Kim Harrington - Clarity

My heartfelt thanks to:

Scott Miller, my agent, for taking a chance on me.

The entire Scholastic team. You are all made of awesome. Especially Aimee Friedman, editor extraordinaire. You had me at Veronica Mars.

Susan Happel Edwards, for the title. And for being a hilarious, thoughtful, generous, smart, and fantastic friend. And a Hooplehead.

Ted Curtin, for security camera info. Maybe in a future novel Ill use something more high tech!

The creators of the Xbox 360, for keeping my husband and son busy while I write.

The Poker Crew, for Friday night laughs.

The LOC girls, for many years of friendship.

All the teen and adult readers, bloggers, booksellers, and librarians who have shown early enthusiasm for the book thank you, thank you, thank you!

Many other friends, old and new, too many to name, who I adore and appreciate. Thanks for your support and for all the good times.

My parents, Dan and Barbara Harrington; my outlaws, Ann and Tony; and my entire extended family all of you crazy people from Massachusetts to Ireland. I love you!

Mike and Ryan, who make me smile, laugh, and feel loved every day. Im the luckiest chick on the planet. Except for that lady who won the lottery five times. But I still wouldnt trade places with her.

KIM HARRINGTON lives in Massachusetts with her husband and son. When not writing, shes most likely reading, watching one of her favorite TV shows, or fantasizing about her next vacation. She has no psychic powers and is cool with that. Clarity is her debut novel. Visit her online at www.kimharringtonbooks.com.

YOU DONT WANT TO KILL ME, I SAID.

Of course I dont, Clare. But I have to.

If I wasnt already bleeding, with the room tilting and swaying, I would have slapped myself. I never saw this coming. I had let my personal feelings cloud my judgment. and now I was looking down the barrel of a gun.

I never thought it would end like this, me on the hardwood floor in my house, propped up on my elbows, begging for my life. On my right was the crumpled body of a guy I hadnt fully realized the depths of my feelings for until I saw the bullet rip into him.

I tried to use reason again. To buy myself just one more minute of life. This isnt you, I said, pleading. Youre not a murderer.

A couple weeks ago, I wouldve said the same thing. But you should know more than anyone how people surprise you. People can do things you never imagined they would. You think you know someone and then

My would-be killer shrugged and cocked the gun.

Then the world went black.

SHES A SUPER FREAK! SUPER FREAK! SHES SUPER-freaky, yow!

Billy Rawlinson and Frankie Creedon popped up on the other side of the 7-Eleven aisle singing Rick James, their heads peeking over the cereal boxes like prairie dogs. I rolled my eyes, and they burst out laughing in that cackling, annoying way that two losers with low IQs do best. Youd think we were in elementary school by the way they teased me. But no, I was sixteen, and it was the summer before my junior year. Billy and Frankie had graduated from high school a month ago, but I still wasnt free of them. Theyd been teasing me since kindergarten, and they hadnt broadened their repertoire much. Id been serenaded by Super Freak lyrics over a dozen times.

I took the high road, ignored them, and brought my selections up to the counter. Unfortunately for all of us, they followed me.

What are you buying, Clare? Billy asked. Candles? Crystals?

Actually just a twenty-ounce Diet Coke and a package of powdered donuts. The breakfast of champions. I kept my back turned and continued the silent treatment as I pulled a ten out of my shorts pocket and handed it to the cashier.

Hey, Frankies nasal voice implored. Were talking to you, freak.

He poked me in the shoulder blade.

And that was his mistake.

Im willing to overlook a stupid comment here and there. But poking me? Nuh-uh. I lifted my elbow up and brought it back hard into his gut.

Frankie let out an oomph as he doubled over.

I twirled around with a sweet-as-pie smile. Oh no. Did you catch my elbow in your stomach while I was putting my change in my pocket? Sorry, Frankie. You should learn not to stand so close to people.

Frankie was busy trying not to puke, but Billy narrowed his eyes at me and said, Youll regret that.

I took my bag and left the store, head held high. This wasnt the first time Id had trouble like this, and it wouldnt be the last.

Ive had 666 scrawled across my locker at school. Youd think my given name was Freak by how often it was used in the halls. Snickers, whispers, and pointing fingers followed me into classrooms more times than I could count.

Id done nothing to deserve this treatment. Contrary to popular belief, I was not a devil worshipper, nor a spawn of Satan.

But I was different.

And apparently different was bad.

In Eastport, a tourist town on Cape Cod, lives a family of freaks. My family. Im a psychic. My brothers a medium. My mothers a telepath. Tourists love us. Townies scorn us.

My name is Clarity Clare Fern and my brother is Periwinkle Perry Fern. What were our parents thinking? Apparently where their next tab of acid was coming from. My mothers name is Starla, though Perry found her birth certificate one day and we discovered she was born Mary. That find didnt go over well with her, and if we valued our lives we werent going to share that tidbit with anyone else.

We live in a grand Victorian house in the busy section of town near the boardwalk. My parents bought it when they got married and left the spiritualist community theyd both grown up in. Its a lovely old house, with no permanent ghosts, and we use the first floor for our family business: readings. Not the bookstore kind.

Perry was waiting for me in the 7-Eleven parking lot, and as I slid into the passenger seat, I breathed a sigh of relief that his car was still idling. It was an eight-year-old black Civic with 120,000 miles on it. Perry wanted a new car, but Mom would never agree to that while this one worked fine. So he started it each morning hoping for the click-click-click, but the little metal box refused to die.

I checked the mirror to make sure the two stooges werent following us in their pickup as Perry turned onto the main drag.

Any trouble in there? Perry asked. I saw dumb and dumber walk in.

Nothing I couldnt handle, I said, and Perry smiled.

Youd never know were brother and sister. I share my mothers red hair, freckles, and petite frame, while Perry has black hair and creamy skin and stands just over six feet tall. Though he does have the same sky blue eyes as Mom and me, plus a small scar in his right eyebrow for a dash of mystery. This combination is evidently a recipe for the loosening of morals in almost all girls.

Perry spends most of his time chasing girls and hooking up. Living in a tourist town is perfect for him. Every week a fresh crop of chicks rolls in, and one week later they roll out. Hes eighteen and headed for college in the fall. I pity those poor women in Boston.

Mom let it slip once that he looks just like our father, though we wouldnt remember. Dads been gone without a word for fifteen years. Getting Mom to say any more about him would require torture, so we leave it at that. Perry and I are convinced that good ol Dad left us and Mom is still too in love with him to say anything bad, so she says nothing at all.

Perry flicked on the blinker and turned onto a side road, deftly avoiding the bumper-to-bumper parking lot that is Route 28. Summer traffic is pretty heavy through Hyannis and Yarmouth, but not as bad when you get to Eastport, mainly because of Rigsdale Road. Named after a pilgrim (because if we love one thing on the Cape, its our pilgrims), Rigsdale is a secondary road that runs parallel to Route 28 and has just as many shops, restaurants, and motels.