The old observatory was perched at the edge of town like some forgotten relic from a bygone era—once a place where stargazers gathered to trace the Big Dipper, now a crumbling tower of bricked windows and cracked concrete steps. Rusted rails lined the narrow pathway leading up to the door, and weeds sprouted through the cracks like determined little soldiers. A tattered sign above the entrance read "Willowbrook Observatory," letters peeling and flaking.
I skated up, heart pounding so hard I thought it might send me careening off the edge of the hill. With my free hand, I yanked the creaky door open.
Inside, dust motes danced in the shaft of sunlight that cut in through shattered windows. The main dome—where the giant telescope once stood—looked abandoned. Broken pieces of rusted metal lay scattered like fallen leaves. A thin swirl of dust drifted lazily in the air. If I listened closely, I could hear a single rodent scuttling across the floorboards.
And in the center of the circular room, bathed in that golden afternoon light, stood Julian. Like a marble statue come to life.
He turned at my approach, eyes bright. "You made it."
I tried to steady my breathing and stand tall. "Yeah. I made it."
He gestured to a narrow staircase that wound up to a smaller observation chamber above. "Come up. We need privacy—and you need to see something."
I swallowed and took a cautious step forward. The stairs wobbled at my weight, but they held. Even though they creaked like they wanted to collapse, I kept moving. Every screech of metal made my nerves zing.
When I reached the top, I found myself in a smaller, circular room lined with broken telescopes and dusty star charts. The ceiling was a half-circle of glass, with a jagged hole where the last pane sheared out long ago. A single beam of moonlight pinned the center of the floor, making a donut of light on the cracked tile.
Julian took a deep breath, then extended his hand toward the middle of the floor. "Stand here."
I raised an eyebrow. "You want me to—what—do a cartwheel? I'm not flexible enough for that."
He rolled his eyes as if I'd just suggested a choreographed musical number. "Stand there, with your feet apart. And concentrate on the tiles beneath you."
I did as he said—feet planted firmly on the dusty tiles, arms at my sides, mind racing a thousand miles an hour. The beam of sunlight cut through my hair, making it glow copper-red.
He stood across from me, about six feet away. Then, with the same effortless confidence he'd used to freeze time and warp space, he whispered, "Focus on your core—your power core. Feel how the floor hums beneath you."
I blinked. A humming? In these tiles? I hesitated, but within a second, I felt it: a low, steady pulse, like the beating of some enormous cosmic heart. It vibrated through my feet, shivered up my legs, spread across my ribcage. My chest tightened—excitement, fear, and a surge of pure psychic intensity, all tangled together.
"Now," Julian said softly, "let me tune you to it." He raised a hand, fingers splayed like a conductor about to cue an orchestra. A wave of energy pulsed forward, brushing over me like the softest silk scarf. I gasped, entire body tingling with power, as though I'd just plugged into an outlet.
In that instant, my vision cracked open. The observatory's walls dissolved into a thousand stars and galaxies—constellations alive with cosmic currents and fleeting photons. I could feel—no, see—the threads of space weaving their tapestry across the universe. My own aura flared: lavender ripples surrounded my body, pulsing in time with that cosmic heartbeat beneath my feet.
I staggered, overwhelmed, as Julian kept speaking. "You've had glimpses of this. In class, you felt energies you couldn't explain. You heard your siblings' thoughts, sensed your parents' instincts. This is the next step: connecting your aura to the universe's energy matrix. Once you learn to channel it, you'll be able to—among other things—create shields, bend perceptions, and one day, maybe even freeze time for one second."
My brain felt like it was dissolving into stardust. "T—this is too much," I managed to whisper, my voice shaking.
He offered a steadying smile. "I'll guide you. Step by step."
I closed my eyes against the swirling lights. My hands trembled, but every fiber of me wanted to sink deeper into that cosmic hum.
"Julia," he said, voice firm but gentle, "you're one of the strongest psychics I've encountered. But strength is scary if you don't know how to handle it. I'm here to teach you, if you'll let me."
My heartbeat slowed as the initial shock gave way to a deep, humming calm. I nodded. "Okay."
He reached out and lightly touched my forehead—enough to send another ripple of energy coursing through me. Then he stepped back. "Eyes open."
I opened them. The observatory was still empty except for the two of us, but the walls no longer felt like static masonry. I could sense the gravitational pull of every planet, the electric tingle of distant quasars. My fingertips itched with potential.
He exhaled a quiet breath, clearly proud. "Good. Now, let's get to something simpler: telepathy. Ever read minds beyond frustration? Let's try empathy first—feeling someone else's emotion without forcing a thought into your head."
I nodded again, though my mind was still reeling. "Okay."
He guided my focus toward a cracked telescope standing in the corner. The lens was smudged, but I could sense a faint flicker of hesitance—like the telescope was embarrassed it couldn't focus properly. I blinked. I sensed that?
