked exactly like the full moon. I mean, exactly like it – down to every little crater. I put my treble clef earrings on, and slipped my tanned legs into my knee boots. I brushed a little black eyeshadow over my lids, matching my mood. I looked in the full-length mirror and grinned. Kickass. I grabbed my favorite pencil and, after brushing through my unfortunately blonde hair, twisted the pencil into it. As I grabbed my purse and walked out, I picked up another pencil and absently spun it in my hands as I walked down the stairs.
"Tada," I said dully.
"Finally. What took you so long?" my dad asked. Ugh. He annoyed me. He thought he was soooo funny…and it made me want to hurt him. Badly…not that I would, of course. I like to stay in their good graces so they don't bitch at me if they catch me sneaking in at night from a ghost-kicking episode. Some ghosts just don't listen! It's enough to drive a girl crazy. I sighed as I took a last look at the house. "Goodbye, life," I said to it.
As we walked to the cab that was waiting for us in the driveway, I started getting depressed. I was walking away from my whole life to go live in California. Jesus. And if that wasn't bad enough, I was told that I'm gonna attend a Catholic school. Would you believe that? Mom couldn't let me go to that music school. That school wanted me there. I gave them a song I wrote, a tape of my singing, and they were drooling over me! Drooling! Seriously! But nooo, of course not. Mom didn't want me to go to the school that wanted me there. I had to go to Junipero Serra Mission Academy. My worst nightmares come true.
Damn it.
So a plane ride, four books and a cab later, we were standing in front of our new house. Yeah, four books, I know…I read disgustingly fast. I have no idea why. I grabbed my suitcase and walked up to my room. It was kind of an old house…oh well. I could handle any ghosts that decided to bother me if I actually tried to sleep. Have I mentioned that I really hate to sleep? The feeling you get when you wake up is just awful. It's a hell of a lot easier to just not sleep. Of course, due to this I've passed out a few times, but hey…I'd rather pass out than consciously subject myself to sleep.
I looked around my new bedroom for a few minutes and saw (to my great relief) no ghosts. ~Thank God, ~ I thought. Yeah. Thought. That was until some guy showed up at my front door. My room was really white…I was going to paint on the walls as soon as I got enough cash to buy some brushes and paints.
"Cali?" mom called up the stairs.
"Yeah?" I yelled back.
"There's a boy at the front door. He says he saw you walking in and wanted to meet you. Come downstairs!" she yelled after waiting a few minutes and not seeing me walking down the steps, which were, by the way, this really ugly colored wood.
"Damn it, I'm here five minutes and the guys are already annoying me," I complained to myself and reluctantly walked down the stairs just as mom was about to start yelling again.
"Finally," she said dryly as I walked past her and opened the front door.
I caught myself before I said anything like "whoa" to give him the wrong impression. But just barely caught myself. Daaaamn, was he hot! "Ah, hi?" I said, sounding annoyed.
"Hi yourself. Paul Slater," he said, introducing himself by reaching a hand out to me.
"Cali Vinnett," I said flatly, not moving to take his hand. This guy had a weird aura. Something wasn't quite right… "Short for Calixte, but don't you dare call me that," I said, then realized my mistake. He had been thinking of what Cali could be short for. Shit! I was already revealing my – er – abilities.
He grinned. "You read my mind."
I glanced at his watch, which told me it was almost 7' pm. "Gee, look at the time. I'd better be going. Bye," I said, starting to close the door. I jerked it back open when he stuck his hand between the door and the frame. "Jesus! Are you trying to get your hand chopped off, or something?" I yelled at him. Guys annoy me. They really do. Back home in Michigan, I had always had trouble with guys. They liked me, and I wanted them to leave me alone. I didn't want to have anything to do with them. Ghost busting took up most of my time when I wasn't writing a book, a song, or doing something involving music or the stage.
"Nope. Just trying to talk to you. You going to the Mission Academy, right?" he asked. God! Why wouldn't he leave me alone?
"Yes. Bye," I snapped, trying to close the door, but he put a hand on the door, stopping it. He was making me mad. ~Bad idea, Slater,~ I thought to him. As he tried to register the fact that I had spoken to him without moving my mouth, I slammed the door telekinetically. He unfortunately moved his hand just in time.
"Who was he?" Dad asked.
"Nobody. Just some idiot boy who goes to the Mission," I said flatly.
"Aww, you should give him a chance! I thought he was cute," my mom said. My mom! Honestly…
"Ew," I said disgustedly. "If you need me, I'll be in my room, meditating on the fact that I have just been forced out of my life," I said bitterly, and stomped my way up the stairs.