To See Clearly: Grover Cleveland Academy, #3

By Jessie Sanders

A year after throwing in his lot with Rahab Carmichael and her quirky super-powered friends, Bracken Carnegie is a Grover Cleveland Academy graduate. And for a guy who always considered Seeing the future as a curse, Bracken’s present looks pretty sweet. He has a decent job, an apartment stocked with Ramen noodles, and a girlfriend that’s into him, failures and all.

But Bracken is still haunted by the consequences of his past life. Almost four years ago, while attending Cornwall Preparatory, Bracken was plagued by a recurring Vision—a Vision of blood. No matter how he tried to change fate, the future only grew darker. Was Bracken doomed merely to know of every horrible thing that would happen without leaving him any power to change it?

So now, when another foreboding Vision keeps returning, Bracken is too paralyzed by fear and doubt to act on it. While Rahab, Scout, and Hawkins continue their amateur superhero adventures around Boston, Bracken can only think about the many people he’s hurt. He can’t afford to lose anyone else he cares about, even if it means ignoring his powers and forsaking his team.

But will ignoring the people he loves the most really allow Bracken to save them? Can he stand idly by and watch the future unfold, or will he find the strength to fight fate one more time?

To See Clearly is the third of the Grover Cleveland Academy books.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stormy Night Publishing
• Release date: Apr 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386704737

Jessie Sanders

Jessie Sanders reads, writes, and parents in Oklahoma. She is a freelance editor of fiction and the author of the Grover Cleveland Academy series.

Book preview

Prologue

-1993

Bracken’s Visions always started with a brilliant flash of light, like coming out of a dark tunnel too quickly. This time, when the Vision came into focus, the first thing Bracken noticed was smoke rising from the hood of a sleek, black car. What part of the hood was left, that is. It was crumpled against a tree, the headlights making a path around the tree’s trunk and illuminating the road beyond. The road where the car should have been safely making its passage through the still night. Bracken tried to lean closer, peering at a street sign he could barely make out. He recognized it. It gave the mileage until Harrisburg, and Bracken and his parents passed it every time they left town and headed toward the big city. Bracken felt sick and tore his gaze from the sign to the car. He looked in the driver’s window.

Ianto was bent over, his head resting on the steering wheel, blood trickling out from under his chauffeur’s cap. Bracken tried to scream, but he was merely a silent witness to the tragic scene. Then he was entering the tunnel again, the darkness closing in, and Bracken found himself sitting on the front steps of his home, looking out over the wide driveway as he had been less than a second before.

Hey, kid, you all right? Ianto asked, tossing his car keys in the air and then catching them as he passed by the boy.

Bracken was only seven. He hadn’t learned to blink away the visions, to pretend like they didn’t exist. His eyes were still trying to adjust to the natural light. Yeah, he said finally. Where are you going?

Gotta change into my chauffeur uniform before your parents get home. They’re going to that dinner party tonight in the city, remember?

Bracken nodded, but he felt the panic rising in his chest. The Vision had been clear, detailed, and had lasted several seconds—at least, it had in his mind. Bracken knew that the better he could See a Vision, the closer it was to the present. Could this trip into town tonight be when Ianto wrecked the car?

Bracken held out his hand to stop the young chauffeur from going in the house. Ianto?

Yeah?

Please don’t drive tonight. Tell my parents that you’re sick.

Ianto wrinkled his brow. You know I can’t do that. This is a really important party for your parents. Your dad is getting an award.

I know, but your dad can drive them, can’t he? You can stay here with me and Ana.

What’s this about, squirt? Ianto crouched on the drive. His young adult face was thin with a pointed chin, which made him naturally look concerned, but he looked even more so now. Are you still getting bullied at school? I told your parents to talk to the dean about—

No, Bracken said quickly. It’s just that...I don’t want you to get hurt.

Why would I get hurt?

You might get in a wreck. Hit a tree or something.

Hit a tree? Bracken, car accidents happen all the time, but that can’t stop us from driving. We would never get anywhere if we were afraid of what might happen to us. We’ve just got to be extra careful, and you know I’m a good driver. Your parents wouldn’t have hired me otherwise.

