16 | It Makes Me Anxious, Too

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"Can I ask just one more?" he entreated instead of answering my demand

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"Can I ask just one more?" he entreated instead of answering my demand.

I was on edge, anxious for the worst. And yet, how tempting it was to prolong this moment. To have Kook with me, willingly, for just a few seconds longer. I sighed at the dilemma, and then said, "One."

"Well...," he hesitated for a moment, as if deciding which question to voice. "You said you knew I hadn't gone into the bookstore, and that I had gone south. I was just wondering how you knew that."

I glared out the windshield. Here was another question that revealed nothing on his part, and too much on mine.

"I thought we were past all the evasiveness," he said, his tone critical and disappointed.

How ironic. He was relentlessly evasive, without even trying. Well, he wanted me to be direct. And this conversation wasn't going anywhere good, regardless.

"Fine, then," I said. "I followed your scent."

I wanted to watch his face, but I was afraid of what I would see

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I wanted to watch his face, but I was afraid of what I would see. Instead, I listened to his breath accelerate and then stabilize. He spoke again after a moment, and his voice was steadier than I would have expected.

"And then you didn't answer one of my first questions..." he said.

I looked down at him, frowning. He was stalling, too. "Which one?"

"How does it work-the mind reading thing?" he asked, reiterating his question from the restaurant. "Can you read anybody's mind, anywhere? How do you do it? Can the rest of your family...?" He trailed off, flushing again.

"That's more than one," I said.

He just looked at me, waiting for his answers. And why not tell him? He'd already guessed most of this, and it was an easier subject that the one that loomed.

"No, it's just me. And I can't hear anyone, anywhere. I have to be fairly close. The more familiar someone's... 'voice' is, the farther away I can hear them. But still, no more than a few miles."

I tried to think of a way to describe it so that he would understand. An analogy that he could relate to. "It's a little like being in a huge hall filled with people, everyone talking at once. It's just a hum-a buzzing of voices in the background. Until I focus on one voice, and then what they're thinking is clear. Most of the time I tune it all out-it can be very distracting. And then it's easier to seem normal," I grimaced—"when I'm not accidentally answering someone's thoughts rather than their words."

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