Julian smiled. "Now, don't overthink it. Just reach out. Feel the residual vibe in that glass."
I hesitated. Then, tentatively, I extended my mental field, coaxing a thread of empathy toward the telescope. It felt like dipping my finger into a warm pool. A faint wave of sadness washed over me—like the telescope missed its former glory, missed days when it had peered into galaxies and been someone's prized instrument.
I blinked, startled that an inanimate object could feel. But Julian nodded as though this was normal procedure.
"Excellent. That's empathy. Next: thought. Try projecting an idea into the telescope—something simple, like the word "star.""
I took a deep breath, willed my mental energy forward. S-t-a-r. I imagined the monumental word formed in shimmering letters. A tiny shimmer of light flickered inside the lens, like the word was etched for a fraction of a second. Then it vanished.
Julian's grin broadened. "You did it."
I exhaled. "I…did?" My legs felt weak, so I sank onto a dusty crate. "That…that was real."
He offered me a water bottle from his backpack. "Hydrate. You're doing a lot more than just mind-reading. Your aura's changed by a factor of, oh, ten thousand." He paused, checking his watch—only it was one of those sleek digital ones, no ticking hands. "We have about twenty minutes before it's too dark to practice here."
I nodded, gulping half the bottle. "Okay."
He stood next to me, leaning against an old star chart stuck to the wall. "Tomorrow, we'll work on telekinesis—moving small objects. But for now, focus on controlling what you've already unlocked."
I nodded again, mind buzzing. "Got it."
As I let the magnitude of what I'd just experienced sink in, my thoughts flickered to my family. Mom and Dad, always telling me to "be careful" and "watch my energy." My siblings, challenging each other to see who could prank the new neighbors' minds into thinking they had polka dot hair. They were going to freak when I told them that Julian was already teaching me cosmic-level psychic skills before I brought him home for their evaluation.
But first, I had to make it home. I glanced out the broken dome, leaving now would mean skating down that hill in near-darkness.
"Do you have a plan for getting home?" Julian asked, reading my mind again.
I blinked. "I can skateboard in the dark. I'm not terrified."
He smiled faintly. "If you get hurt, I'll know. I might—intervene."
I raised an eyebrow. "You'd come to Willowbrook because I'm a "strong psychic," but you're also going to track my broken bones?"
He shrugged. "Consider it a perk of the tuition."
I rolled my eyes playfully. "Great."
We descended the stairs carefully—one step at a time, the boards creaking louder than a two-hundred-year-old pirate ship. When we reached the bottom, I pressed my skateboard's tail onto the floor and gave it a push. The wheels squeaked, but soon enough, I had my balance.
"Don't ask question but my parents want to see you. I told them about everything and about you training me but they said they wouldn't approve until they saw you. I kind of didn't tell them I was meeting you tonight. You don't have to do or say anything much, just sit there and answer their questions. Let me know if you don't want to meet them, I can make up an excuse and keep meeting you behind their backs." I rapped in one breath and let out a huge breath when I finished.
Silence.
He wasn't saying anything. I turned to look at him, he was looking at me with an amused smile.
"Okay." Was all he finally said.
"Okay to what? To coming or to make up an excuse?"
"I'll meet them." He chuckled.
"Really??"
"Yep. It's not a big deal." He shrugged.
I got on my skateboard and turned to Julian. "Thanks—for everything. Tomorrow, same time?"
He gave me a short nod. "Tomorrow, same time."
With that, I kicked off and the skateboard rattled as I descended into shadow. The wind hit my face, and even though my body was exhausted, my mind was electrified. I felt like I had discovered a hidden doorway inside myself—and Julian held the key.
As I skated down the hill in the dark, the storm clouds that threatened supper had moved off to the west. The moon gleamed overhead, bright as a watchful eye. My mind was buzzing, heart fluttering with new possibilities: I could control space. I could move objects with a thought. I was no longer just "Julia, Psychic Girl with Attention-Deficit Disorder." I was Julia—apprentice to a cosmic force, protector of my siblings, a secret weapon in a hidden war.
The wind sniffed at my edges, and I ducked my head as if bracing for an incoming missile. But I was fueled by determination. I flashed back to the image of my siblings—Charley posting a distraught emoji in my direction; Harley obsessing over her reflection; Justin with his marshmallow-stuffed cheeks, watching cartoons. They would be safe—because I now had the power to protect them.
And one day, if I practiced hard enough, maybe I'd be able to freeze time for longer than a few heartbeats. Maybe I could bend the battlefield in our favor. Maybe…just maybe…there was a way to rewrite destiny without destroying myself in the process.
I kicked off a final push and sailed the rest of the way down to my street, the roar of the wind humming in my ears like a victory anthem.
When I turned the corner and spotted my house glowing warmly under the streetlamp, I realized: My life just got a hundred times more complicated—and infinitely more awesome.