Drake smirked. Leave it to Father Patrick to get away with that kind of story.
A weight lifted from Drake's shoulders—another possible exposure averted. "Where's Mrs. Maypol? What does she think about all of this?"
"She went to the hospital with Ralph. That's the young man you saved. He was helping us move some things around in the garden. I think she's suspected there's more to you for a long time, but she loves you and would never betray you. Don't worry about that."
"That's not what worries me. While surfing this morning, I had a sense that someone was watching me. Then I saw a man in black before he got in his car and drove away. I know it sounds paranoid, but you always said I should trust my instincts."
He also told the priest about his fight with Brad, and his best friend's concern about exposure with this contest.
Father Patrick stayed silent until the end. "What do you think you should do?"
Drake sighed. "I hate when you do that."
"When I make you think for yourself? Yes, I'm wretched that way."
"I want to stay in the competition. I can't live my life in hiding forever."
Father Patrick's kind eyes held Drake's for several long moments. "You're on a path none of us can understand. You have to do what's right for your heart. I can only tell you that I do see dark spirits around you, so whatever course you choose, be careful."
His words sent chills through Drake. Father Patrick's sixth sense was unparalleled. If he said Drake was in danger, Drake believed him, but that didn't mean dropping out of the competition would keep him safe.
Drake said goodbye to Father Patrick, and an unexpected melancholy swelled in his heart. He hugged the old man, who stood a good foot shorter than him.
"I'll come by tomorrow to help with the rest of the garden."
The priest pierced Drake with his eyes. "Be well, Son. Whatever happens, know that you have a destiny to fulfill in this world."
Strange parting words, but not unusual for someone who enjoyed the cryptic. Still, they unsettled Drake.
The feeling intensified as he walked out.
A horn beeped, and the shy girl who'd sold him tamales not so long ago hurried up to him with her cart, only her smile had turned to fear. "Señor, alguien que ha destrozado su coche."
"What? Who vandalized my car? What did you see?"
The force of his words frightened the timid girl. He calmed his voice. "I'm sorry to scare you. Please, tell me what happened."
He followed her around the corner to his car, which sat lower to the ground than it should, and... something had been painted on his window.
"Shit!" He ran to the car, fearing what he'd find.
All four tires had been cut and the word "FREEK!"—misspelling and all—had been spray-painted across his window.
"Who did this? Did you see?"
Her eyes widened. "I sorry. I no stop him. I scared of big man in black."
"It's okay. You did the right thing. It's not worth getting hurt over. Thank you for telling me."
The damage looked like some kids pulling a prank, but a big man in black sounded more like a hit posed to look like a prank. Why? To scare him?
Drake pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to the girl. "Thank you for telling me."
She nodded, slipped the money into her pocket, and dashed off.
Drake pulled his phone out and called Brad. "Dude, someone knows."
Chapter 4 – Sam
Music blared from Luke and Lucy's suite, next door to my own room. I let myself in and plopped down on their overstuffed purple couch.
Lucy saw me and turned down the radio. "What happened?"
I tossed her the file.
Luke walked through the wall from his bedroom into the living room and stood behind his sister to read. He frowned when he noticed the dates. "What about your interview, and the contest?"
"Higgins said he'd try to get me in, but I've got to take this assignment." I sighed and flopped back on the couch. "This totally sucks."
Lucy sat next to me with her arm draped over my shoulders. "At least you got your painting done. Come on, no more moping. It's Saturday. Let's eat junk food and watch movies."
So we did. All weekend long.
When Monday arrived, so bright and early, I had a major sugar hangover, but my mood had improved from sustained and prolonged contact with my cheer squad. I survived Calculus, barely, and Computer Programming, with Lucy's expert help—the hacker genius that she was— and a few other classes not worth mentioning, and finally made it to my favorite class. All of us had an advisor with whom we met once a week to practice our para-power skills. I had Mr. K.
His normally angst-ridden self seemed more angsty than usual today, if his all-black wardrobe and scowl were any indication. Still, my face lit up when he walked into the studio five minutes late.