2

"But it's soothing, writing. Storytelling. Like a sickness being extracted from your mind and soul. As the mysterious force leads me along the story, I become calmed, distracted, even if the story is far from a comforting world. Writing about my fantasies only did it for me back in middle school. Maybe that's part of being an adult: dabbling more in real life."

I slept through most of Wednesday, made it to my evening class (the one that owned the hellfire of a Shakespeare assignment), then had a stupid hard time getting to sleep that night so I was sleepy on Thursday anyway. A physics class (part of being a parapsychology major), a class on myths and legends (technically labeled under English, but so much more fun), then inhaled whatever food I could find and sleep.

Friday morning, seven sharp, I was in class and ready to go.

I shouldn't have bothered. Having the last name 'Taniyama' didn't exactly put me on top of the list, and it was forty-five minutes into class before he got around to calling me to his office, which was across the hall in another wing.

"Mai Taniyama," he looked up to find me straight as a cadet and feet away from him. He heaved a heavy sigh that spoke volumes, then turned and walked out, hopefully expecting me to follow. He didn't say anything until we had reached his office and I had sat down across his desk, which had been cleared of his monitor/computer and replaced with a few devices. One which was essentially a box lined with paired lights and buttons, another a simple touchscreen tablet with a set of cards, and then a cardboard separator, like the ones used in kid science fairs.

He pulled up his own tablet, blackety black black as his clothes and hair. Despite the professional emo look, it all just served to bring out the striking blue of his eyes.

Best not think too much on that.

First, he had me guess which light was going to come on in the box. For fifty blinks he had me not press a button (I missed all of them), and the next he had me press the button of the light I thought would turn on next (also, missed all of them—freaking rigged). Then he put the science fair cardboard between us and told me to pick up the tablet.

"On my end, I'm going to choose a series of cards," he said. "You are to pick the cards you think I have."

Missed every one of those too.

Then he pushed down the partition (why'd he even bother), and rolled a dice a few times, telling me to call out a number…

I missed every one of those as well…

Trying not to tear up at my smothered hope that I might have some super brain power that would get me on a real, deliciously horrifying case, I muttered out the last dream I had. It was hard. My throat hurt.

"…and there were, um, lights? Like, everywhere and…" Oh god, I couldn't tell him I saw him—I had to. "And I saw you there."

I thought I could see him stiffen, as though readying for the inevitable humiliation of hearing a porno dream of himself.

I rushed to amend that—even if in reality he didn't look fazed at all. "But there was nothing creepy! Actually, um, it was kinda weird. You smiled at me and…" Face, don't catch fire now. "And you told me not to worry about what you think. That you've always had a stick up your butt—not that I think you have a stick up your butt! But I think my subconscious might…"

He just looked at me. Man, talk about a poker face.

I cleared my throat, hoping to loosen it up a bit more. "There's not much more to it than that. We sort of talked until I woke up." I hesitated. "Dream you was really nice." No offense, but you're kinda a whole lot mean.

He blinked. A pinky finger twitched from where he held them all intertwined beneath his chin.

"That settles it then," he leaned back in his chair, hands still all intertwined together like some Xavier impression. "I'll be seeing you tomorrow at five am, my office. Tell me your classes and I'll send out some notices to your professors that you'll be missing a few days."

I stared.

And stared.

"What?! But I like…I got like—"

"It's nigh impossible to miss every single light and every single card," he said in that smack to the face blunt tone he specialized at. "Based off this I can conclude that you have a latent psychic instinct of sorts that can warn you of what, I have yet to guess. It's an area of clairvoyance, I believe."

I was dead. I had to be. Yeah, I had hoped against hope I'd be super special enough to go on this case, but when had I ever been ultra super special? I got straight B's, for crying out loud, and my hair and eyes were brown. BROWN. Boring, normal brown, and not even long enough to pull off the sexy Hollywood look.

Well, my parents were both dead, that was kind of rare. Nowadays. In America.

But I didn't have any especially cool talents, I wasn't creative or cool or popular, and often times I made pity friends because they heard I lived alone. That was part of the reason I asked a grouch like Ayako to be my roommate…

And why I also kind of liked stick-up-his-ass Professor Davis.

"You can close your mouth now," he said. "It's nothing phenomenal or rare, but I can tell you already you're probably the few, if any, of the students on this campus with any sort of ability aside from sneezing and scratching your prosterier at the same time."

My mouth twitched. Yeah. I kind of liked it when he talked like that.

Like I said: Me, a freaking masochist.

Unable to help myself, I saluted. "I'll be there, sir!"

In answer, he just heaved another sigh.