Bracken looked down at the concrete and nodded.

Hey, don’t look so glum. I’ll take you for a spin in the limo tomorrow, Ianto said.

Bracken wasn’t comforted. Please don’t go.

Sorry, squirt, I’ve got a job to do. Ianto shook his head, got up, and went into the house.

Bracken had been spouting premonitions for years now—don’t climb that ladder, it’s not steady; don’t eat that fish, it’ll make you sick; don’t hold hands with that boy at school, he has chicken pox—but they ignored him. Even though his words were true, his parents chalked it up to coincidence. At this point, if he said anything remotely vague about the future, they would lecture him about being depressing and send him to his room.

Warning had failed him once again, but this time he couldn’t let Ianto ignore him. When Ana got gum in her hair, it was a minor tragedy. When his parents were misplaced from the reservation list at a fancy restaurant, it was unfortunate. But this was Ianto getting really, legitimately, hurt. Bracken would have to take matters into his own hands.

Bracken made sure that everyone was inside the house and then raced to the garage. The long building, separated from the main house by a covered portico, housed the limo, three sports cars, and his mother’s Volkswagen Beetle. The limo had already been pulled out and spit shined for the evening’s journey.

Bracken circled the limo, trying to decide the best mode of attack. He thought about slashing the tires, but his pocket knife had been confiscated last week. If he tried to go into his father’s office and find it, he would certainly be caught and punished, and he couldn’t ask Ianto for his knife as he usually did. Ianto asked questions. Bracken stuffed his hands in his pockets as he rummaged through the garage for something useful. The tips of his fingers brushed against his book of matches. Of course!

He ran to the back of the garage with a purpose now, grabbing the red gasoline can Ianto’s father used to fill up the riding mower. There was still a little bit of gas sloshing around in the bottom as Bracken carried it back to the limo. He dumped the few ounces of gasoline on the trunk of the vehicle. It should be enough to get it started, and then once the fire reached the gas tank it would blow nicely, his young mind reasoned. He pulled out his matches and ran the entire book across his shoe like he had seen men do in the movies. The small flame flickered, then grew strong; Bracken stared at it for a second before tossing it onto the limo. The flames crackled as they caught the gasoline.

Bracken stepped back with a satisfied grin. If the limo were destroyed, Ianto couldn’t take Bracken’s parents to the party. Ianto wouldn’t get in a wreck.

Bracken Carnegie, what in the world—! Bracken’s mother clutched her hands to her chest. As she rounded the corner, the flames caught the gas tank and leapt closer to the sky. She shrieked and snatched Bracken by the wrist, dragging him farther down the driveway, even though he already was at what he considered a safe distance. What is going on!

Bracken wrenched himself away from his mother. I set fire to the limo, what do you care?

Ianto! Ianto, come quick! Mrs. Carnegie shouted.

Ianto came running out of the house, his chauffeur jacket flapping loosely to reveal his Pearl Jam t-shirt. What’s wrong, Mrs. Carnegie?

She pointed to the flames, which were growing higher. Fire!

Ianto dashed into the garage to get the fire extinguisher.

Mrs. Carnegie grabbed her son by the ear and dragged him into the house. You wait until your father hears about this. What is wrong with you?

Don’t pull me, Bracken said stoutly. I’ll come. He thought whatever punishment his father could concoct for him would be worth it. Ianto would be safe.

But he wouldn’t be safe. Bracken had been too terrified by the blood on Ianto’s face in his vision to pay attention to which car had been wrecked. He didn’t realize until later, thinking back on it, that it wasn’t the limo at all—it was the black 1974 914 Porsche. The car in which Ianto would end up driving the Carnegies to the party. Ianto would swerve to avoid a deer on the late night road, but wouldn’t avoid the oak tree. The ME would have to drag his unconscious body out from behind the steering wheel to evaluate his head wound. The police would come to the house to tell Ianto’s father that Ianto was in the hospital while the Carnegies called a cab. They had to get to their party, after all. An injured chauffeur wasn’t the end of the world. They’d laugh and chat with the other attendees, and Mr. Carnegie would get up and accept his award.

