Through Indigo's Eyes Read Online Free PDF Page B

mean, pick me?”
    â€œWhatever you said before. It’s some big year for you.”
    â€œYou mean draft me?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œPittsburgh Penguins.”
    â€œWhat color are their uniforms?”
    He laughed. “You mean jerseys?”
    â€œOh, right,” I said. “Jerseys.”
    â€œBlack and gold.”
    I knew that.
    I glanced out the window again. Why did I always know everything about everyone else but nothing about myself? Was I going to live in the Glebe next year? Was that what I was feeling? Some days I had 20 visions, then other days, it seemed like hundreds of snapshots clicked through my brain, and then on my busy, distracted days, I had zero come to me. And none were about me! Sometimes they were powerful and gave me headaches, like the one about Burke and Amber, and other times I just heard words or saw a quick snapshot, like the jersey. It was all so confusing.
    After a few seconds, I turned back to Burke and glanced at his profile. I wanted to tell him not to get involved with Amber; it would not be the right thing to do. And I also wanted to let him know he was going to get drafted by the Pittsburgh Penguins, that’d I’d seen the jersey. But a big glob of something got stuck in my throat, and I couldn’t speak. And I felt funny. My body started to shake, my palms started to sweat, and my throat felt dry. I placed my hands on my lap, holding them tightly to stop the shaking, hoping Burke wouldn’t notice my white knuckles. What the hell was wrong with me?
    Why couldn’t I talk?
    Why couldn’t I help my best friend by telling her boyfriend not to mess around? And I had just seen a black and gold jersey. Why couldn’t I just tell him that the team he wanted was going to draft him?
    Was I supposed to just butt out and not use these stupid visions? The jersey was good news. Wasn’t it? Was I missing something?
    He’ll think you’re crazy.
    Of course, that was it. I had to keep my mouth shut. We turned onto a residential street with nice big trees, including oaks and willows. The houses in the Glebe were different than in my neighborhood because they were much older, and most were the classic style: tall two-story red-brick buildings. Some of the houses here might have even been built in the late 1800s and early 1900s. When Burke drove up to the curb in front of a stately brick house, I exhaled. Finally, I could get out of the car and get some air.
    We walked toward the house. Burke lifted the latch on the black iron gate and, like a perfect gentleman, ushered me through first. I walked down the narrow concrete walkway and climbed the four steps to the old-fashioned front porch that wrapped around the house. Outdoor wicker furniture sat empty on the deck, although I did notice the overflowing ashtray on the small table between the two cushioned chairs. Someone had been sitting in them recently. The noise from the party was emanating from the two front windows. My body started to vibrate, and my head ached. My body didn’t respond to parties like Lacey’s did. When she heard the music and loud noise, she would smile and dance and talk with animated gestures. For me, the walls seemed to move in and out and warp, and the only way I could stand it was to find a corner of the room and stay there all night.
    I lifted my hand to knock on the door, but Burke laughed and just pushed it open. “I don’t think anyone will hear you knock,” he said. “This is going to be shaker.”
    I swallowed, trying to wet my dry throat. It had taken me an hour to decide what to wear, and in the end, I had on nondescript jeans and a plain V-neck. I had added a silver necklace and hoop earrings for dramatic effect. And I had tried to curl my hair—unsuccessfully, I might add—and put on eye shadow (borrowed from Lacey), mascara, and some lip gloss.
    We walked through the front door, and I immediately saw the carved newel post