Oracle by Alex Van Tol

Author:Alex Van Tol
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUV049000, JUV039060, JUV039190
ISBN: 9781459801356
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 2012-10-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

By the following week, Hannah and I have upped our allotment to fifteen questions a day. People are going nuts over the Oracle.

The routine goes like this. I read Hannah the questions. Most days, there are between ten and twenty. We choose which ones to answer based on how much information we have. Hannah does the horoscope research, and I compile the answers. All told, it’s about an hour’s work.

Today we get our first feedback.

“Listen to this,” I say.

“Listening.” Hannah is stretched out on my bed watching a Leo forecast on YouTube.

“No, you’re not.”

She sighs and presses Pause. “Okay. I am now.”

I read, “Dear Oracle. That girl I wanted to ask out last week? I took your advice and used little cut-up bits of magazines to spell out the words to ask her out on a date. I said, ‘Want to go check out the art gallery?’ and then I gave it to her at the end of break. And you know what? She loved it. She said she didn’t know any other guy who would take her to a gallery on a first date. Thanks!”

“Aw, that is so sweet,” Hannah says. “Owen, you’re a matchmaker now!” She pats my back.

“It’s not me,” I say. “It’s the horoscopes. And you,” I add, with a half shrug.

Hannah blushes. “Read me today’s questions.”

“Well, I’ve already drafted a response to this one,” I say. “This one’s kind of heavy.” I glance at her. “There’s some messed-up kids out there.”

Her brow furrows. “Read it.”

“It’s from someone called Losing Hope,” I begin. “Dear Oracle. I can’t take it anymore. Last night my dad got really angry with me. Again. He was drinking. He was mad because I didn’t have enough money to go buy him cigarettes.”

Hannah sits up. “What?”

I keep reading.

“So he broke all the dishes, one by one. And then he made me clean up the mess. With my hands.”

“What?” Hannah whispers.

I finish the note. “I don’t know what to do. If I run away, I’ll end up living on the streets. I’m seriously thinking about just ending it all. Maybe I can start over in another lifetime.”

I turn to Hannah. “Signed, Losing Hope.”

Hannah swallows. “Someone actually had that happen to them?”

I nod slowly. “Someone at our school.”

“Who?” she asks. Her question hangs in the air, heavy and sad.

I shake my head. “Who knows?”

“What did you tell her?” Hannah’s voice quavers.

“Kids’ Help Phone,” I say. “As a first step. I also googled teen depression domestic violence and came up with a number for the National Domestic Violence Hotline.”

Hannah shudders. She stares down at her hands. I know she, like me, will spend tomorrow looking for people with cuts on their hands.

“And,” I add, “I said she had to tell someone at school—a trusted adult. Maybe a teacher or the counselor. I said there’s people who can help, and there are safe places to go.”

Hannah nods. “I hope she’s okay,” she whispers. She looks out my window.

“I hope so too,” I say. And I really do.

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