Crystallized Minds For Harlyn Starr

Silence Isn't Always Golden, Part I

Spring mornings always make you feel good, right? The strong scents of mud and vanilla bean, the sense of new life, and the sight of crocuses reaching through the slush leave you feeling fresh and ready to start a new day. That's what always happens with me, for one. The bark of the oak tree rubs against my green shirt as I pull my knees to my chest to avoid muddying my purple leggings. My face is tilted towards the light breeze, and my heart just leaps again when I see the figures of Ivy and Claire running towards me.
The sight of their smiling faces is enough to make me forget about my power - at least until it's put into action and I, unwillingly, begin reading Ivy's mind. I try to pull myself out, but it's as if a second force is holding me there and forcing me to look at my best friend's darkest secrets. Unlike my mom's brain, Ivy's is filed with floral sticky notes. The writing on them is in a gold gel pen, and it's even in her loopy print. These little things usually provide a light in the dark tunnel of my day, but now my mouth is weighted on each end with guilt. I fight my power, trying to pull away, and I'm winning - but suddenly a note catches my eye.
"Gosh, Harlyn is so immature!" it reads. Another one is printed with "She's so ugly!"
I can't breathe. I'm trying to tell myself that I don't care what they think of me, that it doesn't matter - but deep down inside, I know I do care. My lungs hurt, my throat aches, and my eyes sting. I pull myself away from the vision with such force that when I open my eyes again, I'm on the ground. Ivy is standing up against the tree, eyebrows creased; but Claire is kneeling down beside me. She's stroking my head and asking me what's wrong. All I can manage is a little grunting noise.
But soon, my sadness turns to anger. Anger at Ivy for her cruel thoughts. Anger at whatever brought this 'gift' upon me. Anger at myself, for being so mad at Ivy.
  My rage is immeasurable. It floods so much that it comes out of my ears, and my throat is tight enough to act as a plug. I turn to Claire, hoping that her shoulder will dry my tears, but instead of seeing her next to me, there's an empty space. I swing around, my ears feeling tike they're underwater. No Claire, no Claire, no Claire. Suddenly, I spot a blurry outline of her far away pointing to me. The taller person that she's talking to nods and heads toward me. Great. So Claire turned on me too? I'm just about to collapse in agony when I focus on Claire's thoughts: "I hope Harlyn's all right!" and "Will Miss Groupert call Harlyn's mom?"
I smile at the thought of my mother, of the electric blanket, of hot chocolate and cold cloths and soup. But my happiness is drowned at the sight of Ivy peering at me, the corners of her mouth turned down. I can't bear to read her thoughts again; however, I get sucked into her mind. As soon as I read the first sticky note, I can't decide what to feel. The old Harlyn - the one that was friends with Ivy - would have been sad. But the new Harlyn? I'm happy. Because what the paper says is something that will rid my life of her forever (hopefully.)
"Need to pack for move 2night." says the note.