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I'M WAITING FOR SANDER for fifteen minutes before he finally shows up. I've eaten so much free salsa and chips, I feel obligated to buy an entree to make up for it—then I remember that everything in this world is free. Duh.
“Sander!” I shout his name when I see him approach. “I thought we were supposed to meet at the Taco Barn. Where were you?”
“I thought we were meeting outside,” Sander explains. “I didn't realize we were supposed to meet inside the restaurant!”
“Of course I wanted to meet inside the restaurant! I thought you might like to try some of the food.” I hold up a tortilla chip, loaded with salsa.
“With respect, Miss Frost, we are not meeting for a friendly luncheon and a chat. We are supposed to meet for mission number two,” Sander says.
I don't know why he's complaining. If he didn't want to wait for me, he probably could have warped to my location. Or maybe he could have read my mind to figure out where I was? I'm blaming this on him, not me.
“Are you ready to go?” Sander asks.
“Yeah.” I stuff a final chip into my mouth before leaving my booth behind. “I have a question, though. If you're calling me Miss Frost... should I be calling you Mr. Phelan?”
“You may call me whatever you'd like. A name is essentially a label, and labels don't mean as much in this world. We attach value to a person's actions, not their labels.”
“Okay.”
His answer was deep, but all I can say is okay? Lame.
When Sander touches my arm, we're suddenly soaring through the cosmos, and a few seconds later, we're standing in a bright white room. There's a white sofa, white flowers, white floors, white walls, white—
“Dress,” I finish my thought out loud. “She's wearing a white dress.”
The she I'm referring to is a tall, curvy blonde in a bridal gown. An older woman is standing behind her, weaving flowers into her braid. The bride-to-be has a sour look on her face. It reminds me of the face you make when you accidentally taste something nasty. Like earwax.
Sander reads from his LightTab, “Our charge is Jenna Chatwin. She's a thirty-two-year-old schoolteacher from Poughkeepsie, New York.”
“Is she the bride?” I ask.
“Indeed.”
“What does she teach?”
“Middle school English.”
Cool. English was my favorite subject. I have been, and always will be, a book geek. I keep my questions coming. “Who is she marrying?”
“She is marrying a man named Grant Sweeney,” Sander says. “You know, you could access this information on your LightTab, Miss Frost. Your screen will automatically display information when you accept a new job.”
“Oh.” Feeling like a fool, I turn on my LightTab and study up on Jenna. There is a lot of information here, and the bulk of it is probably zero percent relevant to our mission, but it's still fun to skim. I can read random stuff, like the fact that her last boyfriend's name was Seth Chen. She worked as a barista in college, her favorite food is sushi, and she pursued acting for a few years, from 2007-2009. A casting director said she was “too big,” and she gave up the dream. What a jerk.
“Whoa!” I exclaim. “You can even see what her favorite flavor of ice cream is? Why is that important?”
“It's not,” Sander says. “Hold out your hand, please.”
I stick out a hand and whisper, “It's cherry cordial, by the way...”
Sander drops a small, clear crystal into the palm of my hand. Folding my fingers around it, he says, “Gently clutch the crystal in your hand, clear your mind, and focus. You should start to hear Miss Chatwin's thoughts in your head.”
“Weird.” I close my eyes and follow Sander's instructions, but there are too many of my own thoughts creeping into my head. For example—why does Jenna look so sad? If this is her wedding day, shouldn't she look a lot happier than this?
All of a sudden, I get a thought in my head that is definitely not mine.
“Mom keeps poking me with the hairpins. Should I tell her to stop?”
“I heard something!” I cry.
Sander gives me an encouraging nod. “Good. What did you hear?”
“She wants her mom to stop poking her with hairpins,” I reply. “That... couldn't be our mission, could it?”
That was a legitimate question, but I guess it was ridiculous, because Sander laughs. “No, of course not. Missions are usually more meaningful than that.”
“Okay.” I squeeze the crystal and try again, but my thoughts keep coming. I'm thinking about Sander's plaid shirt, his casual style, and how it suits him. I think about his hair and how soft it looks. I wish I could touch it.
“Focus, Mikayla,” Sander coaches me. “You need to focus.”
“You weren't just listening to my thoughts, were you?”
“No, but I could sense they were erratic,” Sander says. “Every thought has a sort of... wavelength. Yours were chaotic.”
I try to mute my mind, and I'm successful this time. Another Jenna thought slips into my head.
“I love Grant. He's perfect, isn't he? So why am I not happy?”
With a grimace on my face, I share the news with Sander. “To be honest, uh... it doesn't sound like she wants to get married.”
“I should be happy!” cries the Jenna in my head. “Why am I not happy? Is there something wrong with me? Mom knows. She won't come out and say it, but she knows I don't want this. I'm not ready.”
Sander says. “I believe you're right. I've been listening as well, and it sounds like she has cold feet.”
It's normal to get cold feet on your wedding day, isn't it? That's what I've heard. It's not like I'm speaking from experience, because I would never get married at my age. I know a girl who got engaged at sixteen, but I think that's crazy. At sixteen, how can you even begin to know what you want for the rest of your—”
“Mikayla!” Sander's voice interrupts my thoughts. “Keep your attention on Jenna, please. You might miss some vital information. If she doesn't want to get married, it's possible that we've already found our mission.”
“Seriously? We're going to help a runaway bride?”
I roll my crystal to the center of my palm and focus on our charge. I hear her voice in my head again, as clearly as if it was my own.
“I'm thirty-two. How much longer should I wait? Grant's a good man. He's the best man. It's not like I'm settling.”
I ask my instructor, “What if our mission is to ease her doubts?”
“I doubt it,” Sander says. “As her spirit guides, it's our mission to find out what she really wants, deep down, in her heart of hearts, and those doubts hint at her true feelings. I don't sense that she wants to get married. At all. If we made her forget her worries and forced her down the aisle, it would be a disservice to her.”
“Okay. I'll take your word for it.”
“Do you feel differently?” Sander asks.
I answer with a shrug, “No. Not really. I do feel kind of bad for her fiance, though.”
While I'm still holding the crystal, I hear something totally unexpected from Jenna.
“I miss Seth. If I could see him one more time... maybe I would know I wasn't making a huge mistake?”