As Bracken watched the policeman leave the house, he Saw that by the time Ianto’s father reached the hospital, Ianto would be dead. Bracken had tried, but it had ended up worse than he had thought. Was it his fault? The Porsche wasn’t as safe a vehicle as the limo. If they had taken the limo that night, would Ianto be fine after all? Bracken ran up to his room and didn’t come down for two days.

When he did come down, his parents shipped him directly to boarding school so he couldn’t destroy any more of their possessions. They were down two cars and one chauffeur, and it was all Bracken’s fault.

He couldn’t argue with that.

Chapter One

-2003

Bracken surveyed the Carnegie family home from the circle drive. He may have lived here his entire life, but home still wasn’t the word he liked to describe it—words like gigantic, cold, and condescending were more appropriate. He Looked through the front door with his x-ray vision, but he already knew that he would see nothing within. The front hall was empty and echoing.

Switching on his x-ray vision had been a chore when he was a young child, but it was almost effortless now. Switching his Sight from looking at a wooden door to through it was as easy as most people switching from looking at a bug smudge on a windshield to looking at the road before them. Flimsy barriers like fabric were the easiest. The thicker the object, the harder his eyes had to strain. Concrete was still impossible for him to See through. But doors were no problem.

If his father and mother were home, they would be holed up in the study and the greenhouse, respectively. Bracken let himself inside the mansion.

With long strides he walked across the great hall to the stairwell, hoping to sneak upstairs. His hand just grabbed the polished wood railing when Velma popped her head in from the small door below him. Bracken, Mr. Carnegie wants to see you.

Of course he does, Bracken said with a sigh. He wasn’t completely convinced that his father didn’t have a special ability too—the power to know exactly when Bracken had entered the house. About everything else, though, the man was clueless, so Bracken regarded the ability as merely an annoyance rather than a real threat. Thanks.

Velma blinked her eyes that were too close together and returned to her desk.

The study was Bracken’s least favorite room in the whole house. Despite the fact that Andrew Carnegie spent most of his time there, it felt lifeless and empty. The stacks of papers and folders on the wide oak desk were neatly placed on the opposite sides of his new computer monitor. The walls were painted an off-color yellow, and the only thing adorning them was his father’s diploma, stuck in a wide, black frame with gold curls. There were rows of filing cabinets against one wall and a large clock that ticked ominously.

Bracken clicked the door shut, knowing what was expected of him even when his father failed to look up from his computer. Making himself as comfortable as possible in the wooden chair facing his dad’s desk, he resisted the urge to pull out his lighter and flick it on and off.

There was another flash of light, and then Bracken could see every excruciating detail in his father’s lips and chin as everything was slowed down to a tenth of normal life. He enunciated, Cornwall Preparatory School. He was in the Vision for seven Mississippi...eight Mississippi...nine Mississippi...ten seconds. The combination of the length of the Vision and the intense clarity of the scene told him that this Vision would come true very soon indeed.

When he pulled out of the Vision, Bracken cleared his throat. So is this your very ineffective way of telling me that I’m being transferred to a different school this year?

Mr. Carnegie moved his gaze from the monitor to a stack of papers that needed to be signed. You were expelled from Manchester. The dean allowed you to finish out the term, but he let me know in very explicit terms that you would not be allowed back this year.

How gracious of him.

It was. You were playing poker with the dean’s daughter.

I didn’t realize the dean was so against his daughter socializing.

Socializing and playing strip poker are quite different things, Mr. Carnegie said.

Bracken shrugged, but his father didn’t see the gesture.

There was another moment of silence that stretched and pulled thin. Bracken pulled out his lighter and started fiddling it back and forth between his fingers. Are you going to tell me where I’m going before you ship me off?

Here was his Vision. The lips moved in exactly the way he had Seen a few minutes before. Cornwall Preparatory School.

Great. I’ll go pack my bags. Anything else I should know?

It’s in northern California. Velma is holding your plane ticket; you may pick it up this weekend as you depart.

