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“Ask me a question, any question,” she challenged.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Can you tell me about Fred?” Ha! She wouldn’t know anything about Fred.

Eleissa sniffed self-importantly and shook the heavy book slowly in her hand.

She placed the heavy book onto a purple velvet cushion edged in gold trim and gently opened its pages. She looked down at the book and read quietly.

“Fred is your turtle. He gets lost next week when you clean his cage, and your little sister finds him and hides him in her dollhouse for three weeks, feeding him broccoli until you find out. You get upset but then realize that this is a great way of getting rid of your broccoli.” Eleissa closed the book.

Jackson was amazed. “Wow. I’m amazed.”

“I already knew you’d say that.”

“What do you mean?”

Eleissa smirked at him. “I’ve been reading your story.”

Jackson was confused. “I’m confused. How can you do that?”

Eleissa picked up the book, shaking it again. She opened the first page.

“Jackson’s life—Jackson will be born two weeks late after his mother is in labor for twenty-seven hours.”

Eleissa flipped a few pages, continuing in a bored voice.

“Jackson will be the pitcher when he plays baseball today, but every single batter he throws against will hit the ball. They will lose the game. Jackson will be hard on himself.”

Jackson’s face turned red. “How do you know that? Why is that in there?”

Eleissa smiled a Cheshire-cat smile at him. “I told you. I’m a Reader.”

Jackson frowned as an awful thought occurred to him.

Eleissa could read every terrible thing that happened to him. She could read about how he lost every baseball game he pitched. How he made his little sister cry when he threw her doll out the window. How he prayed at night for a best friend. Jackson felt frustration creeping up on him. Don’t you hate it when things creep up on you? Anger, burps, your dentist appointment.

This was definitely distressing. And embarrassing.

“I don’t think you should read anymore.” Jackson stood up, narrowly missing the lantern, and turned to leave.

“But don’t you want to know your future?” Eleissa whispered to him.

Jackson stopped. He looked back at Eleissa, her knowing blue eyes looking into his. He sat back down slowly, rustling the orange sleeping bag.

“How could you possibly know the future?” he asked, thinking about the mirrors.

Eleissa opened the book to the middle, its thick pages rustling softly.

She cleared her throat. “Jackson sits back down on the orange, comfy sleeping bag and watches Eleissa doubtfully.” She arched her right eyebrow. “Oh you doubt me, do you?”

Jackson shrugged uncomfortably.

“Jackson shrugs uncomfortably,” she read aloud.

Jackson just watched her.

“Jackson just watches her. The Author picks up his latte and takes a sip.”

Jackson shook his head. “Wait, what did you say?”

Eleissa looked back down at the book. “The Author picked up his latte and took a sip.”

“What Author? Wait a minute. Who’s the Author? And why did you say that ‘the Author takes a drink,’ and then when you read it again, you said he already did it. Now, I’m not a grammatical genius, but even I know when something is happening, and when something has already happened.”

Eleissa smiled. “You mean the difference between the present and the not-so-distant past?”

“What Author? Who are you talking about?”

Eleissa put the book down and took a deep breath.

“Jackson, I’m going to explain something to you and I’m only going to explain it once. I’m tired of explaining it to every single person who Meeka brings in here, unauthorized!”J

Meeka’s fingers flew into her mouth. She giggled around them.

Eleissa leaned forward. “Jackson, who do you think made you? Who do you think knows everything about you? Who do you think knows what’s going to happen to you?”

Jackson shrugged his shoulders. He could think of a couple of answers, but none of them really made sense. Eleissa looked down at the book.

“You really have no idea?” she asked.