Bracken couldn’t think of a wisecrack. A new Vision in the silence showed him on a sunny beach full of bikini-clad girls and dudes with surf boards. It was faint, blurry, like an almost-forgotten dream, so it wouldn’t be coming true until a few more weeks, but it was a nice promise.

Mr. Carnegie looked up for the first time. His eyes were a steely gray. You can go now.

Bracken jumped up and left, not bothering to close the door behind him. He winked at Velma, who was sitting behind her own desk and squinting at her computer monitor. It might help if you got some glasses, Velma, he told her. Velma insisted for the past five years that she had perfect eyesight, but her squinting and constant headaches indicated otherwise. She just waved at Bracken like he was a fly.

Bracken’s next attempt up the staircase was hindered by a loud squeal and two gangly arms embracing him from behind.

Analiese, what are you doing here? Bracken asked, wishing he could have Seen her coming so he could have steeled himself for her attack.

Analiese hugged him harder. What do you mean, what am I doing here? I live here too, ya know.

I thought you were at cheer camp.

I just got back. It was awesome; Tegan and Tracy and I got locked out of our cabin on Tuesday because we were out in the woods with some of the guys who snuck out of football training, and then we were hanging out in the mess hall trying to find some snacks and Mrs. Richardson freaked out because she couldn’t find us and she was running all over the campsite with a bleach mustache and—

Hey, I just got done talking to Dad, give me a minute to breathe, Bracken said, trying to gently peel her off.

Oh, sorry, she said, her face encompassed by one of her blinding smiles. She was in one of those moods today, the kind that was brought on by too much sugar and not enough sleep. She was wearing her camp shirt, an oxford blue button up with the letters CC embroidered on the breast pocket, complete with red paisley silk cravat. Analiese had unceremoniously rolled up the sleeves to accommodate her many wristbands, and her cravat was tied loosely around her wispy blonde hair like a bandana.

I’ll find you in a minute, and you can tell me all about it, he said.

You better, or I’ll hunt you down, Analiese said with a grin.

Bracken went upstairs, Analiese trotting after him.

Suddenly, on the next to last step, Bracken stumbled as the flashing light physically hurt his head. It took him almost two seconds to regain himself and See the Vision, and by then it was already over. Was that...blood?—but he was just staring at the champagne-colored carpet of the second floor landing.

Bracken, are you okay? Analiese asked, hesitantly holding out a helping hand.

Yeah, Bracken said, pushing away her hand with his elbow. He couldn’t believe that he had crumbled so easily under a silly Vision, and in front of her. They came and went so quickly, less than a second of real life time, that he usually could take the Visions in stride, as though nothing had happened. Every once and while, though, like now, they caused him to misstep.

Analiese went to her own room and disappeared inside; Bracken ducked to the bathroom. He scowled at himself in the mirror, splashed water on his face, scratched the tattoo under his boxers. He had only gotten it last week and the healing process was more painful than the inking itself.

Finally he went to Analiese’s room and knocked. She opened the door and gestured grandly for him to enter. Bracken sat down on her desk chair and propped his Converse up on the edge of her bed.

Analiese flipped on her stereo, where her Avril Lavigne CDs were already pre-loaded, and open her suitcase on her bed. So what’s up with you? she shouted over Sk8r Boi.

I thought you wanted to talk about cheer camp.

Oh, what happens at camp stays at camp, Analiese replied glibly. I want to know if you found anything to do around here for the past two weeks while I was gone.

As much as usual, he said. He thought about telling her about the tattoo, maybe even pulling down the front of his pants just enough for her to see the thin outline of an eye. But he hadn’t gotten it to show off. It was there to remind himself that beneath the surface, he was different. That he would always be different. Analiese wouldn’t understand.

What are you thinking about? Analiese asked, turning around to scrutinize him. She had the same piercing, deep-blue eyes that he did. But they looked better on her pixie face, and he doubted they could See through solid objects.

Do you remember Ianto?

Ianto? Analiese scratched her head. It sounds familiar. That’s a funny name, though, isn’t it?

Bracken